The Toy Band
Dreary lay the long road, dreary lay the town,
Lights out and never a glint o' moon:
Weary lay the stragglers, half a thousand down,
Sad sighed the weary big Dragoon. "Oh! if I'd a drum here to make them take the road again,
Oh! if I'd a fife to wheedle,
Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in!
Fall in!
Follow the fife and drum! "Hey, but here's a toy shop, here's a drum for me,
Penny whistles too to play the tune!
Half a thousand dead men soon shall hear and see We're a band!" said the weary big Dragoon.
Rubadub!
Rubadub!
Wake and take the road again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee,
Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in!
Fall in!
Follow the fife and drum!" Cheerly goes the dark road, cheerly goes the night,
Cheerly goes the blood to keep the beat;
Half a thousand dead men marching on to fight With a little penny drum to lift their feet.
Rubadub!
Rubadub!
Wake, and take the road again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee,
Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in!
Fall in!
Follow the fife and drum!
As long as there's an Englishman to ask a tale of me,
As long as I can tell the tale aright,
We'll not forget the penny whistle's wheedle-deedle-dee And the big Dragoon a-beating down the night,
Rubadub!
Rubadub!
Wake and take the road again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee,
Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in!
Fall in!
Follow the fife, and drum!
Sir Henry Newbolt
Other author posts
Fideles Grassy Tomb
The Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair, His eyes were alive and clear of care, But well he knew that the hour was To bid good-bye to his ancient home
Laudabunt Alii
(After Horace)Let others praise, as fancy wills, Berlin beneath her trees, Or Rome upon her seven hills, Or Venice by her seas; Stamboul by double tides embraced, Or green Damascus in the waste
He Fell Among Thieves
Ye have robb’d,’ said he, ‘ye have slaughter’d and made an end, Take your ill-got plunder, and bury the dead: What will ye more of your guest and sometime friend ’ ‘Blood for our blood,’ they said He laugh’d: ‘If one may settle the ...
Felix Antonius
(After Martial)To-day, my friend is seventy-five; He tells his tale with no regret; His brave old eyes are steadfast yet, His heart the lightest heart alive He sees behind him green and wide The pathway of his pilgrim years; He sees...
