  On the wild river’s bank two horsemen appear, They are bearers of tidings that fill them with fear; “Haste, put us across, and prepare for the fight, The Zulus are out in their uttermost might; They rushed on our camp like a dark hungry flood, And their spears are all red with our countrymen’s blood.” “Hurrah, we will fight for Old England.” We heard them, a moment our pulses stood still, Then went we to work with a heart and a will— Two stores to defend—with a hundred, all told, And thirty sick mates. “Come, boys, let’s be bold; Let’s fasten the waggons together with chain, And build up our ramparts with sacks full of grain.” “Hurrah, we will fight for Old England.” What is that coming on like a herd of black game, Round the hill to the south, with the speed of a flame, With feathery plumes like wild manes flaunting high, And a sound like a myriad wings in the sky? The Zulus! for now in the sun’s glance appears The quivering lightning-like sheen of their spears. “Now, boys, let us fight for Old England.” They are on us! Six hundred at first, with wild cries— The lust of the battle still red in their eyes— The blood of our comrades still wet on each blade, And see! there come thousands behind to their aid— All firm and unbroken our little camp stands. “Hurrah, we will fight for Old England.” It stands like a rock the Atlantic’s wild wave Breaks over and harms not.—We took and we gave— They leapt on our “walls” with stab, hiss, and yell— They came on in thousands, dark legions from hell! Our bayonets were ready, our rifles were there, And their small tongues of flame spoke of death in the air! “Hurrah, how we fought for Old England.” They took half our fort—foot by foot—inch by inch— They lighted the roof, and yet none would flinch; We threw up another redoubt with the maize, And fought by the light of the hospital blaze When the darkness came down—and all through the night Surrounded, we kept up the terrible fight. “Hurrah, how we fought for Old England!” Ah! who shall declare what brave deeds were done, Ere the world woke again to the light of the sun? For twelve long, long hours we stood at our posts, And beat back, how often! the enemy’s hosts. We had our revenge for the blood that was shed, At dark “Isandhlwana”—they paid for our dead. “Hurrah, how we fought for Old England.” Day broke, and the devils had silently gone, We counted their dead, more than twenty to one! Our loss was Fifteen—so we set up a shout That frightened the vultures slow sailing about. . . . . . . . . . . In the heart thrill of nations will live your reward, Oh! brave “Twenty-fourth,” oh! brave Bromhead and Chard— “Hurrah, how you fought for Old England.” A. Brodrick. Pretoria, 1882. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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