Rejoicing After The Battle Of Inkerman

written by

« Reload image

Rejoice! the fearful day is o’er
  For the victors and the slain;
Our cannon proclaim from shore to shore,
  The Allies have won again!
Let our joy bells ring out music clear,
  The gayest they’ve ever pealed;
Let bonfires flames the dark night cheer,
  We are masters of the field

But list! dost hear that mournful wail
  ’Bove the joyous revelry?
Rising from hillside and lowly vale,—
  Say, what can its meaning be?
From Erin’s sunny emerald shore
  It trembles upon the gale,
And rises with the torrent’s roar
  From the birth place of the Gael.

Fair Albion, too, in every spot
  Of thy land of promise wide
Is heard that dirge for the mournful lot
  Of thy soldier sons—thy pride.
Them shall no bugle at dawn of day
  Arouse from their quiet sleep,
Them shall no charger with shrill neigh
  Bear off to the hillside steep.

’Mid the dead and dying stretched unknown
  On Crimea’s blood stained earth,
Lie the household gods of many a home,
  The lights of many a hearth:
While, vainly woman’s weeping voice
  Calls on each well loved one—
The tender wife on her girlhoods choice,
  The fond mother on her son.

And not only from the peasant’s cot
  Comes that mournful, dirge like cry,
’Tis heard—unto all a common lot—
  Where dwell the great and high;
And tears fall fast for the last lost child
  Of many a noble race,
Who has perished in that struggle wild,
  And left none to fill his place.

Yet if above our laurels bright
  Falls many a bitter tear,
Still, still, may we find a gleam of light,
  Our stricken hearts to cheer;
They have fallen in the country’s cause
  That their youth and manhood nursed,
They have fallen true to honor’s laws,
  In a sacred strife and just.

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon