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Captain Darling
(fl.1856)
Hurrah for the next who dies
(Song)
Full score (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item(fl.1856)
Hurrah for the next who dies
(Song)
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Supposedly sung during the Indian Mutiny, Guy Gibson (Dambuster) observed three army chaplains belting this out in a Lincoln pub in 1941.
Lyrics: Captain Darling
We meet 'neath the sounding rafters, and the walls around are bare;
As they shout back our peals of laughter, it seems as the dead were there.
Then stand by your glasses steady! We drink 'fore our comrades' eyes.
One cup to the dead already; Hurrah for the next who dies!
Not a sigh for the lost that darkles, not a tear for the friends that sink;
We fall 'mid the wine-cups' sparkles, as mute as the wine we drink.
Come stand to your glasses, steady! 'Tis this that the respite buys.
One cup for the dead already; Hurrah for the next who dies!
There's a mist on the glass congealing; 'tis the hurricane's fiery breath;
And thus does the warmth of feeling turn ice in the grasp of death.
Ho! Stand to your glasses steady! For a moment the vapour flies;
One cup for the dead already; Hurrah for the next who dies!
Who dreads to the dust returning? Who shrinks from the sable shore,
Where the haughty restless yearning of the soul can sting no more?
Ho! Stand to your glasses, steady! This world is a world of lies;
One cup for the dead already; Hurrah for the next who dies!
Cut off from the land that bore us, betrayed by the land we find,
When the brightest have gone before us, and the dullest remain behind;
Stand; Stand to your glasses, steady! 'Tis all we have left to prize;
One cup for the dead already; And one for the next who dies!
We meet 'neath the sounding rafters, and the walls around are bare;
As they shout back our peals of laughter, it seems as the dead were there.
Then stand by your glasses steady! We drink 'fore our comrades' eyes.
One cup to the dead already; Hurrah for the next who dies!
Not a sigh for the lost that darkles, not a tear for the friends that sink;
We fall 'mid the wine-cups' sparkles, as mute as the wine we drink.
Come stand to your glasses, steady! 'Tis this that the respite buys.
One cup for the dead already; Hurrah for the next who dies!
There's a mist on the glass congealing; 'tis the hurricane's fiery breath;
And thus does the warmth of feeling turn ice in the grasp of death.
Ho! Stand to your glasses steady! For a moment the vapour flies;
One cup for the dead already; Hurrah for the next who dies!
Who dreads to the dust returning? Who shrinks from the sable shore,
Where the haughty restless yearning of the soul can sting no more?
Ho! Stand to your glasses, steady! This world is a world of lies;
One cup for the dead already; Hurrah for the next who dies!
Cut off from the land that bore us, betrayed by the land we find,
When the brightest have gone before us, and the dullest remain behind;
Stand; Stand to your glasses, steady! 'Tis all we have left to prize;
One cup for the dead already; And one for the next who dies!