FALL OF SEBASTOPOL.
1855.
"Advance!" was the cry that shot up to the sky
When the dawn of the day had begun;
And the steel glistened bright in the glad golden light
Of a glorious Eastern sun.
And the words rang clear, with no trembling fear—
"Brave Britons! on you I rely!"
And the answer pealed out with a mighty shout—
"Sebastopol falls, or we die!"
Advance!—Advance!—Men of England and France!
"Sebastopol falls, or we die!"
Now the death-storm pours, and the smoke up-soars,
And the battle rages with furious might,
And the red blood streams, and the fire-flash gleams,
And the writhing thousands—God! God! what a sight.
The hoarse-throated cannon belch fiery breath,
And hurl forth the murderous rain,
Which dances along on its message of death,
And sings o'er the dying and slain!
Crash! Crash! Then a leap and a dash!
Hand to hand—face to face, goes the fight;
The bayonets plunge, and the red streams plash,
And up goes a shout of delight—
"The enemy runs!—Men flinch from their guns!
On! Forward! For God and for Right!
Advance!—Advance!—Men of England and France!
Press forward, for Freedom and Right!
On—On—On! Hurrah! the goal's won;
See! the old colours flutter and dance,
And proudly they wave over Tyranny's grave:
Well done! Men of England and France—Hurrah!
Hurrah! for old England and France!"