Now Kelly lay a-dying,
And dimly saw advance,
With split new banners flying,
The fantassins of France.
Then up amid the mêlée
He rose from where he lay;
“Come on, me boys,” says Kelly,
“The Layjun lades the way!”
Aye, while they faltered, doubting
(Such flames of doom were spouting),
He caught them, thrilled them, shouting,
“The Layjun lades the way!”
They saw him slip and stumble,
Then stagger on once more;
They marked him trip and tumble,
A mass of grime and gore;
They watched him blindly crawling
Amid hell’s own affray,
And calling, calling, calling:
“The Layjun lades the way!”
And even while they wondered,
The battle-wrack was sundered;
To Victory they thundered,
But… Kelly led the way.
Still Kelly kept agoing;
Berserker-like he ran;
His eyes with fury glowing,
