THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. No. XXVI.—APRIL 1879. DEDICATORY POEM ΤΟ THE PRINCESS ALICE. DEAD PRINCESS, living Power, if that, which lived Born of true life and love, divorce thee not The spirit flash not all at once from out Thy Soldier-brother's bridal orange-bloom Break thro' the yews and cypress of thy grave, May send one ray to thee! and who can tell— THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. I. BANNER of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battlecry! Never with mightier glory than when we had rear'd thee on high Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew, And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. II. 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! Hold it we might-and for fifteen days or for twenty at most. 'Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post!' Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave: Cold were his brows when we kiss'd him-we laid him that night in his grave. 'Every man die at his post!' and there hail'd on our houses and halls Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls, Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade, Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stoopt to the spade, Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell Striking the hospital wall, crashing thro' it, their shot and their shell, Death-for their spies were among us, their marksmen were told of our best, So that the brute bullet broke thro' the brain that could think for the rest; Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and bullets would rain at our feet Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us round— 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 ground! Mine? yes, a mine! Countermine! down, down! and creep thro' the hole! Keep the revolver in hand! You can hear him—the murderous mole. Quiet, ah! quiet wait till the point of the pickaxe be thro' ! Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again than before Now let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer is no more; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. III. Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a day Soon as the blast of that underground thunderclap echo'd away, Dark thro' the smoke and the sulphur like so many fiends in their hell Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yell Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemy fell. What have they done? where is it? Out yonder. Guard the Redan! Storm at the Water-gate! storm at the Bailey-gate! storm, and it ran Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily drown'd by the tide So many thousands that if they be bold enough, who shall escape? Kill or be kill'd, live or die, they shall know we are soldiers and men! Ready! take aim at their leaders—their masses are gapp'd with our grape Backward they reel like the wave, like the wave flinging forward again, Flying and foil'd at the last by the handful they could not subdue ; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. IV. 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 garrison 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. |