| |
| FROWNING, the mountain stronghold stood, | |
| Whose front no mortal could assail; | |
| For more than twice three hundred years | |
| The terror of the Indian vale. | |
| By blood and fire the robber band | 5 |
| Answered the helpless village wail. | |
| |
| Hot was his heart and cool his thought, | |
| When Napier from his Englishmen | |
| Up to the bandits’ rampart glanced, | |
| And down upon his ranks again. | 10 |
| Summoned to dare a deed like that, | |
| Which of them all would answer then? | |
| |
| What sullen regiment is this | |
| That lifts its eyes to dread Cutchee? | |
| Abased, its standard bears no flag. | 15 |
| For thus the punishment shall be | |
| That England metes to Englishmen | |
| Who shame her once by mutiny. | |
| |
| From out the disgraced Sixty-Fourth | |
| There stepped a hundred men of might. | 20 |
| Cried Napier: “Now prove to me | |
| I read my soldiers’ hearts aright! | |
| Form! Forward! Charge, my volunteers! | |
| Your colors are on yonder height!” | |
| |
| So sad is shame, so wise is trust! | 25 |
| The challenge echoed bugle-clear. | |
| Like fire along the Sixty-Fourth | |
| From rank to file rang cheer on cheer. | |
| In death and glory up the pass | |
| They fought for all to brave men dear. | 30 |
| |
| Old is the tale, but read anew | |
| In every warring human heart. | |
| What rebel hours, what coward shame, | |
| Upon the aching memory start! | |
| To find the ideal forfeited, | 35 |
| —What tears can teach the holy art? | |
| |
| Thou great Commander! leading on | |
| Through weakest darkness to strong light; | |
| By any anguish, give us back | |
| Our life’s young standard, pure and bright. | 40 |
| O fair, lost Colors of the soul! | |
| For your sake storm we any height. | |
| |
