Blow the bugle! sound the trumpet
Let the clarion's thrilling cry,
Borne upon the passing breezes,
Speak defiance far and nigh!
Let the ringing echoes wake
The stillness of the autumn day,
Where the little band of horsemen
Wait the signal for the fray!
Few they are, but every breast
Is swelling with a purpose high,
And a stern resolve is flushing
In the light of every eye
One the thought in every bosom,
One the dearest wish for all,-
If it may not be to conquer,
Yet for Britain's sake to fall I
Blow the bugle! ! sound the trumpet!
Let the glorious pennons wave,
Gaily floating in the sunlight
O'er the helmets of the brave
For, at last the word is given,
And, to battle for the right,
See the little band of horsemen
Riding onward to the fight!
Not to snatch an easy triumph.
Not to chase a flying foe,
Not to meet in equal conflict-
Man to man and blow to blow;
Not with any hope of bringing
Proudly back the victory
But when duty leads them onward,
They are riding forth to die!
[144]
For the path of honour lies
Across a long and rugged plain,
Where each onward stride is measured
By the fall of comrade slain.
See the dark and serried masses
Of the foeman far away,
And on either side the cannon
Grimly waiting for their prey
Blow the bugle! sound the trumpet
Sound it with a solemn strain;
As the noble British horsemen
Ride across the furrowed plain
Twice three hundred light dragoons
In their pageant and their pride
Tell me, who, of all that number,
Shall return at eventide
None of all will play the craven.
None will rein his charger back,
As they press together onward
All along the deadly track.
Fewer still, but still advancing
Till they gain the fatal goal-
Fitting resting-place for heroes,
Where the martial thunders roll
Oh! how sad, and yet how glorious!
Stretched beneath an eastern sky,
Parted not in direst peril,
Side by side the heroes lie.
Far away from lordly castle,
Far away from country home,
Severed each from many a loved one
By the leagues of ocean foam
Weep, oh, weep not for the fallen,
Weep not for the young and brave
Doomed in all their grace and beauty
Thus to find a soldiers grave
[145]
For they died the death of heroes,
Died at duty's stern command,
Died for those they loved in Britain,
Fighting in a foreign land!
Say not, 'twas in vain their promise,
Say not that it was in vain -
All the precious life blood shed
So freely on that gory plain!
Come what may - to fail or conquer
They have nobly done their part.
And their deed of dauntless daring
Strengthens every failing heart.
Speak it not with stern rebuking
To the sordid love of self,
Shames it not their lofty hearing,
Schemes of pleasure or of pelf
Reads it not a lesson to
The lagging soldiers of the cross,
Bidding them to hear unshrinking
Pain and suffering and loss!
Yes, their lofty, proud devotion
Lives enshrined in many a heart,
Nerving many. a wavering spirit
To embrace the noble part,
And to fight life's battle bravely,
Till the sounds of discord cease,
And the strife of earthly passions
Fade before the reign of peace!