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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 489 |
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Where through the narrow straight Bazaar
A little maid Circassian Is led, a present from the Czar
Unto some old and bearded khan,—
Here have our wild war-eagles flown, And flapped wide wings in fiery fight;
But the sad dove, that sits alone In England—she hath no delight.
In vain the laughing girl will lean To greet her love with love-lit eyes:
Down in some treacherous black ravine, Clutching his flag, the dead boy lies.
And many a moon and sun will see The lingering wistful children wait
To climb upon their father's knee; And in each house made desolate
Pale women who have lost their lord Will kiss the relics of the slain —
Some tarnished epaulette—some sword — Poor toys to soothe such anguished pain.
For not in quiet English fields
Are these, our brothers, lain to rest,
Where we might deck their broken shields With all the flowers the dead love best.
For some are by the Delhi walls, And many in the Afghan land,
And many where the Ganges falls
Through seven mouths of shifting sand. |
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