Published in the Hull Monthly Express, February 1885
The poem below reflects attitudes of the era during British Imperialism and contains the archaic spelling “Moslem” which was the prevalent spelling in the English language at the time, together with the use of “Paynim” to denote a “non-Christian” as somehow “other”. It is published as part of this collection as an insight into works which were published without a second thought at the time.
Written 3 days following the Battle at Dulka Island of 10th February 1885, in Sudan during the Mahdist wars, a fairly detailed account of which can be found on The Black Watch page of Electric Scotland
Hark! Hark! A shout of triumph, whilst from belfries near and far
Re-echo joyous tidings of our victory in war;
All British hearts beat proudly as the story’s told once more
Of laurels won by Englishmen beyond their native shore;
How Moslem hordes, uncounted in their thousands, had again
Been vanquish’d by our countrymen on Egypt’s burning plain:
And flying from the thunder of the famous Gardner gun,
Had disappeared like morning mist before a summer sun,
Thus hanging on the British flag another wreath of fame,
And adding to the honour of the British soldier’s name.
But through the joy of victory, there thrills a sense of pain,
That many of our heroes on the battle field are slain,
And lie in unmark’d graves below the shifting yellow sand,
Where flowers can ne’er be placed at eve by tender loving hand.
And though Britannia mourns her slain, and ever honour’d keeps,
The records of he deeds of those for whom the nation weeps;
And though above their lowly graves may rest a floral wreath
In memory of those who sleep eternally beneath,
This will not soothe the anguish of a mother for her son,
Who shed his blood so freely there to call the battle won,
Nor dry the tears the orphans she for fathers there laid low,
Nor calm the bitter agony that widows only know.
Then ere we shout in triumph let the muffled drums be beat,
And minute bells the monotone of mournful notes repeat,
Let kindly aid be given to the grieving and bereft,
Who, robb’d of all, in solitude and poverty are left.
Thus rendering the tribute that is due unto the slain,
And all may sing with heartfelt joy the glad triumphant strain‒
Britannia’s sons have conquer’d in the battle field once more,
And proved themselves as brave as were their ancestors of yore,
When on the sands of Palestine they fought the Paynim horde,
And won the Holy Sepulchre where pilgrim saints ador’d,
The ancient field of Crecy, and the plains of Waterloo,
Sebastopol, and Inkerman, the heights of Alma, too,
Have won no greater honour than this battle by the Nile,
God bless the noble soldiers who have fought at Dulka’s Isle.