WE weep not for the Heroes whom we never more shall see,

We weep we were not with them in their ruddy revelry!

God of Battles! but 'twere glorious to have mounted Victory's Car,

When the Chivalry of Europe smote the squadrons of the Czar!

'Tis brave, while banners wave, to be where Freedom's Champions are,

And burst upon the Enemy like Gods from clouds of war!

Our Old Land beauteous leans above her darlings as they die,

And, bosom'd in her arms of love, her slain ones richly lie!

We bless'd them for the Battle, who but marcht to the Bier;

Some were riper for the Bridal — some were Fathers gray and sere;

With a kiss for Child and Wife, some went out in War's red wrack;

And to the land that gives us life, Who'd grudge to give it back?

I had a gallant Brother, loved at home, and dear to me —

I have a mourning Mother, winsome Wife, and Children three —

He lies with Balaklava's dead. But let the Old Land call,

And we'd give our living remnant, and we 'd follow one and all!

We speak a few weak words; but, the great hearts gone to God,

They have fought with their Swords — won our battles red

wet-shod!

While we sat at home, brave laurels for our Land they

went to win;

And with smiles Valhalla lightens as those Heroes enter in.

We may never give the Motherland a gift so rich and rare

As they have given, — the jewels of their lives for her to wear.

They bore our Banner fearless to the death, as to the fight,

They lifted England peerless to the old heroic height.

Two Nations join their hands to bring meet tribute unto them!

And Rich and Poor join hearts to sing their regal Requiem.

O, we weep not for the Heroes whom we never more shall see, —

We weep we were not with them in their ruddy revelry.