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Departmental Ditties 
 and Ballads and Bar- 
 rack Room Ballads 
 
 By Rudyard Kipling 
 
 Garden City New York 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 1919 
 
 i n mi ii 11111 1 11 m i i h 'ii iwiiiiiiii Hi iii i iw iiiwM niiMii— ■ ii— m 
 
4«£ 
 
 6* 
 
 Ballads and Barrack Room Ballads 
 
 Copyright, 1892, 
 
 By MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 New Edition, with Additional Poems 
 
 Copyright, 1893, 
 
 By MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 Copyright, 1899, 
 By RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 Departmental Ditties and Other Pobms, 
 Revised, April, 1899. 
 
 Copyright, 1899, 
 
 By RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 3 1 Half 
 
 1 3 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES 
 
 PACK 
 
 General Summary 3 
 
 Army Headquarters 5 
 
 Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink .... 8 
 
 Delilah 10 
 
 A Legend of the Foreign Office 14 
 
 The Story of Uriah 17 
 
 The Post that Fitted 19 
 
 A Code of Morals 22 
 
 Public Waste 26 
 
 What Happened 29 
 
 The Man Who Could Wriie 32 
 
 Pink Dominoes 35 
 
 Municdpal 38 
 
 The Last Department 41 
 
 OTHER VERSES 
 
 My Rival 45 
 
 To the Unknown Goddess . 48 
 
 The Rupaiyat of Omar Kal'vin 50 
 
 Pagett, M. P S3 
 
 La Nuit Blanche 56 
 
 The Lovers' Litany 61 
 
 A Ballad of Burial 63 
 
 v 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Overland Mail 66 
 
 Divided Destinies 68 
 
 The Masque of Plenty 7 1 
 
 The Mare's Nest 78 
 
 The Ballad of Fisher's Boarding-house .... 81 
 
 Possibilities 86 
 
 Arithmetic on the Frontier 89 
 
 The Song of the Women 9 1 
 
 The Betrothed 94 
 
 A Ballade of Jakko Hill 99 
 
 The Plea of the Simla Dancers 101 
 
 "As the Bell Clinks" 104 
 
 Christmas in India 108 
 
 The Grave of the Hundred Head ...... hi 
 
 An Old Song 116 
 
 Certain Maxims of Hafiz 1 20 
 
 The Moon of Other Days 126 
 
 The Fall of Jock Gillespie 128 
 
 What the People Said 131 
 
 The Undertaker's Horse 134 
 
 One Viceroy Resigns 137 
 
 The Galley-slave 146 
 
 A Tale of Two Cities 151 
 
 In Springtime 4 155 
 
 Giffen's Debt 157 
 
 Two Months. In June 16c 
 
 Two Months. In September 161 
 
 L'envoi . . 162 
 
 BALLADS 
 
 The Ballad of East and West 3 
 
 The Last Suttee 12 
 
CONTENTS vll 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Ballad of the King's Mercy 18 
 
 The Ballad of the. King's Jest 25 
 
 With Scindia to Delhi . . 31 
 
 The Ballad of Boh Da Thone 40 
 
 The Lament of the Border Cattle Thief ... 53 
 
 The Rhyme of the Three Captains 56 
 
 The Ballad of the "Clampherdown" ..... 64 
 
 The Ballad of the "Bolivar" 69 
 
 The Lost Legion 74 
 
 The Sacrifice of Er-Heb 77 
 
 The Dove of Dacca 88 
 
 The Explanation 90 
 
 An Answer . . . . , 91 
 
 The Gift of the Sea 92 
 
 EVARRA AND HlS GODS 90 
 
 The Conundrum of the Workshops ioo 
 
 In the Neolithic Age ......... 104 
 
 The Legend of Evil 107 
 
 The English Flag in 
 
 "Cleared" 117 
 
 An Imperial Rescript 125 
 
 Tomlinson 129 
 
 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 Danny Deever 143 
 
 Tommy 146 
 
 "Fuzzy-Wuzzy" 150 
 
 Soldier, Soldier 153 
 
 Screw-Guns 156 
 
 Cells 160 
 
 Gunga Den 163 
 
 Oonts! 767 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGfc 
 
 'Loot 171 
 
 ^"Snarleyow ,,0 S 175 
 
 The Widow at Windsor 179 
 
 Belts 182 
 
 The Young British Soldier 186 
 
 ^ Mandalay 190 
 
 Troopin' 194 
 
 The Widow's Party 197 
 
 Ford o' Kabul River 200 
 
 Gentlemen-Rankers 203 
 
 Route Marches' 206 
 
 Shellin' a Day 210 
 
 Uenvoi « , 212 
 
PRELUDE 
 
 1/ 
 
 / have eaten your bread and salt, 
 I have drunk your water and wine; 
 
 The deaths ye died I have watched beside, 
 And the lives that ye led were mine. 
 
 Was there aught that I did not share 
 
 In vigil or toil or ease, — 
 One joy or woe that I did not know, 
 
 Dear hearts across the seas ? 
 
