Maiwand - The Last Eleven
At Maiwand stood the 66th at bay
Ring forth their praise, for who shall say
that British valour ever blazed around
Old England's Flag, more fervently,
than when upon the ground
it lay trampled, tattered, red;
And then was taken, not from the living, but the
dead.
Send forth their praise, Brave Honeywood, well done,
Thy fame still lives immortal as the sun,
There high aloft held by thy faithful hand,
Waves the dear flag, while swift at thy command,
Round it those heroes throng, till each man's blood
is shed,
And it was taken, not from the living, but the dead.
And Galbraith charging on the Mullah's bank,
Went flag upraised, then sorely wounded , sank,
But rising bravely to his knees, the Colours waved,
"Fight on," he cried, "Until the Flag
is saved"
And so they did, till on the field they bled,
And it was taken, not from the living, but the dead.
Then brave McMath, grasping the Colour stood,
(Poor Colour - tattered silk on splintered wood!)
Above, the burning sun of Afghan shone,
And round the Flag the 66th fought on,
Guarding it valiantly till each man's spirit fled,
And it was taken, not from the living, but the dead.
And at last the brave eleven who would not yield,
Still fought, and waved above the gory field,
Old England's Colours; man by man they fell,
While Afghan masses round them surge and swell,
And those dear Colours, Barr, were thy last bed,
So they were taken, not from the living, but the
dead.
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