War Lyrics dedicated to the friends of the dead. By A. and L. Shore. Second edition, with additions |
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THE GHOSTS AND THE CZAR. |
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THE GHOSTS AND THE CZAR.
“Lo! we stand around thy pillow, Czar!
We are those who died!
English, French, and Russians, here we are,
Waiting at thy side!
We are those who died!
English, French, and Russians, here we are,
Waiting at thy side!
Lo! the comrades of the Camp and Sea,
From the brother-lands!
With our ghostly swords we come to thee,
In our blood-red hands!
From the brother-lands!
With our ghostly swords we come to thee,
In our blood-red hands!
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Count our famous Colours one by one!
Count us man by man!
Lance and rifle, bayonet, sword, and gun!
Alma, Balaklava, Inkerman!
Count us man by man!
Lance and rifle, bayonet, sword, and gun!
Alma, Balaklava, Inkerman!
England counts us too with all her voices—
And France holds us dear!
Hark how Glory o'er our names rejoices
With her loudest cheer!
And France holds us dear!
Hark how Glory o'er our names rejoices
With her loudest cheer!
See these stains from the barbarian veins
Of thy drunken hosts!
With their bodies swarm three battle plains
And the air with ghosts!
Of thy drunken hosts!
With their bodies swarm three battle plains
And the air with ghosts!
See these poor love-tokens which thy dead
Held in cold embraces—
Letters love has writ, and love has read—
Portraits of sweet faces.
Held in cold embraces—
Letters love has writ, and love has read—
Portraits of sweet faces.
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Oh! we pitied them when we had slain them!
Be their blood on thee!
But 'twas God that sent us to unchain them,
For the Dead are free!”
Be their blood on thee!
But 'twas God that sent us to unchain them,
For the Dead are free!”
“Yes, the Dead are free, and here are we;
Round thy bed we gather—
We, the wretched ones, once call'd thy sons,
Come to curse their father.
Round thy bed we gather—
We, the wretched ones, once call'd thy sons,
Come to curse their father.
Crowding home the bodiless are come,
From thy wicked wars!
Noble and slave, we rolled into one grave,
In a cursed cause!
From thy wicked wars!
Noble and slave, we rolled into one grave,
In a cursed cause!
We will lick no longer, with false faces,
Dust from off thy floor!
And the foot that stamped us all to pieces,
We will kiss no more!
Dust from off thy floor!
And the foot that stamped us all to pieces,
We will kiss no more!
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Now no more of lying, nor of spying—
'Twas a toilsome trade!
How we cheated, kissed the cheeks we hated,
Wheedled and betrayed!
'Twas a toilsome trade!
How we cheated, kissed the cheeks we hated,
Wheedled and betrayed!
Now no pale Siberia as we walk
In the crowded places,
Drops a sudden silence on our talk,
Horror on our faces!—
In the crowded places,
Drops a sudden silence on our talk,
Horror on our faces!—
On the day when first we faced our foes,
How their grand war-cry
All the slave-blood in our bosoms froze,
Ere we turned to fly.
How their grand war-cry
All the slave-blood in our bosoms froze,
Ere we turned to fly.
Yet upbraid us not, for well we fought
On that furious day,
When thy young sons there, mad as despair,
Lashed us to the fray!
On that furious day,
When thy young sons there, mad as despair,
Lashed us to the fray!
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Trampled, pierced, and shattered, thirsting, groaning,
As we lay and died,
Still we fired on the red soldier, moaning
Faintly at our side.
As we lay and died,
Still we fired on the red soldier, moaning
Faintly at our side.
When the conquerors came to seek and save us,
Still we fired and slew,
And full often from the cup they gave us
Drank their life-blood too—
Still we fired and slew,
And full often from the cup they gave us
Drank their life-blood too—
But the morning breaks! the world awakes!
Let the Living come
Bells to ring, and loud Te Deums sing,
When the Dead are dumb.”
Let the Living come
Bells to ring, and loud Te Deums sing,
When the Dead are dumb.”
L. January 8, 1855.
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