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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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;

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.

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!

Breasted the waves of the blue Ravee,
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!

"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.

"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.

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!"

Then they gave him a khillut and gold,

All for his honor and grace and truth; Send him back to his mountain-holdMuslim manners have touch of ruth;

Send him back, with dances and drum-
Wah! my Rajah Runjeet Dehu !
To Chunda Kour and his Jummoo home-
Wah! wah! Futtee!-wah, Gooroo!

SERENADE.

Lute! breathe thy lowest in my Lady's ear,

Sing while she sleeps, “Ah! belle dame, aimez-vous ?" Till, dreaming still, she dream that I am here, And wake to find it, as my love is, true; Then, while she listens in her warm white nest, Say in slow music,—softer, tenderer yet, That lute-strings quiver when their tone's at rest, And my heart trembles when my lips are set.

Stars! if my sweet love still a-dreaming lies,
Shine through the roses for a lover's sake;
And send your silver to her lidded eyes,

Kissing them very gently till she wake;
Then, while she wonders at the lay and light,
Tell her, though morning endeth star and song,
That ye live still, when no star glitters bright,

And my love lasteth, though it find no tongue.

Come, dear children, let us away!

Down and away below!

Now my brothers call from the bay,

Now the great winds shoreward blow,
Now the salt tides seaward flow;
Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.
Children dear, let us away!

This way, this way!

Call her once before you go

Call once yet!

In a voice that she will know:

"Margaret! Margaret!"

Children's voices should be dear

(Call once more) to mother's ear;
Children's voices, wild with pain-
Surely she will come again!
Call her once and come away;

This way, this way!

"Mother dear, we cannot stay!

The wild white horses foam and fret."

Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down;

Call no more!

One last look at the white-wall'd town,

And the little gray church on the windy shore;

Then come down!

She will not come though you call all day;
Come away, come away!

Children dear, was it yesterday

We heard the sweet bells over the bay?

In the caverns where we lay,

Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;

Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream,
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye?
When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday

(Call yet once) that she went away?

Once she sate with you and me,

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea,

And the youngest sate on her knee.

She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well,

When down swung the sound of a far-off bell.