Oh! that last day in Lucknow fort!
We knew that it was the last:
That the enemy's mines had crept surely in,
And the end was coming fast.
To yield to that foe meant worse than death;
And the men and we all work'd on:
It was one day more, of smoke and roar,
And then it would all be done.
There was one of us, a corporal's wife,
A fair young gentle thing,
Wasted with fever in the siege,
And her mind was wandering.
She lay on the ground in her Scottish plaid,
And I took her head on my knee:
"When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," she said,
"Oh! please then waken me."
She slept like a child on her father's floor
In the flecking of wood-bine shade,
When the house-dog sprawls by the open door,
And the mother's wheel is stay'd.
It was smoke and roar, and powder-stench,
And hopeless waiting for death:
But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child,
Seem'd scarce to draw her breath.
I sank to sleep, and I had my dream,
Of an English village-lane,
And wall and garden;--a sudden scream
Brought me back to the roar again.
Then Jessie Brown stood listening,
And then a broad gladness broke
All over her face, and she took my hand
And drew me near and spoke:
"_The Highlanders!_ Oh! dinna ye hear
The slogan far awa--
The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel;
It's the grandest o' them a'.
"God bless thae bonny Highlanders!
We're saved! we're saved!" she cried:
And fell on her knees, and thanks to God
Pour'd forth, like a full flood-tide.
Along the battery-line her cry
Had fallen among the men:
And they started, for they were there to die:
Was life so near them then?
They listen'd, for life: and the rattling fire
Far off, and the far-off roar
Were all:--and the colonel shook his head,
And they turn'd to their guns once more.
Then Jessie said--"That slogan's dune;
But can ye no hear them, noo,--
_The Campbells are comin'?_ It's no a dream;
Our succours hae broken through!"
We heard the roar and the rattle afar
But the pipes we could not hear;
So the men plied their work of hopeless war,
And knew that the end was near.
It was not long ere it must be heard,--
A shrilling, ceaseless sound:
It was no noise of the strife afar,
Or the sappers underground.
It _was_ the pipes of the Highlanders,
And now they play'd "_Auld Lang Syne_:"
It came to our men like the voice of God,
And they shouted along the line.
And they wept and shook one another's hands,
And the women sobb'd in a crowd:
And every one knelt down where we stood,
And we all thank'd God aloud.
That happy day when we welcomed them,
Our men put Jessie first;
And the General took her hand, and cheers
From the men, like a volley, burst.
And the pipers' ribbons and tartan stream'd
Marching round and round our line;
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears,
For the pipes play'd "_Auld Lang Syne_."