WHEN I lie dying in my bed,

A grief to wife, and child, and friend,—

How I shall grudge you gallant dead

Your sudden, swift, heroic end!

Dear hands will minister to me,

Dear eyes deplore each shallower breath:

You had your battle-cries, you three,

To cheer and charm you to your death.

You did not wane from worse to worst,

Under coarse drug or futile knife,

But in one grand mad moment burst

From glorious life to glorious Life....

These twenty years ago and more,

'Mid purple heather and brown crag,

Our whole school numbered scarce a score,

And three have fallen for the Flag.

You two have finished on one side,

You who were friend and foe at play;

Together you have done and died;

But that was where you learnt the way.

And the third face! I see it now,

So delicate and pale and brave.

The clear grey eye, the unruffled brow,

Were ripening for a soldier's grave.

Ah! gallant three, too young to die!

The pity of it all endures.

Yet, in my own poor passing, I

Shall lie and long for such as yours.