THE STORMING PARTY

Said Paul Leroy to Barrow,

‘ Though the breach is steep and narrow,

If we only gain the summit

Then it's odds we hold the fort.

I have ten and you have twenty,

And the thirty should be plenty,

With Henderson and Henty

And McDermott in support.’

Said Barrow to Leroy,

‘ It's a solid job, my boy,

For they've flanked it, and they've banked it,

And they've bored it with a mine.

But it's only fifty paces

Ere we look them in the faces;

And the men are in their places,

With their toes upon the line.’

Said Paul Leroy to Barrow,

‘ See that first ray, like an arrow,

How it tinges all the fringes

Of the sullen drifting skies.

They told me to begin it

At five-thirty to the minute,

And at thirty-one I'm in it,

Or my sub will get his rise.

‘ So we'll wait the signal rocket,

Till... Barrow, show that locket,

That turquoise-studded locket,

Which you slipped from out your pocket

And are pressing with a kiss!

Turquoise-studded, spiral-twisted,

It is hers! And I had missed it

From her chain; and you have kissed it:

Barrow, villain, what is this?’

‘ Leroy, I had a warning,

That my time has come this morning,

So I speak with frankness, scorning

To deny the thing that's true.

Yes, it's Amy's, is the trinket,

Little turquoise-studded trinket,

Not her gift — oh, never think it!

For her thoughts were all for you.

‘ As we danced I gently drew it

From her chain — she never knew it

But I love her — yes, I love her:

I am candid, I confess.

But I never told her, never,

For I knew‘ twas vain endeavour,

And she loved you — loved you ever,

Would to God she loved you less!’

‘ Barrow, Barrow, you shall pay me!

Me, your comrade, to betray me!

Well I know that little Amy

Is as true as wife can be.

She to give this love-badged locket!

She had rather... Ha, the rocket!

Hi, McDougall! Sound the bugle!

Yorkshires, Yorkshires, follow me!’

Said Paul Leroy to Amy,

‘ Well, wifie, you may blame me,

For my passion overcame me,

When he told me of his shame;

But when I saw him lying,

Dead amid a ring of dying,

Why, poor devil, I was trying

To forget, and not to blame.

‘ And this locket, I unclasped it

From the fingers that still grasped it:

He told me how he got it,

How he stole it in a valse.’

And she listened leaden-hearted:

Oh, the weary day they parted!

For she loved him — yes, she loved him -

For his youth and for his truth,

And for those dying words, so false.