 I have written the tale of our life 
 For a sheltered people's mirth, 
 
 In jesting guise — but ye are wise, 
 And ye know what the jest is worth. 
 
DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES 
 
GENERAL SUMMARY 
 
 We are very slightly changed 
 From the semi-apes who ranged 
 
 India's prehistoric clay; 
 Whoso drew the longest bow 
 Ran his brother down, you know, 
 
 As we run men down to-day. 
 
 "Dowb," the first of all his race, 
 Met the Mammoth face to face 
 
 On the lake or in the cave, 
 Stole the steadiest canoe, 
 Ate the quarry others slew, 
 
 Died — and took the finest grave. 
 
 When they scratched the reindeer-bone, 
 Some one made the sketch his own, 
 
 Filched it from the artist — then, 
 Even in those early days, 
 Won a simple Viceroy's praise 
 
 Through the toil of other men. 
 3 
 
4 
 
 GENERAL SUMMARY 
 
 Ere they hewed the Sphinx's visage 
 Favouritism governed kissage, 
 Even as it does in this age. 
 
 Who shall doubt the secret hid 
 Under Cheops' pyramid 
 Was that the contractor did 
 
 Cheops out of several millions? 
 Or that Joseph's sudden rise 
 To Comptroller of Supplies 
 Was a fraud of monstrous size 
 
 On King Pharaoh's swart Civilian? 
 
 Thus, the artless songs I sing 
 Do not deal with anything 
 
 New or never said before. 
 As it was in the beginning 
 Is to-day official sinning, 
 
 And shall be for evermore. 
 
ARMY HEAD-QUARTERS 
 
 Old is the song that I sing — 
 
 Old as my unpaid bills — 
 Old as the chicken that kitmutgars bring 
 
 Men at ddk-bungalows — old as the Hills. 
 
 Ahasuerus Jenkins of the "Operatic Own," 
 Was dowered with a tenor voice of super-Santley- 
 
 tone. 
 His views on equitation were, perhaps, a trifle queer; 
 He had no seat worth mentioning, but oh! he had 
 
 an ear. 
 
 He clubbed his wretched company a dozen times a 
 
 day, 
 He used to leave his charger in a parabolic way, 
 His method of saluting was the joy of all beholders, 
 But Ahasuerus Jenkins had a head upon his shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 He took two months at Simla when the year was at 
 
 the spring. 
 And underneath the deodars eternally did sing. 
 
 s 
 
6 ARMY HEAD-QUARTERS 
 
 He warbled like a bul-btd f but particularly at 
 Cornelia Agrippina, who was musical and fat. 
 
 She controlled a humble husband, who, in turn, con- 
 trolled a Dept., 
 
 Where Cornelia Agrippina's human singing-birds 
 were kept 
 
 From April to October on a plump retaining fee, 
 
 Supplied, of course, per mensem, by the Indian 
 Treasury. 
 
 Cornelia used to sing to him, and Jenkins used to 
 
 play; 
 He praised unblushingly her notes, for he was false 
 
 as they; 
 So when the winds of April turned the budding roses 
 
 brown, 
 Cornelia told her husband: — Tom, you mustn't 
 
 send him down. 
 
 They haled him from his regiment, which didn't 
 
 much regret him ; 
 They found for him an office-stool, and on that stool 
 
 they set him. 
 
ARMY HEAD-QUARTERS 7 
 
 To play with maps and catalogues three idle hours a 
 day, 
 
 And draw his plump retaining fee— which means 
 his double pay. 
 
 Now, ever after dinner, when the coffee-cups are 
 
 brought, 
 Ahasuerus waileth o'er the grand pianoforte; 
 And, thanks to fair Cornelia, his fame hath waxen 
 
 great, 
 And Ahasuerus Jenkins is a power in the Statel 
 
STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK 
 
 This ditty is a string of lies. 
 
 But — how the deuce did Gubbins rise? 
 
 Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
 Stands at the top of the tree; 
 And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led 
 To the hoisting of Potiphar G. 
 
 Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
 Is seven years junior to Me; 
 Each bridge that he makes either buckles or breaks, 
 And his work is as rough as he. 
 
 Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
 Is coarse as a chimpanzee; 
 And I can't understand why you gave him your hand, 
 Lovely Mehitabel Lee. 
 8 
 
STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK 9 
 
 Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
 Is dear to the Powers that Be; 
 For They bow and They smile in an affable style, 
 Which is seldom accorded to Me. 
 
 Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
 Is certain as certain can be 
 Of a highly paid post which is claimed by a host 
 Of seniors — including Me. 
 
 Careless and lazy is he, 
 Greatly inferior to Me. 
 What is the spell that you manage so well, 
 Commonplace Potiphar G.? 
 
 Lovely Mehitabel Lee, 
 Let me inquire of thee, 
 Should I have riz to where Potiphar is 
 Hadst thou been mated to Me? 
 
