Successful Recitations Part 43

While the mare which oft had eaten From my hand, caressed, unbeaten, Left her master doomed, alone.

Limply then I lay in dread, Racked with torture, sick and under-- Hearing, as through vapours red And with reeling heart and head, Hoofs of thunder!

Was I dreaming? By the boulder Where I huddled as I fell, Stood the steed beside my shoulder Faithful, fain to serve me well.

Whinnying softly, then, to screen me From the foe, she knelt between me And that circling human h.e.l.l.

Tenderly she touched my face With the nose that knew my petting, Ripe for the last glorious race And her comrade's own embrace-- Unforgetting!

O her haunches heaved and quivered With the pa.s.sion freely brought For the life to be delivered, Though she first with demons fought; While her large eyes gleamed and glistened And her ears down-pointing listened, Waiting for the answer sought.

Till a sudden wave of might Set me once again astraddle On the seat of saving flight, Plucked from very jaws of night-- Boot and saddle!

THE MIDNIGHT CHARGE.

BY CLEMENT SCOTT.

Pa.s.s the word to the boys to-night!--lying about midst dying and dead!-- Whisper it low; make ready to fight! stand like men at your horses'

head!

Look to your stirrups and swords, my lads, and into your saddles your pistols thrust; Then setting your teeth as your fathers did, you'll make the enemy bite the dust!

What did they call us, boys, at home?--"Feather-bed soldiers!"-- faith, it's true!

"Kept to be seen in her Majesty's parks, and mightily smart at a grand review!"

Feather-bed soldiers? Hang their chaff! Where in the world, I should like to know, When a war broke out and the country called, was an English soldier sorry to go?

Brothers in arms and brothers in heart! cavalry! infantry! there and then; No matter what careless lives they lived, they were ready to die like Englishmen!

So pa.s.s the word! in the sultry night, Stand to your saddles! make ready to fight!

We are sick to death of the scorching sun, and the desert stretching for miles away; We are all of us longing to get at the foe, and sweep the sand with our swords to-day!

Our horses look with piteous eyes--they have little to eat, and nothing to do; And the land around is horribly white, and the sky above is terribly blue.

But it's over now, so the Colonel says: he is ready to start, we are ready to go: And the cavalry boys will be led by men--Ewart! and Russell! and Drury-Lowe!

Just once again let me stroke the mane--let me kiss the neck and feel the breath Of the good little horse who will carry me on to the end of the battle--to life or death!

"Give us a grip of your fist, old man!" let us all keep close when the charge begins!

G.o.d is watching o'er those at home! G.o.d have mercy on all our sins!

So pa.s.s the word in the dark, and then, When the bugle sounds, let us mount like men!

Out we went in the dead of the night! away to the desert, across the sand-- Guided alone by the stars of Heaven! a speechless host! a ghostly band!

No cheery voice the silence broke; forbidden to speak, we could hear no sound But the whispered words, "Be firm, my boys!" and the horses' hoofs on the sandy ground.

"What were we thinking of then?" Look here! if this is the last true word I speak, I felt a lump in my throat--just here--and a tear came trickling down my cheek.

If a man dares say that I funked, he lies! But a man is a man though he gives his life For his country's, cause, as a soldier should--he has still got a heart for his child and wife!

But I still rode on in a kind of dream; I was thinking of home and the boys--and then The silence broke! and, a bugle blew! then a voice rang cheerily, "Charge, my men!"

So pa.s.s the word in the thick of the fight, For England's honour and England's right!

What is it like, a cavalry charge in the dead of night? I can scarcely tell, For when it is over it's like a dream, and when you are in it a kind of h.e.l.l!

I should like you to see the officers lead--forgetting their swagger and Bond Street air-- Like brothers and men at the head of the troop, while bugles echo and troopers dare!

With a rush we are in it, and hard at work--there's scarcely a minute to think or pause-- For right and left we are fighting hard for the regiment's honour and country's cause!

