  Zlobane is the name of the mountain which was taken by storm from the Zulus by the British forces on the morning of the 28th of March, 1879. On the top of this mountain the victorious English troops, who had unsaddled their horses and cast themselves down to rest, were surprised and surrounded by the Zulus. Of the British corps only one captain and six men escaped. The young hero of the ballad was the son of Colonel Weatherly. As swayeth in the summer wind The close and stalwart grain, So moved the serried Zulu shields That day on wild Zlobane; The white shield of the husband, Who hath twice need of life, The black shield of the young chief, Who hath not yet a wife. Unrecking harm, the British lay, Secure as if they slept, While close on front and either flank The live, black crescent crept. Then burst their wild and frightful cry Upon the British ears, With whirr of bullets, glare of shields, And flash of Zulu spears. Uprose the British; in the shock Reeled but an instant; then, Shoulder to shoulder, faced the foe, And met their doom like men. But one was there whose heart was torn, In a more awful strife; He had the soldier’s steady nerve, And calm disdain of life; Yet now, half turning from the fray, Knee smiting against knee, He scanned the hills, if yet were left An open way to flee. Not for himself. His little son, Scarce thirteen summers born, With hair that shone upon his brows Like tassels of the corn, And lips yet curled in that sweet pout Shaped by the mother’s breast, Stood by his side, and silently To his brave father pressed. The horse stood nigh; the father kissed, And tossed the boy astride. “Farewell!” he cried, “and for thy life, That way, my darling, ride!” Scarce touched the saddle ere the boy Leaped lightly to the ground, And smote the horse upon its flank, That with a quivering bound It sprang and galloped for the hills, With one sonorous neigh; The fire flashed where its spurning feet Clanged o’er the stony way. “Father, I’ll die with you!” The sire As this he saw and heard, Turned, and stood breathless in the joy And pang that knows no word. Once, each, as do long knitted friends, Upon the other smiled, And then—he had but time to give A weapon to the child Ere, leaping o’er the British dead, The supple Zulus drew The cruel assegais, and first The younger hero slew. Still grew the father’s heart, his eye Bright with unflickering flame: Five Zulus bit the dust in death By his unblenching aim. Then, covered with uncounted wounds, He sank beside his child, And they who found them say, in death Each on the other smiled. Phrase Exercise.1. Stalwart grain.—2. Serried shields.—3. Unrecking harm.—4. The black crescent crept.—5. Whirr of bullets.—6. Reeled but an instant.—7. Met their doom like men.—8. Awful strife.—9. Calm disdain of life.—10. Shone like tassels of the corn.—11. Sweet pout.—12. Quivering bound.—13. Spurning feet.—14. Unflickering flame.—15. Unblenching aim. |
|
