Across the reeling wreck of strife we rode as shadows ride
From Paniput to Delhi town, but not alone were we.
'Twas Lutuf-Ullah Populzai laid horse upon our track,
A swine-fed reiver of the North that lusted for the maid;
I might have barred his path awhile, but Scindia called me back,
And I—Oh woe for Scindia!—I listened and obeyed.
League after league the formless scrub took shape and glided by—
League after league the white road swirled behind the white mare's feet—
League after league, when leagues were done, we heard the Populzai,
When sure as Time and swift, as Death the tireless footfall beat.