My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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CATHCART'S HILL. |
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 | My Lyrical Life |  |
CATHCART'S HILL.
They have died, our true and tried, ere our flag victorious flew
O'er the burning battle-hell, we must ride to conquest through.
But they died, our Glorified! on the field of their renown;
And they died when the pride of the Foeman's power went down.
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave.
O'er the burning battle-hell, we must ride to conquest through.
But they died, our Glorified! on the field of their renown;
And they died when the pride of the Foeman's power went down.
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave.
A wind of death was waving, like a flame, the Warrior's plume!
Stern in his shroud of fire, the Foe glared from his burning tomb!
Victory's shouts were ringing as they flashed from out the strife,
To meet God's angels bringing garlands for the Kings of Life.
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave!
Stern in his shroud of fire, the Foe glared from his burning tomb!
Victory's shouts were ringing as they flashed from out the strife,
To meet God's angels bringing garlands for the Kings of Life.
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave!
368
Bear them to that grave in a solemn march and slow,
Let Music talk in tears o'er the lost ones lying low;
They will sleep calm and deep when the battle-bugles blow;
And ye shall build their monument when next ye meet the Foe!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave!
Let Music talk in tears o'er the lost ones lying low;
They will sleep calm and deep when the battle-bugles blow;
And ye shall build their monument when next ye meet the Foe!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave!
We quaff our cup o' the Vintage, and from darkened depths arise
The bubbles, like the tears that plead in Desolation's eyes;
Yet there's glory in our grief,—'tis a glory that shall grow
When our sorrow hath no morrow, and 'twas centuries ago.
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave!
The bubbles, like the tears that plead in Desolation's eyes;
Yet there's glory in our grief,—'tis a glory that shall grow
When our sorrow hath no morrow, and 'twas centuries ago.
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill,—their glory from its crest
Shall flame, a Terror to the North, a Watch-fire to the West!
Cross their hands and lay their brands upon the martial breast,
They have won the proud “Well done,” lay them down to their rest.
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave!
Shall flame, a Terror to the North, a Watch-fire to the West!
Cross their hands and lay their brands upon the martial breast,
They have won the proud “Well done,” lay them down to their rest.
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave!
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, the bravest of the Brave!
| My Lyrical Life | |