Poems By Richard Chenevix Trench: New ed |
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THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS. |
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193
THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS.
JULY, 1856.
Two years—an age of glory and of pain!—
Since we with blessings and with shouts and tears,
And with high hopes pursued your parting train,
With everything but fears.
Since we with blessings and with shouts and tears,
And with high hopes pursued your parting train,
With everything but fears.
Forth from beside our hearths we saw you pass,
And guessed that battle must be stern and strong;
War's shapes we saw,—but dimly, in a glass,—
Its shapes of wrath and wrong.
And guessed that battle must be stern and strong;
War's shapes we saw,—but dimly, in a glass,—
Its shapes of wrath and wrong.
We saw not, Heaven in mercy did not show,
The fiery squadron rushing to its doom,
An army in its winding-sheet of snow,
Nor Varna's charnel tomb.
The fiery squadron rushing to its doom,
An army in its winding-sheet of snow,
Nor Varna's charnel tomb.
We saw not Scutari's heaped up agonies,
Nor those blest hands and hearts that brought relief;
Splendours and glooms were hidden from our eyes,—
What glory and what grief!
Nor those blest hands and hearts that brought relief;
Splendours and glooms were hidden from our eyes,—
What glory and what grief!
One thing we saw, one only thing we knew,
Come what come might, ye would not bring to shame
The loved land which had trusted thus to you
Its wealth of ancient fame.
Come what come might, ye would not bring to shame
The loved land which had trusted thus to you
Its wealth of ancient fame.
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Therefore the old land greets you, whose renown
In face of friend and foe ye well upbore,
Handing the treasure of its glory down
Not poorer than before.
In face of friend and foe ye well upbore,
Handing the treasure of its glory down
Not poorer than before.
And greets you first, as owing you the most,
The Lady, whose transcendant diadem,
Unless she ruled brave men, would cease to boast
Its best and fairest gem.
The Lady, whose transcendant diadem,
Unless she ruled brave men, would cease to boast
Its best and fairest gem.
But ah! if through her bosom there is sent,
Nor hers alone, a throb of piercing pain,
With tearful memories of the brave who went,
And come not now again,
Nor hers alone, a throb of piercing pain,
With tearful memories of the brave who went,
And come not now again,
Of all who made a holy land for aye,
(Such consecration is in glorious graves),
Of that bleak barren headland far away,
Foamed round by Euxine waves;
(Such consecration is in glorious graves),
Of that bleak barren headland far away,
Foamed round by Euxine waves;
Yet shall this sadness presently depart,
Leaving undimmed the splendour of this hour;
We rather thanking Heaven with grateful heart
For their high gift and dower,
Leaving undimmed the splendour of this hour;
We rather thanking Heaven with grateful heart
For their high gift and dower,
Who, ending well, have passed beyond the range
Of our mutations; whom no spot or stain
Can now touch ever; for whom chance and change
Not any more remain.
Of our mutations; whom no spot or stain
Can now touch ever; for whom chance and change
Not any more remain.
Shout then, ye people; let glad thoughts have way;
Shout, and in these their absent fellows greet,—
Yea, all who shared with them, of that fierce day
The burden and the heat.
Shout, and in these their absent fellows greet,—
Yea, all who shared with them, of that fierce day
The burden and the heat.
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Nor yet forget that when in coming time
By many an English hearth shall men recall
This two-years' chronicle of deeds sublime,
Then first, perchance, of all,
By many an English hearth shall men recall
This two-years' chronicle of deeds sublime,
Then first, perchance, of all,
They, talking of dread Inkerman, shall tell,
When that wild storm of fight had passed away,
How thick by those low mounds they kept so well
The noble Bearskins lay.
When that wild storm of fight had passed away,
How thick by those low mounds they kept so well
The noble Bearskins lay.
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