Feather-bed warriors! On my life, be they Life Guards red or Horse Guards blue, They haven't lost much of the pluck, my boys, that their fathers showed us at Waterloo!

It isn't for us, who are soldiers bred, to chatter of wars, be they wrong or right; We've to keep the oath that we gave our QUEEN! and when we are in it--we've got to fight!

So pa.s.s the word, without any noise, Bravo, Cavalry! Well done, boys!

Pa.s.s the word to the boys to-night, now that the battle is fairly won.

A message has come from the EMPRESS-QUEEN--just what we wanted-- a brief "Well done!"

The sword and stirrup are sorely stained, and the pistol barrels are empty quite, And the poor old charger's piteous eyes bear evidence clear of the desperate fight.

There's many a wound and many a gash, and the sun-burned face is scarred and red; There's many a trooper safe and sound, and many a tear for the "pal"

who's dead!

I care so little for rights and wrongs of a terrible war; but the world at large-- It knows so well when duty's done!--it will think sometimes of our cavalry charge!

Brothers in arms and brothers in heart! we have solemnly taken an oath! and then, In all the battles throughout the world, we have followed our fathers like Englishmen!

So pa.s.s this blessing the lips between-- 'Tis the soldier's oath--G.o.d SAVE THE QUEEN.

MAFEKING.

"_ADSUM!_"

BY REV. A. FREWEN AYLWARD.

At the evening roll call at the "Charterhouse" School, where Baden-Powell was educated, it is customary for the boys to respond to the call of their names by saying "Adsum--I'm here!"

Oft as the shades of evening fell, In the school-boy days of old,-- The form work done, or the game played well,-- Clanging aloft the old school bell Uttered its summons bold; And a bright lad answered the roll call clear, "Adsum,--I'm here!"

A foe-girt town and a captain true Out on the Afric plain;-- High overhead his Queen's flag flew, But foes were many and friends but few; Who shall guard that flag from stain?

And calm 'mid confusion a voice rang clear, "Adsum,--I'm here!"

The slow weeks pa.s.sed, and no succour came, Famine and death were rife; Yet still that banner of deathless fame, Floated, unsullied by fear or shame, Over the scene of strife; And the voice,--though weaker--was full of cheer, "Adsum,--I'm here!"

Heaven send, that when many a heart's dismayed, In dark days yet in store,-- Should foemen gather; or, faith betrayed, The country call for a strong man's aid As she never called before,-- A voice like his may make answer clear, Banishing panic, and calming fear, "Adsum,--I'm here!"

THE FIGHT AT RORKE'S DRIFT

(January 23, 1879.)

BY EMILY PFEIFFER.

It was over at Isandula, the b.l.o.o.d.y work was done, And the yet unburied dead looked up unblinking at the sun; Eight hundred men of Britain's best had signed with blood the story Which England leaves to time, and lay there scanted e'en of glory.

Stewart Smith lay smiling by the gun he spiked before he died; But gallant Gardner lived to write a warning and to ride A race for England's honour and to cross the Buffalo, To bid them at Rorke's Drift expect the coming of the foe.

That band of l.u.s.ty British lads camped in the hostile land Rose up upon the word with Chard and Bromhead to command; An hour upon the foe that hardy race had barely won, But in it all that men could do those British lads had done.

And when the Zulus on the hill appeared, a dusky host, They found our gallant English boys' 'pale faces' at their post; But paler faces were behind, within the barricade-- The faces of the sick who rose to give their watchers aid.

Five men to one the first dark wave of battle brought, it bore Down swiftly, while our youngsters waited steadfast as the sh.o.r.e; Behind the slender barricade, half-hidden, on their knees, They marked the stealthy current glide beneath the orchard trees.

Then forth the volley blazed, then rose the deadly reek of war; The dusky ranks were thinned; the chieftain slain by young Dunbar, Rolled headlong and their phalanx broke, but formed as soon as broke, And with a yell the furies that avenge man's blood awoke.