Where Our Brothers Fought And Bled,
O Thy Name Is Natural Music
And A Dirge Above The Dead!
Though We Have Not Been Defeated,
Though We Can't Be Overcome,
Still, Whene'er Thou Art Repeated,
I Would Fain That Grief Were Dumb.
Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah!
'Tis A Name So Sad And Strange,
Like A Breeze Through Midnight Harpstrings
Ringing Many A Mournful Change;
But The Wildness And The Sorrow
Have A Meaning Of Their Own -
Oh, Whereof No Glad To-Morrow
Can Relieve The Dismal Tone!
Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah!
'Tis A Village Dark And Low,
By The Bloody Jhelum River
Bridged By The Foreboding Foe;
And Across The Wintry Water
He Is Ready To Retreat,
When The Carnage And The Slaughter
Shall Have Paid For His Defeat.
