When he came back to far Lahore—
Long or ever the night began—
Spake he, "Take your horse once more,
He carries well—when he bears a man."
Then they gave him a khillut and gold,
All for his honour and grace and truth;
Sent him back to his mountain-hold—
Muslim manners have touch of ruth;
Sent him back, with dances and drum—
Wah! my Rajah Runjeet Dehu!
To Chunda Kour and his Jummoo home—
Wah! wah! futteh!—wah, gooroo!