Yog
23-02-2008, 04:47 AM
These are a couple of excellent poems by Harry Hardboard Morrant—a British army officer around 1908. He was Australian, I believe, and was said to be quite the breaker of horses. He was one of the first practictioners of Guerrilla warfare and was part of a special regiment known as the Bush Velte Carbineers. In the end he was executed as a scapegoat to end the war with the Boer and prevent the Germans from entering the war on behalf of the South African Dutch known as the Boer.
I believe the word d__d in the second poem line two is dead.
Breaker Morrant
AT THE RIVER-CROSSING by Harry ("Breaker") Morant
Oh! the quiet river-crossing
Where we twain were wont to ride,
Where the wanton winds were to sing
Willow branches o'er the tide.
There the golden noon would find us
Dallying through the summer day,
All the waery world behind us -
All it's tumult far away.
Oh! thoe rides across the crossing
Where the shallow stream runs wide,
When the sunset's beams were glossing
Strips of sand on either side.
We would cross the sparkling river
On the brown horse and the bay;
Watch the willows sway and shiver
And their trembling shadows play.
When the opal tints waxed duller
And a gray crept o'er the skies
Yet there stayed the blue sky's color
In your dreamy dark-blue eyes.
How the sun-god's bright caresses,
When we rode at sunet there,
Plaited among your braided tresses,
Gleaming on your silky hair.
When the last sunlight's glory
Faded off the sandy bars,
There we learnt the old, old story,
Riding homeward 'neat the stars.
'Tis a memory to be hoarded -
Oh, the follish tale and fond!
Till another stream be forded -
And we reach the Great Beyond.
BUTCHERED TO MAKE A DUTCHMAN'S HOLIDAY by Harry ("Breaker") Morant
In prison cell I sadly sit,
A d__d crest-fallen chappie!
And own to you I feel a bit-
A little bit - unhappy!
It really ain't the place nor time
To reel off rhyming diction -
But yet we'll write a final rhyme
Whilst waiting cru-ci-fixion!
No matter what "end" they decide -
Quick-lime or "b'iling ile," sir?
We'll do our best when crucified
To finish off in style, sir!
But we bequeath a parting tip
For sound advice of such men,
Who come across in transport ship
To polish off the Dutchmen!
If you encounter any Boers
You really must not loot 'em!
And if you wish to leave these shores,
For pity's sake, DON'T SHOOT 'EM!!
And if you'd earn a D.S.O.,
Why every British sinner
Should know the proper way to go
Is: "ASK THE BOER TO DINNER!"
Let's toss a bumper down our throat, -
Before we pass to Heaven,
And toast: "The trim-set petticoat
We leave behind in Devon."
I believe the word d__d in the second poem line two is dead.
Breaker Morrant
AT THE RIVER-CROSSING by Harry ("Breaker") Morant
Oh! the quiet river-crossing
Where we twain were wont to ride,
Where the wanton winds were to sing
Willow branches o'er the tide.
There the golden noon would find us
Dallying through the summer day,
All the waery world behind us -
All it's tumult far away.
Oh! thoe rides across the crossing
Where the shallow stream runs wide,
When the sunset's beams were glossing
Strips of sand on either side.
We would cross the sparkling river
On the brown horse and the bay;
Watch the willows sway and shiver
And their trembling shadows play.
When the opal tints waxed duller
And a gray crept o'er the skies
Yet there stayed the blue sky's color
In your dreamy dark-blue eyes.
How the sun-god's bright caresses,
When we rode at sunet there,
Plaited among your braided tresses,
Gleaming on your silky hair.
When the last sunlight's glory
Faded off the sandy bars,
There we learnt the old, old story,
Riding homeward 'neat the stars.
'Tis a memory to be hoarded -
Oh, the follish tale and fond!
Till another stream be forded -
And we reach the Great Beyond.
BUTCHERED TO MAKE A DUTCHMAN'S HOLIDAY by Harry ("Breaker") Morant
In prison cell I sadly sit,
A d__d crest-fallen chappie!
And own to you I feel a bit-
A little bit - unhappy!
It really ain't the place nor time
To reel off rhyming diction -
But yet we'll write a final rhyme
Whilst waiting cru-ci-fixion!
No matter what "end" they decide -
Quick-lime or "b'iling ile," sir?
We'll do our best when crucified
To finish off in style, sir!
But we bequeath a parting tip
For sound advice of such men,
Who come across in transport ship
To polish off the Dutchmen!
If you encounter any Boers
You really must not loot 'em!
And if you wish to leave these shores,
For pity's sake, DON'T SHOOT 'EM!!
And if you'd earn a D.S.O.,
Why every British sinner
Should know the proper way to go
Is: "ASK THE BOER TO DINNER!"
Let's toss a bumper down our throat, -
Before we pass to Heaven,
And toast: "The trim-set petticoat
We leave behind in Devon."