Once he trusted the Mussulman's word, Wah! wah! trust a liar to lie! Down from his eyrie they tempted my Bird, And clipped his wings that he could not fly. Fettered him fast in far Lahore Fast by the gate at the Runchenee Pûl; Sad was the soul of Chunda Kour, Glad the merchants of rich Kurnool. Ten months Runjeet lay in Lahore— There came a steed from Toorkistan, Wah! God made him to match the hawk! Fast beside him the four grooms ran, To keep abreast of the Toorkman's walk. Black as the bear on Iskardoo; Savage at heart as a tiger chained; Fleeter than hawk that ever flew, Never a Muslim could ride him reined. "Runjeet Dehu! come forth from thy hold "Wah! ten months had rusted his chain! "Ride this Sheitan's liver cold "— Runjeet twisted his hand in the mane; Runjeet sprang to the Toorkman's back, Three times round the maidan he rode, Touched its neck at the Kashmeree wall, Struck the spurs till they spirted blood, Leapt the rampart before them all! Breasted the waves of the blue Ravee, Wah wah! better chase the wind! Chunda Kour sate sad in Jummoo:— Hark! what horse-hoof echoes without? "Rise! and welcome Runjeet Dehu— Wash the Toorkman's nostrils out! "Forty koss he has come, my life! Forty koss back he must carry me; Rajah Runjeet visits his wife, He steals no steed like an Afreedee. "They bade me teach them how to ride Wah! wah! now I have taught them well!" Chunda Kour sank low at his side; Rajah Runjeet rode the hill. When he came back to far Lahore- Then they gave him a khillut and gold, All for his honor and grace and truth; Send him back to his mountain-holdMuslim manners have touch of ruth; Send him back, with dances and drum- SERENADE. Lute! breathe thy lowest in my Lady's ear, Sing while she sleeps, “Ah! belle dame, aimez-vous ?" Till, dreaming still, she dream that I am here, And wake to find it, as my love is, true; Then, while she listens in her warm white nest, Say in slow music,—softer, tenderer yet, That lute-strings quiver when their tone's at rest, And my heart trembles when my lips are set. Stars! if my sweet love still a-dreaming lies, Kissing them very gently till she wake; And my love lasteth, though it find no tongue. Come, dear children, let us away! Down and away below! Now my brothers call from the bay, Now the great winds shoreward blow, This way, this way! Call her once before you go Call once yet! In a voice that she will know: "Margaret! Margaret!" Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to mother's ear; This way, this way! "Mother dear, we cannot stay! The wild white horses foam and fret." Margaret! Margaret! Come, dear children, come away down; Call no more! One last look at the white-wall'd town, And the little gray church on the windy shore; Then come down! She will not come though you call all day; Children dear, was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay? In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell, Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away? Once she sate with you and me, On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, And the youngest sate on her knee. She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, When down swung the sound of a far-off bell. |