Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (18331908). A Victorian Anthology, 18371895. 1895. |
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The Private of the Buffs |
| Sir Francis Hastings Doyle |
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LAST night, among his fellow roughs, | |
He jested, quaffd, and swore: | |
A drunken private of the Buffs, | |
Who never lookd before. | |
To-day, beneath the foemans frown, | 5 |
He stands in Elgins place, | |
Ambassador from Britains crown, | |
And type of all her race. | |
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Poor, reckless, rude, lowborn, untaught, | |
Bewilderd, and alone, | 10 |
A heart, with English instinct fraught, | |
He yet can call his own. | |
Ay, tear his body limb from limb, | |
Bring cord, or axe, or flame: | |
He only knows, that not through him | 15 |
Shall England come to shame. | |
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Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemd, | |
Like dreams, to come and go; | |
Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamd, | |
One sheet of living snow; | 20 |
The smoke, above his fathers door, | |
In gray soft eddyings hung: | |
Must he then watch it rise no more, | |
Doomd by himself, so young? | |
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Yes, honor calls!with strength like steel | 25 |
He put the vision by. | |
Let dusky Indians whine and kneel; | |
An English lad must die. | |
And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, | |
With knee to man unbent, | 30 |
Unfaltering on its dreadful brink, | |
To his red grave he went. | |
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Vain, mightiest fleets, of iron framd; | |
Vain, those all-shattering guns; | |
Unless proud England keep, untamd, | 35 |
The strong heart of her sons. | |
So, let his name through Europe ring | |
A man of mean estate, | |
Who died, as firm as Spartas king, | |
Because his soul was great. | 40 |
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