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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=344111" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Last Parade</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">With never a sound of trumpet, <br>With never a flag displayed, <br>The last of the old campaigners <br>Lined up for the last parade. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Weary they were and battered, <br>Shoeless, and knocked about; <br>From under their ragged forelocks <br>Their hungry eyes looked out. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And they watched as the old commander <br>Read out to the cheering men <br>The Nation's thanks, and the orders <br>To carry them home again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the last of the old campaigners, <br>Sinewy, lean, and spare -- <br>He spoke for his hungry comrades: <br>&quot;Have we not done our share? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Starving and tired and thirsty <br>We limped on the blazing plain; <br>And after a long night's picket <br>You saddled us up again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;We froze on the windswept kopjes <br>When the frost lay snowy-white, <br>Never a halt in the daytime, <br>Never a rest at night! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;We knew when the rifles rattled <br>From the hillside bare and brown, <br>And over our weary shoulders <br>We felt warm blood run down, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;As we turned for the stretching gallop, <br>Crushed to the earth with weight; <br>But we carried our riders through it -- <br>Sometimes, perhaps, too late. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Steel! We were steel to stand it -- <br>We that have lasted through, <br>We that are old campaigners <br>Pitiful, poor, and few. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Over the sea you brought us, <br>Over the leagues of foam: <br>Now we have served you fairly <br>Will you not take us home? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Home to the Hunter River, <br>To the flats where the lucerne grows; <br>Home where the Murrumbidgee <br>Runs white with the melted snows. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;This is a small thing, surely! <br>Will not you give command <br>That the last of the old campaigners <br>Go back to their native land?&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They looked at the grim commander, <br>But never a sign he made. <br>&quot;Dismiss!&quot; and the old campaigners <br>Moved off from their last parade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Andrew+Barton+Paterson">Andrew Barton Paterson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=344111" data-title="The Last Parade de Andrew Barton Paterson" data-description="With never a sound of trumpet, 
With never a flag displayed, 
The last of the old campaigners 
Lined up for the last parade. 

Weary they were and battered, 
Shoeless, and knocked about; 
From under their ragged forelocks 
Their hungry eyes looked..."></div>
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