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Those too large to be entirely included in one axpoaure ara filmed beginning in the upper left hend corner, left to right and top to bonom. aa many framea aa required. The following diegrama illustrate the method: Laa cartas, planchaa. tableaux, etc.. peuvent *tre filmte A dea taux da rMuction diff*rants. Lorsque le document est trop grend pour ttre reproduit en un soul clich*. il est film* a partir da Tangle aupAriaur gauche, de geucha k droita, at de haut an bes. en prenant la nombre d'imegea ndceaaaire. Lee diagrammea suivanta illuatrent le mithode. 1 2 3 12 3 4 5 6 MKROCOPY MSOIUTION TBT CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I il.25 llii|2;8 u IM 140 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.4 ■ 1.8 ^ /y*PUED IM/OE Inc ieS3 Cnt Main SUwt 5»<*f«y. Nw» York 14609 USA (7»6) 4«a-OS00-PtK»« (716) 266- saw -rw WAK LYRICS AND BATTLE BALLADS. WAR LYRICS AMD BATTLE BALLADS. o mx J. ALBST. ROBINSON, fornurlv CoUmial Searetary <4 NrntfomMamA. ^^ O Br. JOBK*!, NfU>.: " rree Pren" PoMlshing Co., nO W»ter Straat, CMMHMIA /4- GiSM THIS BOOK 18 RKVfii'STrLY LKDICATED TO THE HONORED MEMORY OF EDWARD JEWITT ROBINSON, BY HIS SON. Imperialism is the natural outcome of the ages. It means more than the alliance of the national and commer- cial interests of Britain and the Bri- tain beyond the seas. It is the welding in one body of the thought, the speech, the hopes desires and ambitions of the greatest Empire the world has ever seen. It is the assurance of peace and the neces- sary adjunct to national prosperity. In it the world has the answer to the charges of insularity freely hurled at the Mother- land, and of isolation at the nation. Bri- tain can never be insular in habit and history so long as a quarter of the world's vast population rejoices to call her by the sacred name of mother. Isolatioii is a misnomer when the homeland, hoary with II. PREFACE. age and crowned with memories retains the love and veneration of the offshoots from the parent stem. Windsor and Downing streets are the centres around which the mighty Empire revolves, but they are not the Empire. The Imperial- istic spirit has taken hold upon the lusty young republics, and Canadian Dominion, Australian Ccommonwealth and New Zea- land Democracy are now partners, not subordinates, in the national firm. The smaller colonies, as time passes on, will follow the example of the larger ones, as they are even now imbued with the same aspirations and ideals. Independence, under the old monarchical idea, meant severance of relationship. The indepen- dence fostered by Imperialism is an inde- pendence of equality, tempered by the seemly reverence of youth for age. To the growth of Imperialistic senti- ment and its practical results, this little work is due. It was born on a lecture platform on the night when the news of the relief of Ladysmith reached the city \ PREFACE. in. of St John's. Since then, on four separ- ate occasions, the loyal colony of New- foundland has had the opportunity of de monstrating the sincerity of her love for the Motherland and her devotion to the Imperialistic doctrine. Twice has she passed the modus vivendi, so injurious to her best interests, in order that the Em- pire might be freed from one embarass- ment. The government and people, by vote of parliament and voluntary contri- bution, have gladly responded, as limited means allowed, to the appeals for our lads in khaki on the veldt Last year fifty of her sons enrolled themselves as mem- bers of the Royal Naval Reserve, thus forming, as we confidently hope, the first of many local links in the chain of national defence. Although the most ancient, and until recently, maybe, the least progressive of Britain's colonies, the heart of New- foundland throbs with pride in the nation- al traditions, and, with her sister colonies, she stands courageous, confident and firmly rooted in the Imperialistic faith. IV. PREFACE. If a perusal of this little book will kin- dle responsive echoes in the hearts of loyal readers, or aid in unfolding to the eyes of the boys and girls of the colony, amongst whom the writer li\ed and labored for many years, a portion of the wealth of patriotic literature to be found in the pages of the poets, the author will feel that his work has not been in vain. St. John's, Nfld., June 29th, 1901. WAR LYRICS AKD BATTLE BALLADS. POETRY is the Music of Language. Coleridge defines prose as words in their best order— Poetry as the best words in their best order. Eminent scholars have di^ ^red in their definition^ of the Heaven-bc»rn gift. To the prosaiC: mind of the great lexicographer of Lich- field, the very essence of Poetry was in- vention. Emerson, on the other hand, pronounced the finest poetry as first ex- perience. Macaulay combined the two ideas in graceful phrase as truth convey- ed to the understanding by niieans of imaginative associations. Longfellow termed music the universal language of MUSIC AND POETRY. mankind, but true poetry is music, just as true music is poetry. Shakespeare has declared that The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet soxmds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils. So those who allow the material and pro- saic side of life to twist and warp their na- tures to the exclusion of poetic music, give up that which sweetens exis .ence, soothes the weary, quickens the pulse, fires anew the flagging ardours of youth, and opens the doors of a brighter, better, purer and grander world than that of dollars and of dinners. In the breasts of all have been placed intangible chords that throb responsive to the melodies of harmony and lang:uage. Some breasts are attuned to finer har- monies, some to sounds more penetrating but not the less harmonious. A Shakes peare Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything. The " Man in the Street," so prominent in these days of democracies, is very man, MYSTERY OF THE DEITY. human and healthy, rather than spiritual and imaginative. He carelessly plucks the common wall-flower, and, if thought- fully inclined, may quote the lines of the greatest poet of the past century : Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all in my hand, Little flower. There speaks the average man of unde- veloped poetical power, it is in the sequel, the voice of the real poet, the high priest of nature, is heard. But if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is. In these few words Tennyson com- presses the theology of the ages and the whole mystery of the Deity. There are d^rees of poetic affinity. The most exquisite music often falls unim- pressive upon the human ear; the pealiig anthem, swelling the note of praise, wakes no responsive echoes in the hearts of many. The musical instinct is not dead, but, sleeping sluggishly, calls for stronger THE SIXTH SENSE. i I ill ! IS food A military band playing stirring martial airs, causes eyes to flash, figures, bowed, to stand erect, whilst feet keep cheerful time, and voices, more or less melodious, join lustily in chorus. It is not the scene which works the transfor- mation but the stirring harmony that Rai»!Os the soul above all earthly storms, With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave ; Some chord in anison with what we hear Is touched within ns and the heart replies. So with poetry. Wordsworth, So a they, Cowper, Goldsmith, Browning, Swin- burne, even Milton's magnificent word painting,do not appeal to people generally. To appreciate poetry there must be affin- ity of spirit between reader and author, a development, more or less marked, of that mysterious sixth sense, so often quoted, sa little understood. In all is a rudimen- tary spirit of poetry, undeveloped and untrained, may be, but ready to respond on occasion. The first recorded War Lyrics are the songs of Moses and of ^liriam. They will be found in the 15th chapter of Exo- SONG. OF MIRIAM. dus. Tom Moore, Ireland's sweet singer, has translated and amplified Miriam's song into language more consonant '- 'th the present age : — Sound the loud timbrel o'er £gypt's dark sea, Jehovah has triumphed, his people are free, Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken. His chariot and horsemen all splendid and brave. How vain was their boasting, the Lord hath but spoken. And chariot and horsemen are dashed in the wave. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Kg^'pt's dark sea, Jehovah has triumphed, his people are free. The song of Deborah and Barak is another example of the martial lyric, a song marred only by its praise of the murderess Jael. Let us read it carefully, even as it is in the authorized version, and, the oftener we read it, the more forci- ble will its poetry and meaning appear. Picture this chan.c' the victorious Prince and Prophete. i^^efore the assem- bled hosts, and we need little wonder that "the land had peace for forty years The best conservator of peace is readiness for war. Britain has reason to know this full well. Preparation after reverses and British pluck and determination have in r ~ -i ' IH HOMERIC BALLADS. the past, and will again, repair British lack of war material, but at heavy cost Deborah's inspired war song- made men and soldiers of her hearers, who, doubt- less, told the story to their children, so that th J warrior race remained in peace until foiigetfulness of their record and the arts of ease and opulence made them effemin- ate and an easy spoil to the Midianitish foe. The Psalms abound in lyrics and may explain, to some extent, the war record of the chosen nation. The poet Homer, two hundred years after Solomon had been gathered to his fathers, wandered from place to placejSinging* his ballads of the Trojan war, and who shall say that to him was not largely due that infusion of martial spiri*^ which made of the Greeks a nation, whose fame shall live so long as the world shall last? Lord Byron believ- ed in the inherency of this spirit when he chanted his war songs in the early days of the century. Nor was he all mistakerA. His satire and his vigor combined, in LORD BYRON. English though it was, stirred the war spirit, revived and invigorated the nation- al feeling, and Greece at length threw off the Turkish yoke. His w ords bum into the national heart :— ^ The mountains look on Marathon, And Marathon looks on the sea: And musii^ (hera an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still '>e fre^ For, standing on the Persian's giave, I could not deem myself a slave. A King sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salarais; And ships, by tuousands, lay below, And men in nations : — all were his: He counted them at break of day, And when the sun set where were they? And where are they ? and where art thou. My country ? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more : And must thy lyre so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? Must we but weep o'er dajs more blest ? Must we but blush ? — our fathers bled. Earth, render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead. Of the three hundred grant but three To make a new Thermopylae. You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet ; 8 THE ISLES OF GREECE. Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons why forget The nobler and the manlier one ? You have the letters Cadmus gave — Think ye he meant them for a slave. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine. We wUl not think of themes like these, It made Anacreon's song divine ; He served — ^but served Polycrates — A tyrant — ^bnt our masters then Were stilly at least, our countrymen. The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; That tyrant was Miltiades. Oh, that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind, Such chains as his were sure to bind. Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells ; In native swords and native ranks The only hope of courage dwells ; But Turkish force and Latin fraud Would break your shield, however broad. These martial melodies appeal not alone to Creeks, but to all nations. Eng- land reads her own lesson therein. In the icadence of modern Greeks appear the dangers that beset this age of indo- lence and commerce. War is abhorrent, but war is a stem, an inevitable necessity. THE UNION JACK. Christ himself came not to bring peace, but a sword Until the reign of the Prince of Peace is established, war must remain. Our duty is to avoid it by being ready for it; accepting and carrying into practice the advice of the great Puritan warrior, "trust in God and keep your pow- der dry." St Jingo urges to unholy wars, but St. George, St Andrew, St Patrick and St David point to the grand old U^iion Jack that has brayed a thousand years the battle and the breeze, and bid us protect our heritage. It'g only a small piece of bunting, It's only an old coloured rag, Yet thousands have died for its honour, And shed their best blood for the flag. It's charged with the cross of St Andrew, Which of old, Scotland's heroes has led, It carries the cross of St. Patrick, For which Ireland's bravest have bled. Joined with these on our own English ensign, St George's red cross on white field, Round which from King Richard to Roberts* Britons conquer or die, but ne'er yield. (•) The words marked with an asterisk differ in the ori ginaL 10 HORATIXJS. !!:! It flutters in triumph o'' in those pic- turesque and thrilling lines :— The king is come to marohal us, in all his armour drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. . He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. „ , . Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wmg to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our lord and king". "An' if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray. Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre. Hurrah: the foes are moving . Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culvCTin. ill IVRY. 13 The fiery duke is pricking fast across St Andre s plain With aU the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Ahnayne Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of l^'rance, . ^ , , • Charge for the golden lilies, upon them with the lance ! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behmd the snow- white crest ; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star. Amidst the tmckest carnage bUisEed the hehnet of Navarre. Ho : maidens of Vienna ; ho : matrons of Lucerne ; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho, Philip, end for charity thy Mexican pistoles. That Antwerp monks may sing a Mass for thy poor spearmen's souls. Ho : gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright; Ho: burghers of St Genevieve keep watch and ward to-night, ^ J 1. I. For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valour of glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are ; glory to ou. avereign liege. King Henry of Navarre. To Englishmen, however, the "Armada" must forever stand as the most powerful of his war lyrics. It may not be as fin- ished or as graceful as some of his wri* tings, but the subject causes the bosom of f I ill!: I H ELIZABETHAN DAYS. every British patriot to swell with proper pride. He sings of an event which marks the commencement of Britain's naval supremacy, when a handful of British merchantmen, overthrew, with God's aid, the enormous power of the greatest Empire of the age. There were giants in those days. We may boast our Wellingtons and Nelsons, and talk of Roberts and Kitchener, but though not less great, they are certainly not greater than the Drakes and Howards, the Haw- kins and Grenvilles of the days ^f good Queen Bess. Attend all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise ; I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, When that great fleet, invincible, against her bore in vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain. It was about the lovely close of a warm, summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay: Her crew had seen Caatile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's Isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grai^^; And the tall Pints, till the noon, had held her close in chaRe. Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall. The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall; THE ARMADA. 15 Many a light fishing bark put out to pry along the coast, And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a With hw white hair unbonnetted, the stout old sheriff comes; Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums; His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space; For there behooves him to set up the standard of Her Grace. And haughtily the trumpets peal and gwly dance th*> bells, As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown. And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down. So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field, Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar's eagle shield. So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bav And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay. Ho, strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight! ho, scatter flowers, fair maids! Ho, gunners, fire a loud salute ! ho, gallants, draw your blades! Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes waft her wide; Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride. Then follows the story, in detail, of how the news of the approach of the monstei fleet was flashed by bonfires from St Michael's Mount,— 1 6 A NATION OF VOLUNTEERS. ( : [i n < ill Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's em- battled pile, , ^ . i. * And the red gbire on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle. In the reign of the great and glorious Queen Bess forced military service was not required Britons then belonged to a nation of volunteers, and, thank God, throughout the greater and more glorious reign of our own Victoria, the well-belov- ed, our strength has lain in the voluntary service, in time of need, of Britain's sons, wherever they may be scattered over Imperial territory; and her august son, our li^e lord, Edward VII, will find the same spirit stir his subjects. Let France talk of her conscription, and Germany vaunt itself as a nation of soldiers ; let all nations sneer at the commercial instincts of the British; let them boast of their huge armies whilst press and people play fearfully with the sleeping lion's taK If he but shake his shaggy shoul- ders and utter the roar that has held the worid in beneficial thrall for centuries, they will find that, at that sound, the small WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 17 Standing army will assume gigantic di- mensions —militia, reserves, yeomanry, volunteers and unattached vieing with each other as to who shall be first in the field for the honor of the Empire and the service of King and country. No idle boast is this, but a fact proven again and again during the progress of the South African war. Britain is no longer a little island of the sea. She was great in the days of Waterloo ; greater when on Cri- mean battlefields the Muscovite was driven to his lair; but greatest to-day, when from Australia to Canada, from the Shetlands to the Cape, Britain's sons have risen to defend the wronged, maintain the supremacy of the Empire, and uphold the right. Then a cheer, my lads, a cheer, For the British volunteer; For the Queen he'll like a hero bear the brunt Ne'er shall wane our England's might, When we've sons like hun to fight Side by side with British soldiers at the front That most mysterious, most honoured of British poets, William Shakespeare, the immortal bard of Avon, flourished in 1' If! ! I ;};:j! ! Hi il ' 1. , ' ii 1 'i (. 1 iii; i8 SIEGE OF HARFLEUR. Elizabethan days. It is unnecessary to discuss his identity, or raise questions that are foolishness to some, but pr^- nant to others. Shakespeare's works are ours, a priceless heritage of the Anglo- Saxon nation and of the world— for although the Shakespearean plays are written in English, they are confined to no country and to no era. Strictly speak- ing he cannot be said to have composed any war lyrics, but in his works are many passages breathing the patriotic spirit. One example must suffice. There are few passages more spirited in all martial literature than the speech of the hero of Agincourt before the gates of Har- fleur : — Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more Or close the wall up with our English dead * ♦ ♦ • # # * * On, on, you noblest English; Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war proof — Fathers, that like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn to even fought. And sheathed their swords for lack of argument Dishonour not your mothers ****** * ♦ ♦ ♦ , * ♦ And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear THOMAS CAMPBELL. Tiiat you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not For there b none of you so mean and base, That }iath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the Bhps Straimng upon the start. The game's afoot ; FoUow your spirit; and, upon this charge. Cry.— God for Harry, Engknd and St George. To write of war lyrics, or patriotic lays without referring in eulogistic terms to Thomas Campbell would be an omission inexcusable. It has been said of him that in his lyrics he ascended to the high- est Heaven of song. His virile, spirited and forceful verse has fostered love of country in the breasts of succeed- • t-g generations. What the "Marseillaise" did for France, the " Mariners of Eng- land" has done for the Motheriand. Both were the inspirations of youth and gen- ius, and despite the pass ig of the de- cades and the shifting sands of time, both will continue to fan into flame the love of couatry inherent in the hearts of nien worthy of the name. Just as the strains of our own " Rule Britannia"— delicious medley of harmony and chauvinism as it is— appeal to Britons everywhere, so the 20 THE t 0, I " Hi' ! .1 ,' " MARSEILLAISE." smallest souled of our Gallic friends feels the nobler, the braver and the better as the notes of the " Marseillaise" float proudly on the circumambient air. The story of 1792 is ever repeating itself, and the " Marseillaise" is as powerful a recruiting agency to-day as it was over a century ago. Its first effect was to double the ranks of the regiment. When the column was leav- ing Strasbourg the Mayor of the city asked young Roiiget de Lisle to sing the " Mar- seillaise" in honor of the volunteers who had been enrolled under the aegis of the ancient city. The result was, that instead of 600 leaving for the front, over 1000 responded to the call of La Patrie, and marching out of the city to the martial strains of De Lisle's masterpiece they did so with lighter hearts and more determin- ed courage. The day that the skirl of the bagpipes, the strains of the piper, and the music of the bands are banished from the ranks, will prove a woeful day in the an- nals of British glory and for the greatness of the British Empire. •ii . H THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 21 In Thomas Campbell Rouget de Lisle had a worthy contemporary. The words that Campbell directed to the Mariners of England during the first year of the last century we can, with equal confidence, repeat at the dawn of its successor : — The spirit of your fathers Shall start from every wave : — For the deck it was tiieir field of fame, And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Kelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, Wlule the stormy winds do blow ; While the battle rages loud and long. And the stormy winds do blow. Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep ; Her march is o'er the mountain- waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore. When the stormy winds do blow ; When the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow. The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn ; Till danger's troubled night depart. And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors, Our song and feast shall flow. 22 POWDER AND STEEL. To the fame of your name^ When the storm has ceased to blow: When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the stonn has cea^^ed to blow. From the windows of a Bavarian monas- tery, just a hundred years ag-o, Campbell witnessed the awful carnage on Linden's banks. To-day the Black-and-White artist, often with the aid of the ubiquitous cam- era fiend, portrays the scenes of battle. Then the artist had to paint his picture in words,and became more or less realistic as his powers of deduction and imagination were more or less developed. As a speci- men of metrical word painting who can excel his description of that terrible night when furious Frank and fiery Hun met in awful crash ? No Long Toms then ; it was man to man, steel to steel. Whilst we cannot assent to the statement that the day of the bayonet has passed, yet all must admit that powder, telescopes and the foundry have now more to do with victories than personal prowess and indi- vidual courage. With the memory of Elandslaaghte and Dundee it is not yet HOHENLINDEN. ^3 necessary to sing the requiem of the bayonet. In the following sixteen lines are at least twelve distinct scenes, each worthy of the artist's brush and poet's song : — By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neigh'd. To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rush'd the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of Heaven, Far flashed the red artillery'. The combat deepens. On ye brave, Who nish to glory, or the grave. Wave IVfnnich ; — all thy banners wave. And chai;ge with all thy chivahy ! Few, few shall part where many meet The snow shall be their winding sheet, And eveiy turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier^s sepulchre. Lochiel's reply to the Wizard is char- acteristic of the nation of warriors