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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538434" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dublin Fusilier</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here's to you, Uncle Kruger! slainté!<br>an' slainté galore.<br>You 're a dacint ould man, begorra; never<br>mind if you are a Boer.<br>So with heart an' a half ma boucahl, we 'll<br>drink to your health to-night<br>For yourself an' your farmer sojers gave us a<br>damn good fight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I was dramin' of Kitty Farrell, away in the<br>Gap o' Dunloe,<br>When the song of the bugle woke me, ringin'<br>across Glencoe;<br>An' once in a while a bullet came pattherin'<br>from above,<br>That tould us the big brown fellows were send-<br>in' us down their love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas a kind of an invitation, an' written in<br>such a han'<br>That a Chinaman could n't refuse it- not to<br>spake of an Irishman.<br>So the pickets sent back an answer. 'We're<br>comin' with right good will,'<br>Along what they call the kopje, tho' to me it<br>looked more like a hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Fall in on the left,' sez the captain, 'my<br>men of the Fusiliers;<br>You 'll see a great fight this morning -like<br>you have n't beheld for years.'<br>'Faith, captain dear,' sez the sergeant, 'you<br>can bet your Majuba sword<br>If the Dutch is as willin' as we are, you never<br>spoke truer word.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So we scrambled among the bushes, the bowl-<br>ders an' rocks an' all,<br>Like the gauger's men still-huntin' on the<br>mountains of Donegal;<br>We doubled an' turned an' twisted the same<br>as a hunted hare,<br>While the big guns peppered each other over<br>us in the air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like steam from the divil's kettle the kopje<br>was bilin' hot,<br>For the breeze of the Dutchman's bullets was<br>the only breeze we got;<br>An' many a fine boy stumbled, many a brave<br>lad died,<br>When the Dutchman's message caught him<br>there on the mountainside.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Little Nelly O'Brien, God help her! over<br>there at ould Ballybay,<br>Will wait for a transvaal letter till her face an' <br>her hair is grey,<br>For I seen young Crohoore on a stretcher, an' <br>I knew the poor boy was gone<br>When I spoke to the ambulance doctor,an' he<br>nodded an' then passed on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Steady there!' cried the captain, 'we must<br>halt for a moment here,'<br>An' he spoke like a man in trainin' , full winded<br>an' strong an' clear.<br>So we threw ourselves down on the kopje,<br>weary an' tired as death,<br>Waitin' the captain 's orders, waitin' to get a <br>breath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It 's strange all the humours an' fancies that<br>comes to a man like me;<br>But the smoke of the battle risin' took me<br>across the sea-<br>It 's the mist of Benbo I 'm seein'; an' the<br>rock that we 'll capture soon<br>Is the rock where I shot the eagle, when I was<br>a small gosson.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I close my eyes for a minute, an' hear my poor<br>mother say,<br>'Patrick, avick, my darlin', you 're surely not<br>goin' away<br>To join the red-coated sojers?'- but the<br>blood in me was strong-<br>If your sire was a Connaught Ranger, sure<br>where would his son belong?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hark! whisht! do you hear the music comin'<br>up from the camp below?<br>An odd note or two when the Maxims take<br>breath for a second or so,<br>Liftin' itself on somehow, stealin' its way up<br>here,<br>Knowin' there 's waitin' to hear it, many an<br>Irish ear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Augh! Garryowen! you 're the jewel! an' we<br>charged on the Dutchman's guns,<br>An' covered the bloody kopje, like a Galway<br>greyhound runs,<br>At the top of the hill they met us, with faces<br>all set and grim;<br>But they could n't take the bayonet - that 's<br>the trouble with most of thim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So of course, they 'll be praisin' the Royals<br>an' men of the Fusiliers,<br>An' the newspapers help to dry up the widows<br>an' orphans' tears,<br>An' they 'll write a new name on the colors-<br>that is, if there 's room for more<br>An' we 'll follow them thro' the battle, the same<br>as we 've done before.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But here 's to you, Uncle Kruger! slainté! an' <br>slainté galore.<br>After all, you 're a dacint Christian, never<br>mind if you are a Boer.<br>So with heart an' a half, ma boucahl, we 'll<br>drink to your health to-night,<br>For yourself an' your brown-faced Dutchmen<br>gave us a damn good fight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Henry+Drummond">William Henry Drummond</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=538434" data-title="The Dublin Fusilier de William Henry Drummond" data-description="Here's to you, Uncle Kruger! slainté!
an' slainté galore.
You 're a dacint ould man, begorra; never
mind if you are a Boer.
So with heart an' a half ma boucahl, we 'll
drink to your health to-night
For yourself an' your farmer sojers gave us a
d..."></div>
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