[XI. ADVANCE AND RETREAT]
What rights are his that dare not strike for them?
Tennyson.
Kabul town’s by Kabul river—
Blow the bugle, draw the sword—
There I lef’ my mate for ever,
Wet an’ drippin’ by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
There’s the river up and brimmin’, and there’s ’arf a squadron swimmin’