Here they halted, here once more
Hand from hand was rent;
Here his voice above the roar
Rang, and on they went.
Yonder out of sight they crossed,
Yonder died the cheers;
One word lives where all is lost—-
"Forward, Grenadiers!"
This alone he asked of fame,
This alone of pride;
Still with this he faced the flame,
Answered Death, and died.
Crest of battle sunward tossed,
Song of the marching years,
This shall live though all be lost—-
"Forward, Grenadiers!"
The Schoolfellow
Our game was his but yesteryear;
We wished him back; we could not know
The self-same hour we missed him here
He led the line that broke the foe.
Blood-red behind our guarded posts
Sank as of old and dying day;
The battle ceased; the mingled hosts
Weary and cheery went their way:
"To-morrow well may bring," we said,
"As fair a fight, as clear a sun."
Dear lad, before the world was sped,
For evermore thy goal was won.
On Spion Kop
Foremost of all on battle's fiery steep
Here VERTUE fell, and here he sleeps his sleep.*
A fairer name no Roman ever gave
To stand sole monument on Valour's grave.
* Major N. H. Vertue, of the Buffs, Brigade-Major to General Woodgate, was buried where he fell, on the edge of Spion Kop, in front of the British position.
The School At War