What tale is this which stirs a world of knavesOut of its grubbing to throw greasy penceForth to the hat, and choke with eloquenceIn boastful prose and verse of doubtful staves?Four men have died, gentlemen, heroes, braves;Snows wrap them round eternally. From thenceThey may no more return to life or senseAnd a steel moon aches down on their chill graves.
"They died for England." It is excellentTo die for England. Death is oft the prizeOf him who bears the burden and the load.So with a glory let our lives be spent --We may be noble in the MinoriesAnd die for England in the Camden Road.
