GC*S 
 
University of California • Berkeley 
 
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ALMA: 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 Microsoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/almaotherpoemsOOtrenrich 
 
ALMA: 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN W. PARKER AND SON, WEST STRAND. 
 
 MDCCCLV. 
 
LONDON : 
 SAVILL AND EDWABDS, PBINTEBS, 
 CHANDOS-STBEET. 
 
NOTICE. 
 
 Of these poems, the second, third, and fifth have 
 already appeared in the Times. I should also 
 mention that the two last, which on the ground of 
 a certain affinity of subject I have added to the 
 others, are not published for the first time. In- 
 serted, however, in the second edition of a volume 
 of poems, which even in its first edition had but a 
 limited circulation, it is little likely that they will 
 have come into the hands of half a dozen of the 
 purchasers of this little book. 
 
 I am indebted to the kindness of Lord Lyttelton 
 for the Greek version of the lines on Alma. As 
 
VI NOTICE. 
 
 many of my readers as are Greek scholars will 
 share in the obligation. 
 
 I will only add that if any profits should be 
 derived from this publication, they will be devoted 
 to one of the funds in connection with the army, at 
 present being raised. 
 
 Itchenstoke, 
 Bee. 9, 1854. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " WHAT THOUGH YET THE SPIRIT SLUMBERS" .... 1 
 
 ALMA 7 
 
 IDEM GR.3ECE REDDITUM 10 
 
 AETER THE BATTLE 12 
 
 BALAKLAVA 17 
 
 " THIS, OR ON THIS ;"— -" BRING- HOME WITH THEE THIS 
 
 SHIELD" 21 
 
 SUNDAY, NOYEMBER THE EIETH, 1854 23 
 
 THE UNEORGOTTEN 27 
 
 SONNETS. 1 31 
 
 n 32 
 
 „ in 33 
 
 „ iy 34 
 
 lines written on the first tidings of the cabul 
 
 MASSACRE 35 
 
 MOOLTAN 38 
 
TT7HAT though yet the spirit slumbers, 
 
 That should clothe great acts in song, 
 Stirring but in feeble numbers, 
 
 Loosening but a stammering tongue ; 
 
 Still, as well my soul presages, 
 Mightier voices soon will sound, 
 
 Which shall ring through all the ages, 
 While the nations listen round. 
 
 B 
 
For even now the thoughts are waking, 
 
 And the deeds are being done, 
 Deeds and thoughts, the poet's making, 
 
 Whence his solemn heart is won. 
 
 If Thermopylae's three hundred, 
 They who kept the pass so well, — 
 
 If at them all time has wondered, 
 As they fought, and as they fell, 
 
 With their deed of duty cast they 
 Our six hundred in the shade, 
 
 When at that same bidding past they 
 To their closing death-parade? 
 
 Let them their due praise inherit, 
 Those of weaker woman-kind, 
 
 Who in times past owned a spirit, 
 
 Which has left man's strength behind; 
 
Yet our hearts and hearts' devotion 
 Wait upon that noble train, 
 
 Who have crossed the distant ocean 
 For a fellowship with pain; 
 
 Seeking, as men seek for riches, 
 
 Painful vigils by the bed 
 Where the maimed and dying stretches 
 
 Aching limbs beside the dead : 
 
 And for this great suffering nation 
 Sealed those fountains shall not prove, 
 
 Those old springs of inspiration, 
 Mighty death and mightier love. 
 
 But meanwhile, the pauses filling, 
 Till that deeper soul be stirred, 
 
 Mother-land, thou wilt be willing 
 That some fainter notes be heard. 
 b 2 
 
What if thou in bitter mourning 
 Dost beside the graves recline 
 
 Of thy lost and unreturning, 
 Yet no Rachel's grief is thine. 
 
 Stately grief, not wild and tameless, 
 
 Thine, the privileged to see 
 Gentle, simple, named and nameless, 
 
 Willing all to die for thee ; 
 
 Foremost names in thine old story 
 Foremost in these death-rolls shown, 
 
 Heirs no more of others' glory, 
 But the makers of their own. 
 
