Poem by Andrew Barton Paterson

The Reveille

Trumpets of the Lancer Corps 
Sound a loud reveille; 
Sound it over Sydney shore, 
Send the message far and wide 
Down the Richmond River side. 
Boot and Saddle, mount and ride, 
Sound a loud reveille. 
Whither go ye, Lancers gay, 
With your bold reveille? 
O’er the ocean far away 
From your sunny southern home, 
Over leagues of trackless foam 
In a foreign land to roam, 
With your bold reveille. 

When we hear our brethren call, 
Sound a clear reveille. 
Then we answer, one and all, 
Answer that the world may see, 
Of the English stock are we, 
At their side we still will be, 
Sound a bold reveille. 

English troops are buried deep. 
Sound a soft reveille. 
In this foreign land asleep, 
Underneath Majuba Hill, 
Lying sleeping very still, 
Nevermore those squadrons will 
Answer to reveille. 

Onward without fear or doubt, 
Sound a bold reveille. 
’Till that shame is blotted out. 
While our Empire’s bounds are wide, 
Britons all stand side by side, 
Boot and saddle, mount and ride. 
Hear the bold reveille.

1. A Grain of Desert Sand
2. That Half-Crown Sweep
3. Under the Shadow of Kiley’s Hill
4. White Cockatoos
5. The Two Devines

Francis Bret Harte The Reveille ("Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands")

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