And the cavalry boys will be led by men—­Ewart! and Russell! and
  Drury-Lowe! 
Just once again let me stroke the mane—­let me kiss the neck and feel
  the breath
Of the good little horse who will carry me on to the end of the
  battle—­to life or death! 
“Give us a grip of your fist, old man!” let us all keep close when
  the charge begins! 
God is watching o’er those at home!  God have mercy on all our sins! 
        So pass the word in the dark, and then,
        When the bugle sounds, let us mount like men!

Out we went in the dead of the night! away to the desert, across the
  sand—­
Guided alone by the stars of Heaven! a speechless host! a ghostly
  band! 
No cheery voice the silence broke; forbidden to speak, we could hear
  no sound
But the whispered words, “Be firm, my boys!” and the horses’ hoofs on
  the sandy ground. 
“What were we thinking of then?” Look here! if this is the last true
  word I speak,
I felt a lump in my throat—­just here—­and a tear came trickling down
  my cheek. 
If a man dares say that I funked, he lies!  But a man is a man though
  he gives his life
For his country’s, cause, as a soldier should—­he has still got a
  heart for his child and wife! 
But I still rode on in a kind of dream; I was thinking of home and
  the boys—­and then
The silence broke! and, a bugle blew! then a voice rang cheerily,
  “Charge, my men!”
        So pass the word in the thick of the fight,
        For England’s honour and England’s right!

What is it like, a cavalry charge in the dead of night?  I can
  scarcely tell,
For when it is over it’s like a dream, and when you are in it a kind
  of hell! 
I should like you to see the officers lead—­forgetting their swagger
  and Bond Street air—­
Like brothers and men at the head of the troop, while bugles echo and
  troopers dare! 
With a rush we are in it, and hard at work—­there’s scarcely a minute
  to think or pause—­
For right and left we are fighting hard for the regiment’s honour and
  country’s cause! 
Feather-bed warriors!  On my life, be they Life Guards red or Horse
  Guards blue,
They haven’t lost much of the pluck, my boys, that their fathers
  showed us at Waterloo! 
It isn’t for us, who are soldiers bred, to chatter of wars, be they
  wrong or right;
We’ve to keep the oath that we gave our QUEEN! and when we are in
  it—­we’ve got to fight! 
        So pass the word, without any noise,
        Bravo, Cavalry!  Well done, boys!

Pass the word to the boys to-night, now that the battle is fairly
  won. 
A message has come from the EMPRESS-QUEEN—­just what we wanted—­
  a brief “Well done!”
The sword and stirrup are sorely stained, and the pistol barrels are
  empty quite,
And the poor old charger’s piteous eyes bear evidence clear of the