THE war in the East had ended: Its terrors were past, they said; There was peace once more for the living, And peace for the valiant dead. Through the splendid squares of Lucknow The Highlanders marched again; The heroes of fortress and jungle, Brave Havelock's peerless men! Ay! open your gates, O Lucknow! But measure, ye guards, your breath, As ye think of those days, an hundred, When Havelock marched with death. They had freed the beleaguered city, Fought step by step through the vale; And swept from the shore of the Ganges Forever the Sepoy's trail. Through the streets swept the colors of England, Born proudly aloft on the air; While the "throne land of Rama" re-echoed The Christian's thanksgiving and prayer. And blithest of all were the pipers, Their tartan plaids streaming in pride, As they woke, on the banks of the Goomtee, The airs of the Doon and Clyde. Then the heart of one beautiful woman Was stirred by an impulse sweet, As she thought of the long, forced marches, The weary and blood-stained feet; "Not for twice twelve months have they tasted A simple cupful of tea! I will serve it to-day for the heroes Who periled their lives for me! "Bid them come to the courts of the Mission!" Gay awnings were hastily hung; While on tripods of curious fashion The tea-kettles merrily swung; Swung and sung songs of the homeland; Familiar and sweet were the tunes, As if winds of the loch and the mountain Blew soft through the Indian noons. She fastened the tartan of Scotland With the thistle-bloom over her breast; And her own little winsome daughter In the bonny bright plaid she drest. This fair-faced, brave-hearted woman, A stranger from lands of the West, To the ancient palace and gardens Welcomed each war-worn guest. And with Highland bonnets uplifted, There under the Hindoo palm, The soldiers of Havelock listened To the Hebrew's glorious psalm: "Thou wentest before thy people, And kings of armies did flee!" Then merrily under the shadows They drank of the fragrant tea. And many a battle-scarred soldier Let fall from a glistening eye Hot tears on the hand of his hostess For whom he had thought to die. And for her was the Highlander's blessing Breathed low in that tenderer scene When the pipers, proud in their places, Played grandly—"God save the Queen!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PURSUIT OF THE WORD by ROBERT FROST SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW OMNIPRESENCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE DOLL BELIEVERS by CLARENCE MAJOR SQUIRE BOWLING GREEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NOTHING WILL CURE THE SICK LION BUT TO EAT AN APE' by MARIANNE MOORE |