“Our Boys” came back when their work was done;—
O’er river and mountain their march had gone,
They had stood on Umtata’s farther shore,
Where no white man’s army had stood before.
The foe is scattered,—the land is swept,
By the bands in the rear the “drifts” are kept.
But the toil is telling,—the steeds fail fast;
Umtata’s battle must be the last.
Proud the dismissal “our Boys” receive:—
“First in the field, and the last to leave.”
Prouder the welcome awaiting them here,
As the end of the homeward march draws near.
The cannon is booming!—“They come! They come!”
And the crowds thicken fast at the “Welcome Home!”
Where pennons are streaming, and banners wave,
To hail the return of the youthful brave.
Dark through the dust-cloud the column nears,
And hearts are throbbing ’midst rising tears.
Mothers and sisters, with straining eyes,
Are striving to pierce the strange disguise
In which toil, and combat, and dust, and storms
Have almost hidden the well-known forms
Of sons and brothers long lost from view,
And now emerging to life anew.
To the burst of “The conquering heroes come;”
To the tenderer strains of “Home, sweet home!”
Their march holds still through the thronging crowd,
While kerchiefs are waving, and cheers ring loud,
Till they halt at the spot where the march began,
When they started to join the army’s van.
“Our Boys” had come back to rest awhile;—
To sun each heart in a mother’s smile;—
To tell in a sister’s or loved one’s arms
The thoughts that had cheered them ’midst war’s alarms.
And fathers were waiting with hearts that swell,
To learn if their “lads” had borne them well,—
And the warrior spirit had waked to life
In the first strange vision of mortal strife.
And little prattlers were waiting there
More eager than any to claim their share,
Looking with wondering hearts and eyes
On trophy shields and assegais,
And clustering round their knees to know
How their “big brothers” had beaten the foe.
Once more the “Assembly” rings aloud,
And the “Boys” muster fast ’midst the gathering crowd.
They have come their last “Dismiss!” to hear,
And bid good-bye to the camp’s rough cheer,
To shake brave Harvey’s warm right hand,
Who had headed them well through Galekaland.
. . . . . . . . . .
“Boys! I had thought to dissolve your ranks,
And send you home with your country’s thanks.
But again from the mountains the war-cry sounds,
And the tribes on the border are breaking bounds;
The country may need you, hearts and hands,
While taming the pride of the Gaika bands:
Are you willing to answer a second call?”
“Willing! aye Willing! One and All!”
The response rang out, to be drowned among
The echoing cheers of the listening throng;
And if proud we had been of “our Boys” before,
Our triumph and pride gathered head the more,
As they turned from their homes to encamp again,
(With those homes in sight) on the tented plain.
Ready once more, at the trumpet’s clang,
To spring to horse as at first they sprang.
Rev. H. H. Dugmore.