Then well each gallant seaman plied
The swift but steady oar,
And soon our troops in martial pride
Stood on the Crimean shore-
Near sixty thousand valiant men-
But ne'er a foe they met,
The battle-cry was "Onward!" then,
"We'll find the Russian yet.
What though he couches in his lair,
We'll raze his granite wall;
There's honour for the brave to share-
Sebastopol must fall!"
Now side by side the hosts advance-
Two nations but as one;
Hurrah for England! Vive la France!
At last the work's begun.
From Alma's heights the desp'rate foe
Pour dreadful volleys down,
But on the breathless heroes go
To gather fresh renown.
Hurrah! their ranks begin to reel
One gallant charge-they runThey can't withstand the British steelThe victory is won!
At Inkermann the Russian sought
The mastery there to gain,
In vain, the brave allies he fought
Still masters of the plain;
Outnumber'd, still they would not yield—
They knew not how to fly,
Resolved on that dread battle-field
To conquer or to die!
The flags of France and Britain still
Shall wave on those proud towers,
The sword shall ne'er be sheath'd until
Sebastopol is ours!
COURAGE COURAGE, HEARTS OF
Courage-courage, hearts of England,
And be not yet dismay'd,
Your dearly-purchased laurels
Are destin'd not to fade;
The same old martial spirit
Our brave forefathers knew
Has to our sons descended,
And they shall conquer too!
Courage-maids and wives of England,
Though fast your tears may flow,
Think they but sleep in glory
Who fell beneath the foe;
Weep on-but still remember
Brave hearts now proudly swell,
Who nobly will avenge them
Who in the battle fell.
Courage-courage, men of England,
And pour your legions forth;
The star of glory lights them
To honour, in the North!
Send forth your best and bravest,
Nor furl the flag again,
That, as of old, triumphant,
Still floats upon the main!
THE BRITISH LIGHT BRIGADE.
'Twas when the fight was at the height,
Nor yet the battle won,
The Russian horde their volleys pour'd,
And thunder'd every gun.
When day seem'd night, and might seem'd right,
And past all human aid,
To Britain true that gallant few
Was then the Light Brigade.
We've read of old of heroes bold,
But all their deeds must fade,
As time records and fame rewards
The British Light Brigade.
But what were they to win the day?
They stood six hundred then,
While down below, a mile or so,
Were twenty thousand men;
And on their flank rode many a rank-
In front the cannon play'd-
But Raglan knew how brave and true
He'd find the Light Brigade.
We've read of old, &c.
The order came-" "The guns reclaim !"
Each leader held his breath;
What men could dare they'd brave and share,
But there was certain death!
'Twas waste of life-unequal strife,-
"No matter," Nolan said;
"There stands your foe!"-away they go― The gallant Light Brigade.
We've read of old, &c.
As lightning's stroke brings down the oak,
So through their foes they pass:
They strew'd the ground with dead around,
They mowed them down like grass.
Upon the plain they came again-
The order was obey'd,-
One laurel more then Britain wore,-
But where the Light Brigade?
We've read of old, &c.
When Cambridge scann'd his broken band,
The gallant soldier wept,
And more than man felt Cardigan,
As from his steed he leapt ;
Then who dare say, that come what may,
Of numbers they're afraid,
When ten to one the Russians run
From the British Light Brigade.
We've read of old, &c.
WHAT SHALL THE SOLDIER'S
WATCHWORD BE?
What shall the soldier's watchword be,
Fighting afar o'er the distant sea?
What are his thoughts when he's forced to roamAre they not all of his own dear home?
Yes, but his courage fails not there,
Hard though the lot that he's forced to bear; "The grave of a hero or victory!"
This shall the soldier's watchword be!
What shall the soldier's watchword be,
Pacing the trenches with tired knee?
Weary and footsore, while still he keeps
Watch while each gallant comrade sleeps?
Does he not think that those starry skies
Shine o'er the cot where his loved one lies?
Yes! but he told her how brave was he!
Her name shall the soldier's watchword be.
What shall the soldier's watchword be?
Worthy the land whose sons are free!
When the shrill trumpet calls to arms,
Duty! for doubt ne'er his breast alarms;
Charging the foe o'er the rugged ground,
With heart like a lion's that chain ne'er bound,
"Onward! to death or to victory!"
This shall the soldier's watchword be!
In bygone days-what thoughts they raise-
When you and I were young,
About brave Hood and Collingwood
How many a stave we sung.
Each hero's name then dear to fame
We cheer'd with all our might,
Because they cared for those who shared
The dangers of the fight.
I don't mean now to disallow
That chieftains brave have we,
When I sing the soldiers' battle,
The soldiers' victory!
'Twas from the heights of Inkermann,
All hid by mist and rain,
The Russian pour'd a countless horde
Of troops across the plain.
There was not light to see to fight,
But they their way could feel,
And soon the foe was made to know
The force of British steel.
Won inch by inch they did not flinch,
At last they made them flee;
That was the soldiers' battle,
The soldiers' victory!
'Twas Wellington, at Waterloo,
The Frenchman's valour tried;
Now, strange to see what things may be,
We're fighting side by side.
Well! we forget and they forgive,
For both have bravely done,
And friends again must so remain,
Since Inkermann was won.
'Tis hard to say, on that proud day,
Which fought most gallantly,
But 'twas the soldiers' battle,
The soldiers' victory!
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