Vengeance is sometimes slow but always sure,
The might of England rushes to the fray,
Even now the Mahdi’s reign is almost o’er;
Vengeance is England’s, and she will repay.
Forward, Sir Garnet! even here our eyes
And ears are strained for victory’s sights and sounds;
We wait for tidings, for indeed we know
In British armour bravery still abounds.
Forward! and soon the victory shall be yours,
Avenge the slaughtered dead about Khartoum,
Nail to the colours England’s last commands,
Stern and sincere, “Room for Sir Garnet, room!”
Forward; and drive the Arab hordes beyond
The reach of Nile’s exhilarating flood,
And teach fanaticism what it means
To traffic heedlessly in Christian blood.
Garret Brown.
EPITAPH ON A DIAMOND DIGGER.
Here lies a digger, all his chips departed—
A splint of nature, bright, and ne’er down-hearted:
He worked in many claims, but now (though stumped)
He’s got a claim above that can’t be jumped.
May he turn out a pure and spotless “wight,”
When the Great Judge shall sift the wrong from right,
And may his soul, released from this low Babel,
Be found a gem on God’s great sorting table.
A. Brodrick.
Kimberley, 1875.