Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE GUIDES AT CABUL: 1879, by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Sons of the island race, wherever ye dwell Last Line: To the clash and clamour and dust of death they went. Subject(s): Afghanistan | ||||||||
SONS of the Island Race, wherever ye dwell, Who speak of your fathers' battles with lips that burn, The deed of an alien legion hear me tell, And think not shame from the hearts ye tamed to learn, When succour shall fail and the tide for a season turn, To fight with a joyful courage, a passionate pride, To die at the last as the Guides at Cabul died. For a handful of seventy men in a barrack of mud, Foodless, waterless, dwindling one by one, Answered a thousand yelling for English blood With stormy volleys that swept them gunner from gun, And charge on charge in the glare of the Afghan sun, Till the walls were shattered wherein they crouched at bay, And dead or dying half of the seventy lay. Twice they had taken the cannon that wrecked their hold, Twice toiled in vain to drag it back, Thrice they toiled, and alone, wary and bold, Whirling a hurricane sword to scatter the rack, Hamilton, last of the English, covered their track. "Never give in!" he cried, and he heard them shout, And grappled with death as a man that knows not doubt. And the Guides looked down from their smouldering barrack again, And behold, a banner of truce, and a voice that spoke: "Come, for we know that the English all are slain, We keep no feud with men of a kindred folk; Rejoice with us to be free of the conqueror's yoke." Silence fell for a moment, then was heard A sound of laughter and scorn, and an answering word. "Is it we or the lords we serve who have earned this wrong, That ye call us to flinch from the battle they bade us fight? We that live -- do ye doubt that our hands are strong? They that have fallen -- ye know that their blood was bright! Think ye the Guides will barter for lust of the light The pride of an ancient people in warfare bred, Honour of comrades living, and faith to the dead?" Then the joy that spurs the warrior's heart To the last thundering gallop and sheer leap Came on the men of the Guides; they flung apart The doors not all their valour could longer keep; They dressed their slender line; they breathed deep, And with never a foot lagging or head bent, To the clash and clamour and dust of death they went. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CANTO OF KHANS by BERTON BRALEY THE BALLAD OF THE KINGS'S MERCY by RUDYARD KIPLING THE LAST BERKSHIRE ELEVEN: THE HEROES OF MAIWAND by WILLIAM MCGONAGALL ARAB SONGS: 1. THE PARROT AND THE FALCON by PADRAIC COLUM DRAKE'S DRUM by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT HE FELL AMONG THIEVES by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT MESSMATES by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT VITAI LAMPADA by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT A BALLAD OF JOHN NICHOLSON by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT |
|