 Thy great mother-heart is bleeding, 
 Torn and pierced through and through, 
 
 Post on heavy post succeeding, 
 Bearing each some anguish new 
 
Yet the right thy bosom strengthens, 
 Nought in thee of courage dies, 
 
 Though the long sad death-list lengthens, 
 Ever lengthens in thine eyes. 
 
 These are gone ; thou nursest others 
 
 Of the same heroic breed, 
 Good as they, their spirits' brothers, 
 
 To their hazards to succeed. 
 
 Then, while this thy grief's great fashion, 
 From all weakness far removed, 
 
 This thy steadfast solemn passion 
 By the graves of thy beloved, 
 
 Thou wilt let him pass unchidden, 
 Wilt perchance vouchsafe an ear, 
 
 Who too weakly and unbidden 
 Dares to sound their praises here; 
 
6 
 
 This slight tribute of his bringing 
 Thou wilt not in scorn put by ; 
 
 And wilt pardon one for singing, 
 While so many do and die. 
 
ALMA. 
 
 rp HOUGH till now ungraced in story, scant although 
 
 thy waters be, 
 Alma, roll those waters proudly, proudly roll them to 
 
 the sea. 
 
 Yesterday unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering 
 
 Tartar known, 
 Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world's four 
 
 corners blown. 
 
 In two nations' annals graven, thou art now a death- 
 less name, 
 
 And a star for ever shining in their firmament of 
 fame. 
 
8 
 
 Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, 
 
 tower, and shrine, 
 Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency 
 
 like thine; 
 
 Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a 
 
 living head, 
 Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of 
 
 the dead. 
 
 Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly 
 
 mourning, say — 
 When the first strong burst of anguish shall have 
 
 wept itself away — 
 
 'He has past from us, the loved one; but he sleeps 
 with them that died 
 
 By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill- 
 side.' 
 
9 
 
 Yes, and in the days far onward, when we all are cold 
 
 as those, 
 Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero-beds 
 
 repose, 
 
 Thou on England's banners blazoned with the famous 
 
 fields of old, 
 Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the 
 
 brave and bold : 
 
 And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great 
 
 deed to be done, 
 By that twentieth of September, when the Alma's 
 
 heights were won. 
 
 O thou river ! dear for ever to the gallant, to the free, 
 Alma, roll thy waters proudly, proudly roll them to 
 the sea. 
 
 
IDEM GREECE REDDITUM. 
 
 IlaiJpa 7rep ayvwrior, ^AXjutj, fiaXe vafiara Kprjvwv 
 
 yavpio&ff tepoio ttot\ pobv 'QtKeavolo. 
 
 ij ttg) Savjoo/xarato-t \iovov vojuadecrm ffvvrjdrig, 
 
 vvv layeiQ earaei fiaKpfjg ew\ 7relpara yairjg, 
 
 acTTepoev (TrlXfiovffa hvdiv kv jiv^fxaaLV edvolv. 
 
 7ro\\a fJLaX dpj(aiu)v irorajuDV Trepicrejiva peedpa, 
 
 evoretyaviov vqoiai /cat glgtegi TrvpyotyopoujC 
 
 gov d* vwep wpro kXeoq, ^cjvtiov uiy ayaX/xa, davovruv 
 
 ty&Q kiriTvufi&iov' ov(? eicXavffEv tlq olQeXktov 
 
 icfjfiog, E7TEi 7Tp(i)rrjg via Scucpva Xtj^ev clvIyiq, 
 
 " wXETO TTjXvyETOQ, fXETCL (? aXXto^ oX/3tO£ EV^EL 
 
 rjpu)(t)v," 'AXfirjg tyofiEpbv Kara 7rpG>va TraXahag.' 
 Kai 7tot, E7rrjv fyuac 7reptreXXo/xeVwv Eviavrtov 
 tg Kpvspov fiap\j;rj Oavarov vvv toIgZe Xayovaiv 
 olcrvivrjv viro (pvXXaff, ev EpKEViv dfiirEXEuvwv, 
 
11 
 
 icvSaXifjLOv fJLvrjjjiela tclQov, gov rovvofi inrepdev, 
 EvOah* 07rov TTpoyovuv ra Trakata c^Lairpiwei adXa 
 orfj/JLaffi rr)Xe(f>aveg, aWovg a\\cuc eitl vlkcuq 
 dapavvei rjpojag, tovtljv ev fivrjfiovag tpytav. 
 ih /x£y eXevdepirjQ, dpErrjg jjiiya ^apfxa Oeoprov, 
 yavpww(r di%ov tnl pobv 'Qitceavoio. 
 
AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 TT7E crowned the hard-won heights at length, 
 
 Baptized in flame and fire; 
 We saw the foeman's sullen strength, 
 That grimly made retire; 
 
 Saw close at hand, then saw more far 
 
 Beneath the battle smoke 
 The ridges of his shattered war, 
 
 That broke and ever broke. 
 
 But one, an English household's pride, 
 
 Dear many ways to me, 
 Who climbed that death-path by my side, 
 
 I sought, but could not see. 
 
13 
 
 Last seen, what time our foremost rank 
 
 That iron tempest tore; 
 He touched, he scaled the rampart bank, 
 
 Seen then, and seen no more. 
 
 One friend to aid, I measured back 
 With him that pathway dread ; 
 
 No fear to wander from our track, 
 Its waymarks English dead. 
 
 Light thickened; but our search was crowned, 
 
 As we too well divined; 
 And after briefest quest we found 
 
 What we most feared to find. 
 
 His bosom with one death-shot riven, 
 
 The warrior boy lay low ; 
 His face was turned unto the heaven, 
 
 His feet unto the foe. 
 
14 
 
 As lie had fall'n upon the plain, 
 
 Inviolate he lay; 
 No ruffian spoiler's hand profane 
 
 Had touched that noble clay. 
 
 And precious things he still retained, 
 Which by one distant hearth, 
 
 Loved tokens of the loved, had gained 
 A worth beyond all worth. 
 
 I treasured these for them who yet 
 Knew not their mighty woe ; 
 
 I softly sealed his eyes, and set 
 One kiss upon his brow. 
 
 A decent grave we scooped him, where 
 Less thickly lay the dead, 
 
 And decently composed him there 
 Within that narrow bed. 
 
15 
 
 O theme for manhood's bitter tears, 
 
 The beauty and the bloom 
 Of less than twenty summer years 
 
 Shut in that darksome tomb ! 
 
 Of soldier sire the soldier son — 
 
 Life's honoured eventide 
 One lives to close in England, one 
 
 In maiden battle died; 
 
 And they that should have been the mourned, 
 
 The mourners' parts obtain : 
 Such thoughts were ours, as we returned 
 
 To earth its earth again. 
 
 Brief words we read of faith and prayer 
 
 Beside that hasty grave; 
 Then turned away, and left him there, 
 
 The gentle and the brave; 
 
16 
 
 I calling back with thankful heart, 
 With thoughts to peace allied, 
 
 Hours when we two had knelt apart 
 Upon the lone hill-side : 
 
 And, comforted, I praised the grace, 
 Which him had led to be 
 
 An early seeker of that face, 
 Which he should early see. 
 
BALAKLAVA. 
 
 TIT ANY a deed of faithful daring may obtain no 
 
 record here, 
 Wrought where none could see or note it, save the 
 
 one Almighty Seer. 
 
 Many a deed, awhile remembered, out of memory 
 
 needs must fall, 
 Covered, as the years roll onward, by oblivion's 
 
 creeping pall : 
 
 But there are which never never to oblivion can give 
 room, 
 
 Till in flame earth's records perish, till the thunder- 
 peal of doom. 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 And of these through all the ages married to im- 
 mortal fame, 
 
 One is linked, and linked for ever, Balaklava, with 
 thy name ; 
 
 With thine armies three that wond'ring stood at gaze 
 
 and held their breath, 
 With thy fatal lists of honour, and thy tournament of 
 
 death. 
 
 Oh our brothers that are sleeping, weary with your 
 
 great day's strife, 
 On that bleak Crimean headland, noble prodigals of 
 
 life, 
 
 Eyes which ne'er beheld you living, these have dearly 
 
 mourned you dead, 
 All your squandered wealth of valour, all the lavish 
 
 blood ye shed. 
 
