Lyra Heroica Part 34

And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, With knee to man unbent, Unfaltering on its dreadful brink, To his red grave he went.

Vain, mightiest fleets of iron frames; Vain, those all-shattering guns; Unless proud England keep, untamed, The strong heart of her sons.

So, let his name through Europe ring-- A man of mean estate, Who died, as firm as Sparta's king, Because his soul was great.

_Doyle._

XCVII

THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR

Eleven men of England A breastwork charged in vain; Eleven men of England Lie stripped, and gashed, and slain.

Slain; but of foes that guarded Their rock-built fortress well, Some twenty had been mastered, When the last soldier fell.

Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way Across the sand-waves of the desert sea, Then flashed at once, on each fierce clan, dismay, Lord of their wild Truckee.

These missed the glen to which their steps were bent, Mistook a mandate, from afar half heard, And, in that glorious error, calmly went To death without a word.

The robber-chief mused deeply Above those daring dead; 'Bring here,' at length he shouted, 'Bring quick, the battle thread.

Let Eblis blast for ever Their souls, if Allah will: But we must keep unbroken The old rules of the Hill.

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 honour 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 colour, The green one or the red?'

'Our brethren, laid in honoured 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 called 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 Rustum 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 Rustum Have climbed, like these, the hill?'

And they replied, 'Though Mehrab Khan was brave, As chief, he chose himself what risks to run; Prince Rustum 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 fiends' flaming den?'

Then all those gallant robbers Shouted a stern 'Amen!'

They raised the slaughtered 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.

Then Napier's knightly heart, touched to the core, Rung, like an echo, to that knightly deed, He bade its memory live for evermore, That those who run may read.

_Doyle._

XCVIII

HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA

n.o.bly, n.o.bly Cape St. Vincent to the North-west died away; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey; 'Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?'--say, Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to G.o.d to praise and pray, While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.

_Browning._

XCIX

HERVe RIEL

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, Did the English fight the French,--woe to France!

And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter thro' the blue, Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, Came crowding s.h.i.+p on s.h.i.+p to St. Malo on the Rance, With the English fleet in view.

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; First and foremost of the drove, in his great s.h.i.+p, Damfreville; Close on him fled, great and small, Twenty-two good s.h.i.+ps in all; And they signalled to the place 'Help the winners of a race!

Get us guidance, give us harbour, take us quick--or, quicker still, Here's the English can and will!'

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; 'Why, what hope or chance have s.h.i.+ps like these to pa.s.s?' laughed they: 'Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the pa.s.sage scarred and scored, Shall the _Formidable_ here with her twelve and eighty guns Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, And with flow at full beside?

Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide.

Reach the mooring? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a s.h.i.+p will leave the bay!'

Then was called a council straight.

Brief and bitter the debate: 'Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, For a prize to Plymouth Sound?

Better run the s.h.i.+ps aground!'

(Ended Damfreville his speech).

Not a minute more to wait!

'Let the Captains all and each Shove ash.o.r.e, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!

France must undergo her fate.

Give the word!' But no such word Was ever spoke or heard; For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these --A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate--first, second, third?

No such man of mark, and meet With his betters to compete!