OCR Text |
Show THE BOER FIGHTER. Saddle and bridle and girth. Stirrup and crupper and bit; Man on the top of a little horse, Shaggy and strong and fit; Rugged and bearded face, Ragged old hat of felt. Rifle that, kills at a thousand yards. And a tight-crammed cartridge "belt. CHORUS. Oh. it isn't by turning out your toes You can beat the foe in a tieht. Or learning to march like a marionette, Or by keeping your buttons bright; And it isn't the way that you crook your arm, "When you shut your eye to shoot; But it's taking to cover at every chance, Hillock and rock and root. I He doesn't know how to dress. And he doesn't know how to drill; But he met the smartest troops in the world. And fought till they had their fill; He's a slovenly, awkward chap, j He's a lubberly farnvr man; But he lay on the veldt from dawn till dawn. And shot till they brkft, and ran. CHORUS. For it Isn't the way that you keep the I touch. Or the way that you wheel about; And it isn't by pulling your waist belt in, And by padding your tunic out; And it isn't by cocking your forage cap, Or by gluing a glass in your eye; -'t But it's knowing the way to shoot like hell. And it's learning the way to die. They have gathered his kith and kin In a prison beyond the sea; But they can't imprison a daring soul, That lived in a bosom free; They have scattered the calcined walls. Which sheltered his child and wife; But they can't extinguish the flame they've lit Till it dies with his dying life. CHORUS. For it's never heat of a burning home i That has softei. d a foeman's heart. And it's never the reek of a lyddite shell That has riven his ranks apart; And it isn't money; it isn't men. When the guns' loud song begins: But it's feeling your foot on your native land. And it s being right that wins. -Bertrand Shad well, in the Cape Town African News. i |