 | Havelock's March and Other Poems |  |
30
The Relief.
England's unseen, dead Sorrow doth a visible Angel rise;
The sword of justice in her hand; Revenge looks thro' her eyes:
Stern with the purpose in her soul right onward hastens she,
Like one that bears the doom of worlds, with vengeful majesty;
Sombre, superb, and terrible, before them still she goes!
And tho' they lessen day by day, they deal such echoing blows,
That still dilating with success, still mightier grows that band,
Till in the place of hundreds, ten thousand seem to stand.
With arms that weary not at work, they bear our victor flag,
To plant it high on hills of dead, a torn and bloody rag.
The sword of justice in her hand; Revenge looks thro' her eyes:
Stern with the purpose in her soul right onward hastens she,
Like one that bears the doom of worlds, with vengeful majesty;
Sombre, superb, and terrible, before them still she goes!
And tho' they lessen day by day, they deal such echoing blows,
That still dilating with success, still mightier grows that band,
Till in the place of hundreds, ten thousand seem to stand.
With arms that weary not at work, they bear our victor flag,
To plant it high on hills of dead, a torn and bloody rag.
31
And Lucknow lies before them now, with all its pomp unrolled;
Against the smiling sapphire, gleam her tops of lighted gold.
Each royal wall is fretted all with frostwork and with fire,
A glory of colours jewel-rich, that makes a splendourpyre,
As wave on wave the wonder breaks, the pointed [spire; flames burn higher;
On dome of mosque and minaret, on pinnacle and
Fairy creations, seen mid-air, that in their pleasaunce wait,
Like wingéd creatures sitting just outside their heaven-gate.
The City in its beauty lies, with flowers about her feet;
Green fields, and goodly gardens, make so foul a thing seem sweet.
Against the smiling sapphire, gleam her tops of lighted gold.
Each royal wall is fretted all with frostwork and with fire,
A glory of colours jewel-rich, that makes a splendourpyre,
As wave on wave the wonder breaks, the pointed [spire; flames burn higher;
On dome of mosque and minaret, on pinnacle and
Fairy creations, seen mid-air, that in their pleasaunce wait,
Like wingéd creatures sitting just outside their heaven-gate.
The City in its beauty lies, with flowers about her feet;
Green fields, and goodly gardens, make so foul a thing seem sweet.
The Trumpet rings out for the march with utterance golden-grand,
A sound that shivers to the heart of Havelock's little band,
And makes their spirits thrill as leaves are thrilled in some wild wind;
Hunger and heartache, weariness and wounds, all left behind.
Their sufferings all forgotten now, as in the ranks they form;
And every man in stature rose to wrestle with that storm.
All silent! what was in their hearts could not be said in words;
With faces set for Lucknow, ground to sharpness, keen as swords!
A tightning twitch all over! a grim glistening in the eye,
“Forward!” and on their way they strode to dare, and do, and die.
A sound that shivers to the heart of Havelock's little band,
And makes their spirits thrill as leaves are thrilled in some wild wind;
Hunger and heartache, weariness and wounds, all left behind.
32
And every man in stature rose to wrestle with that storm.
All silent! what was in their hearts could not be said in words;
With faces set for Lucknow, ground to sharpness, keen as swords!
A tightning twitch all over! a grim glistening in the eye,
“Forward!” and on their way they strode to dare, and do, and die.
Hope whispers at the ear of some, that they shall meet again,
And clasp their long-lost darlings, after all the toil and pain;
A-many know that they will sleep to-night among the slain;
And many a cheek will bloom no more for all the tearful rain:
And some have only vengeance; but to-day 'tis bitter sweet;
And there goes Havelock! his aim too lofty for defeat;
With steady tramp the column treads, true as the firm heart's-beat;
Upon its headlong murderous march for that long fatal street.
All ready to win a soldier's grave, or do the daring deed!
But not a man that fears to die for England in her need.
