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.