19 
 
 And in onr eyes tears are springing ; but we bid 
 
 them back again ; 
 None shall say, to see us weeping, that we hold your 
 
 offering vain ; 
 
 That for nothing, in our sentence, did that holocaust 
 
 arise, 
 With a battle-field for altar, and with you for 
 
 sacrifice. 
 
 Not for nought ; to more than warriors armed as you 
 
 for mortal fray, 
 Unto each that in life's battle waits his Captain's 
 
 word ye say — 
 
 " What by duty's voice is bidden, there where duty's 
 
 star may guide, 
 Thither follow, that accomplish, whatsoever else 
 
 betide." 
 
 c 2 
 
 
20 
 
 This ye taught ; and this your lesson solemnly in 
 
 blood ye sealed : 
 Heroes, martyrs, are the harvest Balaklava's heights 
 
 shall yield. 
 
'H TAN, 'H 'EIII TAN. 
 
 u /W1HIS, or on this;" — "Bring home with thee this 
 
 shield, 
 Or be thou, dead, upon this shield brought home" — 
 So spake the Spartan mother to the son 
 Whom her own hands had armed. Oh strong of heart ! 
 Yet know I of a fairer strength than this — 
 Strength linked with weakness, steeped in tears and 
 
 fears, 
 And tenderness of trembling womanhood ; 
 But true as hers to duty's perfect law. 
 
 And such is theirs, who in our England now, 
 Wives, sisters, mothers, watch by day, by night, 
 In many a cottage, many a stately hall, 
 For those dread posts, too slow, too swift, that haste 
 
 
22 
 
 O'er land and sea, the messengers of doom ; 
 Theirs, who ten thousand times would rather hear 
 Of loved forms stretched upon the bloody sod, 
 All cold and stark, but with the debt they owed 
 To that dear land that bore them duly paid, 
 Than look to enfold them in fond arms again, 
 By aught in honour's or in peril's path 
 Unduly shunned, reserved for that embrace. 
 
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER THE FIFTH, 
 1854. 
 
 /^HEERLY with us that great November morn 
 
 Rose, as I trace its features in my mind ; 
 A day that in the lap of winter born, 
 Yet told of autumn scarcely left behind. 
 
 And we by many a hearth in all the land, 
 
 Whom quiet sleep had lapped the calm night 
 through, 
 
 Changed greetings, lip with lip, and hand to hand, 
 Old greetings, but which love makes ever new. 
 
24 
 
 Then, as the day brought with it sweet release 
 From this world's care, with timely feet we trod 
 
 The customary paths of blessed peace, 
 
 We worshipped in the temples of our God; 
 
 And when the sun had travelled his brief arc, 
 Drew round our hearths again in thankful ease ; 
 
 With pleasant light we chased away the dark, 
 We sat at eve with children round our knees. 
 
 So fared this day with us; — but how with you 2 
 What, gallant hosts of England, was your cheer, 
 
 Who numbered hearts as gentle and as true 
 As any kneeling at our altars here I 
 
 From cheerless watches on the cold dank ground 
 
 Startled, ye felt a foe on every side; 
 With mist and gloom and deaths encompassed round. 
 
 With even to perish in the light denied. 
 
25 
 
 And that same season of our genial ease, 
 
 It was your very agony of strife ; 
 While each of those our golden moments sees 
 
 With you the ebbing of some noble life. 
 
 'Mid dark ravines, by precipices vast, 
 
 Did there and here your dreadful conflict sway : 
 No Sabbath day's light work to quell at last 
 
 The fearful odds of that unequal fray. 
 
 Oh " hope" of England, only not "forlorn," 
 Because ye never your own hope resigned, 
 
 But in worst case, beleaguered, overborne, 
 Did help in God and in your own selves find; 
 
 We greet you o'er the waves, as from this time 
 Men, to the meanest and the least of whom, 
 
 In reverence of fortitude sublime, 
 
 We would rise up, and yield respectful room : 
 
26 
 
 We greet you o'er the waves, nor fear to say, 
 Our Sabbath setting side by side with yours, 
 
 Yours was the better and far nobler day, 
 
 And days like it have made that ours endures. 
 
