Flushed with fight and red with glory,
Conquerors if backward flung,
Fresh from triumphs grim and gory,
Toward the goal the Army swung;
Splendid, but with recent laurels
Dimmed by shadow of defeat,
Thirsting yet for nobler quarrels--
Never dreaming of retreat.
Day by day they grimly struggled,
Early on and on till late;
Night by night with doom they juggled,
Dodging Death and fighting Fate.
Not a murmur once was spoken,
Stern endurance still unspent,
As with spirit all unbroken
On the bitter march they went.
Still with weary steps that stumbled
Forward moved that constant tread,
Sleepless, silent, and unhumbled,
On and on the army sped,
Noble sons of noble mothers,
Proud of home and kin and kith,
Brothers to the aid of brothers,
On and on to Ladysmith.
There, through smoke of onset rifted,
Soldiers who disdained to yield
Had for weal or woe uplifted
England's own broad battle-shield.
Right across the path of pillage
Was that iron rampart thrust,
While beneath it town and village
Safely hid in settled trust.
Frail and open seemed that shelter
And unguarded to the foes,
Helpless, as the fiery welter
Rocked it in volcanic throes;
But there was defence to bind it
With the force of Destiny,
And an Empire stood behind it
Armed in awful majesty.
And no fortress ever moulded
Girt securer chosen space,
Than those unseen walls which folded
In their fear that lonely place.
On its Outposts far the scourges
Fell with wrath and crimson rain,
But the fierce assaulting surges
Beat and beat in thunder vain.