Another knows of a sweet fond face
That will fade into ashy pale
As she hears the tale of that day of tears;
And a prayer rises to Him who hears
The widow and orphan's wail.
"We die," passed through each warrior's heart,
"And vainly, but the care
Rests not with us; 'tis ours to show
The world, old England, and the foe,
What Englishmen can dare."
Then bridle-reins are gathered up,
And sabres blaze on high,
And as each charger bounds away
Doubts flee like ghosts at opening day,
And each man joys to die.
St. George! it is a glorious sight
A splendid page of war,
To mark yon gorgeous, matchless troop,
Like some bright falcon, wildly swoop
On the sullen prey before.
Captain Martinet (loquitur).
"Hurrah for the hearts of Englishmen,
And the thoroughbred's long stride,
As the vibrating, turf-tearing hoof-thunder rolled,
'Twas worth a year of one's life, all told,
To have seen our fellows ride!"
