  With furious, unabated breath, Swaying backward, forward, with frightful carnage In the cruel revelry of death. And the veil that shrouded all the sky, Made light as day upon the earth and sea, And where the air ships fought on high. All the night Albion had pressed the huge Centre of the foe from line to line, Pressing onward, aye, steadily onward, With deeds of chivalry sublime. CHAPTER V.The intrepid Germans have not made way, But like the rocks they firm abide, And the fiery Gauls dash swift upon them, Like the rise and sweep of ocean’s tide In frenzied fury hurled forward, And rolled backward over all The stern rocks they seethe and roar upon, ere Hurled in ruin to their fall. The far right of the line’s in peril sore At the dawn of another day, And though sorely pressed by the Sultan’s corps, They will die, but never give way. This I saw as the glaring sun uprose, And the conflict still shook the world; And in mighty mass all along the front, The vast foot and horse were hurled. And the earth was heaped and pent with the slain, And their blood like a river ran, And ne’er was witnessed such a battle-scene Since ever this strange world began. And I see through the red rays of the sun A glad sight that my bosom thrills: ’Tis Roberts, debouching in rear of the foe, From the sheltering Himalayan hills. ’Twas he that had disappeared to the right Ere the dreadful conflict began; ’Twas Wolseley’s masterful, strategic stroke— A card in his vast battle plan. With the flower of the Ind and British Guards He fell on the brave Sultan’s rear With half a million of horse and foot, With a prolonged, thunderous cheer. And they shattered the Moslems from right to left, And lent and tore them asunder By the infantry’s fire, and sabre stroke, And the batteries’ awful thunder. Crushed to atoms between the two lines, The Sultan’s ruin is complete, And he lays his flaming scimitar down At the invincible Roberts’ feet. The critical time had now arrived To deliver a crushing blow, And Wolseley redoubled all the fire Of his guns on the suffering foe; And the infantry close up, and again They a devastating fire pour, And the bicycle corps and quick-fire guns Added their fierce and incessant roar. And from the crimson clouds his aerial ships Hurl their cruel and deadly rain, Shattering the foe in the lines below And rending the stormswept plain. A grand coup de main he had prepared— A thousand electric motor cars, With a hedge of spears on their outward shields That flashed like countless silver stars; Each with a quick-fire gun, and a score of men Held with the reserves in the rear. He sends with a rush all along the lines Those intrepid souls without fear. Forward in line at intervals they sweep With resistless hedge of steel, And the writhing lines of the foe they reach— See! see! they in wild horror reel From the death rush of those wonderful cars That cut them to pieces there, And confusion enters those suffering lines, And a wave of sullen despair. And Wolseley seizes the fateful moment, And rolls forward now the whole line— Seven leagues! seven leagues of front! Irresistible and sublime. “All along their front let the cavalry charge! Crush now their faltering powers! Let the reserves sweep the foe from the field! Complete this day of days, which is ours.” And they swift unfold and sweep o’er the plain, Resistlessly forward everywhere, A fiery mass of heroic chivalry, So glorious and so fair. Like destroying angels they fall on the foe, Rending, destroying all amain, And they reel back in despair, still struggling there, But ever and ever in vain. And the cavalry charged in mighty mass, And the earth rocked beneath their tread, And they shore whole lines into mere fragments, And the fragments in terror fled. The infantry volleyed, and swept the guns, And charged through the flame and smoke, And rent and ruined those wavering lines As through and through them they broke. Thus Albion and her allies rolled on Till from every position driven, Bleeding and torn, ruined, and all forlorn, The foe were cast to the four winds of heaven. Oh, mourn! oh, pity! and weep, all the world; At the close of that awful day Two million of fearless, heroic dead Were hidden forever away! And the sinister skies were cleared again, And the phantoms that fell on the sea, And the fierce crimson clouds faded away, And heaven’s blue shone again o’er me. I heard a song, as of seraphic choirs, And it floated down from above, A most wonderful song of ecstasy, Of rejoicing and infinite love. |
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