 | Poems (1885) |  |
164
THE RAJAH'S RIDE.
A PUNJAB SONG.
Now is the Devil-horse come to Sindh!
Wah! wah! Gooroo!—that is true!
His belly is stuffed with the fire and the wind,
But a fleeter steed had Runjeet Dehu!
Wah! wah! Gooroo!—that is true!
His belly is stuffed with the fire and the wind,
But a fleeter steed had Runjeet Dehu!
It's forty koss from Lahore to the ford,
Forty and more to far Jummoo;
Fast may go the Feringhee lord,
But never so fast as Runjeet Dehu!
Forty and more to far Jummoo;
Fast may go the Feringhee lord,
But never so fast as Runjeet Dehu!
Runjeet Dehu was King of the Hill,
Lord and eagle of every crest;
Now the swords and the spears are still,
God will have it—and God knows best!
Lord and eagle of every crest;
Now the swords and the spears are still,
God will have it—and God knows best!
165
Rajah Runjeet sate in the sky,
Watching the loaded Kafilas in;
Affghan, Kashmeree, passing by,
Paid him pushm to save their skin.
Watching the loaded Kafilas in;
Affghan, Kashmeree, passing by,
Paid him pushm to save their skin.
Once he caracoled into the plain,
Wah! the sparkle of steel on steel!
And up the pass came singing again
With a lakh of silver borne at his heel.
Wah! the sparkle of steel on steel!
And up the pass came singing again
With a lakh of silver borne at his heel.
Once he trusted the Mussulman's word,
Wah! wah! trust a liar to lie!
Down from his eyrie they tempted my Bird,
And clipped his wings that he could not fly.
Wah! wah! trust a liar to lie!
Down from his eyrie they tempted my Bird,
And clipped his wings that he could not fly.
Fettered him fast in far Lahore,
Fast by the gate at the Runchenee Pûl;
Sad was the soul of Chunda Kour,
Glad the merchants of rich Kurnool.
Fast by the gate at the Runchenee Pûl;
Sad was the soul of Chunda Kour,
Glad the merchants of rich Kurnool.
Ten months Runjeet lay in Lahore—
Wah! a hero's heart is brass!
Ten months never did Chunda Kour
Braid her hair at the tiring-glass.
Wah! a hero's heart is brass!
Ten months never did Chunda Kour
Braid her hair at the tiring-glass.
166
There came a steed from Toorkistan,
Wah! God made him to match the hawk!
Fast beside him the four grooms ran,
To keep abreast of the Toorkman's walk.
Wah! God made him to match the hawk!
Fast beside him the four grooms ran,
To keep abreast of the Toorkman's walk.
Black as the bear on Iskardoo;
Savage at heart as a tiger chained;
Fleeter than hawk that ever flew,
Never a Muslim could ride him reined.
Savage at heart as a tiger chained;
Fleeter than hawk that ever flew,
Never a Muslim could ride him reined.
“Runjeet Dehu! come forth from thy hold”—
Wah! ten months had rusted his chain!
“Ride this Sheitan's liver cold”—
Runjeet twisted his hand in the mane;
Wah! ten months had rusted his chain!
“Ride this Sheitan's liver cold”—
Runjeet twisted his hand in the mane;
Runjeet sprang to the Toorkman's back,
Wah! a king on a kingly throne!
Snort, black Sheitan! till nostrils crack,
Rajah Runjeet sits, a stone.
Wah! a king on a kingly throne!
Snort, black Sheitan! till nostrils crack,
Rajah Runjeet sits, a stone.
Three times round the Maidan he rode,
Touched its neck at the Kashmeree wall,
Struck the spurs till they spirted blood,
Leapt the rampart before them all!
Touched its neck at the Kashmeree wall,
Struck the spurs till they spirted blood,
Leapt the rampart before them all!
167
Breasted the waves of the blue Ravee,
Forty horsemen mounting behind,
Forty bridle-chains flung free,—
Wah! wah! better chase the wind!
Forty horsemen mounting behind,
Forty bridle-chains flung free,—
Wah! wah! better chase the wind!
Chunda Kour sate sad in Jummoo:—
Hark! what horse-hoof echoes without?
“Rise! and welcome Runjeet Dehu—
Wash the Toorkman's nostrils out!
Hark! what horse-hoof echoes without?
“Rise! and welcome Runjeet Dehu—
Wash the Toorkman's nostrils out!
“Forty koss he has come, my life!
Forty koss back he must carry me;
Rajah Runjeet visits his wife,
He steals no steed like an Afreedee.
Forty koss back he must carry me;
Rajah Runjeet visits his wife,
He steals no steed like an Afreedee.
“They bade me teach them how to ride—
Wah! wah! now I have taught them well!”
Chunda Kour sank low at his side;
Rajah Runjeet rode the hill.
Wah! wah! now I have taught them well!”
Chunda Kour sank low at his side;
Rajah Runjeet rode the hill.
When he came back to far Lahore—
Long or ever the night began—
Spake he, “Take your horse once more,
He carries well—when he bears a man!”
Long or ever the night began—
Spake he, “Take your horse once more,
He carries well—when he bears a man!”
168
Then they gave him a khillut and gold,
All for his honour and grace and truth;
Sent him back to his mountain-hold—
Muslim manners have touch of ruth;
All for his honour and grace and truth;
Sent him back to his mountain-hold—
Muslim manners have touch of ruth;
Sent him back, with dances and drum—
Wah! my Rajah Runjeet Dehu!
To Chunda Kour and his Jummoo home—
Wah! wah! Futtee!—wah, Gooroo!
Wah! my Rajah Runjeet Dehu!
To Chunda Kour and his Jummoo home—
Wah! wah! Futtee!—wah, Gooroo!
| Poems (1885) | |