Then I seemed to be in a land of strife, With Britain against the wall, Where the pride of an empire was falling For ever beyond recall; And the flag that had waved in its glory Was drooping amid the gloom. 'Twas the end, and I fancied I heard it, The song of Britannia's doom. But its notes were hushed, as with, vengeance flushed, In anger, the Legion came, Like a surging sea, for a moment free, Avengers of England's fame; And the flag was saved, but the lonely graves Recorded the price they paid, Ere the work of the Legion was ended, The doom of an Empire stayed. And, then, thro' the mist of the cordite's gloom, I saw them return again, But many who gathered were missing now, And others were streaked with pain: For the desert would grieve for her children, The plains would resound no more With the voices of they who were sleeping Afar on that awful shore. They turned them again to the wilderness Like shadows amid the night, Away to the silence and lonely camp, For ever from England's sight; But they heard the call, and the ones to fall Remembered throughout their pain, When the King was in need of their service The King had not called in vain. * * * * * * * _Would ye know them, these men of the Legion? Then seek where the trails divide; In the gloom they are waiting the message, Recalling them to your side. When the squares shall be shattered and broken. And victory's songs are stilled, Then the dream that I dreamed of to-morrow, The dream shall be e'en fulfilled._ THE DESERTED COAST (A Story of the Suez Canal) Alone, yes, alone, a deserted coast, Though once I was lord of all; A king, and a fear, in the Southern Sea, To men who obeyed my call. Yet long was my reign, and my triumphs great, In days that are dead and gone; And now I am waiting, my voices dumb, A giant of my glory shorn. I know they are passing me in the North By way of the great canal, And mocking the passage around the Cape, Where I and my victims dwell; Forsaken, undone, but I wait my chance, With wanderers, sorely pressed, The ones who at last will my boundaries pass, To fall on my waiting breast. Alone, but for one who will ever sail, For aye in my mighty grasp; The Dutchman, who, trying to round my coast, Was felled by my raging blast; For the story's true of the spectral crew Who wander amid the gloom, While my surges sing a deathless hymn, The song of the Dutchman's doom. He'd a mighty ship, and he dared my wrath With haughty contempt and pride, And a scornful sneer, which I turned to fear As vainly escape he tried; Well I knew his woe, as he tried to go, In spite of my raging storm, With a bragging curse, which could not disperse The fear that was in him born.