To the Balliol Men Still in Africa
Years ago when I was at Balliol,Balliol men--and I was one--Swam together in winter rivers,Wrestled together under the sun.And still in the heart of us, Balliol, Balliol,Loved already, but hardly known,Welded us each of us into the others:Called a levy and chose her own.
Here is a House that armours a manWith the eyes of a boy and the heart of a ranger,And a laughing way in the teeth of the worldAnd a holy hunger and thirst for danger:Balliol made me, Balliol fed me,Whatever I had she gave me again:And the best of Balliol loved and led me.God be with you, Balliol men.
I have said it before, and I say it again,There was treason done, and a false word spoken,And England under the dregs of men,And bribes about, and a treaty broken:But angry, lonely, hating it still,I wished to be there in spite of the wrong.My heart was heavy for Cumnor HillAnd the hammer of galloping all day long.
Galloping outward into the weather,Hands a-ready and battle in all:Words together and wine togetherAnd song together in Balliol Hall.Rare and single! Noble and few!...Oh! they have wasted you over the sea!The only brothers ever I knew,The men that laughed and quarrelled with me.
Balliol made me, Balliol fed me,Whatever I had she gave me again;And the best of Balliol loved and led me,God be with you, Balliol men.
You thought because we held, my lord,An ancient cause and strong,That therefore we maligned the sword:My lord, you did us wrong.
We also know the sacred heightUp on Tugela side,Where those three hundred fought with BeitAnd fair young Wernher died.
The daybreak on the failing force,The final sabres drawn:Tall Goltman, silent on his horse,Superb against the dawn.
The little mound where Eckstein stoodAnd gallant Albu fell,And Oppenheim, half blind with bloodWent fording through the rising flood--My Lord, we know them well.
The little empty homes forlorn,The ruined synagogues that mourn,In Frankfort and Berlin;We knew them when the peace was torn--We of a nobler lineage born--And now by all the gods of scornWe mean to rub them in.
Words in this poem
- ranger n.
- One who ranges; a rover; sometimes, one who ranges for plunder; a roving robber.
- angry a.
- Troublesome; vexatious; rigorous. [See Anger.]
- galloping a.
- Going at a gallop; progressing rapidly; as, a galloping horse.
- daybreak n.
- The time of the first appearance of light in the morning.
- superb a.
- Grand; magnificent; august; stately; as, a superb edifice; a superb colonnade. [F. superbe, L. superbus, fr. super over. See Super-.]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- forlorn a.
- Deserted abandoned; lost. [OE., p.p. of forlesen to lose utterly, AS. forleósan (p.p. forloren); pref. for- + leósan (in comp.) to lose; cf. D. verliezen to lose, G. verlieren, Sw. förlor]
- berlin n.
- A four-wheeled carriage, having a sheltered seat behind the body and separate from it, invented in the 17th century, at Berlin. [The capital of Prussia]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
To the Balliol Men Still in Africa is in the public domain. This text is taken from Sonnets and Verse, Project Gutenberg ebook #60663; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Hilaire Belloc, To the Balliol Men Still in Africa, in Sonnets and Verse (1923), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #60663, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/belloc-sonnets-verse/to-the-balliol-men-still-in-africa.html, id L21656.
Form and metre
To the Balliol Men Still in Africa is 60 lines in 10 stanzas. The commonest rhyme scheme is ABAB, in 4 of the 10 stanzas; the rest vary or could not be confirmed. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 82%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AB-BAC-C balliolA · oneB · rivers · sunB · balliolA · knownC · others · ownC
- 2 -A-ABCBC man · rangerA · world · dangerA · meB · againC · meB · menC
- 3 ABABCDCD againA · spokenB · menA · brokenB · stillC · wrongD · hillC · longD
- 4 ABABCDCD weatherA · allB · togetherA · hallB · fewC · seaD · knewC · meD
- 5 ABAB meA · againB · meA · menB
- 6 ABAB lordA · strongB · swordA · wrongB
- 7 ABAB heightA · sideB · beitA · diedB
- 8 ABAB forceA · drawnB · horseA · dawnB
- 9 ABAAB stoodA · fellB · bloodA · floodA · wellB
- 10 AABAAAB forlornA · mournA · berlinB · tornA · bornA · scornA · inB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Years ago when I was at Balliol, | 9 | ·˘/······ |
| Balliol men--and I was one-- | 7 | ······· |
| Swam together in winter rivers, | 9 | ·˘/˘·/˘/˘ |
| Wrestled together under the sun. | 9 | /˘˘/˘···· |
| And still in the heart of us, Balliol, Balliol, | 11 | ··········· |
| Loved already, but hardly known, | 8 | ·˘/˘·/˘· |
| Welded us each of us into the others: | 11 | /˘·······/˘ |
| Called a levy and chose her own. | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| Here is a House that armours a man | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| With the eyes of a boy and the heart of a ranger, | 13 | ···········/˘ |
| And a laughing way in the teeth of the world | 11 | ··/˘······· |
| And a holy hunger and thirst for danger: | 11 | ··/˘/˘···/˘ |
| Balliol made me, Balliol fed me, | 8 | ········ |
| Whatever I had she gave me again: | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| And the best of Balliol loved and led me. | 10 | ·········· |
| God be with you, Balliol men. | 7 | ······· |
| I have said it before, and I say it again, | 12 | ··········˘/ |
| There was treason done, and a false word spoken, | 11 | ··/˘·····/˘ |
| And England under the dregs of men, | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| And bribes about, and a treaty broken: | 10 | ······/˘/˘ |
| But angry, lonely, hating it still, | 9 | ·/˘/˘/˘·· |
| I wished to be there in spite of the wrong. | 10 | ·········· |
| My heart was heavy for Cumnor Hill | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| And the hammer of galloping all day long. | 10 | ··/˘·/˘··· |
| Galloping outward into the weather, | 9 | /˘˘/···/˘ |
| Hands a-ready and battle in all: | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·· |
| Words together and wine together | 9 | ·˘/˘··˘/˘ |
| And song together in Balliol Hall. | 9 | ··˘/˘···· |
| Rare and single! Noble and few!... | 8 | ··/˘/˘·· |
| Oh! they have wasted you over the sea! | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| The only brothers ever I knew, | 8 | ·/˘/˘/·· |
| The men that laughed and quarrelled with me. | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| Balliol made me, Balliol fed me, | 8 | ········ |
| Whatever I had she gave me again; | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| And the best of Balliol loved and led me, | 10 | ·········· |
| God be with you, Balliol men. | 7 | ······· |
| You thought because we held, my lord, | 8 | ········ |
| An ancient cause and strong, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| That therefore we maligned the sword: | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| My lord, you did us wrong. | 6 | ······ |
| We also know the sacred height | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Up on Tugela side, | 6 | ······ |
| Where those three hundred fought with Beit | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And fair young Wernher died. | 6 | ······ |
| The daybreak on the failing force, | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| The final sabres drawn: | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Tall Goltman, silent on his horse, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Superb against the dawn. | 6 | ˘/···· |
| The little mound where Eckstein stood | 8 | ·/˘··/·· |
| And gallant Albu fell, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And Oppenheim, half blind with blood | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Went fording through the rising flood-- | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| My Lord, we know them well. | 6 | ······ |
| The little empty homes forlorn, | 8 | ·/˘/˘·˘/ |
| The ruined synagogues that mourn, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| In Frankfort and Berlin; | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| We knew them when the peace was torn-- | 8 | ········ |
| We of a nobler lineage born-- | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And now by all the gods of scorn | 8 | ········ |
| We mean to rub them in. | 6 | ······ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.