--O proud and sad for thee! And proud and sad for those Who on that stern foreign field Not seeking, found repose, As for England dear their life they gladly shed! Yet in death bethought them where, Not on these hillsides bare, But within sweet English air Their own home-dead In a green and sure repose Beside God's house are laid:-- Then faced the charging foes Unmoved, unhelp'd, unafraid:-- For they knew that God would rate each shatter'd limb Death-torn for England's sake, And in Christ's own mercy take On the day when souls shall wake, Their souls to Him! The battle of Inkermann was mainly fought on a ridge of rock which projects from the south-eastern angle of Sebastapol: the English centre of operations being the ill-fortified line named the 'Home Ridge.' The numbers engaged in field-operations, roughly speaking, were 4,000 English against 40,000 Russians. _The curtain-mist_; The battle began about 6 A.M. under heavy mist and drizzling rain, which lasted for several hours. Through this curtain the Russian forces coming down from the hill were seen only when near enough to darken the mist by their masses. _Egerton_; He commanded four companies of the 77th, and charged early in the battle with brilliant success;--his men, about 250, scattering 1500 Russians. _The gallant chief_; General Soimonoff, killed just after Egerton's charge. _With that old Albuera cry_; Prominent in the defence of the English main base of operations, the Home Ridge, against a weighty Russian advance, was Captain Stanley, commanding the 57th. This regiment, it was said, at the battle of Albuera had been encouraged by its colonel with the words, 'Fifty-seventh, die hard':--and Stanley, having less than 400 against 2000, thought the time had come to remind his 'Die-hards' of their traditional gallantry;--after which he himself at once fell mortally wounded. AFTER CAWNPORE June: 1857 Fourteen, all told, no more, Pack'd close within the door Of that old idol-shrine: And at them, as they stand, And from that English band, The leaden shower went out, and Death proclaim'd them _Mine_! Fourteen against an army; they, no more, Had 'scaped Cawnpore. With each quick volley-flash The bullets ping and plash: Yet, though the tropic noon With furnace-fury broke The sulphur-curling smoke, Scarr'd, sear'd, thirst-silenced, hunger-faint, they stood: And soon A dusky wall,--death sheltering life,--uprose Against their foes. Behind them now is cast The horror of the past; The fort that was no fort, The deep dark-heaving flood Of foes that broke in blood On our devoted camp, victims of fiendish sport; From that last huddling refuge lured to fly, --And help so nigh!