The Song of the Camp, by Bayard Taylor

The Song of the Camp

“ GIVE us a song!” the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding,
When the heated guns of the camps allied
Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,
Lay, grim and threatening, under;
And the tawny mound of the Malakoff
No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. A guardsman said,
“ We storm the forts to-morrow;
Sing while we may, another day
Will bring enough of sorrow.”

They lay along the battery’ s side,
Below the smoking cannon:
Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde,
And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love, and not of fame;
Forgot was Britain’ s glory:
Each heart recalled a different name,
But all sang “ Annie Laurie.”

Voice after voice caught up the song,
Until its tender passion
Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,
Their battle-eve confession.

Dear girl, her name he dared not speak,
But, as the song grew louder,
Something upon the soldier’ s cheek
Washed off the stains of powder.

Beyond the darkening ocean burned
The bloody sunset’ s embers,
While the Crimean valleys learned
How English love remembers.

And once again a fire of hell
Rained on the Russian quarters,
With scream of shot, and burst of shell,
And bellowing of the mortars!

And Irish Nora’ s eyes are dim
For a singer, dumb and gory;
And English Mary mourns for him
Who sang of “ Annie Laurie.”

Sleep, soldiers! Still in honored rest
Your truth and valor wearing:
The bravest are the tenderest,
The loving are the daring.

poems.one - Bayard Taylor

Bayard Taylor