How many now are left of those whose serried ranks
Were first to land on Eupatoria’s hostile shore;
Who rushed victoriously up the Alma’s banks,
And won the primal honours of that mighty war?
Theirs were the fadeless laurels!—yet not theirs alone,
Who bore the stern privations of that Eastern camp:—
Scutari’s coronet of glory is thine own,
O Florence Nightingale, dear
Lady with the Lamp.
Major A. St. John Seally.