Who carries the gun? A lad from the Emerald Isle. Then let him go, for well we know We’ve tried him many a while. We’ve tried him East, we’ve tried him West, We’ve tried him sea and land, But the man to beat old Erin’s best Has never yet been planned. Who carries the gun? It’s you, and you, and you; So let us go, and we won’t say no If they give us a job to do. Here we stand with a cross-linked hand, Comrades every one; So one last cup, and drink it up To the man who carries the gun? _For the Colonel rides before, The Major’s on the flank, The Captains and the Adjutant Are in the foremost rank. And when it’s ‘Action front!’ And there’s fighting to be done, Come one, come all, you stand or fall By the man who carries the gun._ _Arthur Conan Doyle._ PAIN CXI OUR DEAD Sye, do yer ’ear thet bugle callin’ Sutthink stringe through the city’s din? Do yer shut yer eyes when the evenin’ ’s fallin’, An’ see quite plain wheer they’re fallin’ in? An’ theer ain’t no sarnd as they falls in, An’ they mawch quick step with a silent tread Through all ar ’earts, through all ar ’earts, The Comp’ny of ar Dead. A woman’s son, and a woman’s lover-- Yer’d think as nobody ’eld ’im dear, As ’e stands, a clear mawk, art o’ cover, An’ leads the rush when the end is near; One more ridge and the end is near, One more step an’ the bullet’s sped. My God, but they’re well-officered, The Comp’ny of ar Dead! Never they’ll ’ear the crard a-cheerin’, These ’ull never come beck agine; Theer welkim ’ome is beyond our ’earin’, But theer nimes is writ, an’ theer nimes remine, An’ deep an’ lawstin’ theer nimes remine Writ in theer blood for theer country shed; An’ they stan’s up strite an’ they knows no shime, The Comp’ny of ar Dead. _Barry Pain._ NEWBOLT CXII ADMIRALS ALL A SONG OF SEA KINGS Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake, Here’s to the bold and free! Benbow, Collingwood, Byron, Blake, Hail to the Kings of the sea! Admirals all, for England’s sake, Honour be yours and fame! And honour, as long as waves shall break, To Nelson’s peerless name! _Admirals all, for England’s sake, Honour be yours and fame! And honour, as long as waves shall break, To Nelson’s peerless name!_ Essex was fretting in Cadiz Bay With the galleons fair in sight; Howard at last must give him his way, And the word was passed to fight. Never was schoolboy gayer than he, Since holidays first began: He tossed his bonnet to wind and sea, And under the guns he ran.