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1888
O WOE is me for the merry life | |
| I led beyond the Bar, | |
| And a treble woe for my winsome wife | |
| That weeps at Shalimar. | |
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| They have taken away my long jezail, 1 | 5 |
| My shield and sabre fine, | |
| And heaved me into the Central Jail | |
| For lifting of the kine. | |
| |
| The steer may low within the byre, | |
| The Jat may tend his grain, | 10 |
| But there’ll be neither loot nor fire | |
| Till I come back again. | |
| |
| And God have mercy on the Jat | |
| When once my fetters fall, | |
| And Heaven defend the farmer’s hut | 15 |
| When I am loosed from thrall. | |
| |
| It’s woe to bend the stubborn back | |
| Above the grinching quern, | |
| It’s woe to hear the leg-bar clack | |
| And jingle when I turn! | 20 |
| |
| But for the sorrow and the shame, | |
| The brand on me and mine, | |
| I’ll pay you back in leaping flame | |
| And loss of the butchered kine. | |
| |
| For every cow I spared before— | 25 |
| In charity set free— | |
| If I may reach my hold once more | |
| I’ll reive an honest three. | |
| |
| For every time I raised the lowe | |
| That scared the dusty plain, | 30 |
| By sword and cord, by torch and tow | |
| I’ll light the land with twain! | |
| |
| Ride hard, ride hard to Abazai, | |
| Young Sahib with the yellow hair— | |
| Lie close, lie close as Khuttucks 2 lie, | 35 |
| Fat herds below Bonair! | |
| |
| The one I’ll shoot at twilight-tide, | |
| At dawn I’ll drive the other; | |
| The black shall mourn for hoof and hide, | |
| The white man for his brother. | 40 |
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| ’Tis war, red war, I’ll give you then, | |
| War till my sinews fail; | |
| For the wrong you have done to a chief of men, | |
| And a thief of the Zukka Kheyl. | |
| |
| And if I fall to your hand afresh | 45 |
| I give you leave for the sin, | |
| That you cram my throat with the foul pig’s flesh, | |
| And swing me in the skin! | |
