1. II. III. At thy pale feet this ballad of the deeds Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and of England, and her banner in the bullets would rain at our feet East? Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us roundTHE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. Death at the glimpse of a finger from over the breadth of a street, Death from the heights of the mosque and the palace, and death in the BANNER of England, not for a season, O ground! banner of Britain, hast thou Mine? yes, a mine! Countermine! Floated in conquering battle or fapt to down, down! and creep thro' the the battle-cry! hole! Never with mightier glory than when we Keep the revolver in hand! you can hear had rear'd thee on high him the murderous mole! Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly Quiet, ah! quiet - wait till the point of siege of Lucknow the pickaxe be thro'! Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but Click with the pick, coming nearer and ever we raised thee anew, nearer again than before.And ever upon the topmost roof our Now let it speak, and you fire, and the banner of England blew. dark pioneer is no more; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew ! Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our lives Women and children among us, God help them, our children and wives! Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many Hold it we might — and for fifteen days times, and it chanced on a day or for twenty at most. Soon as the blast of that underground Never surrender, I charge you, but thunderclap echo'd away, every man die at his post!' Dark thro' the smoke and the sulphur Voice of the dead whom we loved, our like so many fiends in their Lawrence the best of the brave: hell Cold were his brows when we kiss'd Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley him --- we laid him that night in volley, and yell upon yell — his grave. Fiercely on all the defences our myriad * Every man die at his post !' and there enemy fell. bail'd on our houses and halls What have they done? where is it? Out Death from their rifle-bullets, and death yonder. Guard the Redan! from their cannon-balls, Storm at the Water-gate! storm at the Death in our innermost chamber, and Bailey-gate! storm, and it ran death at our slight barricade, Surging and swaying all round us, as Death while we stood with the musket, ocean on every side and death while we stoopt to the Plunges and heaves at a bank that is spade, daily devour'd by the tide Death to the dying, and wounds to the So many thousands that if they be bold wounded, for often there fell, enough, who shall escape? Striking the hospital wall, crashing thro' Kill or be kill'd, live or die, they shall it, their shot and their shell, know we are soldiers and men ! Death — for their spies were among us, Ready! take aim at their leaders their marksmen were told of our their masses are gapp'd with our best, grape So that the brute bullet broke thro' the Backward they reel like the wave, like brain that could think for the rest; the wave flinging forward again, on Flying and foil'd at the last by the hand sul they could not subdue; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. IV. Now double-charge it with grape! It is charged and we fire, and they run. Praise to our Indian brothers, and let the dark face have his due ! Thanks to the kindly dark faces who fought with us, faithful and few, Fought with the bravest among us, and drove them, and smote them, and slew, That ever upon the topmost roof our banner in India blew. VI. 1 Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart and in limb, Strong with the strength of the race to command, to obey, to endure, Each of us fought as if hope for the gar rison hung but on him ; Still - could we watch at all points?' we were every day fewer and fewer. There was a whisper among us, but only a whisper that past : • Children and wives — if the tigers leap into the fold unawares Every man die at his post — and the foe may outlive us at last Better to fall by the hands that they love, than to fall into theirs !' Roar upon roar in a moment two mines by the enemy sprung Clove into perilous chasms our walls and our poor palisades. Rifleman, true is your heart, but be sure that your hand be as true! Sharp is the fire of assault, better aimed are your flank fusilladesTwice do we hurl them to earth from the ladders to which they had clung, Twice from the ditch where they shelter we drive them with hand-grenades; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. Men