The dark Redan, in silent scoff, Lay grim and threatening under; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff No longer belched its thunder.
There was a pause. A guardsman said, “We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow.”
They lay along the battery’s side, Below the smoking cannon, Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, And from the banks of Shannon.
They sang of love, and not of fame; Forgot was Britain’s glory: Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang “Annie Lawrie.”
Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,— Their battle-eve confession.