MAJOR WHYTE-MELVILLE 



It tells that morn how tidings 



From the East have reach'd our shore. 

 How England's name on the roll of fame 



Shines brilliantly once more. 



There was one among the gathering 

 Which throng'd the covert side. 



Whose heart beat high exulting 

 With a fellow-soldier's pride. 



One whose pen of each past gallop 



Could the memory prolong, 

 Embalm'd in pleasant story, 



Or made musical in song. 



His page with needful maxims 

 For the youthful rider fraught. 



Ambitious all to follow him 

 And practise what he taught. 



Young and old alike when speeding 

 To the cover round him press'd. 



Glad to share his cheery converse, 

 Or to catch some happy jest. 



That morn, due honour giving 

 To the brave whom Roberts led, 



Not less o'er those he sorrow'd 



Who were number'd with the dead. 



The dead ! — how little thought he 

 That day their fate to share, 



Unwarn'd when he to saddle sprang 

 That Death was clinging there ! 



IQI 