THE UNFORGOTTEK 
 
 TT7HOM for thy race of heroes wilt thou own, 
 
 And, England, who shall be thy joy, thy pride? 
 As thou art just, oh then not those alone 
 
 Who nobly conquering lived, or conquering died. 
 
 Them also in thy roll of heroes write, 
 
 For well they earned what best thou canst bestow, 
 Who being girt and arm6d for the fight, 
 
 Yielded their arms, but to no mortal foe. 
 
28 
 
 Far off they pined on fever-stricken coast, 
 Or sunk in sudden arms of painful death, 
 
 And faces which their eyes desired the most, 
 
 They saw not, as they drew their parting breath. 
 
 Sad doom, to know a mighty work in hand, 
 Which shall from all the ages honour win ; 
 
 Upon the threshold of this work to stand, 
 Arrested there, while others enter in. 
 
 And this was theirs ; they saw their fellows bound 
 To fields of fame, which they might never share; 
 
 And all the while within their own hearts found 
 A strength that was not less, to do and dare; 
 
 But knew that never never with their peers 
 
 They should salute some great day's glorious close, 
 
 The shout of triumph ringing in their ears, 
 The light of battle shining on their brows. 
 
29 
 
 doom; — yet say not Heaven to them assigned 
 A lot from all of glory quite estranged ; 
 Albeit the laurel which they hoped to bind 
 
 About their brows for cypress wreath was changed. 
 
 Heaven gave to them a glory stern, austere, 
 
 A glory of all earthly glory shorn; 
 With firm heart to accept fate's gift severe, 
 
 Bravely to bear the thing that must be borne; 
 
 To see such visions fade and turn to nought, 
 
 And in this saddest issue to consent; 
 If only the great work be duly wrought, 
 
 That others should accomplish it, content. 
 
 Then as thou wouldst thyself continue great, 
 Keep a true eye for what is great indeed ; 
 
 Nor know it only in its lofty state 
 
 And victor's robes, but in its lowliest weed. 
 
30 
 
 And now, and when this dreadful work is done, 
 England, be these too thy delight and pride ; 
 
 Wear them as near thy heart as any one 
 
 Of all who conquering lived, or conquering died. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 npOGETHEB, lay them in one common grave, 
 These noble sons of England and of France, 
 Who side by side did yesterday advance, 
 And to their foes a dear example gave 
 Of what a freeman's price beyond a slave. 
 Theirs was a noble fellowship in life, 
 They breathed their lives out in one glorious strife ; 
 Then let them lie, the brave beside the brave. 
 And sleep with them, for evermore to cease, 
 Sleep with the sleep which no awaking knows, 
 The long contention of eight hundred years : 
 While from their ashes the fair tree of peace 
 Springs, under which two nations may repose 
 In love, which ancient discord more endears. 
 
32 
 
 II. 
 
 T7K0M what of passion and of earthly pride, 
 Presumptuous confidence and glory vain, 
 Will cleave to justest cause which men sustain, 
 Till Thou their cause and them hast purified, 
 From what too much of these Thou hast espied 
 In us, oh ! cleanse us from this dangerous leaven, 
 At any cost oh ! purge us, righteous Heaven, 
 Though we herein be sorely searched and tried. 
 So, purified from these, may we fulfil, 
 Upon thy strength relying, not our own, 
 The dreadful sentence of thy righteous will ; 
 And this by us unto the nations shown, 
 May burn no incense to our drag, but still 
 All honour give to Thee, and Thee alone. 
 
33 
 
 III. 
 
 "\7"ES, let us own it in confession free, 
 
 That when we girt ourselves to quell the wrong, 
 We deemed it not so giant-like and strong, 
 But it with our slight effort thought to see 
 Pushed from its base; yea, almost deemed that we, 
 Champions of right, might be excused the price 
 Of pain, and loss, and large self-sacrifice, 
 Set on great things by Heaven's unchanged decree. 
 What if this work's great hardness was concealed 
 From us, until so far upon our way 
 That no escape remained us, no retreat : 
 Lest, being at an earlier hour revealed, 
 We might have shrunk too weakly from the heat, 
 And shunned the burden of this fiery day ? 
 
