Collected Poems 1897 - 1907 | Page 7

left the laggard, and took the bold, And the fight was fought, and the story's told, And they sleep with Admiral Death.

Homeward Bound
After long labouring in the windy ways, On smooth and shining tides Swiftly the great ship glides, Her storms forgot, her weary watches past; Northward she glides, and through the enchanted haze Faint on the verge her far hope dawns at last.
The phantom sky-line of a shadowy down, Whose pale white cliffs below Through sunny mist aglow, Like noon-day ghosts of summer moonshine gleam--- Soft as old sorrow, bright as old renown, There lies the home, of all our mortal dream.

Gillespie.
Riding at dawn, riding alone, Gillespie left the town behind; Before he turned by the Westward road A horseman crossed him, staggering blind.
"The Devil's abroad in false Vellore, The Devil that stabs by night," he said, "Women and children, rank and file, Dying and dead, dying and dead."
Without a word, without a groan, Sudden and swift Gillespie turned, The blood roared in his ears like fire, Like fire the road beneath him burned.
He thundered back to Arcot gate, He thundered up through Arcot town, Before he thought a second thought In the barrack yard he lighted down.
"Trumpeter, sound for the Light Dragoons, Sound to saddle and spur," he said; "He that is ready may ride with me, And he that can may ride ahead."
Fierce and fain, fierce and fain, Behind him went the troopers grim, They rode as ride the Light Dragoons But never a man could ride with him.
Their rowels ripped their horses' sides, Their hearts were red with a deeper goad, But ever alone before them all Gillespie rode, Gillespie rode.
Alone he came to false Vellore, The walls were lined, the gates were barred; Alone he walked where the bullets bit, And called above to the Sergeant's Guard.
"Sergeant, Sergeant, over the gate, Where are your officers all?" he said; Heavily came the Sergeant's voice, "There are two living and forty dead."
"A rope, a rope," Gillespie cried : They bound their belts to serve his need. There was not a rebel behind the wall But laid his barrel and drew his bead.
There was not a rebel among them all But pulled his trigger and cursed his aim, For lightly swung and rightly swung Over the gate Gillespie came.
He dressed the line, he led the charge, They swept the wall like a stream in spate, And roaring over the roar they heard The galloper guns that burst the gate.
Fierce and fain, fierce and fain, The troopers rode the reeking flight: The very stones remember still The end of them that stab by night.
They've kept the tale a hundred years, They'll keep the tale a hundred more: Riding at dawn, riding alone, Gillespie came to false Vellore.

Seringapatam
"The sleep that Tippoo Sahib sleeps Heeds not the cry of man; The faith that Tippoo Sahib keeps No judge on earth may scan; He is the lord of whom ye hold Spirit and sense and limb, Fetter and chain are all ye gain Who dared to plead with him."
Baird was bonny and Baird was young, His heart was strong as steel, But life and death in the balance hung, For his wounds were ill to heal. "Of fifty chains the Sultan gave We have filled but forty-nine: We dare not fail of the perfect tale For all Golconda's mine."
That was the hour when Lucas first Leapt to his long renown; Like summer rains his anger burst, And swept their scruples down. "Tell ye the lord to whom ye crouch, His fetters bite their fill: To save your oath I'll wear them both, And step the lighter still."
The seasons came, the seasons passed, They watched their fellows die; But still their thought was forward cast, Their courage still was high. Through tortured days and fevered nights Their limbs alone were weak, And year by year they kept their cheer, And spoke as freemen speak.
But once a year, on the fourth of June, Their speech to silence died, And the silence beat to a soundless tune And sang with a wordless pride; Till when the Indian stars were bright, And bells at home would ring, To the fetters' clank they rose and drank "England! God save the King!"
The years came, and the years went, The wheel full-circle rolled; The tyrant's neck must yet be bent, The price of blood be told: The city yet must hear the roar Of Baird's avenging guns, And see him stand with lifted hand By Tippoo Sahib's sons.
The lads were bonny, the lads were young, But he claimed a pitiless debt; Life and death in the balance hung, They watched it swing and set. They saw him search with sombre eyes, They knew the place he sought; They saw him feel for the hilted steel, They bowed before his