And clasp their long-lost darlings, after all the toil and pain;
A-many know that they will sleep to-night among the slain;
And many a cheek will bloom no more for all the tearful rain:
And some have only vengeance; but to-day 'tis bitter sweet;
And there goes Havelock! his aim too lofty for defeat;
With steady tramp the column treads, true as the firm heart's-beat;
Upon its headlong murderous march for that long fatal street.
33
But not a man that fears to die for England in her need.
The masked artillery raked the road, and plough'd them front and flank;
Some gallant fellow every step was stricken from the rank;
But, as he staggered, in his place another sternly stepped;
And, firing fast as they could load, their onward way they kept.
Now, give them the good bayonet! with England's fiercest foes,
Strong arm, cold steel will do it, in the wildest, bloodiest close:
And now their bayonets abreast go sparkling up the ridge,
And with a thrilling cheer they take the guns, and clear the bridge.
One good home-thrust! and surely, as the dead in doom are sure,
They send them where the British cheer can trouble them no more.
Some gallant fellow every step was stricken from the rank;
But, as he staggered, in his place another sternly stepped;
And, firing fast as they could load, their onward way they kept.
Now, give them the good bayonet! with England's fiercest foes,
Strong arm, cold steel will do it, in the wildest, bloodiest close:
And now their bayonets abreast go sparkling up the ridge,
And with a thrilling cheer they take the guns, and clear the bridge.
One good home-thrust! and surely, as the dead in doom are sure,
They send them where the British cheer can trouble them no more.
The fire is biting bitterly; onward the battle rolls;
And Death is glaring at them, from then thousand hiding holes;
Death stretches up from earth to heaven, spreading his darkness round;
Death piles the heaps of helplessness face downward to the ground;
Death flames from deadly ambuscades, where all was still and dark;
Death swiftly speeds on whizzing wings the bullets to their mark;
Death from the doors and windows, all around and overhead,
Darts, with his cloven fiery tongues, incessant, quick, and red:
Death everywhere, Death in all sounds, and, thro' the smoky seeth,
Victory beckons at the end of long dark lanes of death.
And Death is glaring at them, from then thousand hiding holes;
34
Death piles the heaps of helplessness face downward to the ground;
Death flames from deadly ambuscades, where all was still and dark;
Death swiftly speeds on whizzing wings the bullets to their mark;
Death from the doors and windows, all around and overhead,
Darts, with his cloven fiery tongues, incessant, quick, and red:
Death everywhere, Death in all sounds, and, thro' the smoky seeth,
Victory beckons at the end of long dark lanes of death.
Another charge, another cheer, another battery won!
And in a whirlwind of fierce fire the fight goes roaring on.
Into the very heart of hell, with comrades falling fast,
Thro' all that tempest terrible, the glorious remnant passed.
No time to help a dear old friend: but where the wounded fell,
They knew it was all over, and they lookt a last farewell.
And dying eyes, slow setting in a cold and stony stare,
Turned upward, see a map of murder scribbled on the air
With crossing flames; and others read their fiery fearful fate,
In dark, swart faces waiting for them, almost white with hate.
And in a whirlwind of fierce fire the fight goes roaring on.
Into the very heart of hell, with comrades falling fast,
Thro' all that tempest terrible, the glorious remnant passed.
No time to help a dear old friend: but where the wounded fell,
They knew it was all over, and they lookt a last farewell.
35
Turned upward, see a map of murder scribbled on the air
With crossing flames; and others read their fiery fearful fate,
In dark, swart faces waiting for them, almost white with hate.
O, proudly men will march to death, when Havelock leads them on:
Thro' all the storm he sat his horse as he were cut in stone!
But now his look grows dark; his eye lightens with quicker flash:
“On, for the Residency, we must make a last brave dash.”
And on dasht Highlander and Sikh thro' a sea of fire and steel,
On, with the lion of their strength, our first in glory, Niel!
It seemed the face of heaven grew black, so close it held its breath,
Through all the glorious agony of that long march of death.
