Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE VOLUNTEER (1914-1919), by ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE Poet's Biography First Line: The dreams are passed and gone, old man Last Line: Carry on, old sport, carry on! Subject(s): England; Military Recruitment; Soldiers; World War I; English; First World War | ||||||||
THE dreams are passed and gone, old man, That came to you and me, Of a six days' stunt on an east coast front, And the Hun with his back to the sea. Lord, how we worked, and swotted sore, To be fit when the day should come! Four years, my lad, and five months more, Since first we followed the drum. Though "Follow the drum" is a bit too grand, For we ran to no such frills; It was just the whistles of Nature's band That heartened us up the hills. That and the toot of the corporal's flute, Until he could blow no more, And the lilt of "Sussex by the Sea," The marching song of the corps. Those hills! My word, you would soon get fit, Be you ever so stale and slack, If you pad it with rifle and marching kit To Rotherfield Hill and back! Drills in hall, and drills outdoors, And drills of every type, Till we wore our boots with forming fours, And our coats with "Shoulder hipe!" No glory ours, no swank, no pay, One dull eventless grind; Find yourself, and nothing a day Were the terms that the old boys signed. Just drill and march and drill again, And swot at the old parade, But they got two hundred thousand men. Not bad for the old brigade! A good two hundred thousand came, On the chance of that east coast fight; They may have been old and stiff and lame, But, by George, their hearts were right! Discipline! My! "Eyes right!" they cried, As we passed the drill hall door, And left it at thatso we marched cock-eyed From three to half-past four. And solid! Why, after a real wet bout In a hole in the Flanders mud, It would puzzle the Boche to fetch us out, For we couldn't get out if we would! Some think we could have stood war's test, Some say that we could not, But a chap can only do his best, And offer all he's got. Fall out, the guard! The old home guard! Pile arms! Right turn! Dismiss! No grousing, even if it's hard To break our ranks like this. We can't show much in the way of fun For four and a half years gone; If we'd had our chancejust one! just one! Carry on, old Sport, carry on! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...D'ANNUNZIO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY 1915: THE TRENCHES by CONRAD AIKEN TO OUR PRESIDENT by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE HORSES by KATHARINE LEE BATES CHILDREN OF THE WAR by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE U-BOAT CREWS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE RED CROSS NURSE by KATHARINE LEE BATES WAR PROFITS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE UNCHANGEABLE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE SONG OF THE BOW, FR. THE WHITE COMPANY by ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE |
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