 | The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell |  |
104
THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.
Are there not many that remember (who can forget?) that scene in the Sikh war,—also in India,—when the distant gleam of arms and flash of friendly uniform was descried by a little exhausted army among the hills, and the Scotch pipes struck up “Oh! but ye were lang a-comin!” (Lachrymamne teneatis, amici? None of us, that have much Scottish blood, can keep our eyes from moistening.) The incident in the present case may not be historical, but it is true to nature, and intrinsically probable, which is all that poetry needs, in that respect.
Oh! that last day in Lucknow fort!
We knew that it was the last;
That the enemy's mines had crept surely in,
And the end was coming fast.
We knew that it was the last;
That the enemy's mines had crept surely in,
And the end was coming fast.
To yield to that foe meant worse than death;
And the men and we all worked on:
It was one day more, of smoke and roar,
And then it would all be done.
And the men and we all worked on:
It was one day more, of smoke and roar,
And then it would all be done.
There was one of us, a Corporal's wife,
A fair, young, gentle thing,
Wasted with fever in the siege,
And her mind was wandering.
A fair, young, gentle thing,
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And her mind was wandering.
She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid,
And I took her head on my knee;
“When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,” she said,
“Oh! please then waken me.”
And I took her head on my knee;
“When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,” she said,
“Oh! please then waken me.”
She slept like a child on her father's floor,
In the flecking of woodbine-shade,
When the house-dog sprawls by the half-open door,
And the mother's wheel is stayed.
In the flecking of woodbine-shade,
When the house-dog sprawls by the half-open door,
And the mother's wheel is stayed.
It was smoke and roar and powder-stench,
And hopeless waiting for death;
But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child,
Seemed scarce to draw her breath.
And hopeless waiting for death;
But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child,
Seemed scarce to draw her breath.
I sank to sleep, and I had my dream
Of an English village-lane,
And wall and garden;—a sudden scream
Brought me back to the roar again.
Of an English village-lane,
And wall and garden;—a sudden scream
Brought me back to the roar again.
There Jessie Brown stood listening,
And then a broad gladness broke
All over her face, and she took my hand
And drew me near and spoke:
And then a broad gladness broke
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And drew me near and spoke:
“The Highlanders! Oh! dinna ye hear?
The slogan far awa?
The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel;
It 's the grandest o' them a'.
The slogan far awa?
The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel;
It 's the grandest o' them a'.
“God bless thae bonny Highlanders!
We 're saved! We 're saved!” she cried;
And fell on her knees, and thanks to God
Poured forth, like a full flood-tide.
We 're saved! We 're saved!” she cried;
And fell on her knees, and thanks to God
Poured forth, like a full flood-tide.
Along the battery-line her cry
Had fallen among the men:
And they started; for they were there to die;
Was life so near them, then?
Had fallen among the men:
And they started; for they were there to die;
Was life so near them, then?
They listened, for life; and the rattling fire
Far off, and the far-off roar
Were all;—and the Colonel shook his head,
And they turned to their guns once more.
Far off, and the far-off roar
Were all;—and the Colonel shook his head,
And they turned to their guns once more.
Then Jessie said, “That slogan 's dune;
But can ye no hear them, noo,
‘The Campbells are comin’? It 's no a dream;
Our succors hae broken through!”
But can ye no hear them, noo,
‘The Campbells are comin’? It 's no a dream;
Our succors hae broken through!”
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We heard the roar and the rattle afar,
But the pipes we could not hear;
So the men plied their work of hopeless war,
And knew that the end was near.
But the pipes we could not hear;
So the men plied their work of hopeless war,
And knew that the end was near.
It was not long ere it must be heard;
A shrilling, ceaseless sound;
It was no noise of the strife afar,
Or the sappers underground.
A shrilling, ceaseless sound;
It was no noise of the strife afar,
Or the sappers underground.
It was the pipes of the Highlanders,
And now they played ‘Auld Lang Syne:”
It came to our men, like the voice of God,
And they shouted along the line.
And now they played ‘Auld Lang Syne:”
It came to our men, like the voice of God,
And they shouted along the line.
And they wept and shook one another's hands,
And the women sobbed in a crowd;
And every one knelt down where we stood,
And we all thanked God aloud.
And the women sobbed in a crowd;
And every one knelt down where we stood,
And we all thanked God aloud.
That happy day, when we welcomed them,
Our men put Jessie first;
And the General took her hand, and cheers
From the men, like a volley, burst.
Our men put Jessie first;
And the General took her hand, and cheers
From the men, like a volley, burst.
And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed,
Marching round and round our line;
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears,
For the pipes played “Auld Lang Syne.”
Marching round and round our line;
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For the pipes played “Auld Lang Syne.”
Saturday and Sunday nights,
January 2 and 3, 1858.
| The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell | |