Success to the Old Brigade

Some war-worn warriors were drinking
The health of the King one night; 
They'd met, for they were celebrating 
A great and glorious fight. 
Their toast was loyal as their hearts were true; 
They drank right royally, as soldiers do. 
Then one old veteran of quite four score 
Said "Comrades, fill your glasses, I have one toast more.

"Success to the Old Brigade, may they ever be victorious
May they add to the laurels we have one, 
When there is fighting to be done. 
Though from its ranks we're gone, may its glory never fade, 
So after we drunk to the King we love, 
We'll drink to the old Brigade!"

His toast brought many recollections
Of desperate, hard-fought fights, —
Of comrades they had left behind them
On Crimea's snow-capped heights.
Their eves grew brighter with a war-like gleam; 
Their heart's blood tingled, for there is no theme, 
Composed or written, could have stirred that host,
Nor filled their souls with rapture, like the warrior's toast. 

But he has suddenly grown paler;-
A sob seems to shake his frame.
His lips are quivering, while softly
He murmurs his dear boy's name.
He reads a letter, and, with deep-drawn breath, 
He learns his son has died a soldier's death. 
And, though his noble heart is racked with pain, 
He wipes away a falling tear. and cries again,-