 | English Roses |  |
ATBARA.
Mahmoud silent lay and surly
Hid in desert scrub and thorn,
While the sand-wind gray with gurly
Blasts upon our face was borne;
Some would never see the morn,
Though they longed for stroke of steel and the battle's hurly-burly.
Every face was set and knitted
With the stirring of the strain,
And each ready right hand fitted
To its weapon, which the slain
Soon would give a splendid stain—
What were wounds or death, if life in the act were well acquitted?
Hid in desert scrub and thorn,
While the sand-wind gray with gurly
Blasts upon our face was borne;
Some would never see the morn,
Though they longed for stroke of steel and the battle's hurly-burly.
179
With the stirring of the strain,
And each ready right hand fitted
To its weapon, which the slain
Soon would give a splendid stain—
What were wounds or death, if life in the act were well acquitted?
Ring of flame and roar of thunder
Now from silence sudden brake,
Wrath above the ruin under
With a voice avenging spake,
As if hell itself, awake,
Vomited red fury forth, out of earth that rent asunder.
Then the rush of men and horses
After iron rain and blast,
Bolts of doom on destined courses
As by one great engine cast;
Hungry for the prey at last,
Sure and swift like rolling seas hurled in hate from ocean sources.
Now from silence sudden brake,
Wrath above the ruin under
With a voice avenging spake,
As if hell itself, awake,
Vomited red fury forth, out of earth that rent asunder.
Then the rush of men and horses
After iron rain and blast,
Bolts of doom on destined courses
As by one great engine cast;
Hungry for the prey at last,
Sure and swift like rolling seas hurled in hate from ocean sources.
Glorious moments, full as ages
With the passion of the fight,
While we seemed to tread the stages
Of a universe of light;
Death itself were pure delight,
As we faced those fearful odds and in blood wrote dazzling pages.
Waved the flag in front, a vision
And a promise of our due,
When the sword with sharp decision
Through those mazes cut a clue;
White and black were comrades true,
And the vaunted Dervish might turned to weakness and derision.
With the passion of the fight,
While we seemed to tread the stages
Of a universe of light;
Death itself were pure delight,
As we faced those fearful odds and in blood wrote dazzling pages.
Waved the flag in front, a vision
And a promise of our due,
When the sword with sharp decision
Through those mazes cut a clue;
White and black were comrades true,
And the vaunted Dervish might turned to weakness and derision.
So we reaped the harvest, brother,
With the point and bitter blade,
In a whirl of smash and smother
And the dreadful din and shade;
Thus at last was reckoning made,
And I hardly deem the foe now will ask us for another.
Ah, we did remember Gordon
With Khartoum and all the shame,
Showing England was the warden
Of true freedom and old fame;
And our grand imperial name
Now will shake the farthest East, from the Nile unto the Jordan.
With the point and bitter blade,
In a whirl of smash and smother
180
Thus at last was reckoning made,
And I hardly deem the foe now will ask us for another.
Ah, we did remember Gordon
With Khartoum and all the shame,
Showing England was the warden
Of true freedom and old fame;
And our grand imperial name
Now will shake the farthest East, from the Nile unto the Jordan.
| English Roses | |