will forget what we suffer and not what we do. We can fight! But to be soldier all day and be sentinell all thro' the night Ever the mine and assault, our sallies, their lying alarms, Bugles and drums in the darkness, and shoutings and soundings to arms, Ever the labour of fifty that had to be done by five, Ever the marvel among us that one should be left alive, Ever the day with its traitorous death from the loopholes around, Ever the night with its coffinless corpse to be laid in the ground, Heat like the mouth of a hell, or a deluge of cataract skies, Stench of old offal decaying, and infinite torment of Ries, Thoughts of the breezes of May blowing over an English field, Cholera, scurvy, and fever, the wound that would not be heal'd, Lopping away of the limb by the pitiful pitiless knite, Torture and trouble in vain,- for it never could save us a life. Valour of delicate women who tended the hospital bed, Horror of women in travail among the dying and dead, Grief for our perishing children, and never a moment for grief, Toil and ineffable weariness, faltering hopes of relief, Havelock baffled, or beaten, or butcher'd for all that we knew Then on another wild morning another wild earthquake out-tore Clean from our lines of defence ten or twelve good paces or more. Rifleman, high on the roof, hidden there from the light of the sun – One has leapt up on the breach, crying out: ‘Follow me, follow me!' – Mark him — he falls! then another, and him too, and down goes he. Had they been bold enough then, who can tell but the traitors had won? Boardings and rafters and doors — an em brasure! make way for the gun! Then day and night, day and night, com- These wet black passes and foam-churning down on the still-shatter'd ing chasms walls And God's free air, and hope of better Millions of musket-bullets, and thousands things. of cannon-balls But ever upon the topmost roof our I would I knew their speech; not now banner of England blew. to glean, Not now — - I hope to do it — some scatVII. ter'd ears, Hark cannonade, fusillade ! is it true what Some ears for Christ in this wild field of Wales was told by the scout, Outram and Havelock breaking their way But, bread, merely for bread. This through the fell mutineers ? tongue that wagg'd Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing They said with such heretical arrogance again in our ears! Against the proud archbishop Arundel All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubi So much God's cause was fluent in it lant shout, is here Havelock's glorious Highlanders ansyer But as a Latin Bible to the crowd; with conquering cheers, • Bara!'- what use? The Shepherd, Sick from the hospital echo them, women when I speak, and children come out, Veiling a sudden eyelid with his hard Blessing the wholesome white faces of *Dim Saesneg' passes, wroth at things Havelock's good fusileers, of old Kissing the war-barden'd hand of the No fault of mine. Had he God's word in Welsh Highlander wet with their tears ! Dance to the pibroch! — saved ! we are He might be kindlier : happily come the saved ! — is it you? is it you? day! Saved by the valour of Havelock, saved by the blessing of Heaven! Not least art thou, thou little Bethle‘Hold it for fifteen days !' we have held hem it for eighty-seven! In Judah, for in thee the Lord was born; And ever aloft on the palace roof the old Nor thou in Britain, little Lutterworth, banner of England blew. Least, for in thee the word was born again. SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. (IN WALES.) My friend should meet me somewhere hereabout To take me to that hiding in the hills. I have broke their cage, no gilded one, I trow- stone; or none, For I am emptier than a friar's brains; But God is with me in this wilderness, Heaven-sweet Evangel, ever-living word, Greek talk our isle. world. bringest What did he say, crost In flying hither? that one night a crowd Urge him to foreign war. O had he will'd I might have stricken a lusty stroke for him, But he would not; far liever led iny friend Back to the pure and universal church, But he would not: whether that heirless flaw In his throne's title make him feel so frail, He leans on Antichrist; or that his mind, So quick, sv capable in solliership, In matters of the faith, alas the while ! More worth than all the kingdoms of this world, Runs in the rut, a coward to the Priest. Throng'd the waste field about the city gates : The king was on them suddenly with a host. Why there? they came to hear their preacher. Then Some cried on Cobham, on the