IVE us a song!” the soldiers cried,

The outer trenches guarding,

When the heated guns of the camps allied

Grew weary of bombarding.

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,