| |
| SCARLET coats, and crash o’ the band, | |
| The grey of a pauper’s gown, | |
| A soldier’s grave in Zululand, | |
| And a woman in Brecon Town. | |
| |
| My little lad for a soldier boy, | 5 |
| (Mothers o’ Brecon Town!) | |
| My eyes for tears and his for joy | |
| When he went from Brecon Town, | |
| His for the flags and the gallant sights, | |
| His for the medals and his for the fights, | 10 |
| And mine for the dreary, rainy nights | |
| At home in Brecon Town. | |
| |
| They say he ’s laid beneath a tree, | |
| (Come back to Brecon Town!) | |
| Shouldn’t I know?—I was there to see: | 15 |
| (It ’s far to Brecon Town!) | |
| It ’s me that keeps it trim and drest | |
| With a briar there and a rose by his breast— | |
| The English flowers he likes the best | |
| That I bring from Brecon Town. | 20 |
| |
| And I sit beside him—him and me | |
| (We’re back to Brecon Town), | |
| To talk of the things that used to be | |
| (Grey ghosts of Brecon Town); | |
| I know the look o’ the land and sky, | 25 |
| And the bird that builds in the tree near by, | |
| And times I hear the jackal cry, | |
| And me in Brecon Town. | |
| |
| Golden grey on miles of sand | |
| The dawn comes creeping down; | 30 |
| It ’s day in far off Zululand | |
| And night in Brecon Town. | |
| |
