The pipes of rescue blew!
Round the silver domes of Lucknow,
[Moslem mosque] and [pagan shrine],
Breathed the air to Britons dearest,
The air of Auld Lang Syne.
O’er the cruel roll of war-drums
Rose that sweet and homelike strain;
And the tartan clove the turban,
As the [Goomtee cleaves the plain].
Dear to the corn-land reaper