Look round that vale! behold the unburied bones Of Ghona’s children withering in the blast! The sobbing wind, that through the forest moans, Whispers--‘The spirit hath for ever passed!’ Thus, in the vale of desolation vast, In moral death dark Afric’s myriads lie; But the appointed day shall dawn at last, When, breathed on by a spirit from on high, The dry bones shall awake, and shout-- ‘Our God is nigh!’ _Thomas Pringle._ COURTHOPE CCXIV ENGLAND IN SOUTH AFRICA (1899) Across the streaming flood, the deep ravine, Through hurricanes of shot, through hells of fire, To rocks where myriad marksmen lurk unseen, The steadfast legions mount, mount always higher. Earth and her elements protect the foe: His are the covered trench, the ambushed hill, The treacherous pit, the sudden secret blow, The swift retreat--but ours the conquering will. Against that will in vain the fatal lead, Vain is the stubborn heart, brute cunning vain: Strong in the triumphs of thy dauntless dead, Advance, Imperial Race, advance and reign! _William John Courthope._ HENLEY CCXV FOR A GRAVE IN SOUTH AFRICA We cheered you forth--brilliant and kind and brave, Under your country’s triumphing flag you fell; It floats, true heart, over no dearer grave. Brave and brilliant and kind, hail and farewell! _William Ernest Henley._ HALL CCXVI ON LEAVING TABLE BAY Sun-showered land! largess of golden light Is thine; and well-befitting since the night Of England voiced again Canute’s command; ah, not in vain! Backward the tides of savagery drew; And still the bright sands gain On the retreating main: A lost world leaping to the light and blue. In state the mountains greet an eve so fair, And sunset-crowns and robes of purple wear: A sea of glass the ocean, gold-inwrought-- Pathway apocalyptic. From the prow A long bright ripple to the land is roll’d.... Haste thee and tell, tell of our love, with lips of gold, In soft sea-music tell! And thou, sweet bird, whose snowy wings have caught The universal glory, carry thou To that dear shore farewell--our hearts’ farewell! _Arthur Vine Hall._ COOK CCXVII THE RELIEF OF MAFEKING ‘Well done!’ The cry goes ringing round the world, O’er land and sea, wherever pulse throbs fast At tales of courage, for relief at last Is theirs and ours: so dawn’s bright flag unfurled Hath challenge to the powers of darkness hurled, And made one glory of the empyrean vast; And when this day to history’s tome is passed Its name shall stand on golden page impearled.