On Spion Kop

Foremost of all on battle's fiery steep

Here VERTUE fell, and here he sleeps his sleep.

A fairer name no Roman ever gave

To stand sole monument on Valour's grave.

All night before the brink of death

In fitful sleep the army lay,

For through the dream that stilled their breath

Too gauntly glared the coming day.

But we, within whose blood there leaps

The fulness of a life as wide

As Avon's water where he sweeps

Seaward at last with Severn's tide,

We heard beyond the desert night

The murmur of the fields we knew,

And our swift souls with one delight

Like homing swallows Northward flew.

We played again the immortal games,

And grappled with the fierce old friends,

And cheered the dead undying names,

And sang the song that never ends;

Till, when the hard, familiar bell

Told that the summer night was late,

Where long ago we said farewell

We said farewell by the old gate.

“O Captains unforgot,” they cried,

“Come you again or come no more,

Across the world you keep the pride,

Across the world we mark the score.”