DELILAH 
 
 We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead 
 
 and done 
 Of Delilah Aberyswith and depraved Ulysses Gunne. 
 
 Delilah Aberyswith was a lady — not too young — 
 With a perfect taste in dresses and a badly bitted 
 
 tongue, 
 With a thirst for information, and a greater thirst 
 
 for praise, 
 And a little house in Simla in the Prehistoric Days. 
 
 By reason of her marriage to a gentleman in power, 
 Delilah was acquainted with the gossip of the hour; 
 And many little secrets, of a half -official kind, 
 Were whispered to Delilah, and she bore them all in 
 mind. 
 
 She patronized extensively a man, Ulysses Gunne, 
 Whose mode of earning money was a low and shame- 
 ful one. 
 
 10 
 
DELILAH ti 
 
 He wrote for divers papers, which, as everybody 
 
 knows, 
 Is worse than serving in a shop or scaring off the 
 
 crows. 
 
 He praised her queenly beauty first; and, later on, he 
 
 hinted 
 At the vastness of her intellect with compliment 
 
 unstinted; 
 He went with her a-riding, and his love for her was 
 
 such 
 That he lent her all his horses and — she galled them 
 
 very much. 
 
 One day They brewed a secret of a fine financial 
 
 sort; 
 It related to Appointments, to a Man and a Report. 
 'Twas almost worth the keeping [only seven people 
 
 knew it], 
 So Gunne rose up to seek the truth and patiently 
 
 ensue it. 
 
 It was a Viceroy's Secret, but— perhaps the wine wa i 
 
 red — 
 Perhaps an Aged Councillor had lost his aged head- 
 
12 DELILAH 
 
 Perhaps Delilah's eyes were bright — Delilah's whis- 
 pers sweet — 
 
 The Aged Member told her what 'twere treason to 
 repeat. 
 
 Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love and 
 
 flowers; 
 Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for several 
 
 hours; 
 Ulysses went a-waltzing, and Delilah helped him 
 
 dance — 
 Ulysses let the waltzes go, and waited for his chance. 
 
 The summer sun was setting, and the summer air 
 
 was still, 
 The couple went a-walking in the shade of Summer 
 
 Hill, 
 The wasteful sunset faded out in turkis-green and 
 
 gold, 
 Ulysses pleaded softly, and > . . that bad Delilah 
 
 told! 
 
 Next morn, a startled Empire learnt the all-impor- 
 tant News; 
 
 Next week, the Aged Councillor was shaking in hi* 
 shoes; 
 
DELILAH 13 
 
 Next month, I met Delilah, and she did not show the 
 
 least 
 Hesitation in asserting that Ulysses was a "beast." 
 
 ....... 
 
 We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead 
 
 and done — 
 Of Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulysses 
 
 Gunne! 
 
A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE 
 
 This is the reason why Rustum Beg, 
 
 Rajah of Kolazai, 
 Drinketh the " simpkin" and brandy peg, 
 
 Maketh the money to fly, 
 Vexeth a Government, tender and kind, 
 Also — but this is a detail — blind. 
 
 Rustum Beg of Kolazai— slightly backward Native 
 
 State — 
 Lusted for a C. S. I. — so began to sanitate. 
 Built a Gaol and Hospital — nearly built a City 
 
 drain — 
 Till his faithful subjects all thought their ruler was 
 
 insane. 
 
 Strange departures made he then — yea, Depart- 
 ments stranger still, 
 Half a dozen Englishmen helped the Rajah with a will, 
 Talked of noble aims and high, hinted of a future fine 
 For the State of Kolazai, on a strictly Western line. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE 15 
 
 Rajah Rustum held his peace; lowered octroi dues 
 
 one half; 
 Organized a State Police; purified the Civil Staff; 
 Settled cess and tax afresh in a very liberal way; 
 Cut temptations of the flesh — also cut the Bukhshi's 
 
 pay; 
 
 Roused his Secretariat to a fine Mahratta fury, 
 By a Hookum hinting at supervision of dasturi; 
 Turned the State of Kolazai very nearly upside-down; 
 When the end of May was nigh waited his achieve- 
 ment crown. 
 
 Then the Birthday honours came. Sad to state and 
 
 sad to see, 
 Stood against the Rajah's name nothing more than 
 
 C. I. E. ! 
 
 Things were lively for a week in the State of Kolazai, 
 Even now the people speak of that time regretfully; 
 
 How he disendowed the Gaol — stopped at once the 
 
 City drain; 
 Turned to beauty fair and frail — got his senses back 
 
 again; 
 
16 A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE 
 
 Doubled taxes, cesses all; cleared away each new- 
 built thana; 
 Turned the two-lakh Hospital into a superb Zenana; 
 
 Heaped upon the Bukhshi Sahib wealth and honours 
 
 manifold; 
 Clad himself in Eastern garb — squeezed his people as 
 
 of old. 
 Happy, happy Kolazai! Never more will Rustum 
 
 Beg 
 Play to catch the Viceroy's eye. He prefers the 
 
 "simpkin"peg. 
 
