YOU must fly, ye winds of Tartary! If ye hope to catch our band; For they skim o'er the tall rank grasses, And tramp on the wastes of sand, Swifter than winds or waters, With their long spears in their hand! Ride on! ride on, brave Cossacks! For never a foe will stand; Ye shall break and scatter their craven ranks, As your mad steeds scatter the sand: The devil himself would run from you, With your long spears in your hand! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S EVE by THOMAS HARDY A BALLAD OF LONDON (TO H.W. MASSINGHAM) by RICHARD THOMAS LE GALLIENNE THE HINT O' HAIRST by HEW AINSLIE THE VOICE FROM GALILEE by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR YOUTH'S AMBITION by ANNA GRACE BOYLES MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY IN PASSION WEEK: MONDAY by JOHN BYROM |