At thy pale feet this ballad of the deeds Of England, and her banner in the East? THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. I. BANNER of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry! Never with mightier glory than when we had rear'd thee on high Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew, And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. II. Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our livesWomen and children among us, God help them, our children and wives! Hold it we might and for fifteen days or for twenty at most. "Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post!" Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave: Cold were his brows when we kiss'd him—we laid him that night in his grave. "Every man die at his post!" and there hail'd on our houses and halls Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls, Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade, Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stoopt to the spade, Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell, So that the brute bullet broke thro' the brain that could think for the rest; Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and bullets would rain at our feet Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us round Death at the glimpse of a finger from over the breadth of a street, Death from the heights of the mosque and the palace, and death in ground! Mine ? yes, a mine! Countermine ! down, down! and creep thrɔ' the hole! Keep the revolver in hand! you can hear him-the murderous mole! Quiet, ah! quiet wait till the point of the pickaxe be thro'! Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again than before Now let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer is no more; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew! IIL Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a day Soon as the blast of that underground thunderclap echo'd away, Dark thro' the smoke and the sulphur like so many fiends in their hell Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yellFiercely on all the defences our myr iad enemy fell. What have they done? where is it? Out yonder. Guard the Redan! Storm at the Water-gate! storm at the Bailey-gate! storm, and it ran Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side Hark cannonade, fusillade! is it true what was told by the scout, Outram and Havelock breaking their way through the fell mutineers? Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing again in our ears! All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubilant shout, Havelock's glorious Highlanders an swer with conquering cheers, Sick from the hospital echo them, women and children come out, Blessing the wholesome white faces of Havelock's good fusileers, Kissing the war-harden'd hand of the Highlander wet with their tears! Dance to the pibroch!-saved! we are saved!- is it you? is it you? Saved by the valor of Havelock, saved by the blessing of Heaven! "Hold it for fifteen days!" we have held it for eighty-seven! So to this king I cleaved: my friend was he, Once my fast friend: I would have given my life To help his own from scathe, a thousand lives To save his soul. He might have come to learn Our Wiclif's learning: but the worldly Priests Who fear the king's hard common. sense should find What rotten piles uphold their masonwork, Urge him to foreign war. O had he will'd I might have stricken a lusty stroke for him, But he would not; far liever led my friend Back to the pure and universal church, But he would not: whether that heirless flaw In his throne's title make him feel so frail, He leans on Antichrist; or that his mind, So quick, so capable in soldiership, Runs in the rut, a coward to the Burnt-good Sir Roger Acton, my dear friend! Burnt too, my faithful preacher, Beverley! 1 Richard II. The swine, lay-men, lay-women, who will come, God willing, to outlearn the filthy friar. Ah rather, Lord, than that thy Gospel, meant To course and range thro' all the world, should be Tether'd to these dead pillars of the Church Rather than so, if thou wilt have it so, Burst vein, snap sinew, and crack heart, and life Pass in the fire of Babylon! but how long, O Lord, how long! My friend should meet me here. Here is the copse, the fountain and— a Cross! To thee, dead wood, I bow not head nor knees. Rather to thee, green boscage, work of God, Black holly, and white-flower'd way. faring-tree! Rather to thee, thou living water, drawn By this good Wiclif mountain down from heaven, And speaking clearly in thy native tongue No Latin He that thirsteth, come and drink! |