THE STORY OF URIAH 
 
 "Now there were two men in one city; the one rich, and 
 the other poor." 
 
 Jack Barrett went to Quetta 
 
 Because they told him to. 
 He left his wife at Simla 
 
 On three-fourths his monthly screw. 
 Jack Barrett died at Quetta 
 
 Ere the next month's pay he drew. 
 
 Jack Barrett went to Quetta, 
 
 He didn't understand 
 The reason of his transfer 
 
 From the pleasant mountain-land: 
 The season was September, 
 
 And it killed him out of hand. 
 
 Jack Barrett went to Quetta 
 
 And there gave up the ghost; 
 Attempting two men's duty 
 
 In that very healthy post; 
 17 
 
18 THE STORY OF URIAH 
 
 And Mrs. Barrett mourned for him 
 Five lively months at most. 
 
 Jack Barrett's bones at Quetta 
 
 Enjoy profound repose; 
 But I shouldn't be astonished 
 
 If now his spirit knows 
 The reason of his transfer 
 
 From the Himalayan snows. 
 
 And, when the Last Great Bugle Call 
 
 Adown the Hurnai throbs, 
 When the last grim joke is entered 
 
 In the big black Book of Jobs, 
 And Quetta graveyards give again 
 
 Their victims to the air, 
 I shouldn't like to be the man, 
 
 Who sent Jack Barrett there. 
 
THE POST THAT FITTED 
 
 Though tangled and twisted the course of true love. 
 
 This ditty explains 
 No tangle's so tangled it cannot improve 
 
 If the Lover has brains. 
 
 Ere the steamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was 
 
 engaged to marry 
 An attractive girl at Tunbridge, whom he called 
 
 "my little Carrie." 
 Sleary's pay was very modest; Sleary was the other 
 
 way. 
 Who can cook a two-plate dinner on eight paltry dibs 
 
 a day? 
 
 Long he pondered o'er the question in his scantly 
 
 furnished quarters — 
 Then proposed to Minnie B off kin, eldest of Judge 
 
 Boffkin's daughters. 
 Certainly an impecunious Subaltern was not a catch, 
 But the Boffkins knew that Minnie mightn't make 
 
 another match. 
 
2o THE POST THAT FITTED 
 
 So they recognized the business and, to feed and 
 
 clothe the bride, 
 Got him made a Something-Something somewhen 
 
 on the Bombay side. 
 Anyhow, the billet carried pay enough for him to 
 
 marry — 
 As the artless Sleary put it: — " Just the thing for me 
 
 and Carrie." 
 
 Did he, therefore, jilt Miss Boffkin— impulse of a 
 
 baser mind? 
 No! He started epileptic fits of an appalling kind. 
 [Of his modus operandi only this much I could 
 
 gather: — 
 "Pears shaving sticks will give you little taste and 
 
 lots of lather."] 
 
 Frequently in public places his affliction used to 
 
 smite 
 Sleary with distressing vigour — always in the Boff- 
 
 kins' sight. 
 Ere a week was over Minnie weepingly returned his 
 
 ring, 
 Told him his "unhappy weakness" stopped all 
 
 thought of marrying. 
 
THE POST THAT FITTED 21 
 
 Sleary bore the information with a chastened holy 
 
 joy,- 
 
 [Epileptic fits don't matter in Political employ,] 
 Wired three short words to Carrie — took his ticket, 
 
 packed his kit — 
 Bade farewell to Minnie Boffkin in one last, long, 
 
 lingering fit. 
 
 Four weeks later, Carrie Sleary read — and laughed 
 
 until she wept — 
 Mrs. Boffkin's warning letter on the " wretched 
 
 epilept." 
 Year by year, in pious patience, vengeful Mrs. 
 
 Boffkin sits 
 Waiting for the Sleary babies to develop Sleary's fits. 
 
A CODE OF MORALS 
 
 Lest you should think this story true 
 I merely mention I 
 Evolved it lately. } Tis a most 
 Unmitigated misstatement. 
 
 Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his 
 
 house in order. 
 And hied away to the Hurrum Hills above the 
 
 Afghan border, 
 To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere he left he 
 
 taught 
 His wife the working of the Code that sets the miles 
 
 at naught. 
 
 And Love had made him very sage, as Nature made 
 
 her fair; 
 So Cupid and Apollo linked, per heliograph, the pair. 
 At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her 
 
 counsel wise — 
 At e'en, the dying sunset bore her husband's homilies. 
 
 22 
 
A CODE OF MORALS 23 
 
 He warned her 'gainst seductive youths in scarlet 
 
 clad and gold, 
 As much as 'gainst the blandishments paternal of the 
 
 old; 
 But kept his gravest warnings for (hereby my ditty 
 
 hangs) 
 That snowy-haired Lothario Lieutenant-General 
 
 Bangs. 
 
 'Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, that tit- 
 tupped on the way, 
 
 When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at play . 
 
