"Every man die at his post!" and there hailed on our houses and halls Death from their rifle bullets, and death from their cannon balls, Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade, Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stoopt to the spade, Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell, Striking the hospital wall, crashing through it, their shot and their shell, IV. Death--for their spies were among us, their marksman were told of our best, So that the brute bullet broke through the brain that could think for the rest; Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and bullets would rain at our feet-- Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us round; Death at the glimpse of a finger from over the breadth of a street, Death from the heights of the mosque and the palace-- and death in the ground! V. Mine? yes, a mine! Countermine! down, down! and creep through the hole, Keep the revolver in hand! You can hear him--the murderous mole. Quiet! ah! quiet--wait till the point of the pickaxe be through! Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again than before-- Now let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer is no more; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. VI. Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a day, Soon as the blast of that underground thunder-clap echoed away, Dark through the smoke and the sulphur, like so many fiends in their hell-- Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yell-- Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemies fell. VII. What have they done? where is it? Out yonder. Guard the Redan! Storm at the Water-gate, storm at the Bailey-gate! storm, and it ran Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily drowned by the tide-- So many thousands that if they be bold enough, who shall escape? Kill or be killed, live or die, they shall know we are soldiers and men. VIII. Ready! take aim at their leaders--their masses are gapped with our grape-- Backward they reel like the wave, like the wave flinging forward again, Flying and foiled at the last by the handful they could not subdue; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. IX. Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart and in limb, Strong with the strength of the race to command, to obey, to endure, Each of us fought as if hope for the garrison hung but on him-- Still, could we watch at all points? We were every day fewer and fewer. X.