who boast of Scotia as their home. Call the Scotsman close, clanny and commercial, we may, but none can refuse to admit and admire his bravery. Scotsmen are ever in the thickest of the fray. Duty, cold 24 I.OCHIEL AND WAUCHOPE. mi- III nil; 1 wl.i arc! unyielding-, is the monitor that guides the Gael. At times its commands take the form of self-sacrifice, as in the '45 ; sometimes of the sacrifice of others. Occasionally duty is tinctured with ro- mance. But few countries produce such men as William Wallace, John Knox and Walter Scott, three types apparently divergent as the rays of a wintry sun, but all following unquestioningly what they conceived to be the stern behests of duty. The Gael may be less reck- less, less fiery, less impetuous than the equally brave Celt, but where the battle rages fiercest he is always to be found. The words of Lochiel might, with equal truth, have been placed in the mouth of General Wauchope, the hero of Magersfontein : — Tho' my perishing ranks should be strew'd in their gore. Like the ocean- weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore, Wauchope, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Hhall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his face to the foe. And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 1.00k proudly to heaven from the deadi-bed of fame. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 25 With a brief reference to that noble lyric, the " Battle of the Baltic," we bid adieu to Thomas Campbell, whose gift of language has proven as pregnant of glorious deeds as those very deeds car- ried into effect, wherever the British flag has flown, by other and more active mem- bers Sis glorious clan. " The Battle of the L . c" sings Oi Nelson and the North, And the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce oame forth, All the might of Denmark's orown. And her arms along the deep prondly shone : By each gun the lighted brand. In a bold, determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. — Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the- brine; Wiiile the s^n of battle flew On the lofty British line ; It was ten of April morn b^ the chime. As they drifted on their path, Ther** was silence deep as iloath ; And the boldest held nis breath For a time. — But the might of England flush'd To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rtuh'd 26 BRITAIN AND DENMARK. O'er the deadly space between. **Heart8 of oak**, our captuns cried ; when each ; but that bread is of the best. Ten- nyson is the poet of the ages; Kipling principally of the present age. The one is the mouthpiece of the classes ar I the Court, the other of the masses an J the music hall, and yet both appeal to all. After all, when the Motherland calls, her sons, whether in broadcloth or fustian, speak the same language, — the language of patriotism. Cook's son, duke's son, son of a belted earl, Son of a Lambeth publican, it was all the same the day on which the Widow of Windsor sent out the Fiery Cross, — Prompt at the signal of alarms The sons of Albion rushed to arms. Tennyson is poet first and all the time. Kipling won his spurs in prose, — his poet- ry gives but the greater brilliance to his genius. Exalting the former is no depre- ciation of the latter. The bearded bard of Freshwater has closed life's volume. •ki*. 30 TENNYSON AND KIPLING. and achieved the double immortality. The beardless jungle writer is ctill in the hey-day of youth, with vigour unim- paired. Yet even now he can claim that he has scaled the heights of Parnassus. His Recessional is of itself sufficient to ensure him a seat among the immortals. Wide apart though they be in style and temperament, Tennyson and Kipling meet on common ground as writers of War Lyrics. The most powerful, though possibly not the best known, of Tennyson's mar- tial ballads is the " Revenge." We have already referred to the Elizabethan age of valour, but it required a greater, even than Macaulay, to sing the s6ng of the heroic fight oJF the one and the fifty- three. To illustrate Tennyson by ex- tracts is always difficult Each couplet may be the keystone of the poetic arch, but at the risk of failure the venture must be made. It will be remembered how At Flores, in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay, whp«i the news came of Spanish ships of i ■ THE REVENGE. 31 war at sea. Lord Howard's ships were out of gear and half his men sick, so, urging Sir Richard to follow quickly, he sought shelter. The valiant old sea dog who " never turned his back on don or devil yet," determined to give fight Haranguing his men in bluff, sailorly manner, they in reply Roar'd a hurrah, and so The little Hevenge ran on, sheer into the heart of the foe. The sun goes down, the stars come out, and again the sun shines over the sum- mer sea, And never a moment ceases the fight of the one and the fifty-thrae. Sir Richard was himself wounded. At length, The pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent. And the masts and the rigging were lyio;; over ^e side ; Bat Sir Richard cried in his English pride, **We have fought such a fight for a day and a night As may never be fought again: We have won great glory, my men: And a day less or more At sea or ashore. We die- -does it matter when? Sink me the ship. Master Gunner — sink her, split her in tWMo: ■iikiiilriiiiiiiiMHIiM 32 SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE. Fall into the hands of God, nut into the hands of Spain. And the gnnner said **Ay, ay,** but the seamen made reply : * We have children, we have wives, And the Lord hath spared our lives, We will make the Spaniard pronuse^f we yield to let as go ; We shall live to H ^f again and to strike another blow.^ And the lion thor .y dying, wid they yielded to the foe. And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then, Where they lud him by the mast, old Sir Richard canght at last, And they praised him to his hce with their courtly foreign grace ; But he rose upon their decks and he cried : ** I have fought for Queen and Faith, like a valiant man and true ; I have only done my duty as a mm b bound to do : With a joyful epint I, Sir Richard Grenville, die !" And he fell upon their decks and he died. And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and so true. And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap. That he dared her witii one little ship and his English few ; Was he devil or man ? He was devu for aught they knew. But they sank his body with honour down into the deep, And they manned the Jievenffe-wilii a swarthiw alien orew; And away she sailed with her loss and longed for her own. When a wind from the lands they had ruined awoke from sleep, And the water began to heave and the weatlier to moan, And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew. And a wave like the wave that is nused by an earthquake grew. CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE, 33 T'U it smote on their hulls, and their sails, and their masts, and their flags. And the whole sea plnnged and fell on the shot-shatter- ed navy of Spain, And the little Mevenge herself went down by the island crags. To be lost evermore in the main. The best known of Tennyson's War Lyrics is, of course, " The Charge of the Light Brigade." When can their glory fade ? Oh ! the wild charge they made. All the world wondered ! No poem in the English language has been more butchered than this. The schoolboy maltreats it with a persistency reflecting little credit on his teacher's common sense. The stage-struck hero mouths and murders it. It has become so hackneyed as to have grown monoton- ous. Few of our leading elocutionists could do it justice, even when fresh from the poetic mint. To hear it recited is, in nine cases out of ten, to regret that the re- citei had not been amongst those who so boldly rode into the jaws of death, and did not ride back again; "somebody blun- 34 THE THREE HUNDRED i dered", and the blunder has since been too frequently repeated. It is said that, in or- der to appreciate the poem at its full value it required to be heard, as read by the gift- ed author himself. The charge of the Three Hundred, or, to give it the correct title, the Charge of the Heavy Brigade at Balaclava, appeals less forcf*>ly to the average audience, but it contains many vigourous passages not- withstanding. The poet tells how the chaige Fell like a cannon Bhot, Burst like a thunderbolt, Broke thro' the mass from below, Drove thro' the midst of tlie foe, Plunged up and down, to and fro, Rode flashing blow upon blow — Brave Innislullens and Greys, Whirling their sabres in circles of light. The world has rejoiced to honor the Light Brigade, whose deed of derring-do is placed in the same category with that of the Three Hundred at Thermopylae. Let not, however, the glorious valour of the other Three Hundred be forgotten, but as the picture of the gallant Heavy Brigade, dashing up the hill, flashes on DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 35 the memory, let loyal hearts and admirers- of br v'e deeds unite in voicing the clos ing lines of Tennyson's stirring lyric : — Glory to each and to all, and the charge tliat they made ; Glory to all the Three Hundred, and all the Brigade. Next tot he " Revenge," the Defence of Lucknow is the most forcible of Tenny- son's war lyrics. To read it with Lady- smith, Maf eking anc Ximberley fresh in our memories is to /c^d it with renewed zest. Banner of England, not for a season, O Banner of Britain hast thou Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry. Never with mightier glory than when we had reared thee on high Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow, Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew. And ever upon the topmast roof our banner of England blew. Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our lives, Women and children am(>ng us, God help them, our child- ren and wives. Hold it we might and for fifteen days or for twenty at most. Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post. Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave: Cold were his brows when we kissed him — we Iwd him that night in his grave. (i 36 DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart and in limb, Strong with the strength of the race, tn.> command, to obey, to endm>e. Each of us fought as if hope for the garrison hung but on him. Still — could we watch at all points ? we were every day fewer and fewer. Men will forget what we suffer and not what we do. We can fight But to be soldier all day, and sentinel all thro' the night, Ever the labor of fifty that liad to be done by five, Ever the marvel among us that one should be left alive. Havelock baffled, or beaten, or butcher'd for all that we knew — Then day and night, day and night, coming down on the shell-shattered walls. Millions of musket bullets, and thousands of cannon balls- But ever upon the topmast roof our banner of England blew. Hark, cannonade, fusilade : is it true what was told by the scout, Outram and Havelock breaking their way through the fell mutineers? Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing again in our ears. All on a sudden the garrison utters a jubilant shout. Dance to the pibroch : — saved, we are saved : Is it you ? is it you ? Saved by the valor of Havelock, saved by the blessing of Heaven ; *Hold it for fifteen days.' We have held it for eighty- seven; And ever aloft on the palace roof the old banner of Eng- land blew. When Alfred, Lord Tennyson, was SWINBURNE AND AUSTIN. 37 g-athered to his fathers the literary world was thrown into a fever of disputation as to the respective claimants for the Lau- reate's office. Unquestionably the most accomplished of the rival claimants was Algernon Swinburne,but there was 'some- thing on a slate' to be wiped out first, and mediocrity was left to contend with mediocrity. Upon the brows of Alfred Austin, in grim contrast to the noble forehead of the greater Alfred, the laurel wreath, after much delay, was pressed Since then There has rigen a singer out ol the East, in the clatter, and chatter and strife ; The babble of markets and blur of print — ^the turmoil men call life. He came to the task that was set for him ; and scarce was that work begun, When he knew that the worid is a-building yet^ and the powers that build are one. He knew by the spirit's countersign that Teuton, and Celt, and Greek, Kaffir, and Pathan, and Rajput king the self-same Ian* guage speak. Face to bu^ he has talked with each — they have given hfan of their best, He has made his home on the sea and land, and brought the East to the West 38 THE COMING I-AURKATE. Should the post become vacant again before long— and it is only the rhythmical drivel, and not the author thereof, whose departure would be hailed with joy— we venture to say th^t to Rudyard Kipling would belong the honor, not so much for his present works, but on account of the magnificent possibilities that his youth and genius have transformed into proba- bilities. At present he is known rather as the poet of the music hall than of the court, but already he has written poems that assure him the poet's immortality. The versatility of this lightning-change author-artist is remarkable. His genius has assumed many phases, and no matter in what guise the poet has given expres- sion to his thoughts, the world has wel- comed the wit and wisdom which has fallen from the lips and pen of this deep thinker, original writer and many-sided man. Not until a new poem appears from his pen can it be told whether the author is appearing in his character of pu- ritan preacher, patriotic poet or music- THE "RECESSIONAL." 39 hall artist Rudyard Kipling is the grand son of a Wesley an-Methodist minister. The ex- President of the British Wesleyan* Methodist Conference, Rev. F. W. Macdon- ald, is his uncle, and his descent is traced through a long line of non-conformist an- cestry. Bearing this in mind it is easy to understand how tho writer of the "Absent- Minded Begg3ur" is also the author of the " Recessional," one of the grandest If tan- iesin the English language. God of our fathers, knoii^-n of old, Lord of our far-flung battle line, Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine, Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet^ Lest we forget, lest we forget. The tumult and the shoutiAg dies. The captains and the kings depart, t>till stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart, Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget, Far called our navies melt away. On dune and headland sinks the fire, Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre. Judge of the Nations, spare us yet. I.«8t we forget, lest we forget 40 HYMN BEFORE ACTION. If (trnnk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe. Such boasting' as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without tbe Law, Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet Lest we Jorget, lest we forget Another specimen of this side of Kip- ling's genius is his " Hymn Before Ac- tion" — a hymn worthy to have been chan- ted by Cromwell's ironsides as they pre- pared to do battle with those they n^ard- ed as the enemies of the Lord It is said that the Boers march to action with the Psalm book in one hand and the Mauser in the other. Whether tlie Lord is on the side of the strongest batallions we leave for theologians to decide, but when both sides claim His aid, and term their cause that of God and of humanity, the victor should, at least, be ready to render praise to Him for the victory. The sentiments of the " Kymn Before Action" appeal to us in language worthy of Milton him- self :— The earth is full of anger, The seas''are dark with wrath, The nations in their harness Go up against our path. HYMN BEFORE ACTION. 41 Ere yet we loose the legions, Ere yet we draw the blade, Jehovah of the Thunders, Lord God of Battles, aid. High lust and froward bearing. Proud heart, rebellious brow, Deaf ear and soul uncaring, We seek Thy mercy now, The sinner that foreswore Thee, The fool, that passed Thee by. Our times are known before Thee, Lord, send us strength to die. From panic, pride and terror. Revenge that knows no rein. Light haste and lawless error. Protect UH yet again. Cloak Thou our undeserving, Make firm the shuddering breath. In silence and unswerving To taste Thy lesser death. E'en now their vanguard gathers, E'en now we fac« the frav. As Thou 'V'Vst help our fathers. Help Thou their seed to-day. Fulfilled of signs and wonders, In life in death make clear, Jehovah of the Thunders, Lord, God of Battles, hear ! As a patriotic writer Kipling is facile Princess, Almost every line of his poetry, and much of his prose, breathe the spirit A-i^^ 42 BRITAIN AND AMERICA. of country. To the citizen of the greatest of the old world Empires his proudest honour consisted in that citizenship. To Kipling^, citizenship in the greatest empire of modern days, is a reality — a thing to be proud of. He rejoices in his citizen- ship. The march of civilization is his gospel, the triumph of the White Man his creed, and the supremacy of the British nation his boast. He believes fervently in the Anglo-American alliance, and re- gards the two great nations as God's in- struments for the regeneration of the world. We may not all agree with him in his belief in the oneness of British and American aims, but we can none the less admire that broad spirit of world citizen- ship which recognizes that That man's the true cosmopoi'te Who loves his native country best Kipling is no blind enthusiast ; he can see his country's faults, but endeavors, by exposing rather than concealing the na- tional blunders and vices, to erase them, or transform them into virtues. "The THE WHITE MAN S BURDEN. 