ALL THE DIFFERENCE.
Seniores priores? Rude Rads, and some Tories,
Would make that apply to mere manner of exit.
If the "Spirit of Eld" is in charge of our glories,
Why wantonly vex it?
That Spirit of Eld is the "note" of our era.
Grand old men—and women—at bossing are busy.
Youth? Stuff! Callow youth was indeed the chimera
Of dandyish Dizzy.
But that was when Dizzy, himself young—and curly—
Was Vivian Grey, not the Primrose Dames' darling.
The Great Earl himself did not dominate early.
Oh, out on such snarling!
Old ways, and old wines, and old warriors for ever!
(Or, if not for ever, a whacking big slice of it.)
Great Senex from service 'twere folly to sever,
Whilst winning the price of it.
Retirement is not your true militaire's virtue;
To "beat the retreat" irks us all, dukes or drummers.
Let Winter hold sway, then—it cannot much hurt you—
For—say x—more summers!
True Hannibal, Gaston de Foix, Alexander,
Napoleon, Don John, the Great Condé, and Cortes
Were types of the true, adolescent commander,
And swayed ere their forties.
Still, they were god-loved and died young, like our Sidney,
But Genius is versatile, Nature is various;
All heroes are not of the same "kiddish" kidney,
Ask—say—Belisarius!
To grudge him his obolus ("screw" as we name it)
Because he has drawn it a few years—say fifty—
If Rads had a conscience at all, Sir, would shame it!
But Rads are so—thrifty!
For fellows like Wolseley or Roberts, retirement
Is all very well; they've no call for to stop, Sir.
But oh! for an Army the master requirement
Is grey hairs—a-top, Sir!
