Hector MacDonald
Is it that fiends whose very breaths consume
Watch ever, and plan the downfall of the great?
Who shall explain or fathom this man's fate
Or pierce behind the veil of hell-deep gloom?
If only Omdurman could have been his tomb!
Majestic then through Fame's most splendid gate
He would have passed. Huge must have been the hate
Unseen that plotted this most piteous doom.
Dead!—he who never feared a human foe.
What strange Powers wrestled in this soldier's brain?
What anguish throbbed with an unheard-of pain
Through that proud spirit no sword-stroke could lay low?
What end had Death and Death's grim hosts to gain,
That such a warrior-soul should perish so?
Watch ever, and plan the downfall of the great?
Who shall explain or fathom this man's fate
Or pierce behind the veil of hell-deep gloom?
If only Omdurman could have been his tomb!
Majestic then through Fame's most splendid gate
He would have passed. Huge must have been the hate
Unseen that plotted this most piteous doom.
Dead!—he who never feared a human foe.
What strange Powers wrestled in this soldier's brain?
What anguish throbbed with an unheard-of pain
Through that proud spirit no sword-stroke could lay low?
What end had Death and Death's grim hosts to gain,
That such a warrior-soul should perish so?
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