sir a c lyall - badmington - ghizela rowe lyrics
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hardly a shot from the gate we stormed
under the moree battlement’s shade;
close to the glacis our game was formed
there had the fight been, and there we played
lightly the demoiselles tittered and leapt
merrily capered the players all;
north, was the garden where nicholson slept
south, was the sweep of a battered wall
near me a musalmán, civil and mild
watchеd as the shuttlec*cks rose and fеll;
and he said, as he counted his beads and smiled
“god smite their souls to the depths of h*ll.”
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