of the Old World. 459 



At last he breathed the lost one's name 



Each soldier turned away. 

 Again he ask'd the captain came, 



But knew not what to say. 

 A tear rolled from the sailor's eye 



He pointed o'er his head, 

 Where Britain's banner, half-mast high, 



Proclaimed that one was dead. 



He took the mourner by the hand, 



And led him to the corse ; 

 Surrounded by our weeping band, 



He told him of his loss. 

 The old man kissed the pallid cheek, 



And knelt down by the dead, 

 As if in prayer : he did not speak. 



He rose not life had fted. 



SONG. THE BASHI-BAZOUK TO HIS HORSE, 

 DESERT-BORN." * 



COME, rouse thee, my charger, prepare for the fray ; 

 For trumpets are braying, and we must away ! 

 The booming of cannon sounds loud on the wind ; 

 When fame 's to be won, we must ne'er be t>ehind. 

 Let those who prefer it dwell in a fix'd home, 

 But we, my heart's treasure, together will roam ! 

 For Islam is threaten'd the Sultan has need 

 Of the Bashi-bazouk and his brave Arab steed. 



1 " Desert-born," a favourite Arab charger, killed at the battle of 

 Inkermann. 



