  Gordon is dead: and lo! the unconscious wire Carries the mournful message on its way, Girdling the globe with news of direst truth, From Egypt’s minarets to broad Cathay. The Christian soldier, and the Christian man, Sleeps by the side of Nile’s historic wave, Rescued by Death, his freedom is secured, And now he wears the garments of the brave. In vain the stubborn fight of Abu Klea; In vain Metammeh’s more than brilliant charge; Gordon is dead; England is craped in black, And funeral echoes pall the world at large. ’Twas treachery that struck the fatal blow; Traitors within the walls of far Khartoum, Laid the invincible for ever low, And sealed their own irrevocable doom. Vengeance is sometimes slow but always sure, The might of England rushes to the fray, Even now the Mahdi’s reign is almost o’er; Vengeance is England’s, and she will repay. Forward, Sir Garnet! even here our eyes And ears are strained for victory’s sights and sounds; We wait for tidings, for indeed we know In British armour bravery still abounds. Forward! and soon the victory shall be yours, Avenge the slaughtered dead about Khartoum, Nail to the colours England’s last commands, Stern and sincere, “Room for Sir Garnet, room!” Forward; and drive the Arab hordes beyond The reach of Nile’s exhilarating flood, And teach fanaticism what it means To traffic heedlessly in Christian blood. Garret Brown. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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