ROBERTS, Field Marshal, Commanding-in-Chief Her Majesty's Forces in South Africa.
The High Commissioner of South Africa left Bloemfontein after the mercifully abortive conference on June 6th of last year. Yesterday he re-entered the town. The interval has been for some a time of hard fighting, for all a time of anxiety, and amid the enthusiasm of his welcome to the capital, his strong confidence during the darker days, his unswerving fidelity to the high ideal of his Imperial work, must be in the minds of all.
His entry into Bloemfontein, the capital of one of the two colonies destined to fall into line with the progress of United South Africa, is an occasion that will be recognised by the historian of this war as closing one "swelling act of the Imperial theme."
Half--perhaps more than half--of Lord Roberts' work has been done; the greater part of Sir Alfred Milner's task lies still before him. In welcoming him within its walls Bloemfontein does not forget that long after the transports have sailed with the last of the troops of the expedition, the High Commissioner will still be confronted with a gigantic work, requiring alike foresight, tact, and strength of will. And Bloemfontein, like the rest of the Empire, is well content to leave in the hands of Sir Alfred Milner the solution of the problem upon the right interpretation of which the fortunes of this enormous federation must depend.
Sing they who will of the Yeomen Imperial, Gillies, Scouts, "Tigers," and bold C.I.V.; Others may hold to more usual material, Horse, Foot, and Rifles, and Artillerie. But there's a corps with its name writ in History-- Bold they as lions and steadfast as rocks-- Gaily we'll troll our song, Slow as we stroll along-- Trickle and roll along-- Driving the Ox!
But when the war-cloud frowns thicker and lowereth, When the quick-moving battalions are met; Not where the soft-hissing bullet most showereth, Not in the forefront our places are set. Still drive we on, though a day's march in rear we be, O'er veldt and vlei, with the mud to our hocks-- Still will we push along, Nor sadly hush our song, Though we don't rush along, Driving the Ox!
Fill, then, a cup to the Beeves of Her Majesty, Long in the rear may their colours be seen! Heavy their loads, but their hearts light as anything, Doing strong work for their country and Queen. What though they jeer who sweep by with the mounted troops? Treat we as nought all their jibes and their mocks. Though ne'er a fight we'll see, Cheerful and bright we'll be, We're a grand sight to see, Driving the Ox!