To left the roar of musketry rang like a falling flood
To right the sunshine rippled red from redder lance and blade—
Above the dark Upsaras[1] flew, beneath us plashed the blood,
And, bellying black against the dust, the Bhagwa Jhanda swayed.
I saw it fall in smoke and fire, the Banner of the Bhao;
I heard a voice across the press of one who called in vain:—
"Ho! Anand Rao Nimbalkhur, ride! Get aid of Mulhar Rao!
"Go shame his squadrons into fight—the Bhao—the Bhao is slain!"
Thereat, as when a sand-bar breaks in clotted spume and spray,
When rain of later autumn sweeps the Jumna water-head,
Before their charge from flank to flank our riven ranks gave way—
But of the waters of that flood the Jumna fords ran red.
I held by Scindia, my lord, as close as man might hold;
A Soobah of the Deccan asks no aid to guard his life;
But Holkar's Horse were flying, and our chiefest chiefs were cold,
And like a flame among us leapt the long lean Northern knife.
I held by Scindia—my lance from butt to tuft was dyed,
The froth of battle bossed the shield and roped the bridle-chain—
What time beneath our horses' feet a maiden rose and cried,
And clung to Scindia, and I turned a sword-cut from the twain.
- ↑
'The Choosers of the Slain.