 They thought of Border risings, and of stations 
 sacked and burnt — 
 
 So stopped to take the message down — and this is 
 what they learnt: — 
 
 "Dash dot dot, dot, dot dash, dot dash dot" twice. 
 
 The General swore. 
 "Was ever General Officer addressed as 'dear' 
 
 before? 
 " ' My Love,' i' faith ! ' My Duck,' Gadzooks ! ' My 
 
 darling popsy-wop ! ' 
 "Spirit of great Lord Woheley, who is on that 
 
 mountain top? " 
 
24 A CODE OF MORALS 
 
 The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the gilded Staff 
 were still, 
 
 As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that mes- 
 sage from the hill; 
 
 For clear as summer-lightning flare, the husband's 
 warning ran: — 
 
 " Don't dance or ride with General Bangs — a most 
 immoral man." 
 
 [At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her 
 
 counsel wise — 
 But, howsoever Love be blind, the world at large 
 
 hath eyes.] 
 With damnatory dot and dash he heliographed his 
 
 wife v 
 
 Some interesting details of the General's private life. 
 
 The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the shining 
 
 Staff were still, 
 And red and ever redder grew the General's shaven 
 
 gill. 
 
 And this is what he said at last (his feelings matter 
 
 not) : — 
 " I think we've tapped a private line. Hi! Threeg 
 bout there! Trot'" 
 
A CODE OF MORALS 2S 
 
 All honour unto Bangs, for ne'er did Jones thereafter 
 know 
 
 By word or act official who read off that helio; 
 
 But the tale is on the Frontier, and from Michni to 
 Mooltan 
 
 They know the worthy General as "that most im- 
 moral man." 
 
PUBLIC WASTE 
 
 Walpole talks of u a man and his price" 
 
 List to a ditty queer — 
 The sale of a Deputy- Acting-Vice- 
 
 Resident-Engineer 
 Bought like a bullock, hoof and hide, 
 By the Little Tin Gods on the Mountain Side. 
 
 By the laws of the Family Circle 'tis written in let- 
 ters of brass 
 
 That only a Colonel from Chatham can manage the 
 Railways of State, 
 
 Because of the gold on his breeks, and the subjects 
 wherein he must pass; 
 
 Because in all matters that deal not with Railways 
 his knowledge is great. 
 
 Now Exeter Battleby Tring had laboured from boy- 
 hood to eld 
 
 On the Lines of the East and the West, likewise of 
 the North and South; 
 
 26 
 
PUBLIC WASTE 27 
 
 Many lines had he built and surveyed — important 
 
 the posts which he held; 
 And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb when 
 
 he opened his mouth. 
 
 Black as the raven his garb, and his heresies jettier 
 
 still- 
 Hinting that Railways required lifetimes of study 
 
 and knowledge — 
 Never clanked sword by his side — Vauban he knew 
 
 not, nor drill — 
 Nor was his name on the list of men who had passed 
 
 through the "College." 
 
 Wherefore the Little Tin Gods harried their little 
 
 tin souls, 
 Seeing he came not from Chatham, jingled no spurs 
 
 at his heels, 
 Knowing that, nevertheless, was he first on the 
 
 Government rolls 
 For the billet of "Railway Instructor to Little Tin 
 
 Gods on Wheels." 
 
 Letters not seldom they wrote him, "having the 
 honour to state," 
 
28 PUBLIC WASTE 
 
 It would be better for all men if he were laid on the 
 shelf: 
 
 Much would accrue to his bank-book and he con- 
 sented to wait 
 
 Until the Little Tin Gods built him a berth for him- 
 self. 
 
 " Special, well paid, and exempt from the Law of the 
 Fifty and Five, 
 
 Even to Ninety and Nine" — these were the terms of 
 the pact: 
 
 Thus did the Little Tin Gods (long may their High- 
 nesses thrive!) 
 
 Silence his mouth with rupees, keeping their Circle 
 intact; 
 
 Appointing a Colonel from Chatham who managed 
 the Bhamo State Line, 
 
 (The which was one mile and one furlong — a guar- 
 anteed twenty-inch gauge) 
 
 So Exeter Battleby Tring consented his claims to 
 resign, 
 
 And died, on four thousand a month, in the nine- 
 tieth year of his age ! 
 
WHAT HAPPENED 
 
 Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, pride of Bow Bazar, 
 Owner of a native press, "Barrishter-at-Lar," 
 Waited on the Government with a claim to wear 
 Sabres by the bucketful, rifles by the pair. 
 
 Then the Indian Government winked a wicked wink, 
 Said to Chunder Mookerjee: "Stick to pen and ink. 
 They are safer implements, but, if you insist, 
 We will let you carry arms wheresoe'er you list." 
 
 Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the gunsmith and 
 Bought the tubes of Lancaster, Ballard, Dean, and 
 
 Bland, 
 Bought a shiny bowie-knife, bought a town-made 
 
 sword, 
 Jingled like a carriage-horse when he went abroad. 
 
