On Fort-Duty
Oh! it's everlasting gun-drill
And eight-o'clock parades,
It's cleaning-up of mortars
(Likewise of carronades),
While the passes ring with rifles
And the noise of Afghan raids.
And I look across the ramparts
To the river broad and gray,
And I think of merry England
Where the festive Horse Guards play.
Oh! take the senior grades for this
And spare the young R.A.!
33
