A Ballad of the Ranks Poem : Songs of Action Poetry by Arthur Conan Doyle
A Ballad of the Ranks Poem
by
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
A Ballad of the Ranks Poem
Who carries the gun?
A lad from over the Tweed.
Then let him go, for well we know
He comes of a soldier breed.
So drink together to rock and heather,
Out where the red deer run,
And stand aside for Scotland’s pride –
The man that carries the gun!
For the Colonel rides before,
The Major’s on the flank,
The Captains and the Adjutant
Are in the foremost rank.
But when it’s ‘Action front! ‘
And fighting’s to be done,
Come one, come all, you stand or fall
By the man who holds the gun.
Who carries the gun?
A lad from a Yorkshire dale.
Then let him go, for well we know
The heart that never will fail.
Here’s to the fire of Lancashire,
And here’s to her soldier son!
For the hard-bit north has sent him forth –
The lad that carries the gun.
Who carries the gun?
A lad from a Midland shire.
Then let him go, for well we know
He comes of an English sire.
Here’s a glass to a Midland lass,
And each can choose the one,
But east and west we claim the best
For the man that carries the gun.
Who carries the gun?
A lad from the hills of Wales.
Then let him go, for well we know,
That Taffy is hard as nails.
There are several ll’s in the place where he dwells,
And of w’s more than one,
With a ‘Llan’ and a ‘pen,’ but it breeds good men,
And it’s they who carry the gun.
Who carries the gun?
A lad from the windy west.
Then let him go, for well we know
That he is one of the best.
There’s Bristol rough, and Gloucester tough,
And Devon yields to none.
Or you may get in Somerset
Your lad to carry the gun.
Who carries the gun?
A lad from London town.
Then let him go, for well we know
The stuff that never backs down.
He has learned to joke at the powder smoke,
For he is the fog-smoke’s son,
And his heart is light and his pluck is right –
The man who carries the gun.
Who carries the gun?
A lad from the Emerald Isle.
Then let him go, for well we know,
We’ve tried him many a while.
We’ve tried him east, we’ve tried him west,
We’ve tried him sea and land,
But the man to beat old Erin’s best
Has never yet been planned.
Who carries the gun?
It’s you, and you, and you;
So let us go, and we won’t say no
If they give us a job to do.
Here we stand with a cross-linked hand,
Comrades every one;
So one last cup, and drink it up
To the man who carries the gun!
For the Colonel rides before,
The Major’s on the flank,
The Captains and the Adjutant
Are in the foremost rank.
And when it’s ‘Action front! ‘
And there’s fighting to be done,
Come one, come all, you stand or fall
By the man who holds the gun.
Songs of Action Poetry
The Song of the Bow Poem
Cremona Poem
The Storming Party Poem
The Frontier Line Poem
Corporal Dick’s Promotion Poem
A Forgotten Tale Poem
Pennarby Mine Poem
A Rover Chanty Poem
A Ballad of the Ranks Poem
A Lay of the Links Poem
The Dying Whip Poem
Master Poem
H.M.S. ‘Foudroyant’ Poem
The Farnshire Cup Poem
The Groom’s Story Poem
With the Chiddingfolds Poem
A Hunting Morning Poem
The Old Gray Fox Poem
‘Ware Holes! Poem
The Home-Coming of the Eurydice Poem
The Inner Room Poem
The Irish Colonel Poem
The Blind Archer Poem
A Parable Poem
A Tragedy Poem
The Passing Poem
The Franklin’s Maid Poem
The Old Huntsman Poem