 But the Indian Government, always keen to please, 
 Also gave permission to horrid men like these — 
 
 29 
 
So WHAT HAPPENED 
 
 Yar Mahommed Yusufzai, down to kill or steal; 
 Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer, Tantia the Bhil; 
 
 Killar Khan the Marri chief, Jowar Singh the Sikh, 
 Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat, Abdul Huq Rafiq — 
 He was a Wahabi; last, little Boh Hla-oo 
 Took advantage of the Act — took a Snider too. 
 
 They were unenlightened men, Ballard knew them 
 
 not, 
 They procured their swords and guns chiefly on the 
 
 spot, 
 And the lore of centuries, plus a hundred fights, 
 Made them slow to disregard one another's rights. 
 
 With a unanimity dear to patriot hearts 
 
 All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts 
 
 Said: "The good old days are back — let us go to 
 
 war!" 
 Swaggered down the Grand Trunk Road into Bow 
 
 Bazar. 
 
 Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat found a hide-bound flail, 
 Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer oiled his Tonk jezail, 
 Yar Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned with glee 
 As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khyberee. 
 
WHAT HAPPENED 31 
 
 Jowar Singh the Sikh procured sabre, quoit, and mace, 
 Abdul Huq, Wahabi, took his dagger from its place, 
 While amid the jungle-grass danced and grinned and 
 
 jabbered 
 Little Boh Hla-00 and cleared the dah-blade from 
 
 the scabbard. 
 
 What became of Mookerjee? Soothly, who can say? 
 Yar Mahommed only grins in a nasty way, 
 Jowar Singh is reticent, Chimbu Singh is mute; 
 But the belts of all of them simply bulge with loot. 
 
 What became of Ballard's guns? Afghans black and 
 
 grubby 
 Sell them for their silver weight to the men of Pubbi; 
 And the shiny bowie-knife and the town-made sword 
 
 are 
 Hanging in a Marri camp just across the Border. 
 
 What became of Mookerjee? Ask Mahommed Yar 
 
 Prodding Siva's sacred bull down the Bow Bazar. 
 
 Speak to placid Nubbee Baksh — question land and 
 sea — 
 
 Ask the Indian Congress men — only don't ask me! 
 
THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE 
 
 Shun — shun the Bowl! That fatal , facile drink 
 Has ruined many geese who dipped their quills int. 
 
 Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of Ink 
 
 Save when you write receipts for paid-up bills in'L 
 
 There may be silver in the " blue-black " — all 
 
 I know of is the iron and the gall. 
 
 Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen, 
 Is a dismal failure — is a Might-have-been. 
 In a luckless moment he discovered men 
 Rise to high position through a ready pen. 
 
 Boanerges Blitzen argued therefore — "I, 
 With the selfsame weapon, can attain as high." 
 Only he did not possess when he made the trial, 
 Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L — L 
 
 [Men who spar with Government need, to back their 
 
 blows, 
 Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.] 
 
 32 
 
THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE $ 3 
 
 Never young Civilian's prospects were so bright, 
 Till an Indian paper found that he could write: 
 Never young Civilian's prospects were so dark, 
 When the wretched Blitzen wrote to make his mark. 
 
 Certainly he scored it, bold, and black, and firm — 
 In that Indian paper made his seniors squirm — 
 Quoted office scandals, wrote the tactless truth — 
 Was there ever known a more misguided youth? 
 
 When the Indian paper praised his plucky game, 
 
 Boanerges Blitzen felt that this was fame: 
 
 When the men he wrote of shook their heads and 
 
 swore, 
 Boanerges Blitzen only wrote the more; 
 
 Posed as Young Ithuriel, resolute and grim, 
 Till he found promotion didn't come to him; 
 Till he found that reprimands weekly were his lot, 
 And his many Districts curiously hot. 
 
 Till he found his furlough strangely hard to win, 
 
 Boanerges Blitzen didn't care a pin: 
 
 Then it seemed to dawn on him something wasn't 
 
 right — 
 Boanerges Blitzen put it down to "spite." 
 
34 THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE 
 
 Languished in a District desolate and dry; 
 Watched the Local Government yearly pass him by; 
 Wondered where the hitch was; called it most unfair. 
 
 ') 
 
 That was seven years ago — and he still is there. 
 
PINK DOMINOES 
 
 "They are fools who kiss and tell" — 
 Wisely has the poet sung. 
 Man may hold all sort of posts 
 If he'll only hold his tongue. 
 
 Jenny and Me were engaged, you see 
 
 On the eve of the Fancy Ball; 
 So a kiss or two was nothing to you 
 
 Or any one else at all. 
 
 Jenny would go in a domino — 
 
 Pretty and pink but warm ; 
 While I attended, clad in a splendid 
 
 Austrian uniform. 
 
 Now we had arranged, through notes exchanged 
 
 Early that afternoon, 
 At Number Four to waltz no more, 
 
 But to sit in the dusk and spoon. 
 
