Punch (48.1865)

172

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[April 29, 1866,

DIVERSIONS OF DRILL.

Column Movements. General Principles. The Commander, ip he sees there is not room for the Formation, may give the
word, “ Open to wheeling distance from the Rear ; Remaining Companies, Quick March !” This causes Confusion and Amuse-
ment, AND ENLIVENS THE MONOTONY OF DRILL.

ALTER THE EIGHT.

Habet! The fatal cast is made,

The well-poised net falls true,
Hamp’ring, alike, the trenchant blade,

And the strong hand that drew.

The world-wide Circus holds its breath
Between the lots of life and death;

Recalls the thrilling conflict’s course—
Dear life to life opposed.

Courage that took no count of force.

But cheered, aud charged, and closed :
Patience that from defeat arose,

And learnt to deal, by bearing, blows.

Till Circus-haunters, who bad watched
Famed sword-plays, long ago,

And scorned these giants, rudely matched,
Felt admiration grow.

As stubborn strife to strength gave skill.
The art to guard, the craft to kill.

While the fight raged, men had but eyes
To watch its changing cheer ;

In lusty cheers and stifled cries.

Speaking their hope and fear;

While foot to foot, and hand to hand,
Those bleeding brothers stained the sand.

Oft our short-sighted eyes misread
The chances of the fight,

Amazed to see him turn, who fled,

Him, who pursued, in flight.

But chance and change can shift no more.
Might is made clear, resistance o’er.

Bursts out in jubilee the crowd.

As with a single will;

For exultation’s tongue is loud,

While sympathy is still;

Millions of throats the victor cheer,

But, let the vanquished claim a tear.

Man’s strife God’s guidance doth o’erule.
His means and ends are veiled :

But all can see, when blood runs cool,
Iiow well he fought that failed.

Iu him that, spent and snared, lies low,
Plate’s self must own a noble foe.

Not always to the swift the race,

Nor to the brave the fight;

But conquest’s blest that adds the grace
Of mercy unto might.

Then let the sign that says “ We spare,”
Be bis that lieth, bleeding, there.

Let his blood purge the bitter sin

For which he fought so well,-_

The right claimed for the whiter skin
Black life to buy and sell:

Its champion fall’n, that sin is slain,
Never, like him, to rise again.

Then staunch those gashes’ crimson flood,
Brother take brother’s hand,

And o’er the stain of kindred blood
Sweep smooth the trampled sand :

The life, unto your mercy given,

Spare, with acclaim of Earth and Heaven.

New Poem by a Young Lady.— The Loves oj Bonnets