Was India made for British power To boast her conquered plains? And tamely wear her chains? I fear will be suppressed; Lahore's brave sons, without denial, Must crouch with all the rest. II. "But to return. We met the British force, Where thick jhow jungle, scattered all around, Our valiant troops, full thirty thousand strong, Illumined scarcely by the cannons' gleam, Their cavalry our ample columns broke, Nor could we e'er the dire mishap redeem. Like clouds before the sun's ascending beam, When we gave way they urged us on behind, As some sere leaf impelled before the wind, Or some light straw before a swollen stream. From mount to mount retreating backward still, From tree to tree, and then from hill to hill, They bore us in confusion, till the night In darkness ended this disastrous fight; And though two chiefs lay prostrate in the vale, Sir John M'Caskill and Sir Robert Sale, Unceasing slaughter thinned our fated bands, And seventeen cannon fell into their hands. III. "The British moved upon Ferozeshah, Sirdar Tej Singh was our commander there, We swept their ranks with musketry and mines, Night interposed her sable shroud, And thus upon the field we lay, Save, when the moon her radiance threw, And brought the enemy to view, We made the moonbeam still more bright They are both brave and generous too: His son upon a litter borne, Regardless of the loss of limb, Patrol the camp by moonlight dim, With kindness soothe the wounded men, Re-animate the rest again; And, as I watched, I wished that he Were but a Sikh commanding me. IV. "At dawn of day the battle was resumed, With unrelenting and untiring bent, Our lances gleamed, our guns unanswered boomed, The ammunition of the foe was spent; The blood of the slain Flowed all around, And dyed the ground With scarlet stain. And here was one with gasping breath, And there another groaning in his pain. With Ghorepurras from Ferozepore, And our exhausted energies revived. But, ah! what fate opposes all our skill? Our valiant chief, Bohadur Singh, was slain; To crown disasters with disasters still, The brave Lal Singh lay wounded on the plain. V. "With all our force we crossed the Sutlej then, To make disposals for a fresh attack, To meet the foe inspirited again, Resolved to die, or else to drive them back; |