The wild sea-armies led by the wind Are following in our wake, White-crested shouting millions moving on. They have broken their camp of Calm and o'er The world rebellion make, With banner of cloud and mist above them drawn. They have heard the call of infinite Death, The ordering of his word, "Arise, go forth and conquer where ye can; For that is the only law ye know, Its mandate men have heard, Let them beware when they your path would span. "Let them beware, for I am lord Of all that on earth has name, And unto you is given most my might. Ride on, ye have many a ship to rend, And many a mast to maim, And many a land to lash and soul to fright." So on they ride, a ravaging horde, From shore to shuddering shore, Beyond us in the bleak star-buried dawn; Nor know that when they have camped again And sleep, Life will restore Unto her world the hope they have withdrawn. THE CHRISTIAN IN EXILE (_Mandalay_) The palms along the old fort wall are paling, The mountains in the evening light are red, The moon has dropped into the moat from heaven, A spell barbaric over all is spread. But what is that to him, a stranger lonely, In a land strange to all his faith and dim? He cares not for old splendours, he would only Hear on the air a simple Sabbath hymn. The paddy-birds their snowy flight are taking From the tall tamarind unto their nest, The bullock-carts along the road are creaking, The bugles o'er the wall are sounding rest. On a calm jetty looking off to Mecca Sons of Mahomet watch the low day's rim. He too is waiting for it--with an echo Upon his lips of a believer's hymn. The red gate-towers rise against the twilight, The palace of the heathen king is hid, The white bridge bent across the moat beside it Seems now of all unholinesses rid. He wishes it were so with all this city Whose Buddha-built pagodas skyward swim; But he can only gaze on them and pity-- And sing within his heart a Christian hymn. THE PARSEE WOMAN (_At Bombay_) Cast me out from among you, I will not see my child Laid aloft where the vultures May clamour for him, wild! The earth you say is holy, Not to be soiled by death, And a Parsee still should hold divine What Zoroaster saith. Ay, and so I will hold it, But see his pale sweet face, As pure as the palest flower Left dead in Spring's embrace. The sun we worship daily Shrined it for seven years, Then shall it go to cruel beaks, There where the sea-wind veers? No, no, no! tho you send me A beggar from your door, You, my lord, whom I honour, And you, his sisters four, To whom there have come no children To make your bosoms feel How even a thought so full of throe Can make my sick brain reel.