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God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?

X

For he said, "Fight on! fight on!" Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck; And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone, With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck,

But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead,

And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head, And he said, "Fight on! fight on!"

XI

And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea,

and the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring;

But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that we still could sting,

So they watch'd what the end would be.
And we had not fought them in vain,
But in perilous plight were we,
Seing forty of our poor hundred were
slain,

And half of the rest of us maim'd for life

In the crash of the cannonades and the

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"We have children, we have wives, And the Lord hath spared our lives. We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go;

We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow."

And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.

XIII

And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then,

Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last, And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace; But he rose upon their decks, and he cried :

"I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true;

I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do.

With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die!"

And he fell upon their decks, and he died.

XIV

And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true,

And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap

That he dared her with one little ship and his English few;

Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew,

But they sank his body with honor down into the deep.

And they mann'd the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew,

And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own;

When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep, And the water began to heave and the weather to moan,

And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,

And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of Spain, And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags

To be lost evermore in the main.

1878.

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW1

I

BANNER of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou

Floated in conquering battle or flapped to the battle-cry!

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 livesWomen 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 stooped 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

1 "The old flag used during the defence of the Residency, was hoisted on the Lucknow flagstaff by General Wilson, and the soldiers who still survived from the siege were all mustered on parade in honor of this poem, when my son Lionel (who died on his journey from India) visited Lucknow. A tribute overwhelmingly touching." (Tennyson.)

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Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a day Soon as the blast of that underground thunder-clap echo'd away

Dark thro' the smoke and the sulphur like so many fiends in their hellCannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yellFiercely 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 drowned 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 fingering 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 unawaresEvery man die at his post-and the foe may outlive us at lastBetter 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.

Riflemen, true is your heart, but be sure that your hand be as true! Sharp is the fire of assault, better aimed are your flank fusiladesTwice do we hurl them to earth from the ladders to which they had clung,

Twice from the ditch where they shelter

we drive them with hand-grenades;

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew !

V

Then on another wild morning another

wild earthquake out-tore

Chan from our lines of defence ten or

twelve good paces or more. Riflemen, high on the roof, hidden there

from the light of the sun One has leaped up on the breach, crying out: Follow me, follow me!"Mark him-he falls! then another and him too, and down goes he. Had they been bold enough then, who can tell but the traitors had won? Boardings and rafters and doors-an

embrasure! make way for the gun! Now double-charge it with grape! It is charged and we fire, and they run. Praise to our Indian brothers, and let the dark face have his due! Thanks to the kindly dark faces who

fought with us, faithful and few, Fought with the bravest among us, and drove them, and smote them, and slew,

That ever upon the topmost roof our banner in India blew.

VI

Men will forget what we suffer and not what we do. We can fight!

But to be soldier all day, and be sentinel all thro' the night

Ever the mine and assault, our sallies, their lying alarms,

Bugles and drums in the darkness, and shoutings and soundings to arms, Ever the labor of fifty that had to be done by five,

Ever the marvel among us that one should be left alive,

Ever the day with its traitorous death from the loopholes around, Ever the night with its coffinless corpse to be laid in the ground,

Heat like the mouth of a hell, or a deluge of cataract skies,

Stench of old offal decaying, and infinite torment of flies,

Thoughts of the breezes of May blowing over an English field,

Cholera, scurvy, and fever, the wound that would not be heal'd, Lopping away of the limb by the pitifulpitiless knife.

Torture and trouble in vain,--for it never could save us a life,

Valor of delicate women who tended the hospital bed,

Horror of women in travail among the dying and dead,

Grief for our perishing children, and never a moment for grief, Toil and ineffable weariness, faltering hopes of relief,

Havelock baffled, or beaten, or butcher'd for all that we knew-

Then day and night, day and night, coming down on the still-shatter'd walls

Millions of musket-bullets, and thousands of cannon-balls-

But ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

VII

Hark cannonade, fusillade! is it true what was told by the scout, Outram and Havelock breaking their

way through the fell mutineers ? Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing again in our ears?

All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubilant shout.

Havelock's glorious Highlanders answer

with conquering cheers,

Sick from the hospital echo them, women
and children come out,
Blessing the wholesome white faces of
Havelock's good fusileers,

Kissing the war-harden'd hand of the Highlander wet with their tears! Dance to the pibroch!--saved! we are saved is it you? is it you? Saved by the valor of Havelock, saved by the blessing of heaven! "Hold it for fifteen days!" we have held it for eighty-seven!

And ever aloft on the palace roof the old banner of England blew. 1879.

RIZPAH1

17

WAILING, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and seaAnd Willy's voice in the wind, "O mother, come out to me!"

Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I cannot go? For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at the snow.

We should be seen, my dear; they would spy us out of the town. The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the down, When I cannot see my own hand, but

am led by the creak of the chain, And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drenched with the

rain.

Anything fallen again? nay-what was there left to fall?

I have taken them home, I have number'd the bones, I have hidden them all.

What am I saying? and what are you?

do you come as a spy! Falls? what falls? who knows? As the

tree falls so must it lie.

Who let her in? how long has she been? you-what have you heard? Why did you sit so quiet? you never have spoken a word.

O-to pray with me-yes-a lady-none of their spies

But the night has crept into my heart,

and begun to darken my eyes. Ah-you, that have lived so soft, what should you know of the night, The blast and the burning shame and the bitter frost and the fright? I have done it, while you were asleepyou were only made for the day.

1 See the Life of Tennyson II, 249-251.

I have gather'd my baby together-and now you may go your way.

Nay-for it 's kind of you, madam, to sit by an old dying wife.

But say nothing hard of my boy, I have only an hour of life.

I kiss'd my boy in the prison, before he went out to die.

"They dared me to do it," he said, and he never has told me a lie.

I whipped him for robbing an orchard once when he was but a child— "The farmer dared me to do it," he said; he was always so wild

And idle-and could n't be idle-my Willy-he never could rest. The King should have made him a soldier, he would have been one of his best.

But he lived with a lot of wild mates, and they never would let him be

good; They swore that he dare not rob the mail, and he swore that he would; And he took no life, but he took one purse, and when all was done He flung it among his fellows-"I'll none of it," said my son.

I came into court to the judge and the lawyers. I told them my tale, God's own truth-but they kill'd him, they kill'd him for robbing the mail.

They hang'd him in chains for a showwe had always borne a good

name-

To be hang'd for a thief-and then put away-is n't that enough shame? Dust to dust-low down--let us hide! but they set him so high That all the ships of the world could stare at him, passing by. God 'll pardon the hell-black raven and horrible fowls of the air,

But not the black heart of the lawyeri who kill'd him and hang'd him' there.

And the jailer forced me away. I had bid him my last good-bye; They had fasten'd the door of his cell. "O mother!" I heard him cry. I could n't get back tho' I tried, he had something further to say, And now I never shall know it. The jailer forced me away.

Then since I could n't but hear that cry of my boy that was dead, They seized me and shut me up: they fasten'd me down on my bed. "Mother, O mother!"-he call'd in the dark to me year after year— They beat me for that, they beat meyou know that I could n't but hear:

And then at the last they found I had

grown so stupid and still They let me abroad again-but the creatures had worked their will.

Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone was left

I stole them all from the lawyers--and you, will you call it a theft?Ty baby, the bones that had suck'd me, the bones that had laughed and had cried

Theirs? O, no! they are mine-not theirs-they had moved in my side.

Do you think I was scared by the bones? I kiss'd 'em, I buried 'em allIcan't dig deep, I am old-in the night by the churchyard wall. My Willy'll rise up whole when the trumpet of judgment 'll sound, But I charge you never to say that I laid him in holy ground.

They would scratch him up-they would hang him again on the cursed tree. Sin? O, yes, we are sinners, I know-let all that be,

And read me a Bible verse of the Lord's goodwill toward men

Full of compassion and mercy, the Lord"-let me hear it again; "Full of compassion and mercy-longsuffering." Yes, O, yes! For the lawyer is born but to murderthe Saviour lives but to bless. He'll never put on the black cap except for the worst of the worst,

And the first may be last-I have heard it in church-and the last may be first. Suffering-0, long-suffering-yes, as the Lord must know, Year after year in the mist and the wind and the shower and the snow.

Heard, have you? what? they have told you he never repented his sin. How do they know it? are they his mother? are you of his kin?

Heard! have you ever heard, when the storm on the downs began,

The wind that 'll wail like a child and the sea that 'll moan like a man?

Election, Election, and Reprobation— it's all very well.

But I go to-night to my boy, and I shall not find him in hell.

For I cared so much for my boy that the
Lord has look'd into my care,
And He means me I 'm sure to be happy
with Willy, I know not where.

And if he be lost-but to save my soul, that is all your desire—

Do you think that I care for my soul if my boy be gone to the fire?

I have been with God in the dark-go, go, you may leave me aloneYou never have borne a child-you are just as hard as a stone.

Madam, I beg your pardon! I think that you mean to be kind, But I cannot hear what you say for my Willy's voice in the windThe snow and the sky so bright-he used but to call in the dark, And he calls to me now from the church and not from the gibbet

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