THE FUNERAL OF GORDON.

Otago Witness, Issue 2677, 5 July 1905, Page 63

THE FUNERAL OF GORDON.

When the Sirdar in his wrath Swept the dervish from his path, There was joy in far-off England, And joy beyond the sea. Tho' Kitchener dealt the blow That dispatched the dastard foe, 'Twas the Nemesis of England, The mother of the free. And he rolled the stone aw?y (Like an incubus there lay On her heart the thought of Gordon, The hero of Khartoum, By the hordes of Afric slain, In his lone sun-scorched domain, Neither priest nor bell nor book, Consecrating death's dark gloom). So that purple Friday past, The white rest-day dawned at last, And Kitchener, with his soldiers, Steered up the ancient Nile: 'Neath the burning stm they sped To award the gallant dead An English hero's farewell, If after a great while. Yea, each motley tender bore On iti3 way a goodly score, The Lincolns and the Warwicks, The Scots and Soudanese. Steering tip to old Khartoum, Where, a hero met his doom; A triumphal progress surely, And heroes, too, are these. Here is no subaltern lnirth, And the ilars of ebon, birth Evinces ail decorum, Even as the Sirdar grave. But a thousand glances scan The outskirts of Onidurman, When the sheik had borne the white flag A caitiff crew to save. With a languid gaze they stared On tke breach, where late they dared Through the great Kalifa's stronghold; And on the Mahdi's tomb. But their ears are dinned no more By the Maxim's hungry roar, And the smoke fills not the nostrils On this journey to Khartoum. " In that clime of Nature's calms, Overshadowed by the palms, From the boats, deploying upward, They press to Khartoum's site. 'Tis ai day for woman's tears — After fourteen weary years, Gordon Pasha's burial service — That long-deferred rite. From th-e sun-baked, crumbling qtjay But a palace wreck they see; The sad story of disaster Writ large upon its walls. For by night the d&sert stars Thro' its broken casement bars Are acquainted with the ruin Within its haunted halls. In its beauty, doubly lone, Vivid green 'gainst sand and stone, One unpruned acacia, drooping, Memorial of the past. Still that tree so isolate And that pile of gloomy fate Speak the hand of skill and culture, Long sinoe to vultures cast. ' Now the men form into line. At a preconcerted sign From the roof the flag of England Floats out upon the wind With the flag of Pharoah's land. The resonant martial band, With the gunboat on the water, In grand salute combined. Soon the air vibrates with sound, ' As the Sirdar, gazing round On the ranks, stiff at attention, Cries, "Three cheers for the Queen." Instant on that welcome call Helmets leaped in air, and all The residential silence Was frightened from the scene As the royal salute ensued, And the bands, again endued, Pealed the pride of country bravely In that solitary place. , Thus the white men and the black Evidenced the winning back: And the seal was set upon it — Khartoum for Britannia's race. Bxit anon a mournful strain Issues o'er the sandy plain, And the situation heightens. The slow and muffled drum In the soldier's dirge is heard, And a fount of feeling stirred— 'Tis Gordon Pasha's requiem — A theme for years to come. For his gallant Soudanese Strains are wailing on the breeze. They were faithful to their Pasha-, And sealed their faith by death. But the brave battalions' thrill And the hush grows deeper still As the solemn minute guns replaoS The ordnance's fiery breath. Words around the wide world sung — • / Hymned by Christian Gordon's tongueSweet amid the strange surroundings . Floats the air "Abide with me." Eorthwith priests and soldiers share Sacred writ and holy prayer, There the heroes of Omdurman Speak low and huskily. Thus the allied army dealt, The Maxim, Nordenfeldt: With the rites of her religion Distinguished Britain's dead. 'Twas an honour high, unique, Men its parallel may seek Vainly down the page historic When Britain's" roll is read. Then the notable parade, 'Neath the gaping, scarred facade, Was dismissed, and hundreds wandered In that wild wilderness, With its strange pathetic voice Of the murdered Pasha's choice For the beautiful in Nature His loneliness to bless. 11l wild devastation dimmed, Unwatered and -untrimxned, Oranges and citrons In Gordon's garden stood. Stunted figs were pushing through Starry blooms of vermeil hue, Dwarfed in leaf and limp in tendril Grape vines had run to wood. And the spirit of decay In the Soudan apples' sway Told the doom of cultivation, In hateful psesence rank : 'Tis a fruit for dervish feast. O the far, the fatal East! Euined garden, battered palace, Beside the river bank. O the anguish here boie! But the reverie is o'er — Bugles, bugles, bugles calling, And the responsive tramp. They have claimed him as their own: Now they leave him all alone; For the Sirdar and his soldiers Steer back again to camp. *-%RO3LTir. 'Thanae&i November 23, 1898.