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SOUTH OF GAZA, by                    
First Line: Fared we afield in the gathering dusk from the lines in the rail-head camp
Last Line: The swift hoofs sounded a roll of doom to the turkish arms that night!
Alternate Author Name(s): Gerardy
Subject(s): Cavalry; War


FARED we afield in the gathering dusk from the lines in the rail-head camp,
And we dimly heard through the dust we stirred a battalion out on the tramp.
The big guns cooled in the Turkish lines 'mid the green hills hidden away,
While the steadfast course of the Anzac Horse was east till the dawn of day!
The limbers swung through the smoke that hung on the worn, shell-crippled track,
And a smothering pall of darkness fell that gripped the earth in a sombre spell
Till the sleepy west bade night farewell as the coals of day burned black.
Over the unfenced barleyfields we rode through the hoof-woke night,
The mist rose high till the star-gemmed sky was veiled in a film of white,
The mist fell low till it blurred the grass and scumbled about our course,
And the squadrons streamed till the riders seemed mute ghosts of a phantom
force.
We rode till the grey of a dawning day awakened the drowsy earth;
Till the snarling, hot-lipped guns behind made haste in the waxing light to find
The range of enemy humankind with thundering gusts of mirth.

Up from a deep-worn watercourse we climbed to a rolling lea
While the mounts remained in the dip, close-reined each one to its "number
three".
We swept through the waist-high barley-grass that waved in the breeze of morn,
While the larks on high carolled down the sky and the quail whirred up from the
corn.
The rustle of feet in the bearded wheat spread out where the rifles trailed,
A squadron of taubes was on the wing: ere the Turkish lead began to sing
The big guns smothered the voice of spring and the screaming shells assailed.

Down we crouched in the shivering grass while the quaking hills ahead
Were battered ablaze till a blood-red haze crept up like a pall of dread.
Our guns waxed loud and fierce behind to hammer us out a track,
To double the chance of a swift advance for the ghastly trench attack.
Over the dim far ridge's rim the sun swung aloft through smoke
That dimmed the vision of anxious eyes, till out of the grass were seen to rise
Brown men in a trice of dumb surprise when the Turkish batteries spoke.

Never before those ancient hills were rent in a storm so loud,
So splattered with lead by cordite sped nor wrapped in a battle-shroud.
To left and right as far as the eye could see on the hazy flanks
The shrapnel broke in a swirl of smoke on the forward surging ranks;
We forged ahead where the poppies red resembled the wasting blood
Of men who staggered and pitched and lay to rise no more and view the array
Of mates who passed through the dust away in a panting human flood.

Down on the lead-whipped ground again we fell for the want of breath;
While the far-flung ranks whistled in their flanks we witnessed a feast of
death.
A thing crawled over the hill and climbed through a tangled mass of wire—
A tank with a stream of smoke abeam and its chattering front afire.
It lumbered along through a startled throng and sickled them down like wheat,
And the Turkish shells rained back to break the lines that came in its deadly
wake,
Till the torn earth seemed to cringe and quake beneath their tottering feet.

Out on the flank a tide of life leapt up from the earth once more,
'Twas a grim sight then and Royston's men swept wide like a wave on shore;
The white steel flashed when the blades came out and the troops streamed over
the rise
Till the rearmost man was lost to sight of the watching bloodshot eyes.
Out of the vale in a shrapnel gale the led mounts moved in the rear,
The whole line surged and straggled and flowed downhill to the old Beer-sheba
road
Where each fell under his final load who failed to emerge all clear.

We clung to the hard-won hills that day till the drooping sun waxed pale;
We'd pressed the attack till the Turks hung back sore rent from the blown-out
gale.
Only the snipers' farewell shots were echoing sharply then,
And the west was bright with relief in sight for the watching, worn-out men.
We marched away at the close of day to mount in the dying light:
We rode aflank through the tense, grey gloom with plenty of sad, spare saddle-
room—
The swift hoofs sounded a roll of doom to the Turkish arms that night!





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