43 White Man's Burden" may be said to contain his creed. It is an appeal to the nations to do their duty to those nations less favored, — originally written as a re- minder to the American Republic that to remove Spanish misrule from the Philip- pines without substituting the law and order of civilization would be a crime against God and mankind. Take up the White Man's Burden, Send forth the best ye breed, Go, bmd your sons to exile To serve your captives' need: To wait in heavy harness. On fluttered folk and wild. Your new-caught sullen peoples Half devil and half child. Take up the White Man's Burden, The savage wars of peace. Fill full the mouth of famine, And bid the sickness cease ; And when your goal is nearest (The end for others sought) Watch sloth and heathen folly Bring all your hopes to nought Take up tl>e White Man's Burden, No iron rule of kings. But soul of serf and sweeper, The tale of common things. 44 THE PRICE OF ADMIRALTY. The ports ye shall not enter, The roads ye shall not tread. Go, make them with your living And mark them with your dead. Take up the White Man's Burden, And reap his old reward. The blame of those ye better. The hate of those ye guard. By all ye will or whisper. By all ye leave or do, The silent sullen peoples Shall weigh your God and you. Despite the Jingoistic traits in Kipling's character, he is keenly alive to the evils of war and the wickedness of warfare for warfare's sake. His lines upon England's naval wars might have been written by that smallest of little Englanders, William- T. Stead, himself, but the spirit of Kipling is not, thank God, the spirit of the peace- at-any-price Editor, to whom Britain's humiliation would appear to be a con- summation devoutly to be wished. We have fed our sea for a thousand years, And she hails us, still unfed ; There's never a wave of all her waves But marks our English dead. We have strewn our best to the weed's unrest, THE PEACE CONFERENCE. 45 To the shark and the sheering gull ; If blood be the price of Admiralty, Good Ood, we have paid in fulL We must feed our sea for a thousand years, For that is otir doom and piide^ As it was when they sailed with the Golden JERnd^ Or the wreck that struck last tide ; Or the wreck that lies on the spouting ree^ Where the ghastly blue lights flare ; If blood be the price of Admiralty, ' Good God, we have bought it fair. Before passing to the lighter and prob* ably more popular side of Rudyard Kip- ling's patriotic writings, we must refer to that magnificent all^ory in verse, " The Truce of the Bear." All will remember the Czar's rescript, and the so-called Peace Conference, which met at the Hague in 1899, ^^^ greatest international farce of the ages : — Czar Nicholas, good, earnest man, crying peace, whilst his ministers were watching the passes of the Hindoo Koosh with greedy eyes; the other nations ready to spring at each other's throats, the while they char- ted their songs of peace on young Wil- helmina's hospitable soil ; France gna^h- 46 THE TRUCE OF THE BEAR. ing her teeth at England ; England apparently anticipating armed interven- tion in South Africa; the United States, fresh from the struggle with Spain; Germany anxious to absorb the very country in which the Congress was held ; each suspici»^us of the other, and yet happily uttering peace platitudes, and singing the song of Stead. It was at this time that Kipling utte d his warning note, putting the story of Muscovite treach«y in the mouth of " Matun, the old blind b^;gar, bandaged from brow to chin." Matun tells how he went hunting "Adamzad — the bear that stands like a n ^n." '*Up from his stony lA&ygvonnH — clown t*> hiB well- digged lair — Out on the naked ridges ran Adani%ad the bear, (rroaning, gmnting, and roaring, heavy vnth stolen mealis Two long marches to northward and I was at his heelK. Two full marches northward, at the fall of the second night, I came on my enemy Adamzad, all weary from his flight. There was a charge in tlie mnsket — ^iiricked and primed was the pan — My finger crooked on the tr^ger — when he reared up like a man. oi-D matun's prophecy. 47 Horrible, hmr\\ hninais with paw8 like hands in prayer, IVfaking lus snpplicataon, roee Adamxad the bear. I looked at the e^iEiying ghouldens at the paunches sw^ff and swing. And my heart wjw toiu'lied with pity for the munstronK pleading thing," Touched with pity and wonder, Matun did not fire then. Nearer the bear tot- tered, and nearer, with hands like paws that pray, apparently pleading for mercy, when, Sudden, swift and aavajre, 8earlnt» as flame the bow, Faceless I stood befoi-e his feet, fifty summers ago. I heard him gnint and chuckle — I heard him pass to his den. He left me blind to the darkling world and the little mercy of men. The peace congress at the Hague, as Kiplirg saw it, and as t!*e world may yet prove it to have been, was to Russia what the white flag and the Red Cross have proven too often to the Boer, a Kopje from which to strike Russia's present action in the East, and indeed her whole foreign policy since the date of the international burlesque of 1899, is a ) 'I H 48 iOMJAV ATKINS, fitting^ commentary on Muscovite faiths and emphasizes old j^tun's pregnant waming^: — There is no tnrce with Adamzad, the bear that lookR like a man. ^ Barrack Room ballads may not always be Battle Ballads, but they are very near akin to them. Kipling- is essentially the laureate of the ranks. He writes of Atkins as he is, and using Tommy's own ver- nacular, gives T mmy's own version of his treatment We are vejy mindful of our soldiers when war calls for active ser- vice, but what about our memory in th^^ piping times of peace? Then It's Tommy thLs, and Timmiy that, and Tommy cro away. But it's thank you Mr. Atkins when the band begins to play. Then It's Tommy this and Tommy that, an* T-.mroy wait o t- side, But it's ♦ special trwa for Atkins ' wber. the tfooyier's on the tide. No wonder Tommy says Making mock o' uniforms that guard } Is cheaper than them unlfurms, an' cheap, I wh'u ?ev're yoti >!leep .tii»n tommy's plea. 40 An' hnsUin' dnmkan solders when they're goin' large a In fiv • times better m«ir. than aradin' in fti ' kit Tli-n it's ommv this, an' T. »ray that, ai» Tommy 'owV V r sou ' But it^s 'thin reii line of 'eroes when the dnims be- gin ti> roll. We aren" no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no Un V gnant.-i too, littt sinu t men in barracks, most reraarkiJbl^ ike you ; Vn' if ^«i»etimes our conduct isi 't all vow tsmj paints, Why, iticrle men in barracks don't itow mi> piaster aints. \\ hile it' T mmy this, and Tommy hnt. an >mmy fall be'i , }?at it's 'Please to walk in froi , ^ 'it ere's trouble in the wind, i'on talk o' Iwtter food for us- m' .ools, an' tires, an' all: ^1 wait tor extra rationp, if y» eat us rationid. I) n't aess about the cook-roon ops, but prove it to Hir face The widow's uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace. For it's Tommy this, an' Ton v that, an' chuck him out, the brute. But it's ♦ saviour of 'is com when the guns begin to shoot ; An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please ; An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool — you bet that Tummy Thomas Atkins, ff Kipling is to be believed, refers irr verently, and yet iiUMicMiMHIMI ■" -« ■■Hi 50 VICTORIA S INFLUENCE. not irreverently, to our deeply-mourhed Queen as the " Widow of Winsor." Vic- toria's soldiers were her sons, and were the better soldiers for pride in their mother. Her influence and memory still remain to animate the ranks, and culti- vate that spirit of chivalry which in spite of Burke's apostrophe, is not yet extinct. *Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor, With a hairy j?old crown on 'er 'ead ? She 'as ships on the foam — she 'as millions at 'ome. An' she pays us poor beggars in red. (Ow, poor beggars in red). There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses, Tlrere's 'er mark on the medical stores — An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind lie'ind That takes us to various wars. (Poor beggars, barbarious wars). Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor, An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns, The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces O' Missis Victorier's sons. ( Poor l>eggars. Victorier's sons). Walk wide o' the Widow of Wiiidsor, For 'alf o' creation she owns : We 'are bought 'er the same with the sword an' the flame. An' we've salted it down with our bones. (Poor beggars. It's blue with our bones). Hands off o' the sons o' the Widow, THE WIDOW OF WINDSOR. 51 Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, For the kings must come down fuC the Emperors frown When the Widow at Windsor says "Stop." ( Poor beggars. We're sent to say stop ), Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Widow, From the pole to the tropics it nms — To ihe Lodge that w« tile with the rank an* the file An' open in f onn with the guns. ( Poor beggars. It's always the gnns. ) We 'ave heard o' the Widow at Windsor, It's safest to ler 'er alone : For 'er sentries we stand bv the sea an' the land Wherever the bwgles are blown. (Poor be^ars — an' don't we get blown?) Take 'did o' the wings o' the mornin,' An' flop round the earth till you're dead ; But you won't get away fiom the tune that they play To the bloomin' old rag over'ead. (Poor beggars — it's 'ot over'ead ), Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow, Wherever, 'owever tliey roam. 'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require A speed; return to their 'ome. British subjects are still sons of the Widow, and rejoice in this kinship with her firstborn, whom may God long pre- serve. Tommy Atkins is great on toasts, and admires a brave foe wherever he finds him. The magnificent charge of the 52 BRAVERY IS BRAVERV. Dervishes in the Soudan inspired the British soldiery with admiration, Tomniy of course foiig:ets that to the Mahdist and follower of Mahomet the enemy's bullet is the key that unlocks for him the doors of heaven and its sen- sual joys. Tommy is such an absent- minded b^gar that he is apt to forget the 'olog-ies, and cannot, therefore, be ex- pected to pay much attention to the relig- ious beliefs of the Fuzzy-Wuzzies, as he terms the hosts of the Khalifa. Brav- ery is to him bravery. Tommy takes his chances of death like a hero, but he loves life heartily. His own love of existenc he imagines must exist in the breast of every fighting man. However, Tommy's views of the subject have been graphic- ally expressed by Kipling. We've foaght with many men across the seas, An' some of 'em was brave, an' some was not : The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese ; But FuBBy was the finest o' the lot. We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im : *£ squatted in the scrub and 'ooked our 'orses, 'E cut our sentries up at Suakim, An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces. THE FUZZIE-WUZZIHS. 53 So 'ere'a to you Fuzzy- Wiizzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan ; You're a poor benighted 'eathen but a firat- claAfl tighting man. We gives yoti your certificate, an' if you want it signeci We'll come an' have a romp with you whenever you're inclined. We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills, The Boers knocked us silly at a mile, The Burman gave us Irriwaddy chills. An' a Ziilu impi dished us up in style : But all we ever got from such as they Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller : We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say, But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oiler. 'E 'asn't got no papers of 'la own, 'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards. So we must certify the skill 'e's shown In using' of 'b long two-'anded swords, When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush With 'is coffee-'eaded shield an' shovel spear. An' 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year. 'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive, An' before we know 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead ; 'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive, An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead. 'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb. 'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree, *£'b the only thing that doesn't give a damn For a Regiment of British lufantree. 1 r ^^^H 1 '■1 ^^^^^^Hv i 1 1 t 1 1 t li' i 1 1 1 -' ■ ! 54 GENERAL LORD ROBERTS. So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy- Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan ; You're a poor benighted 'eathen, but a firet- class fighting man ; An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy- Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air — Yon big black boundin' beggar — for you broke a British square. Now that the interest of the entire Empire is centered in South Africa, a soldier's estimate of Lord Roberts will be particularly interesting. Lord Rob- erts is the darling of the army--not of the officers or of the War Office, may be— but of Tommy, and the fighting men generally. Disappointment was rife and keen when Lord Wolseley was appointed to succeed the Duke of Cambridge in the chief command. By a large section of the British public Wolseley was regarded as more or less of a theorist and a child of good fortune. The estimate may have been somewhat unfair, but recent events would appear to justify it to some extent. Certain it is that General " Bobs," as he is affectionately called, has a place in the hearts of the rank and file that no Gen- THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF. 55 eral has won for many generations. His unflinching devotion to duty was shown when at his country's call, though mourn- ing the death of his only boy on the battle-field, he, not only without demur, but with alacrity, obeyed, and proceeded to the front. The posthumous honour of the V.C. conferred on young Roberts, the only instance to date where father and son have both been decorated with the coveted trophy, carried its solace, but the wound is still green, and the gray and toil-worn soldier seeks to bury his sorrow in the lethal waters of hard work. The Nation feels the safer now that Lord Roberts is Commander-in-chief. It would feel even more secure if that anomaly known as dual control were done away with. This is Kipling's interpretation of Tommy's estimate of Bobs: There's a little red-faced man, Which is Bobs ; Rides the tallest 'orse 'e can — Our Bobs. If it buck9, or kicks, or rears. tlu^ 56 Hi 1. TOMMY ON "BOBS." *£ can sit for twenty years, With 8 smile round both 'is ears— Can't yer, Bobs? If a limber's slipped a trace. 'Ook on Bobs. If a marker's lost 'is place Dress by Bobs. For 'e's eyes all up 'is coat. An' a bugle in 'is throat, An' you will not play the goat Under Bobs. 'E's a little down on drink, Chaplain Bobs ; But it keeps us outer clink — Don't it, Bobs? So we will not complain, Tho' 'e's water on the brain. If 'e leads us straight again — Blue-light Bobs ! If you stood *\m on 'is 'ead, , ' Father Bobs, You could spill a quart o' lead, Outer Bobs. 'E's been at it thirty years, An' amassin' souveniers In the way o' slugs an' spears — Ain't yer, Bobs ? What 'e does not know o' war, Gen'ral Bobs. You can arsk the shop next door- Can't thev, Bobs? KRUGER AS EMPIRE-BUILDER. 57 Oh, Vs little, but Vs wise; 'E's a terror for 'is aae, An' — ^'e— does — not — adverttie — Do yer, Bobs? Dr. Conan Doyle, the talented author of "Sherlock Holmes," is himself a writer of patriotic songs of no mean merit. At a banquet, recently, Conan Doyle, speaking of President Kruger, said that a statue should be erected to his memory and placed in the most cen- tral of London's squares, inscribed with the pregnant words, " In honour of the man who cemented the British Empire.'* No man in the last century did more than Kruger to fan into flame the nat- ional feeling, and to demonstrate to the world that Brit6ns, irrespective of lati- tude and longitude, are still a unit in the maintenance of the supremacy of the Empire. Whether Boreas blows his trumpet, or Zephyrus lilts lullaby, whe- ther Auster sings his siren song, or Eurus excites humanity to exertion, wherever the sons of the Empire may be, hearts beat in unison and voices swell ■>yii IMIMH ' • J i V'' 58 TYRANNY IN DEMOCRACY. the chorus of freedom. Let the sans- cullottes of the last century shriek their raven cries of liberty, fraternity, equality; and republics, with the national limbs twisted and contracted with the g-yves and thongs of party politics, denounce the monarchical system, the fact remains that the vast Anglo-Saxon brotherhood, spread over the face of the entire world, is the truest republic that time has ever witnessed. It may be true as Pope well remarks that Not all the blood of all the Hojrards Can ennoble sots, or slaves, or conrards, and it is equally true that the "ran'- is but the guinea stamp," but in republics, more often than in monarchies, the scum floats on the top, not having a suffic- ient body to form a sediment and sink to the bottom. Republics, not seldom, are enemies to progress and personal free- dom. Even little Switzerland, whose independence is guaranteed by the na- tions, groans under the miseries of forced military service. France is the sport of FREEDOM IN AUTOCRACY. 