O, let me like a soldier fall, Upon some tented plain! This breast expanding for the ball, To blot out every stain. Brave manly hearts confer my doom, That gentler ones may tell, Howe’er forgot, unknown my tomb, I like a soldier fell. I only ask, for that proud race, Which ends its blaze in me, To die the last, and not disgrace, Its ancient chivalry. Although no banners o’er me wave, trumpet requiem swell Enough, they murmur o’er my grave, He like a soldier fell. ―――― LET ME LIKE A FEATHER FALL. Yes, let me like a feather fall, If tumble then I must; Not I desire that vulgar sprawl To rudely kiss the dust. No, I’ll recline as gracefully As if ’twas by a spell, And they that stay and see shall say, “He like a feather fell.” Yes, from the pig skin I’ll descend. And on the dust recline So gently, that a smiling friend May claim it all sublime. But the pig skin I shall try to keep, For to part like that’s a sell, Yet they shall say, if we part that way, “He like a feather fell.” Yes, the vile cropper I despise, The gentle I admire, And all are free to criticise The spill that I desire. But when I tumble give the song, And true that song shall tell, How through what space, and with what grace “He like a feather fell.” _Whizz_; the Christmas number of _The Bicycling Times_. 1880. ――――:o:―――― THE GIRLS THEY’VE LEFT BEHIND THEM. Our gallant Guards have marched away, Each eye with pleasure flashing, On Eastern shores to join the fray, And give the Bear a thrashing. To Englishmen they still are dear, And absent ties shall bind them, Thus our first care shall be to cheer The girls they’ve left behind them. * * * * * (_Two verses omitted_). _Diogenes_, Vol. III., page 104. 1854. ―――― THE WIVES THEY LEFT BEHIND THEM. We cheer our soldiers on their way, We crowd and we huzza them, And as they go to seek the fray Effusively “Ta-ta” them. Then ere they’re safe upon the foam, And distance serves to blind them, We cry, “Turn out of house and home, The wives they’ve left behind them.” And so our fighters meet the foe, And bleed, should duty bid them; A thrust may come to lay them low, Of life a bullet rid them. Oh, gladly must these heroes face The dangers that may find them, Who know how we, to our disgrace, Treat those they’ve left behind them.