What, what, what,What's the news from Swat? Sad news, Bad news,Comes by the cable ledThrough the Indian Ocean's bed,Through the Persian Gulf, the RedSea and the Med-Iterranean--he's dead;The Ahkoond is dead!
For the Ahkoond I mourn. Who wouldn't?He strove to disregard the message stern, But he Ahkoondn't.
Dead, dead, dead; Sorrow, Swats!Swats wha' hae wi' Ahkoond bled,Swats whom we had often ledOnward to a gory bed, Or to victory, As the case might be. Sorrow, Swats!Tears shed, Shed tears like water,Your great Ahkoond is dead! That Swat's the matter!Mourn, city of Swat!Your great Ahkoond is not,But lain 'mid worms to rot:His mortal part alone, his soul was caught(Because he was a good Ahkood)Up to the bosom of Mahound.Though earthly walls his frame surround(For ever hallowed be the ground!)And sceptics mock the lowly moundAnd say, "He's now of no Ahkound!"(His soul is in the skies!)The azure skies that bend above his loved Metropolis of SwatHe sees with larger, other eyes,Athwart all earthly mysteries-- He knows what's Swat.
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation!
Fallen is at length Its tower of strength,It's sun had dimmed ere it had nooned:Dead lies the great Ahkoond. The great Ahkoond of Swat Is not.
