1. Parade Song of the Camp Animals
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ELEPHANTS OF THE GUN TEAMS
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We lent to Alexander the strength of Hercules,
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The wisdom of our foreheads, the cunning of our knees;
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We bowed our necks to service: they ne'er were loosed again,—
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Make way there—way for the ten-foot teams
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Of the Forty-Pounder train!
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Those heroes in their harnesses avoid a cannon-ball,
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And what they know of powder upsets them one and all;
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Then we come into action and tug the guns again—
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Make way there—way for the twenty yoke
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Of the Forty-Pounder train!
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By the brand on my shoulder, the finest of tunes
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Is played by the Lancers, Hussars, and Dragoons,
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And it's sweeter than "Stables" or "Water" to me—
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The Cavalry Canter of "Bonnie Dundee"!
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Then feed us and break us and handle and groom,
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And give us good riders and plenty of room,
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And launch us in column of squadron and see
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The way of the war-horse to "Bonnie Dundee"!
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As me and my companions were scrambling up a hill,
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The path was lost in rolling stones, but we went forward still;
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For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere,
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Oh, it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to
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Good luck to every sergeant, then, that lets us pick our road;
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Bad luck to all the driver-men that cannot pack a load:
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For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere,
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Oh, it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to
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We haven't a camelty tune of our own
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To help us trollop along,
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But every neck is a hair trombone
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(Rtt-ta-ta-ta! is a hair trombone!)
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And this our marching-song:
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Can't! Don't! Shan't! Won't!
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Pass it along the line!
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Somebody's pack has slid from his back,
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Wish it were only mine!
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Somebody's load has tipped off in the road—
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Cheer for a halt and a row!
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Urrr! Yarrh! Grr! Arrh!
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Somebody's catching it now!
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ALL THE BEASTS TOGETHER
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Children of the Camp are we,
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Serving each in his degree;
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Children of the yoke and goad,
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Pack and harness, pad and load.
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See our line across the plain,
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Like a heel-rope bent again,
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Reaching, writhing, rolling far,
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Sweeping all away to war!
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While the men that walk beside,
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Dusty, silent, heavy-eyed,
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Cannot tell why we or they
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March and suffer day by day.
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Children of the Camp are we,
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Serving each in his degree;
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Children of the yoke and goad,
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