Contributions
should be sent to the Treasurer, General Sir DIGHTON PROBYN,
V.C., Marlborough House, Pall Mall.]
Are we sleeping? "_Have_ we forgotten?" Like the thrust of an Arab spear
Comes that conscience-piercing-question from the Singer of Haslemere.
Have we indeed forgotten the hero we so be-sang,
When across the far south sand-wastes the news of his murder rang?
Forgotten? So it had seemed to him, as alone afar he lay,
With the Nile to watch for laggard friends, fierce foes to hold at bay;
Though the tired red lines toiled onward up the Cataracts, and we
Dreamed of the shout of the rescuing host _his_ eyes should never see.
When chivalrous BURNABY lay slain, with a smile in the face of death,
And for happy news from the hungry wastes men yearned with bated breath;
When WILSON pushed his eager way past torrent-swirl and crag,
Till they saw o'er GORDON's citadel wave high--the MAHDI's flag.
That shame was surely enough, enough, that sorrow had a sting
Our England should not court again. The Laureate's accents ring
With scorn suppressed, a scorn deserved indeed, if still our part
Is to forget a purpose high that was dear to GORDON's heart.
"This earth has borne no simpler, nobler man." So then sang he
Who sounds a keen reveille now. "Can you help us?" What say we?
Oh, out on words, that come like WOLSELEY's host too late--too late!
Do--_do_, in the simple silent way that made lost GORDON great.
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