[September 25, 1857.]

  O, that last day in Lucknow fort! 
    We knew that it was the last;
  That the enemy’s lines crept surely on. 
    And the end was coming fast.

  To yield to that foe meant worse than death;
    And the men and we all worked on;
  It was one day more of smoke and roar,
    And then it would all be done.

  There was one of us, a corporal’s wife,
    A fair, young, gentle thing,
  Wasted with fever in the siege. 
    And her mind was wandering.

  She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid,
    And I took her head on my knee;
  “When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,” she said,
    “Oh! then please wauken me.”

  She slept like a child on her father’s floor,
    In the flecking of woodbine-shade,
  When the house-dog sprawls by the open door,
    And the mother’s wheel is stayed.

  It was smoke and roar and powder-stench,
    And hopeless waiting for death;
  And the soldier’s wife, like a full-tired child,
    Seemed scarce to draw her breath.

  I sank to sleep; and I had my dream
    Of an English village-lane. 
  And wall and garden;—­but one wild scream
    Brought me back to the roar again.

  There Jessie Brown stood listening
    Till a sudden gladness broke
  All over her face; and she caught my hand
    And drew me near as she spoke:—­

  “The Hielanders!  O, dinna ye hear
    The slogan far awa,
  The McGregor’s?—­O, I ken it weel;
    It’s the grandest o’ them a’!

  “God bless thae bonny Hielanders! 
    We’re saved! we’re saved!” she cried;
  And fell on her knees; and thanks to God
    Flowed forth like a full flood-tide.

  Along the battery-line her cry
    Had fallen among the men,
  And they started back;—­they were there to die;
    But was life so near them, then?

  They listened for life; the rattling fire
    Far off, and the far-off roar,
  Were all; and the colonel shook his head,
    And they turned to their guns once more.

  But Jessie said, “The slogan’s done;
    But winna ye hear it noo,
  The Campbells are comin’?  It’s no’ a dream;
    Our succors hae broken through!”

  We heard the roar and the rattle afar,
    But the pipes we could not hear;
  So the men plied their work of hopeless war
    And knew that the end was near.

  It was not long ere it made its way,—­
    A thrilling, ceaseless sound: 
  It was no noise from the strife afar,
    Or the sappers under ground.

  It was the pipes of the Highlanders! 
    And now they played Auld Lang Syne;
  It came to our men like the voice of God,
    And they shouted along the line.

  And they wept, and shook one another’s hands,
    And the women sobbed in a crowd;
  And every one knelt down where he stood,
    And we all thanked God aloud.