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v. c. clinton-baddeley - robert graves: the general elliott كلمات أغنية

he fell in victory’s fierce pursuit
holed through and through with shot
a sabre sweep had hacked him deep
twixt neck and shoulderknot….

the potman cannot well recall
the ostler never knew
whether his day was malplaquet
the boyne or waterloo

but there he hangs for tavern sign
with foolish bold regard
for c_ck and hen and loitering men
and wagons down the yard

raised high above the hayseed world
he smokes his painted pipe
and now surveys the orchard ways
the damsons cl_stering ripe

he sees the churchyard slabs beyond
where country neighbours lie
their brief renown set lowly down;
his name assaults the sky

he grips the tankard of brown ale
that spills a generous foam:
oft_times he drinks, they say, and winks
at drunk men lurching home
no upstart hero may usurp
that honoured swinging seat;
his seasons pass with pipe and glass
until the tale’s complete

and paint shall keep his b_ttons bright
though all the world’s forgot
whether he died for england’s pride
by battle, or by pot

- v c clinton baddeley

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