Poems: New and Old Part 7

And as he by Jalaandhar came He thought what he must do, And he sent to the Rajah fair greeting, To try if he were true.

"G.o.d grant your Highness length of days, And friends when need shall be; And I pray you send your Captains. .h.i.ther, That they may speak with me."

On the morrow through Jalandhar town The Captains rode in state; They came to the house of John Nicholson And stood before the gate.

The chief of them was Mehtab Singh, He was both proud and sly; His turban gleamed with rubies red, He held his chin full high.

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He marked his fellows how they put Their shoes from off their feet; "Now wherefore make ye such ado These fallen lords to greet?

"They have ruled us for a hundred years, In truth I know not how, But though they be fain of mastery, They dare not claim it now."

Right haughtily before them all The durbar hall he trod, With rubies red his turban gleamed, His feet with pride were shod.

They had not been an hour together, A scanty hour or so, When Mehtab Singh rose in his place And turned about to go.

Then swiftly came John Nicholson Between the door and him, With anger smouldering in his eyes That made the rubies dim.

"You are overhasty, Mehtab Singh,"-- Oh, but his voice was low!

He held his wrath with a curb of iron, That furrowed cheek and brow.

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"You are overhasty, Mehtab Singh, When that the rest are gone, I have a word that may not wait To speak with you alone."

The Captains pa.s.sed in silence forth And stood the door behind; To go before the game was played Be sure they had no mind.

But there within John Nicholson Turned him on Mehtab Singh, "So long as the soul is in my body You shall not do this thing.

"Have ye served us for a hundred years And yet ye know not why?

We brook no doubt of our mastery, We rule until we die.

"Were I the one last Englishman Drawing the breath of life, And you the master-rebel of all That stir this land to strife--

"Were I," he said, "but a Corporal, And you a Rajput King, So long as the soul was in my body You should not do this thing.

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"Take off, take off those shoes of pride, Carry them whence they came; Your Captains saw your insolence And they shall see your shame."

When Mehtab Singh came to the door His shoes they burned his hand, For there in long and silent lines He saw the Captains stand.

When Mehtab Singh rode from the gate His chin was on his breast: The Captains said, "When the strong command Obedience is best."

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'The Guides at Cabul'

(1879).

Sons of the Island Race, wherever ye dwell, Who speak of your fathers' battles with lips that burn, The deed of an alien legion hear me tell, And think not shame from the hearts ye tamed to learn, When succour shall fail and the tide for a season turn, To fight with a joyful courage, a pa.s.sionate pride, To die at the last as the Guides at Cabul died.

For a handful of seventy men in a barrack of mud, Foodless, waterless, dwindling one by one, Answered a thousand yelling for English blood With stormy volleys that swept them gunner from gun, And charge on charge in the glare of the Afghan sun, Till the walls were shattered wherein they crouched at bay, And dead or dying half of the seventy lay.

Twice they had taken the cannon that wrecked their hold, Twice toiled in vain to drag it back, Thrice they toiled, and alone, wary and bold, Whirling a hurricane sword to scatter the rack, Hamilton, last of the English, covered their track.

"Never give in!" he cried, and he heard them shout, And grappled with death as a man that knows not doubt.

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And the Guides looked down from their smouldering barrack again, And behold, a banner of truce, and a voice that spoke: "Come, for we know that the English all are slain, We keep no feud with men of a kindred folk; Rejoice with us to be free of the conqueror's yoke,"

Silence fell for a moment, then was heard A sound of laughter and scorn, and an answering word.

"Is it we or the lords we serve who have earned this wrong, That ye call us to flinch from the battle they bade us fight?

We that live--do ye doubt that our hands are strong?

They that have fallen--ye know that their blood was bright!

Think ye the Guides will barter for l.u.s.t of the light The pride of an ancient people in warfare bred, Honour or comrades living, and faith to the dead?"

Then the joy that spurs the warrior's heart To the last thundering gallop and sheer leap Came on the men of the Guides; they flung apart The doors not all their valour could longer keep; They dressed their slender line; they breathed deep, And with never a foot lagging or head bent, To the clash and clamour and dust of death they went.

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'The Gay Gordons'

(DARGAI, OCTOBER 20TH, 1897).

Who's for the Gathering, who's for the Fair?

('Gay goes the Gordon to a fight') The bravest of the brave are at dead-lock there, ('Highlanders! march! by the right!') There are bullets by the hundred buzzing in the air; There are bonny lads lying on the hillside bare; But the Gordons know what the Gordons dare When they hear the pipers playing!

The happiest English heart to-day ('Gay goes the Gordon to a fight') Is the heart of the Colonel, hide it as he may ('Steady there! steady on the right!') He sees his work and he sees the way, He knows his time and the word to say, And he's thinking of the tune that the Gordons play When he sets the pipers playing!

Rising, roaring, rushing like the tide, ('Gay goes the Gordon to a fight') They're up through the fire-zone, not to be denied; ('Bayonets! and charge! by the right!')

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Thirty bullets straight where the rest went wide, And thirty lads are lying on the bare hillside; But they pa.s.sed in the hour of the Gordons' pride, To the skirl of the pipers' playing.

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'He Fell Among Thieves'

"Ye have robbed," said he, "ye have slaughtered and made an end, Take your ill-got plunder, and bury the dead: What will ye more of your guest and sometime friend?"

"Blood for our blood," they said.

He laughed: "If one may settle the score for five, I am ready; but let the reckoning stand till day: I have loved the sunlight as dearly as any alive."

"You shall die at dawn," said they.