Oh, the gallant hearts that are sobbing out their souls, As the chilly night wind searches through the burning bullet holes!

Oh, the writhing mass of pain, close packed with the

tranquil slain,

When the grey morn breaks again o'er the heights that we dared to climb.

Will the bloody day of Alma be the bloodiest to be

won?

Will the mighty fortress crumble before the battering gun?

God knows the end before us: God's hand is over all, To-day, to-morrow, yesterday, to bid us stand or fall; God's peace with the free and the brave, who are left in the soldier's grave

On the heights by the Alma river, their own to the end of time.

HENRY LUSHINGTON

THE MORN OF INKERMAN

In the hour when coldest

Night is mixed with morn,
Came I from the trenches
Utterly outworn.

Thought alike and feeling

In weary watching drowned,

As I was, I flung me

On my bed, the ground.

Instantly before me,

Real as in life,
Dearest, dead or living,
Stood my darling wife.

As in dreams we lose not
All our waking pain;
She was dead, I knew it,
Yet she lived again.

And I said, "Oh, Lucy,

Broken was my heart,

Thou art come, stay with me,
Never will we part."

Came the answer, spoken

In the voice so sweet"Not to-day, beloved, Not to-day we meet.

"Thee shall pass the Angel,
Chooser of the slain;

Thou shalt see our children,
Thine and mine again.

"Not for thy sake, dearest,
Would thou wert with me—
But for theirs I prayed it,

And it so shall be.

"One more kiss, a spirit's,
On thy brow I lay :
Thus I mark thee scatheless

For the coming day."

Into light she faded

Where the morning beamed;

I still sadly dreaming

Thought, "I have but dreamed."

Sudden up I started,

And as day began,

Roared the Russian cannon

Over Inkerman.

INKERMAN

Come listen, you new comers,
You boys from the depot;
You broke my tale of Alma

With many a loud bravo :

But could I tell you truly

What Inkerman was like,

You'd clench your teeth in silence,

As men before they strike.

I came through, by God's mercy, With this scratch above the knee; So first to last I saw it,

All that one man might see.

Oh, the bloody laurels,

The slaughter and the woe!
Dreadful was the battle,

Five to one the foe.

What? You call him coward?

Curse upon him—no.

Stubborn were the vanquished,

Loath and slow to yield:

Never wearied victors

Stood on sterner field.

Long before the morning

O'er the dim cold down

Came the sound of church-bells,

That rang in all the town;

Came there, too, half-muffled
By the ringing loud,

Tramp and hush and murmur
Of a moving crowd;

But night work in the trenches
Held down our heavy eyes,
And the dim dank morning
Made for a surprise.

Through the dim dank morning
O'er soppy ground and still,
Thousands, thousands, thousands
Are creeping round the hill:
Thousands, thousands, thousands
Are crossing by the bridge;
Sections, lines, divisions
Crown and crowd the ridge.

Ha! the foe is on us

Hark, the rifle shot

From our warning pickets,
Ringing clear and hot.
Louder, quicker, nearer—
'Tis in force they come-
Call to arms the sleepers-
Wake them with the drum.
So close they came and silent
Through the morning dank
Their shells our tents were tearing
Before we stood in rank.

'Twas a rough reveillée;
Some, too, never woke,
In their slumber stricken
By the sudden stroke.
Down to Balaklava
Went the mighty din;
Fighting till they reached us
Came our pickets in.

Which attack is real?

Where and what the foes?

Sudden through the rain-mist

There we saw them close.

Stealthy through the brushwood,

Hidden to the breast,

Crowds of points and helmets,
Up the hill they prest:
Misty columns looming
Far and near all round,
Cannon, ready planted,
Sweeping all our ground.
Thought I, "The devil surely
With one scoop of his hand
Has moved them, guns and army,
And set them where they stand."