good Lord Cobham; Ay, for they love me! but the king – nor voice Nor finger raised against him — took and bang'd, Took, hang'd and burnt - how many thirty-nine — Call'd it rebellion - hang'd, poor friends, as rebels And burn'd alive as heretics ! for your Priest Labels — to take the king along with him All heresy, treason: but to call men traitors May make men traitors. Rose of Lancaster, Red in thy birth, redder with household war, Now reddest with the blood of holy men, Redder to be, red rose of Lancaster If somewhere in the North, as Rumour sang Fluttering the hawks of this crown-lust ing lineBy firth and loch thy silver sister grow, That were my rose, there my' allegiance due. Self-starved, they say - nay, murder'd, doubtless dead. So to this king I cleaved: my friend was he, Once my fast friend : I would have given Burnt - good Sir Roger Acton, my dear friend! Burnt too, my faithful preacher, Beverley! Lord give thou power to thy two wit nesses! Lest the false faith make merry over them! Two— nay, but thirty-nine have risen and stand, Dark with the smoke of human sacrifice, Before thy light, and cry continually Cry -- against whom? Him, who should bear the sword Of Justice – what! the kingly, kindly boy; Who took the world so easily heretofure, My boon companion, tavern-fellow - him Who gibed and japed — in many a merry tale That shook our sides — at Pardoners, Summoners, Friars, absolution-sellers, monkeries And nunneries, when the wild hour and the wine Had set the wits aflame. Harry of Monmouth, Or Amurath of the East? Better to sink Thy fleurs-de-lys in slime again, and fling Thy royalty back into the riotous fits Of wine and harlotry — thy shame, and mine, Thy comrade — than to persecute the Lord, And play the Saul that never will be Paul my life To help his own from scathe, a thousand lives To save his soul. He might have come to learn Our Wiclif's learning: but the worldly Priests Who fear the king's hard common-sense should find What rotten piles uphold their masonwork, 1 Richard II. Burnt, burnt! and while this mitred Arundel Dooms our unlicensed preacher to the flame, The mitre-sanction'd harlot draws his clerks Into the suburb — their hard celibacy, Sworn to be veriest ice of pureness, molten Into adulterous living, or such crimes As holy Paul — a shame to speak of them Among the heathen Sanctuary granted To bandit, thief, assassin - yea to him Who hacks his mother's throat denied to him, Who finds the Saviour in his mother tongue. The Gospel, the Priest's pearl, flung down to swineThe swine, lay-men, lay-women, who will come, God willing, to outlearn the filthy friar. Ah rather, Lord, than that thy Gospel, meant To course and range thro' all the world, should be Tether’d to these dead pillars of the Church Rather than so, if thou wilt have it so, Burst vein, snap sinew, and crack heart, and life Pass in the fire of Babylon! But how long, O Lord, how long! My friend should meet me here. Here is the copse, the fountain and -- a Cross! To thee, dead wood, I bow not head nor knees, Rather to thee, green boscage, work of God, Black holly, and white-flower'd wayfar ing-tree. Rather to thee, thou living water, drawn By this good Wiclif mountain down from heaven, And speaking clearly in thy native tongue No Latin He that thirsteth, come and drink! Eh! how I anger'd Arundel asking me To worship Ilol; Cross! I spread mine arms, God's work, I said, a cross of flesh and blood And holier. That was heresy. (My good friend By this time should be with me.) Images?' Bury them as God's truer images Are daily buried.' 'Heresy. - Penance?' Fast, Hairshirt and scourge - nay, let a man repent, Do penance in his heart, God hears him.' Heresy • What profits an ill Priest Between me and my God? I would not spurn Good counsel of good friends, but shrive myself No, not to an Apostle.' 'Heresy.' (My friend is long in coming.) · Pil grimages?' • Drink, bagpipes, revelling, devil's dances, vice. The poor man's money gone to fat the friar. Who reads of begging saints in Script ure?--'Heresy' (Hath he been here not found me gone again? Have I mislearnt our place of meeting?) • Bread Bread left after the blessing?' how they stared, That was their main test-question glared at me! He veil'd Himself in flesh, and now He veils His flesh in bread, body and bread together.' Then rose the howl of all the cassock'd wolves, 'No bread, no bread. God's body!' Archbishop, Bishop, Priors, Canons, Friars, bellringers, Parish-clerksNo bread, no bread!'—Authority of the Church, Power of the keys!' - Then I, God help me, I 6 |