34 
 
 IT. 
 
 TO — 
 
 TN huts and palaces are mourners found, 
 
 As on the far-off fields of death in turn 
 Leap the dread lots from fortune's fatal urn : 
 And those not yet in cords of sorrow bound, 
 But listening everywhere the doleful sound 
 Of others' griefs, still ask, Who next shall mourn, 
 Of brother, son, or dearer yet forlorn 1 
 To whom shall next the cup of pain go round 1 
 We know not ; if anon to thee and me, 
 Let not our hearts then chide us that we heard 
 Of pangs, which other souls did search and try, 
 To this their anguish yielding, it might be, 
 The trivial offering of a passing sigh, 
 While all our deeper heart remained unstirred. 
 
LINES WRITTEN ON THE FIRST TIDINGS 
 OF THE CABUL MASSACRES. 
 
 Januaky, 1842. 
 
 TT7E sat our peaceful hearths beside, 
 
 Within our temples hushed and wide 
 
 We worshipped without fear : 
 With solemn rite, with festal blaze, 
 We welcomed in the earliest days 
 
 Of this new-coming year. 
 
 O ye that died, brave hearts and true, 
 How in those days it fared with you 
 
 We did not then surmise; 
 That bloody rout, which still doth seem 
 The phantasm of an horrid dream, 
 
 Was hidden from our eyes : 
 
36 
 
 But haunts us now by day and night 
 The vision of that ghastly flight, 
 
 Its shapes of haggard fear : 
 While still from many a mourning home 
 The wails of lamentation come, 
 
 And fill our saddened ear. 
 
 O England, bleeding at thy heart 
 For thy lost sons, a solemn part 
 
 Doth Heaven to thee assign. 
 High wisdom hast thou need to ask, 
 For vengeance is a fearful task, 
 
 And yet that task is thine. 
 
 Oh then fulfil it, not in pride, 
 
 Nor aught to passionate hate allied ; 
 
 But know thyself to be 
 The justicer of righteous Heaven; 
 That unto thee a work is given, 
 
 A burden laid on thee. 
 
37 
 
 So thine own heart from guilty stains 
 First cleanse, and then, for what remains, 
 
 That do with all thy might; 
 That with no faltering hand fulfil, 
 With no misgiving heart or will, 
 
 As dubious of the right ; 
 
 That do, not answering wrong for wrong, 
 But witnessing that truth is strong, 
 
 And, outraged, bringeth woe. 
 'Tis this by lessons sad and stern, 
 To men who no way else would learn 
 
 Which thou art set to show. 
 
MOOLTAK 
 
 " A company of Moolraj's Muzubees, or outcasts turned Sikhs, 
 led on the mob. It was an appalling sight ; and Sirdar Khan 
 Sing begged of Mr. Agnew to be allowed to wave a sheet, and 
 sue for mercy. Weak in body from loss of blood, Agnew's heart 
 failed him not. He replied, ' The time for mercy is gone ; let 
 none be asked for. They can kill us two if they like, but we are 
 not the last of the English ; thousands of Englishmen will come 
 down here when we are gone, and annihilate Moolraj, and his 
 soldiers, and his fort!' The crowd now rushed in with horrible 
 shouts; made Khan Sing prisoner, and pushing aside the 
 servants with the butts of their muskets, surrounded the two 
 wounded officers. Lieutenant Anderson, from the first, had 
 been too much wounded even to move ; and now Mr. Agnew was 
 sitting by his bedside, holding his hand, and talking in English, 
 Doubtless, they were bidding each other farewell for all 
 
 time Anderson was hacked to death with swords, 
 
 and afterwards the two bodies were dragged outside, and slashed 
 and insulted by the crowd, then left all night under the sky." — 
 Majoe Edwaedes' Year on the Punjaub Frontier, vol. ii. 
 p. 58. 
 
