ON THE DEATH OF HAVELOCK (written after 24 November 1857) His soul is pass’d, the man reveal’d, With wondrous powers and gifts to wield His bands upon the battle-field, His only trust the faithful shield, His prayerful spirit gave him then. On lands now laid in ruin low, Where all the hellish passions glow, To demonize that brutal foe, He rose and struck the vengeful blow, And smote the dastard mutineer. With soil of wealth, and sunny skies, Where fairest landscapes ever rise, But, blind with heathen sacrifice, The Indian’s benighted eyes, Can witness god in none of this. As fierce as sweeps tornado’s roar, Destroying all from shore to shore, As fever sometimes passes o’er With death where all was life before, So flew the dreadful mutiny. Let Cawnpore, horrified, relate, The deeds that man could perpetrate, When helpless victims met their fate, ‘Neath demon eyes and fiendish hate, And rend thine heart, Humanity. Then Havelock sought that wretched horde, And Vengeance drew th’ impatient sword, He met the foe his soul abhorr’d, He fought the battle of the Lord, And crown’d himself with victory. Not burning beams of India’s sun, Nor Ganges’ water rolling on, Nor rebel ranks before him thrown, Could stay his eager march upon The city where the famish’d pin’d. They came in countless thousands, even, By fiercer chieftains madly driven, Their blacken’d deeds all unforgiven, He swept them like a blast from heaven, And scatter’d death on every hand. The good deliverer stood among That garrison of old and young, While grateful hymns and holy song Arose from out that feeble throng For blessings on his hoary head: The bursting heart, the loud acclaim Of thankfulness, hath fix’d his fame, And lowly maid and high-born dame Are saved, aye, saved! From death and shame, And prayers are breathing everywhere. His soul is pass’d; but who shall tell, What triumph might his bosom swell As in the arms of death he fell. And God, who lov’d his servant well, Took to Himself the warrior! Low, low in dust his asheslie, The nation mourns, but angels cry – “Our brother now is born on high, And comes to join us in the sky.” O! radiant is the destiny Of our departed Havelock. Sir Henry Havelock, (born April 5, 1795, near Sunderland, Durham, Eng.—died Nov. 24, 1857, Lucknow [India]), British soldier in India who distinguished himself in 1857 during the Indian Mutiny. Raised in a religious environment, Havelock obtained a commission in the army at age 20, but he spent eight restless years in England while studying military strategy. To join two brothers in India, he changed his regiment and obtained a lieutenancy in the 13th Light Infantry. He served with distinction in the First Anglo-Burmese War (1824–26) but in 1838 was still only a captain and had seen commissions purchased over him by five others. He again distinguished himself in the First Afghan War (1839–42) and was made a Companion of the Bath, but only later did he receive a promotion, when serving as interpreter to Sir Hugh Gough in the 1843 Gwalior campaign. Burdened by ill health and the debts of his eldest son, Havelock took two years home leave beginning in 1849. After returning to India, he was promoted to quartermaster general (1854) and then to adjutant general. After sharing in Sir James Outram’s Persian expedition of 1857, Havelock returned to India in the midst of the Indian Mutiny and took command of a mobile column. His force was too late and too weakened by casualties to save Kanpur or Lucknow, but his series of victories in July and August brought him acclaim, and in September he broke through on his fourth try to relieve the residency at Lucknow. He was rewarded with knighthood (Order of the Bath) and promotion to major general but died soon afterward of dysentery. (source Encyclopedia Britannica 6 January 2014 on line)
Posted on: Tue, 06 Jan 2015 04:55:51 +0000
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