LADYSMITH.
BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS.
I.—LADYSMITH OCCUPIED.
Flushed with fight and red with glory,
Conquerors if backward flung,
Fresh from triumphs grim and gory,
Toward the goal the Army swung;
Splendid, but with recent laurels
Dimmed by shadow of defeat,
Thirsting yet for nobler quarrels—
Never dreaming of retreat.
Day by day they grimly struggled,
Early on and on till late;
Night by night with doom they juggled,
Dodging Death and fighting Fate.
Not a murmur once was spoken,
Stern endurance still unspent,
As with spirit all unbroken
On the bitter march they went.
Still with weary steps that stumbled
Forward moved that constant tread,
Sleepless, silent, and unhumbled,
On and on the army sped,
Noble sons of noble mothers,
Proud of home and kin and kith,
Brothers to the aid of brothers,
On and on to Ladysmith.
There, through smoke of onset rifted,
Soldiers who disdained to yield
Had for weal or woe uplifted
England's own broad battle-shield.
Right across the path of pillage
Was that iron rampart thrust,
While beneath it town and village
Safely hid in settled trust.
Frail and open seemed that shelter
And unguarded to the foes,
Helpless, as the fiery welter
Rocked it in volcanic throes;
But there was defence to bind it
With the force of Destiny,
And an Empire stood behind it
Armed in awful majesty.
And no fortress ever moulded
Girt securer chosen space,
Than those unseen walls which folded
In their fear that lonely place.
On its Outposts far the scourges
Fell with wrath and crimson rain,
But the fierce assaulting surges
Beat and beat in thunder vain.
II.—LADYSMITH BESIEGED.
There they kept the old flag flying
Day by day and prayed relief,
Weary, wounded, doomed, and dying—
Gallant men and noble chief
By the leaden tempest stricken,
Grandly stood or grandly fell—
Peril had but power to quicken
Faith that owned such holy spell.
Not alone the foe without them
Menaced them with fire and shot,
Sickness creeping round about them,
Fever, dysentery, and rot,
Struck the rider and the stallion,
Making merry as at feast
On the pick of each battalion—
Ruthless, smiting man and beast.
None were spared and nothing holy,
For the fever claimed the best,
Now the high and now the lowly,
Now the baby at the breast,
All obeyed its mandate, drooping
In the fulness of their power,
Old and young before it stooping,
Bud and blossom, fruit and flower.
Hunger blanched their dauntless faces,
Furrowed with the lines of lack,
But with stern and stubborn paces
Still they drove the spoiler back.
Round them drew the iron tether
Tighter, but they kept their troth,
All for England's sake together—
Soldier and civilian both.
Death and ruin knock and enter,
Hearts may break and homesteads burn,
Yet from that lone faithful centre
Flashed red vengeance in return;
Guardian guns thence hurled defiance
From the brave who lightly took
All their blows in brave reliance,
Which no tempest ever shook.
Hand to hand they strove and wrestled
Stoutly for that pearl of pride,
Where mid flame and woe it nestled
Down with danger at its side.
Yet like boys released from class time,
Though the blast destroying blew,
There they played and found a pastime
While the Flag unconquered flew.
III.—LADYSMITH RELIEVED.
Then, when all seemed lost but glory
With the lustre which it gave,
And Relief an idle story
Murmured by a sealed grave;
While with pallid lips they reckoned
Darkly the enduring days
Famished, lo! Deliverance beckoned
Surely after long delays.
Wave on wave of martial beauty,
Dashed upon those deadly rocks
At the simple call of duty,
And were broken by the shocks.
Yet that chivalry of splendour,
Though baptized in blood and fire,
Had no thought of mean surrender
Never breathed the word retire.
Still they weighed the dreadful chances,
Still they gathered up their strength,
By invincible advances
Steeled to win the prize at length.
Fate-like their resolve to sever
Those gaunt bonds of grim despair,
And within the breach for ever
England's honour to repair.
Came relief at last, endeavour,
Stern, magnificent, and true,
Hoping on and fighting ever,
Forced its gory passage through.
All the rage of pent-up forces,
All the passion seeking vent
Out of vast and solemn sources,
Here renewed their sacrament;
In the rapture of a greeting
For which thousands fought and bled,
With the saved and saviours meeting
Over our Imperial dead.
Witnesses unseen but tested
Lived again as grander men,
And their awful shadow rested
With a benediction then;
One who with his wondrous talent
Conquered more than even the sword,
And among the gay and gallant
By his pen was crownéd lord.
There they lie in silence lowly
Which no battle now can wake,
And the ground is ever holy
For our English heroes' sake.