“只要英国俘虏同意信奉伊斯兰教，他们就会放过他们，只要他们重复通常的简短公式;但只有一个半种姓的人愿意用这种方式来拯救自己。”——摘自一家印度报纸。MORITURUS他或她说。常常在愉快的夏日里，读着过去的故事，我沉思着人类的眼泪的故事，人与人之间所做的一切，屠杀，折磨和黑暗的绝望;坐在我的安乐椅上阅读。热烈祈祷一分钟的生命;被折磨的哭喊着要死亡作为安息;丈夫恳求孩子或妻子，无情地抚摸着温柔的乳房。我懒洋洋地躺在安乐椅上，这一切都是真的吗? Could I believe in those hard old times, Here in this safe luxurious age? Were the horrors invented to season rhymes, Or truly is man so fierce in his rage? What could I suffer, and what could I dare? I who was bred to that easy-chair. They were my fathers, the men of yore, Little they recked of a cruel death; They would dip their hands in a heretic's gore, They stood and burnt for a rule of faith. What would I burn for, and whom not spare? I, who had faith in an easy-chair. Now do I see old tales are true, Here in the clutch of a savage foe; Now shall I know what my fathers knew, Bodily anguish and bitter woe, Naked and bound in the strong sun's glare, Far from my civilized easy-chair. Now have I tasted and understood That old world feeling of mortal hate; For the eyes all round us are hot with blood; They will kill us coolly -- they do but wait; While I, I would sell ten lives, at least, For one fair stroke at that devilish priest Just in return for the kick he gave, Bidding me call on the prophet's name; Even a dog by this may save Skin from the knife, and soul from the flame; My soul! if he can let the prophet burn it, But life is sweet if a word may earn it. A bullock's death, and at thirty years! Just one phrase, and a man gets off it; Look at that mongrel clerk in his tears Whining aloud the name of the prophet; Only a formula easy to patter, And, God Almighty, what can it matter? "Matter enough," will my comrade say Praying aloud here close at my side, "Whether you mourn in despair alway, Cursed for ever by Christ denied; Or whether you suffer a minute's pain All the reward of Heaven to gain." Not for a moment faltereth he, Sure of the promise and pardon of sin; Thus did the martyrs die, I see, Little to lose and muckle to win; Death means Heaven, he longs to receive it, But what shall I do if I don't believe it? Life is pleasant, and friends may be nigh, Fain would I speak one word and be spared; Yet I could be silent and cheerfully die, If I were only sure God cared; If I had faith, and were only certain That light is behind that terrible curtain. But what if He listeth nothing at all Of words a poor wretch in his terror may say? That mighty God who created all To labour and live their appointed day; Who stoops not either to bless or ban, Weaving the woof of an endless plan. He is the Reaper, and binds the sheaf, Shall not the season its order keep? Can it be changed by a man's belief? Millions of harvests still to reap; Will God reward, if I die for a creed, Or will He but pity, and sow more seed? Surely He pities who made the brain, When breaks that mirror of memories sweet, When the hard blow falleth, and never again Nerve shall quiver nor pulse shall beat; Bitter the vision of vanishing joys; Surely He pities when man destroys. Here stand I on the ocean's brink, Who hath brought news of the further shore? How shall I cross it? Sail or sink, One thing is sure, I return no more; Shall I find haven, or aye shall I be Tossed in the depths of a shoreless sea? They tell fair tales of a far-off land, Of love rekindled, of forms renewed; There may I only touch one hand Here life's ruin will little be rued; But the hand I have pressed and the voice I have heard, To lose them for ever, and all for a word? Now do I feel that my heart must break All for one glimpse of a woman's face; Swiftly the slumbering memories wake Odour and shadow of hour and place; One bright ray through the darkening past Leaps from the lamp as it brightens last, Showing me summer in western land Now, as the cool breeze murmureth In leaf and flower -- And here I stand In this plain all bare save the shadow of death; Leaving my life in its full noonday, And no one to know why I flung it away. Why? Am I bidding for glory's roll? I shall be murdered and clean forgot; Is it a bargain to save my soul? God, whom I trust in, bargains no