Ballads of Brave Deeds By H. D. Rawnsley. With a Frontispiece and Preface by G. F. Watts |
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A Brave Bishop
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 | Ballads of Brave Deeds |  |
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A Brave Bishop
ZULULAND
“One incident of heroism is worth recording; as the daylight was breaking we heard, about one hundred yards off, yells of pain, and on looking in the direction saw a wounded nigger standing up, crying ‘Miaw’ (‘Mother,’ an exclamation always used by Zulus in time of distress). Immediately every rifle ceased firing, and cries of ‘Run in’ were raised. He seemed undetermined for a long while, till the Bishop of Mashonaland, Dr Knight-Bruce, went out to him, and helped him in to camp, amid constant shot from the enemy. A cheer went up, and business was resumed.”—Extract from J. Bolder's account of the battle of Shangani River.— The Standard, 4th Jan. 1894.
We trekked, and ere the sunset we out-spanned,
Drove the tired oxen to the hollow square;
Built, round the laager, fence of thorns with care,
And swift each waggon manned;
For still from veldt to veldt, from knoll to knoll,
The foe like phantoms close beside us stole.
Drove the tired oxen to the hollow square;
Built, round the laager, fence of thorns with care,
And swift each waggon manned;
For still from veldt to veldt, from knoll to knoll,
The foe like phantoms close beside us stole.
But with the morn our scouts went left and right,
Now scurrying forth, now swift returning home;
Till, with the cry, “The Matabele come!
Up-laager for the fight!”—
Night fell; we heard the rush of feet draw near,
And all the moving dusk seemed man and spear.
Now scurrying forth, now swift returning home;
Till, with the cry, “The Matabele come!
Up-laager for the fight!”—
Night fell; we heard the rush of feet draw near,
And all the moving dusk seemed man and spear.
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Then did each rifle fiercely break to flame,
The “Maxim” showered its death-rain through the wood;
We wist not if the foemen fled or stood,
We only knew they came;
Till in a hush the far hyena cried,
Somewhere, we knew, a man in pain had died.
The “Maxim” showered its death-rain through the wood;
We wist not if the foemen fled or stood,
We only knew they came;
Till in a hush the far hyena cried,
Somewhere, we knew, a man in pain had died.
The grim dawn broke above dark heaps of slain,
—Torn bodies, splintered spear, and shattered shield:
Pale Victory there upon the bloodiest field
Sat counting up her gain,
In her own awful silence, save where one
Waved a faint hand to bid black Death begone.
—Torn bodies, splintered spear, and shattered shield:
Pale Victory there upon the bloodiest field
Sat counting up her gain,
In her own awful silence, save where one
Waved a faint hand to bid black Death begone.
And I might know how sudden as if stung
By agony to life, a dead man rose
And tossed his arms, and cried to friend or foes
In his own native tongue,
Yea, called for “Mother” in his heart's distress—
A child once more for pain and helplessness.
By agony to life, a dead man rose
And tossed his arms, and cried to friend or foes
In his own native tongue,
Yea, called for “Mother” in his heart's distress—
A child once more for pain and helplessness.
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Then forth from out the laager, God-possessed,
Strode a true-hearted soldier of the Cross;
Armed well with peace, and careless of all loss
Of what men hold the best,
He dared to face dark-flying shot and spear
To loose the wounded foeman from his fear.
Strode a true-hearted soldier of the Cross;
Armed well with peace, and careless of all loss
Of what men hold the best,
He dared to face dark-flying shot and spear
To loose the wounded foeman from his fear.
He heard the bullets hiss, he felt their wind;
Stepped o'er the dead, his feet were wet with blood;
Then where the wounded warrior crying stood,
Showed love was all his mind;
Yea, as a mother, soothed his wild alarms
And bare the helpless back in Mercy's arms.
Stepped o'er the dead, his feet were wet with blood;
Then where the wounded warrior crying stood,
Showed love was all his mind;
Yea, as a mother, soothed his wild alarms
And bare the helpless back in Mercy's arms.
But we who saw, forgat the foeman's kin,
And, fain our brave knight-errant's task to share,
Prayed with rough lips too little used to prayer,
“God bring them safely in;”
And when they reached the laager, took his hand
And gave those cheers we English understand.
And, fain our brave knight-errant's task to share,
Prayed with rough lips too little used to prayer,
“God bring them safely in;”
And when they reached the laager, took his hand
And gave those cheers we English understand.
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Oh! hearts that leap to name the name of Bruce,
And souls made strong by tale of knightly deed,
This Knight, this Bruce, shall surely have his meed
Of praise, till praise bring truce,
And nations learn it is the nobler way
To heal than hurt—to succour than to slay.
And souls made strong by tale of knightly deed,
This Knight, this Bruce, shall surely have his meed
Of praise, till praise bring truce,
And nations learn it is the nobler way
To heal than hurt—to succour than to slay.
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