 | Words by the Wayside |  |
96
The Return of Lord Roberts
(December, 1900).
On many a field he played a peerless part;
Now from his latest with new honours won
Home comes our hero, but with wounded heart,
A dauntless sire who mourns a dauntless son.
Now from his latest with new honours won
Home comes our hero, but with wounded heart,
A dauntless sire who mourns a dauntless son.
No haughty conqueror by his own bright star
Dazzled, red-flaming in a death-dark sky,
But humble-hearted as true heroes are,
And most made noble by humanity.
Dazzled, red-flaming in a death-dark sky,
But humble-hearted as true heroes are,
And most made noble by humanity.
Ever where ambushed death a-lurking lay,
Or fortune matched the many against the few,
Sheer force and fire, he clove the battle-way,
Or did the desperate thing that was to do.
Or fortune matched the many against the few,
Sheer force and fire, he clove the battle-way,
Or did the desperate thing that was to do.
From the rent ribs of danger still he stole
The honey of success, nor staggered then
Sweet-surfeited. Master of his own soul
He was, and Master of the hearts of men.
The honey of success, nor staggered then
Sweet-surfeited. Master of his own soul
He was, and Master of the hearts of men.
Sorrow might strike him, but no sorrow long
Shake the deep-rooted manhood of the man:
Weakness is selfishness; his soul was strong,
Armed with the hidden strength which all things can.
Shake the deep-rooted manhood of the man:
Weakness is selfishness; his soul was strong,
Armed with the hidden strength which all things can.
So when the high call sounded, there was he
Ablest in war-craft, apt for strenuous deed—
No nobler weapon in God's armoury—
Fashioned and tempered to his country's need.
Ablest in war-craft, apt for strenuous deed—
No nobler weapon in God's armoury—
Fashioned and tempered to his country's need.
97
Type of our knightliest who have fought and bled
And suffered, ever first upon the foe,
Yet gentle ever, and loved by those he led,
Such was the youth, and such the man we know.
And suffered, ever first upon the foe,
Yet gentle ever, and loved by those he led,
Such was the youth, and such the man we know.
Now grave and great, returning to lay down
His laurelled sword, haply no more to roam,
And wearing on white locks a threefold crown—
Age, grief, and glory—comes our hero home.
His laurelled sword, haply no more to roam,
And wearing on white locks a threefold crown—
Age, grief, and glory—comes our hero home.
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