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A BALLAD OF JOHN NICHOLSON
71
He marked his fellows how they putTheir shoes from off their feet;"Now wherefore make ye such adoThese fallen lords to greet?
"They have ruled us for a hundred years,In truth I know not how,But though they be fain of mastery,They dare not claim it now."
Right haughtily before them allThe durbar hall he trod,With rubies red his turban gleamed,His feet with pride were shod.
They had not been an hour together,A scanty hour or so,When Mehtab Singh rose in his placeAnd turned about to go.
Then swiftly came John NicholsonBetween the door and him,With anger smouldering in his eyesThat made the rubies dim.
"You are overhasty, Mehtab Singh,"—Oh, but his voice was low!He held his wrath with a curb of iron,That furrowed cheek and brow.
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