THE BAYONET
49
The mortar gun is full of ire
When once ye do begin it,
The facile mitrailleuse can fire
Seven hundred rounds a minute,
But "La Rosalie" will never tire
When once her finger's in it.
When once ye do begin it,
The facile mitrailleuse can fire
Seven hundred rounds a minute,
But "La Rosalie" will never tire
When once her finger's in it.
The blade upon the barrel clicks
When the battle is begun,
And often has the Captain's "Fix!"
Carried us out o' one;
Then thrust and parry—these the tricks
By which the trench is won.
When the battle is begun,
And often has the Captain's "Fix!"
Carried us out o' one;
Then thrust and parry—these the tricks
By which the trench is won.
With thrust and parry, lunge and point,
Point, parry, lunge, and thrust;
Our knees seem going at the joint,
Our hearts beat fit to burst—
And then—may Christ our souls aroint,―
We stab at what seems accurst!—Ugh!
Point, parry, lunge, and thrust;
Our knees seem going at the joint,
Our hearts beat fit to burst—
And then—may Christ our souls aroint,―
We stab at what seems accurst!—Ugh!
The rifle bullet ranges far,
The bursting shell seeks wide,
The mortar and machine guns are
Both trusty tools and tried;
But the surest weapon in the war
Is the steel swings by my side!
The bursting shell seeks wide,
The mortar and machine guns are
Both trusty tools and tried;
But the surest weapon in the war
Is the steel swings by my side!
