Vain, mightiest fleets of iron frames; Vain, those all-shattering guns; Unless proud England keep, untamed, The strong heart of her sons. So, let his name through Europe ring-- A man of mean estate, Who died, as firm as Sparta's king, Because his soul was great. _Doyle._ XCVII THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR Eleven men of England A breastwork charged in vain; Eleven men of England Lie stripped, and gashed, and slain. Slain; but of foes that guarded Their rock-built fortress well, Some twenty had been mastered, When the last soldier fell. Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way Across the sand-waves of the desert sea, Then flashed at once, on each fierce clan, dismay, Lord of their wild Truckee. These missed the glen to which their steps were bent, Mistook a mandate, from afar half heard, And, in that glorious error, calmly went To death without a word. The robber-chief mused deeply Above those daring dead; 'Bring here,' at length he shouted, 'Bring quick, the battle thread. Let Eblis blast for ever Their souls, if Allah will: But we must keep unbroken The old rules of the Hill. Before the Ghiznee tiger Leapt forth to burn and slay; Before the holy Prophet Taught our grim tribes to pray; Before Secunder's lances Pierced through each Indian glen; The mountain laws of honour Were framed for fearless men. Still, when a chief dies bravely, We bind with green _one_ wrist-- Green for the brave, for heroes ONE crimson thread we twist. Say ye, Oh gallant Hillmen, For these, whose life has fled, Which is the fitting colour, The green one or the red?' 'Our brethren, laid in honoured graves, may wear Their green reward,' each noble savage said; 'To these, whom hawks and hungry wolves shall tear, Who dares deny the red?' Thus conquering hate, and steadfast to the right, Fresh from the heart that haughty verdict came; Beneath a waning moon, each spectral height Rolled back its loud acclaim. Once more the chief gazed keenly Down on those daring dead; From his good sword their heart's blood Crept to that crimson thread. Once more he cried, 'The judgment, Good friends, is wise and true, But though the red _be_ given, Have we not more to do? These were not stirred by anger, Nor yet by lust made bold; Renown they thought above them, Nor did they look for gold. To them their leader's signal Was as the voice of God: Unmoved, and uncomplaining, The path it showed they trod.