Scared Roncesvalles rang loud with war, as misty legends tell,
But echo's ear was spared the shriek and crash of bursting shell.

So could you meet the shades of those whose prowess made Romance,
You'd find them only puzzled by your tales of stunts in France;
You'd have to cut the business out, and be content to chat
Of rations, grub, and officers--such odds and ends as that,

Unless you chanced to entertain some true rough-rider's ghost,
Who galloped after HANNIBAL, or with the Parthian host,
Some curled Assyrian prince who pranced, bareback, along a frieze--
Or one of RUPERT'S _beaux sabreurs_--a horseman--whom you please.

With chosen spirits such as those your talk need never end
If you are worthy of your spurs and count a horse your friend.
Just ask them "Did you clip trace-high?" or "Did you chaff your hay?"
Or boast about the gee you ride, and they'll have lots to say.

Cut out the talk of battle's din, of whizz-bangs and of crumps,
Of bombs and gas and hand-grenades, of mines and blazing dumps;
If you would wake their sympathy and warm their hearts indeed
Describe a Squadron watering, and then the fuss at "Feed!"

That lively bustle has a charm to wake a mummy's ear
Who, ere the Pyramids were planned, was mustered charioteer;
And many a horseman's spirit thrills by Lethe's drowsy brink
When in a strange, familiar dream his Troop comes down to drink!

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