Who carries the gun?
A lad from London town.
Then let him go, for well we know
The stuff that never backs down.
He has learned to joke at the powder smoke,
For he is the fog-smoke’s sun,
And his heart is light, and his pluck is right—
The man who carries the gun.
Who carries the gun?
A lad from the Emerald Isle.
Then let him go, for well we know
We’ve tried him many a while.
We’ve tried him East, we’ve tried him West,
We’ve tried him sea and land,
But the man to beat old Erin’s best
Has never yet been planned.
Who carries the gun?
It’s you, and you, and you;
So let us go, and we won’t say no
If they give us a job to do.
Here we stand with a cross-linked hand,
Comrades every one;
So one last cup, and drink it up
To the man who carries the gun?
For the Colonel rides before,
The Major’s on the flank,
The Captains and the Adjutant
Are in the foremost rank.
And when it’s ‘Action front!’
And there’s fighting to be done,
Come one, come all, you stand or fall
By the man who carries the gun.
Arthur Conan Doyle.
PAIN
CXI
OUR DEAD
Sye, do yer ’ear thet bugle callin’
Sutthink stringe through the city’s din?
Do yer shut yer eyes when the evenin’ ’s fallin’,
An’ see quite plain wheer they’re fallin’ in?
An’ theer ain’t no sarnd as they falls in,
An’ they mawch quick step with a silent tread
Through all ar ’earts, through all ar ’earts,
The Comp’ny of ar Dead.