59 the army. The best elements of the Uni- ted States are more or ess— generally more— at the mercy of machine rule and Tammany Hall. Democracy is not al- ways a triumphant success. Autocracy has its advantages as well as its disad- vantages. The t^nt of the Chersonese Was Freedom's best and bravest friend : That tyrant was Miltiades. Many a nation, boasting its paper lib- erty, will fervently re-ec^ o Byron's words, Oh that the present hour woald lend Another despot of the kind, Such chains as his are sure to bind. We can learn, even to-day — two thou- sand years after the events — lessons from the great Roman nation. When talk and red tape reduce and enfeeble, a dicta- torship, limited alone by time, may reorganize, invigorate and rebuild. Be- tween Pushful Joseph, the War Office, and drawing-room darlings, things looked ugly enough at one time in South Africa. Dictator Roberts filled the breach, and, untramelled and absolute, evolved order ^n 6o COI-ONIAL LOYALTY. out of chaos, method out of madness, and success out of failure. He arrived at Cape Town to find Kimberly, Mafe- king and Ladysmith beleagured, Natal overrun and the Boers victorious. Soon the three cities of the veldt were relieved, the Boers driven back into their own country, whilst the British flag waved over Bloemfontein and Pretoria. We are not ungrateful to Uncle Paul for helping to prove to the envious and on- looking nations, that, when the mother lion shows her teeth, the cubs, from the youngest to the most matured, are not content with growling, but are ready to rush into the thick of the fight. Aus- tralia, Canada, New Zealand, India, and Britons the world over, have done their duty. Small colonies cannot do much, but not impossibly the renewal of the Modus Vivendi by the unanimous vote of both Houses of the Newfoundland L^islature, both in 1900 and iqoi, may have proven of greater service to the British Empire than the contribution of TREACHERY AND TRAITORS. 61 lakhs of rupees, or the despatch of r^i- men*> of infantry. Of course there are traitors in every camp. Even the Round Table had its Sir Modreds, and nowhere this side of the borderland may we hope to find perfect fidelity and mutual trust Treachery is always cowardly and con- temptible, but treachery to home and fatherland is fiendish and criminal. At the present day are creatures of British birth and parentage to be found, partak- ing of British benefits, rejoicing in British protection; in some cases draw- ing pay from British revenues, as did Kruger himself at one time, proclaiming themselves anti-British and pro-Boer. Such traitors should at least be consis- tent, and either for^o their privileges or the country. If Britain or her colonies withheld from such the inherent rights of man, as has Kruger from the Outlanders, there would be reason for their treason. Even the heathen nations regarded the rights of hospitality sacred, but cowards, who partake of Britain's salt, and then 'I 62 THE PRO-BOER PRESS. Hi! *4 with foul ingratitude hurl their puny- darts of malice into the heart of the great Mother, have not .attained to hea- then virtues. Oh for a tongue to cnrse the slave. Whose treason like a deadly blight Comes o'er the ,couneil8 of the brave. And blasts them in their honr of might Time enough to quarrel with Cham- berlain and the War Office; time enough to criticize the officers when their duty is done and the war over. Tongue and pen are mightier than the sword may be, but they can work irreparable havoc at times. The censorship in South Africa has been close, but none too close. Who can tell how many lives have already been sacri- ficed to the injudicious action of a section of the British press? The pro- Boer sen- timents of the Morning Leader and the Manchester Guardian, filled daily as they have been with anti-British pabulum, and the sentimental shrieking of the stul- tified Stead have prolonged the war; men of the stamp and genus of Dr. Leyds believing, or affecting to believe, . \ " WE don't want to fight " 63 that such writings represent a large sec- tion of the British public. Salisbury's late triumph at the general election taught a much needed lesson to the little Eng- landers. Since the famous jingo song of Mac- dermott, no music-hall ditty has proven more powerful than Kipling's "Absent Minded B^gar." It is not exactly a war lyric, nor can it be strictly termed a battle ballad Kipling here has struck an en- tirely new chord, but one which has awakened responsive echoes on all sides. The "absent-minded b^gar" is Tommy Atkins, and the ballad appeals, for those that "Tommy left behind him." Hun- dreds of thousands of pounds have been poured into the Lord Mayor's fund through its stirring lines. Whether re- cited or sung the response has been the same. Its lesson, taught in typical Kip- lingesque, has been learned throughout every section of the Empire. People always ready to kill Kruger with the mouth have been driven to silence or 64 THE PATRIOTISM OF POCKET. their strongboxes; and artizan has vied with millionaire in replying in hard cash. A patriotism that stops at the pocket is spurious patriotism. The patriotism of Britain and of Greater Britain has the sterling ring, and stops neither at pocket nor at person. When you've shouted 'Rule Britannia,* when you've sung *God Save the Queen,' When you've finished killing Kruger with your n outh. Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little tambourine For a gentleman in Khaki ordered south? He's an absent-minded b^gar, and his weaknesses are But we and Paul must take him as we find hmi, He is out on active service wiping something off a slate. And he's left a lot of little things behind him. CHORUS. Duke's son — cook's son — son of a hundred kings — Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay. Each of 'em doing his country's work (and who's to look after the things?) Pass the hat for your credit's sake, and pay— pay— pay. There are girls he married secret asking no permission to, For he knew he wouldn't get it if he did. There is gas, and coals, and vittles, and the house rent falling due, \nd then It's more than likely there's a kid. There are girls he walked ^ith casual; they'll be sorry now he's gone, . , , . For an absen^minded beggar they will hnd him. ¥ .'' THE ABSKNT-MINDED BEGGAR. 65 But it ain't the time for sermontt with the winter coming on, We must help the girl that Tommy left behind him. CHORUS. Cook's son — duke's son — son of a belted Earl — Son of a Lambeth publican— it's all the same to-day. Each of 'em doing his country's work (and who's to look after the gh:l?), Pass the hat for your credit's sake, and pay— pay— pay. There are families by thousands far too proud to beg or And they'll put their sticks and bedding up the spout; And they'll live on half o' nothing paid 'em punctual once a week, 'Cause the man that earned the wage is ordered out He's an absent-minded beggar, but hw heard his country's call. And his regiment didn't need to send to ftnd him ; He chucked his job and joined it So the job before us all Is to help the home that Tommy left behind hmri. THORUS. Duke's job — cook's job — gardener, baronet, groom, Mews or palace or paper shop — there's someone gone away. Each of *em doing his country's work ( and who s U» look after the room?) Pass the hat for your credit sake, and pay— pay — pay. Let us manage so as later we can look him in the face, And te'l him what he'd very much prefer- That while he saved the Empire, his employer saved his place. And his mate* -(that's you and me)— looked out for her. :' : ^^1 ■■I 66 SPLENDID ISOLATION. He's an absent-minded beggar, and he may forget it all ; But we do not want his kiddies to remind him That we sent him to the workhouse while their daddy hammered Paul, 80 well help the homes that Tommy's left behind him. CHORUS. Cook's home — duke's home— home of a millionaire. (Fifty thousandom and of Glory—a heritage earned by the best blood and brain of the Anglo-Saxon-Gaelo-Cel- tic nation. May God continue to bless our Empire, preserve our liberties, and secure our safety ! God save the King 1 I ,