The Friends Of The Fallen fortunes

The battlefield behind us,     And night loomed on the track;     The Friends of Fallen Fortunes     Were riding at my back.     Save those who lay face upward     Upon the sodden plain,     Not one of all Id trusted     Was missing from my train.     A draggled train and blood-stained,     With helmets dented in,     With battered, loosened armour,     But with a cheerful grin.     No dark look bent upon me;     I noted to my shame     That Friends of Fallen Fortunes     Are aye the last to blame.     Not one of all Id trusted,     Whod followed to their cost,     Save those who lay face upward     On that red field Id lost;     And here and there a soldier     Id trusted not at all,     Like an unexpected mourner     At a poor mans funeral.     And as the horses stumbled,     And the footmen limped along,     They all joined in the chorus     Of a good old Next Time song.     Behind us in the distance,     By hill and lane and wood,     My ever-dwindling rear-guard     Fell back again and stood.     They recked not wounds nor losses,     They all seemed very kind,     From knight who rode beside me     To boor who limped behind;     And some borne in their litters     Through that long agony,     Their death-white, pain-drawn faces     Had no reproach for me.     And so from noon till darkness,     Till morning grim and grey,     The Earls son and the Peasants     Were brothers that dark day.     I straightened in my saddle,     And proudly glanced me round,     I still was King of Comrades,     Whoever might be crowned!     I straightened in my saddle,     And glanced round proudly then,     Whoeer might reign a season,     I held the hearts of men!     No power of gold can buy them     While battles shall be fought,     The Friends of Fallen Fortunes     Are never to be bought.     Through rain and marsh and hunger,     To what their fate might bring,     The remnants of my legions     Toiled on to join their King.     From north and south the captains     Of scattered bands won through,     Beneath its beaten colours     My beaten army grew.     And in the West before us,     The West was ever thus,     More Friends of Fallen Fortunes     Were gathering food for us;     For refuge and for succour,     For safety, food and rest,     The best of beaten armies     For ever seek the West.     With these men for my captains,     When we marched east again,     Our enemies were scattered     Like dust across the plain.     Our city lay before us,     And as we marched along,     We joined the grand old chorus     Of the glorious Next Time song.     And though they wear no armour,     And bear no blade nor bill,     The Friends of Fallen Fortunes     Are riding with me still;     And, many times defeated     By city, field, and sea,     The Friends of Fallen Fortunes     March on to Victory.