 35 
 
36 PINK DOMINOES 
 
 [I wish you to see that Jenny and Me 
 Had barely exchanged our troth; 
 
 So a kiss or two was strictly due 
 By, from, and between us both.] 
 
 When Three was over, an eager lover, 
 
 I fled to the gloom outside; 
 And a Domino came out also 
 
 Whom I took for my future bride. 
 
 That is to say, in a casual way, 
 
 I slipped my arm around her; 
 With a kiss or two (which is nothing to you), 
 
 And ready to kiss I found her. 
 
 She turned her head and the name she said 
 
 Was certainly not my own; 
 But ere I could speak, with a smothered shriek 
 
 She fled and left me alone. 
 
 Then Jenny came, and I saw with shame, 
 
 She'd doffed her domino; 
 And I had embraced a stranger's waist — 
 
 But I did not tell her so. 
 
PINK DOMINOES 37 
 
 Next morn I knew that there were two 
 
 Dominoes pink, and one 
 Had cloaked the spouse of Sir Julian Vouse, 
 
 Our big Political gun. 
 
 Sir J. was old, and her hair was gold, 
 
 And her eyes were a blue cerulean; 
 And the name she said when she turned her head 
 
 Was not in the least like "Julian." 
 
 Now wasn't it nice, when want of pice 
 
 Forbade us twain to marry, 
 That old Sir J. in the kindest way, 
 
 Made me his Secreforry ? 
 
MUNICIPAL 
 
 " Why is my District death-rate low ? " 
 
 Said Binks of Hezabad. 
 
 "Wells, drains, and sewage-outfalls are 
 
 11 My own peculiar fad. 
 
 "I learnt a lesson once. It ran 
 
 "Thus" quoth that most veracious man: — 
 
 It was an August evening, and in snowy garments 
 
 clad, 
 I paid a round of visits in the lines of Hezabad; 
 When, presently, my Waler saw, and did not like 
 
 at all 
 A Commissariat elephant careering down the Mall. 
 
 I couldn't see the driver, and across my mind it 
 
 rushed 
 That that Commissariat elephant had suddenly gone 
 
 mustk. 
 
 3* 
 
MUNICIPAL 39 
 
 I didn't care to meet him, and I couldn't well get 
 
 down, 
 So I let the Waler have it, and we headed for the town. 
 
 The buggy was a new one and, praise Dykes, it stood 
 
 the strain 
 Till the Waler jumped a bullock just above the City 
 
 Drain; 
 And the next that I remember was a hurricane of 
 
 squeals, 
 And the creature making toothpicks of my five-foot 
 
 patent wheels. 
 
 He seemed to want the owner, so I fled, distraught 
 
 with fear, 
 To the Main Drain sewage-outfall where he snorted 
 
 in my ear — 
 Reached the four-foot drain-head safely, and in 
 
 darkness and despair, 
 Felt the brute's proboscis fingering my terror-stiffened 
 
 hair. 
 
 Heard it trumpet on my shoulder— tried to crawl a 
 
 little higher — 
 Found the Main Drain sewage-outfall blocked, some 
 
 e ; .ght feet up, with mire; 
 
4 o MUNICIPAL 
 
 And, for twenty reeking minutes, Sir, my very mar- 
 row froze, 
 
 While the trunk was feeling blindly for a purchase on 
 my toes! 
 
 It missed me by a fraction, but my hair was turning 
 
 g re y 
 Before they called the drivers up and dragged the 
 
 brute away. 
 Then I sought the City Elders, and my words were 
 
 very plain. 
 They flushed that four-foot drain-head and — it never 
 
 choked again. 
 
 You may hold with surface-drainage, and the sun- 
 
 for-garbage cure, 
 Till you've been a periwinkle shrinking coyly up a 
 
 sewer. 
 I believe in well-flushed culverts. . . . 
 
 This is why the death-rate's small; 
 And, if you don't believe me, get shikarred yourself. 
 
 That's all. 
 
THE LAST DEPARTMENT 
 
 Twelve hundred million men are spread- 
 About this Earth, and I and You 
 
 Wonder, when You and I are dead, 
 What will those luckless millions do? 
 
 "None whole or clean," we cry, "or free from stain 
 Of favour." Wait awhile, till we attain 
 
 The Last Department where nor fraud nor fools, 
 Nor grade nor greed, shall trouble us again. 
 
 Fear, Favour, or Affection — what are these 
 To the grim Head who claims our services? 
 
 I never knew a wife or interest yet 
 Delay that pukka step, miscalled "decease"; 
 
 When leave, long over-due, none can deny; 
 When idleness of all Eternity 
 
 Becomes our furlough, and the marigold 
 Our thriftless, bulhon-minting Treasury 
 
 41 
 
42 
 
 THE LAST DEPARTMENT 
 
 Transferred to the Eternal Settlement, 
 Each in his strait, wood-scantled office pent, 
 No longer Brown reverses Smith's appeals, 
 Or Jones records his Minute of Dissent. 
 
