Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/The Guides at Cabul, 1879

by Henry Newbolt

The Guides at Cabul

(1879)

 

Sons of the Island Race, wherever ye dwell,Who speak of your fathers' battles with lips that burn,The deed of an alien legion hear me tell,And think not shame from the hearts ye tamed to learn,When succour shall fail and the tide for a season turn,To fight with a joyful courage, a passionate pride,To die at the last as the Guides at Cabul died.

For a handful of seventy men in a barrack of mud,Foodless, waterless, dwindling one by one,Answered a thousand yelling for English bloodWith stormy volleys that swept them gunner from gun,And charge on charge in the glare of the Afghan sun,Till the walls were shattered wherein they crouched at bay,And dead or dying half of the seventy lay.

Twice they had taken the cannon that wrecked their hold,Twice toiled in vain to drag it back,Thrice they toiled, and alone, wary and bold,Whirling a hurricane sword to scatter the rack,Hamilton, last of the English, covered their track."Never give in!" he cried, and he heard them shout,And grappled with death as a man that knows not doubt.

And the Guides looked down from their smouldering barrack again,And behold, a banner of truce, and a voice that spoke:"Come, for we know that the English all are slain,We keep no feud with men of a kindred folk;Rejoice with us to be free of the conqueror's yoke."Silence fell for a moment, then was heardA sound of laughter and scorn, and an answering word.

"Is it we or the lords we serve who have earned this wrong,That ye call us to flinch from the battle they bade us fight?We that live—do ye doubt that our hands are strong?They that have fallen—ye know that their blood was bright!Think ye the Guides will barter for lust of the lightThe pride of an ancient people in warfare bred,Honour of comrades living, and faith to the dead?"

Then the joy that spurs the warrior's heartTo the last thundering gallop and sheer leapCame on the men of the Guides; they flung apartThe doors not all their valour could longer keep;They dressed their slender line; they breathed deep,And with never a foot lagging or head bent,To the clash and clamour and dust of death they went.