A batch of war ballads By Martin F. Tupper |
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| II. |
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| VI. |
| VII. | VII.
TO THE SOLDIERS. |
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 | A batch of war ballads |  |
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VII. TO THE SOLDIERS.
Soldiers! best of friends to Peace
When you make a Tyrant yield,—
Honour's Watch! the world's Police!
Law's defence, and Order's shield!
Soldiers! glory and success
Shall with laurel shade each brow,
For, while God and Duty bless
You shall march to conquest now!
When you make a Tyrant yield,—
Honour's Watch! the world's Police!
Law's defence, and Order's shield!
Soldiers! glory and success
Shall with laurel shade each brow,
For, while God and Duty bless
You shall march to conquest now!
Prompt and glad to aid the right,
Zealous to avenge the wrong,
Britain's lion in his might
Now uprises stern and strong,—
To deliver them that cry,
And to rescue the opprest,
Righteousness to set on high,
And to crush a despot's crest!
Zealous to avenge the wrong,
Britain's lion in his might
Now uprises stern and strong,—
To deliver them that cry,
And to rescue the opprest,
Righteousness to set on high,
And to crush a despot's crest!
Strange it seems, but it is just
That the Cross and Crescent stand
Thus, to quell a tyrant's lust,
Side by side and hand in hand;
Just, and right, for wrongful Might
Roars in the way a rude wild beast,
And if Man forbears the fight
All are victims, West and East!
That the Cross and Crescent stand
Thus, to quell a tyrant's lust,
Side by side and hand in hand;
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Roars in the way a rude wild beast,
And if Man forbears the fight
All are victims, West and East!
Stolen from their distant homes,
Knouted to the ranks like cattle
Lo! the host of serfdom comes
Sadly sluggishly to battle!
Wretched people, would we might
Save the lives of such poor slaves,—
But to spare them in the fight
Freemen then must fill their graves!
Knouted to the ranks like cattle
Lo! the host of serfdom comes
Sadly sluggishly to battle!
Wretched people, would we might
Save the lives of such poor slaves,—
But to spare them in the fight
Freemen then must fill their graves!
No! with vigour to the fray
Forwards march, and pity not,—
Pick the officers away
With your rifles at long shot,—
Scatter then with grape and shell
Each dull boor and stubborn serf,
Till Wallachia's harvests swell
With half Russia in its turf!
Forwards march, and pity not,—
Pick the officers away
With your rifles at long shot,—
Scatter then with grape and shell
Each dull boor and stubborn serf,
Till Wallachia's harvests swell
With half Russia in its turf!
No half-measures! gun to gun,
Man to man, and horse to horse,
Quickly do what must be done,
Battle down this Bear by force!
No more tenderness! the time
For such tameness now is past,—
Sternly let us kill the crime,
To make sure it is the last!
Man to man, and horse to horse,
Quickly do what must be done,
Battle down this Bear by force!
No more tenderness! the time
For such tameness now is past,—
Sternly let us kill the crime,
To make sure it is the last!
| A batch of war ballads | |