Canto the Fourth. I. Sobraon now presents itself to view, With double batteries ranged semicircular, But ere we end our weary round, Ere yet the cock-crow gives us intimation Of smiling dawn, We hear the bugle's shrilly sound, On the still night air borne, And see the camp astir with preparation. Ere the ruddy streaks of light Made the East horizon bright; Whilst Nature still lay hushed in sleep, Whilst yet the Sutlej, like a peaceful child, Trimmed their radiant plumes anew, Or morning breezes fanned the air,- And moved to seek the fatal fray. II. Thus man with deadly hate was rife, But Nature strove to hide his strife; The glorious sun looked not upon that day With his seed-quick'ning, heat-engend'ring ray, Gladness giving To all living, But turned his golden face away; The silvery gliding Sutlej Mourned the coming woes Of the land thro' which it flows, And such an exhalation did upraise As cast upon the two contending hosts A vapour black and dense; in dusky mist Image and emblem of that gloomy cloud,- Over the temple of the thoughts, so bright And so unsullied once,—the bitter smart, Which as a scorpion's sting pervades the heart, When from a calm and lovely peace, The gift of God's approving grace, Base passions in the captive soul find room, And hurl it headlong to a hellish doom. III. At length the vapour like a curtain rose, And shewed each army their advancing foes; From the booming cannons' jaws Flashes in fierce splendour broke, Without a pause. And when some well-directed aim With its fatal missive came, It seemed to roar, in fearful fun, To see the mischief it had done. The thunder of the ordnance Resounded in the mighty combat, Standing on the very cannon, Shouting-cheering; And see the British flag uprises On the summit of the ramparts; There is dashing Crashing Clashing. And here the Ghoorkhas, with their sabre knives, Are rushing onward, reckless of their lives; Hurried to the shades below. Thus at the last the Sikh entrenchments gained, A close and terrible attack remained. IV. See the Akalees fiercely are raging in fight, See them bathing in red blood their scimitars bright, And see Borne down directly by the sweeping tide. There Hera Singh yields up his parting breath, The brave Sham Singh devotes himself to death, Advanced, to be discomfited and die. Yonder, whilst leading on his rallied force, Is Kisheen Singh seen falling from his horse; And then-whence comes that purple-flowing stain? Alas! the valiant Abdoul Khan was slain. As falls the stately fir tree, so Our hero bowed him to the blow, c 2. |