"Before the Ghiznee tiger Leapt forth to burn and slay; Before the holy Prophet Taught our grim tribes to pray; Before Secunder"s lances Pierced through each Indian glen; The mountain laws of honor Were framed for fearless men.
"Still, when a chief dies bravely, We bind with green one wrist-- Green for the brave, for heroes One crimson thread we twist.
Say ye, oh gallant Hillmen, For these, whose life has fled, Which is the fitting color, The green one, or the red?"
"Our brethren, laid in honor"d graves, may wear Their green reward," each n.o.ble savage said; "To these, whom hawks and hungry wolves shall tear, Who dares deny the red?"
Thus conquering hate, and steadfast to the right, Fresh from the heart that haughty verdict came; Beneath a waning moon, each spectral height Rolled back its loud acclaim.
Once more the chief gazed keenly Down on those daring dead; From his good sword their heart"s blood Crept to that crimson thread.
Once more he cried, "The judgment, Good friends, is wise and true, But though the red be given, Have we not more to do?
"These were not stirred by anger, Nor yet by l.u.s.t made bold; Renown they thought above them, Nor did they look for gold.
To them their leader"s signal Was as the voice of G.o.d: Unmoved, and uncomplaining, The path it showed they trod.
"As, without sound or struggle, The stars unhurrying march, Where Allah"s finger guides them, Through yonder purple arch, These Franks, sublimely silent, Without a quickened breath, Went, in the strength of duty, Straight to their goal of death.
"If I were now to ask you, To name our bravest man, Ye all at once would answer, They call"d him Mehrab Khan.
He sleeps among his fathers, Dear to our native land, With the bright mark he bled for Firm round his faithful hand.
"The songs they sing of Roostum Fill all the past with light; If truth be in their music, He was a n.o.ble knight.
But were those heroes living, And strong for battle still, Would Mehrab Khan or Roostum Have climbed, like these, the Hill?"
And they replied, "Though Mehrab Khan was brave, As chief, he chose himself what risks to run; Prince Roostum lied, his forfeit life to save, Which these had never done."
"Enough!" he shouted fiercely; "Doomed though they be to h.e.l.l, Bind fast the crimson trophy Round BOTH wrists--bind it well.
Who knows but that great Allah May grudge such matchless men, With none so decked in heaven, To the fiend"s flaming den?"
Then all those gallant robbers Shouted a stern "Amen!"
They raised the slaughter"d sergeant, They raised his mangled ten.
And when we found their bodies Left bleaching in the wind, Around BOTH wrists in glory That crimson thread was twined.
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In the year 1897 a great diamond jubilee was held in England in honor of the completion of sixty years of rule by Queen Victoria. Many poems were written for the occasion, most of which praised the greatness of Britain, the extent of her dominion, the strength of her army and navy, and the abundance of her wealth.
The "Recessional" was written for the occasion by Rudyard Kipling (1865--). It is in the form of a prayer, but its purpose was to tell the British that they were forgetting the "G.o.d of our fathers" and putting their trust in wealth and navies and the "reeking tube and iron shard" of the cannon. The poem rang through England like a bugle call and stirred the British people more deeply than any other poem of recent times.
RECESSIONAL
RUDYARD KIPLING
G.o.d of our fathers, known of old-- Lord of our far flung battle-line-- Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine-- Lord G.o.d of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies-- The captains and the kings depart-- Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice, A humble and a contrite heart.
Lord G.o.d of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!
Far-called our navies sink away-- On dune and headland sinks the fire Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe-- Such boasting as the Gentiles use Or lesser breeds without the law-- Lord G.o.d of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard-- All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard-- For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!
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William Ernest Henley (1849-1903) was an English critic and journalist of great force and a poet whose verse is full of manliness and tenderness. His life was a constant and courageous struggle against disease. The spirit in which he faced conditions that would have conquered a weaker man breathes through the famous poem quoted below. Such a spirit is not confined to any particular stage of maturity as represented by years, and many young people will find themselves buoyed up in the face of difficulties by coming into touch with the unconquered and unconquerable voice in this poem. The last two lines in particular are often quoted.
INVICTUS
WILLIAM E. HENLEY
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever G.o.ds may be For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circ.u.mstance I have not winced nor cried aloud: Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is b.l.o.o.d.y, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.
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James Russell Lowell (1819-1891) is a poet of such high idealisms that many of his poems seem to form the natural heritage of youth. Among such are "The Vision of Sir Launfal," "The Present Crisis," "The Fatherland," and "Aladdin." "The Falcon" is not so well known as any of these, but its fine image for the seeker after truth should appeal to most children of upper grades. "The Shepherd of King Admetus" is a very attractive poetizing of an old myth (see No. 261) and lets us see something of how the public looks upon its poets and other artistic folk.
THE FALCON
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
I know a falcon swift and peerless As e"er was cradled in the pine; No bird had ever eye so fearless, Or wing so strong as this of mine.
The winds not better love to pilot A cloud with molten gold o"errun, Than him, a little burning islet, A star above the coming sun.
For with a lark"s heart he doth tower, By a glorious upward instinct drawn; No bee nestles deeper in the flower Than he in the bursting rose of dawn.
No harmless dove, no bird that singeth, Shudders to see him overhead; The rush of his fierce swooping bringeth To innocent hearts no thrill of dread.
Let fraud and wrong and baseness shiver, For still between them and the sky The falcon Truth hangs poised forever And marks them with his vengeful eye.
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