The round shot tears, the bullets rain; O God, outspread thy shield!
Put forth thy red right arm, for them! thy sword of sharpness wield.
One wave breaks forward on the shore, and one falls helpless back:
Again they club their wasted strength, to fight like “Hell-fire Jack.”
And still as fainter grows the fire of that intrepid band,
Again they grasp the bayonet as 'twere Salvation's hand.
They leap the broad, deep trenches, rush thro' archways streaming fire;
Every step some brave heart bursts, heaving deliverance nigher:
“I'm hit,” cries one, “you'll take me on your back, my comrade, I
Should like to see their bonny white faces once before I die;
My body may save you from the shot.”
His comrade bore him on:
But, ere they reacht the Bailie Guard, the longing soul was gone.
Thro' all the storm he sat his horse as he were cut in stone!
But now his look grows dark; his eye lightens with quicker flash:
“On, for the Residency, we must make a last brave dash.”
And on dasht Highlander and Sikh thro' a sea of fire and steel,
On, with the lion of their strength, our first in glory, Niel!
It seemed the face of heaven grew black, so close it held its breath,
Through all the glorious agony of that long march of death.
The round shot tears, the bullets rain; O God, outspread thy shield!
Put forth thy red right arm, for them! thy sword of sharpness wield.
36
Again they club their wasted strength, to fight like “Hell-fire Jack.”
And still as fainter grows the fire of that intrepid band,
Again they grasp the bayonet as 'twere Salvation's hand.
They leap the broad, deep trenches, rush thro' archways streaming fire;
Every step some brave heart bursts, heaving deliverance nigher:
“I'm hit,” cries one, “you'll take me on your back, my comrade, I
Should like to see their bonny white faces once before I die;
My body may save you from the shot.”
His comrade bore him on:
But, ere they reacht the Bailie Guard, the longing soul was gone.
And now the Gateway was in sight; the last grim moment came.
One moment makes immortal! dead or living, endless fame!
They heard the voice of fiery Niel, that like a trumpet thrilled!
“Push on my men, 'tis getting dark: ”he sat where he was killed.
Another frantic surge of life, and plunging o'er the bar,
Right into harbour bursting goes their whirling wave of war,
And breaks in mighty thunders of reverberating cheers,
Then dances on in frolic foam of kisses, blessings, tears.
Stabbed by mistake, one native cries with the last breath he draws,
“Welcome, my friends, never you mind, it's all for the good cause.”
One moment makes immortal! dead or living, endless fame!
They heard the voice of fiery Niel, that like a trumpet thrilled!
“Push on my men, 'tis getting dark: ”he sat where he was killed.
37
Right into harbour bursting goes their whirling wave of war,
And breaks in mighty thunders of reverberating cheers,
Then dances on in frolic foam of kisses, blessings, tears.
Stabbed by mistake, one native cries with the last breath he draws,
“Welcome, my friends, never you mind, it's all for the good cause.”
How they had leaned and listened, as the battle sounded nigher;
How they had strained their eyes to see them coming crown'd with fire!
Till in the flashing street they heard them breathing bloody breath,
And then the English faces came white from the clouds of death;
And iron grasp met tender clasp; wan weeping women fold
Their dear Deliverers, down whose long rough beards the big tears rolled.
Another such a meeting will not be on this side heaven!
The little wine they have hoarded, to the last drop shall be given
To those who, in their mortal need, fought on thro' fearful odds,
Bled for them, reacht them, saved them, less like men than glorious gods.
How they had strained their eyes to see them coming crown'd with fire!
Till in the flashing street they heard them breathing bloody breath,
And then the English faces came white from the clouds of death;
And iron grasp met tender clasp; wan weeping women fold
Their dear Deliverers, down whose long rough beards the big tears rolled.
Another such a meeting will not be on this side heaven!
The little wine they have hoarded, to the last drop shall be given
38
Bled for them, reacht them, saved them, less like men than glorious gods.
| Havelock's March and Other Poems | |