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THE FIGHT was over, and the battle won A soldier, who beneath his chieftain’s eye Had done a might deed and done it well, And done it as the world will have it done— A stab, a curse, some quick play of the butt, Two skulls cracked crosswise, but the colours saved— Proud of his wounds, proud of the promised cross, Turned to his rear-rank man, who on his gun Leant heavily apart. ‘Ho, friend!’ he called, ‘You did not fight then: were you left behind? I saw you not.’ The other turned and showed A gapping, red-lipped wound upon his breast. ‘Ah,’ said he sadly, ‘I was in the smoke!’ Threw up his arms, shivered, and fell and died. |