 " The besieging army did not march away to other fields 
 without performing its last melancholy duty to the memory of 
 Agnew and Anderson. The bodies of those officers were care- 
 fully — I may say affectionately — removed from the careless 
 grave where they lay side by side ; and, wrapped in Cashmere 
 
39 
 
 shawls, (with a vain hut natural desire to obliterate all traces of 
 neglect,) were borne by the soldiers of the 1st Bombay Fusiliers 
 (Anderson's own regiment) to an honoured resting-place on the 
 summit of Moolraj's citadel. By what way borne ? Through 
 the gate where they had been first assaulted ? Oh, no ! through 
 the broad and sloping breach, which had been made by the 
 British guns in the walls of the rebellious fortress of Mooltan." — 
 The Same, p. 588. 
 
 "DEAR them gently, bear them duly up the broad 
 and sloping breach 
 
 Of this torn and shattered city, till their resting- 
 place they reach. 
 
 In the costly cashmeres folded, on the stronghold's 
 
 topmost crown, 
 In the place of foremost honour, lay these noble relics 
 
 down. 
 
 Here repose, for this is meetest, ye who here breathed 
 
 out your life, 
 Ah! in no triumphant battle, but beneath the 
 
 assassin's knife. 
 
40 
 
 Hither, bearing England's message, bringing England's 
 
 just command, 
 Under England's segis, came ye to the chieftain of the 
 
 land: 
 
 In these streets beset and wounded, hardly borne with 
 
 life away, 
 Faint, and bleeding, and forsaken, in your helplessness 
 
 ye lay. 
 
 But the wolves that once have tasted blood, will ravin j 
 
 still for more ; 
 From the infuriate city rises high the wild and savage ; 
 
 Near and nearer grows the tumult of the gathering] 
 
 murderous crew; 
 Tremble round those helpless couches an unarmed but* 
 
 faithful few : 
 
41 
 
 " Profitless is all resistance : let us then this white flag 
 
 wave, 
 Ere it be too late, disdain not mercy at their hands to 
 
 But to no unworthy pleading would descend that 
 
 noble twain : 
 " Nay, for mercy sue not ; ask not what to ask from 
 
 these were vain. 
 
 "We are two, betrayed and lonely; human help or 
 
 hope is none; 
 Yet, O friends, be sure that England owns beside us 
 
 many a 'son. 
 
 " They may slay us; in our places multitudes will here 
 
 be found, 
 Strong to hurl this guilty city with its murderers to 
 
 the ground. 
 
42 
 
 " Yea, who stone by stone would tear it from its deep 
 
 foundations strong, 
 Rather than to leave unpunished them that wrought 
 
 this treacherous wrong." 
 
 Other words they changed between them, which none 
 
 else could understand, 
 Accents of our native English, brothers grasping hand 
 
 in hand. 
 
 So they died, the gallant hearted ! so from earth their 
 
 spirits past, 
 Uttering words of lofty comfort each to each unto the 
 
 last; 
 
 And we heed, but little heeded their true spirits far 
 
 away, 
 All of wrong and coward outrage, heaped on the 
 
 unfeeling clay. 
 
43 
 
 - — Lo! a few short moons have vanished, and the 
 
 promised ones appear, . 
 England's pledged and promised thousands, England's 
 
 multitudes are here. 
 
 Flame around the blood-stained ramparts swiftest 
 
 messengers of death, 
 
 Girdling with a fiery girdle, blasting with a fiery 
 breath ; 
 
 Ceasing not, till choked with corpses low is laid the 
 
 murderers' hold, 
 And in his last lair the tiger toils of righteous wrath 
 
 enfold. 
 
 Well, oh well — ye have not failed them who on 
 
 England's truth relied, 
 Who on England's name and honour did in that dread 
 
 hour confide : 
 
44 
 
 Now one last dear duty render to the faithful and the] 
 
 brave, 
 What they left of earth behind them rescuing for a 
 
 worthier grave. 
 
 Oh then, bear them, hosts of England, up the broad! 
 
 and sloping breach 
 Of this torn and shattered city, till their resting-place] 
 
 they reach. 
 
 In the costly cashmeres folded, on the rampart's top-] 
 
 most crown, 
 In the place of foremost honour, lay these noble relics 
 
 down. 
 
 THE END.