Page:Decisive Battles Since Waterloo.djvu/171

Rh THE SONG OF THE CAMP.

"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried,
 * The outer trenches guarding,

When the heated guns of the camps allied
 * Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,
 * Lay, grim and threatening under;

And the tawny mound of the Malakoff
 * No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. The guardsman said:
 * "We storm the forts to-morrow;

Sing while we may, another day
 * Will bring enough of sorrow."

They lay along the battery's side,
 * Below the smoking cannon:

Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,
 * And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love, and not of fame;
 * Forgot was Britain's glory:

Each heart recalled a different name,
 * But all sang "Annie Laurie."

Voice after voice caught up the song,
 * Until its tender passion

Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,—
 * Their battle-eve confession.

Dear girl, her name he dared not speak,
 * But, as the song grew louder,

Something upon the soldier's cheek
 * Washed off the stains of powder.

Beyond the darkening ocean burned
 * The bloody sunset's embers,

While the Crimean valleys learned
 * How English blood remembers.

And once again a fire of hell
 * Rained on the Russian quarters,

With scream of shot, and burst of shell,
 * And bellowing of the mortars.