Ah! who shall declare what brave deeds were done,
Ere the world woke again to the light of the sun?
For twelve long, long hours we stood at our posts,
And beat back, how often! the enemy’s hosts.
We had our revenge for the blood that was shed,
At dark “Isandhlwana”—they paid for our dead.
“Hurrah, how we fought for Old England.”
Day broke, and the devils had silently gone,
We counted their dead, more than twenty to one!
Our loss was Fifteen—so we set up a shout
That frightened the vultures slow sailing about.
. . . . . . . . . .
In the heart thrill of nations will live your reward,
Oh! brave “Twenty-fourth,” oh! brave Bromhead and Chard—
“Hurrah, how you fought for Old England.”
A. Brodrick.
Pretoria, 1882.
BEFORE ULUNDI.
We had to retreat, entirely by Zulus surrounded—
We had to retreat, but we cut our way through as you know.
Bold Beresford lingered, while loudly the bugle was sounded,
And turned in his saddle to take a last look at the foe.
A trooper’s horse dropped; its rider lay stunned for a minute—
But quick as the lightning the storm-cloud in summer reveals,
A voice cried, “Come, quick! see the stirrup—now set your foot in it—
And jump up behind, for the devils are close to our heels.”
“No, here I’ll remain. Go on, and don’t mind me, your honour,
Ride on, save yourself, if I’m killed I shall never be missed.”
But the mare had to carry that day double burden upon her—
“Come up, or by heaven, I’ll give you the weight of my fist.”