 And One, long since a pillar of the Court, 
 
 As mud between the beams thereof is wrought; 
 
 And One who wrote on phosphates for the crops* 
 Is subject-matter of his own Report. 
 
 SThese be the glorious ends whereto we pass — 
 Let Him who Is, go call on Him who Was; 
 
 And He shall see the tnallie steals the slak 
 For currie-grinder, and for goats the grass.] 
 
 A breath of wind, a Border bullet's flight, 
 A draught of water, or a horse's fright — 
 
 The droning of the fat Sheristadar 
 Ceases, the punkah stops, and falls the night 
 
 For You and Me. Do those who live decline 
 The step that offers, or their work resign? 
 
 Trust me, To-day's Most Indispensables, 
 Five hundred men can take your place or mine. 
 
OTHER VERSES 
 
 43 
 
MY RIVAL 
 
 I go to concert, party, ball — 
 
 What profit is in these? 
 I sit alone against the wall 
 
 And strive to look at ease. 
 The incense that is mine by right 
 
 They burn before Her shrine; 
 And that's because I'm seventeen 
 
 And She is forty-nine. 
 
 I cannot check my girlish blush, 
 
 My colour comes and goes; 
 I redden to my finger-tips, 
 
 And sometimes to my nose. 
 But She is white where white should be 
 
 And red where red should shine. 
 The blush that flies at seventeen 
 
 Is fixed at forty-nine. 
 
 I wish I had Her constant cheek: 
 I wish that I could sing 
 45 
 
46 MY RIVAL 
 
 All sorts of funny little songs, 
 
 Not quite the proper thing. 
 I'm very gauche and very shy, 
 
 Her jokes aren't in my line; 
 And, worst of all, I'm seventeen, 
 
 While She is forty-nine. 
 
 The young men come, the young men go, 
 
 Each pink and white and neat, 
 She's older than their mothers, but 
 
 They grovel at Her feet. 
 They walk beside Her 'rickshaw-wheels — 
 
 They never walk by mine; 
 And that's because I'm seventeen 
 
 And She is forty-nine. 
 
 She rides with half a dozen men 
 
 (She calls them "boys" and "mashers ")> 
 I trot along the Mall alone; 
 
 My prettiest frocks and sashes 
 Don't help to fill my programme-card, 
 
 And vainly I repine 
 From ten to two a. m. Ah me! 
 
 Would I were forty-nine. 
 
MY RIVAL 47 
 
 She calls me "darling," "pet," and "dear," 
 
 And "sweet retiring maid." 
 I'm always at the back, I know, 
 
 She puts me in the shade. 
 She introduces me to men, 
 
 "Cast" lovers, I opine, 
 For sixty takes to seventeen, 
 
 Nineteen to forty-nine. 
 
 But even She must older grow 
 
 And end Her dancing days, 
 She can't go on for ever so 
 
 At concerts, balls, and plays. 
 One ray of priceless hope I see 
 
 Before my footsteps shine: 
 Just think, that She'll be eighty-one 
 
 When I am forty-nine! 
 
TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS 
 
 Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my 
 
 soul going out from afar? 
 Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and 
 
 cautious shikar ? 
 
 Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, 
 
 unthinking, and blind? 
 Shall I meet you next season at Simla, oh sweetest 
 
 and best of your kind? 
 
 Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in 
 
 short frocks in the West, 
 Are you growing the charms that shall capture and 
 
 torture the heart in my breast? 
 
 Wil 1 you stay in the Plains till September — my 
 
 passion as warm as the day? 
 Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or 
 
 where the thermantidotes play? 
 
 48 
 
TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS 4^ 
 
 When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the 
 
 mean lesser lights I pursue, 
 And the charm of your presence shall lure me from 
 
 love of the gay " thirteen- two " ; 
 
 When the peg and the pigskin shall please not; 
 
 when I buy me Calcutta-built clothes; 
 When I quit the Delight of Wild Asses; forswearing 
 
 the swearing of oaths; 
 
 As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn 'mid 
 
 the gibes of my friends; 
 When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the 
 
 life of the bachelor ends. 
 
 Ah Goddess! child, spinster, or widow — as of old 
 
 on Mars Hill when they raised 
 To the God that they knew not an altar — so I, a 
 
 young Pagan, have praised 
 
 The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if hatf 
 
 that men tell me be true, 
 You will come in the future, and therefore the verse $ 
 
 are written to you! 
 
THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VTN 
 
 [Allowing for the difference 'twixt prose and rhymed 
 exaggeration, this ought to reproduce the sense of what 
 
 Sir A told the nation some time ago, when the 
 
 Government struck from our incomes two per cent] 
 
 Now the New Year, reviving last Year's Debt, 
 The thoughtful Fisher caste th wide his Net; 
 So I with begging Dish and ready Tongue 
 Assail all Men for all that I can get. 
 
 Imports indeed are gone with all their Dues — 
 Lo! Salt a Lever that I dare not use, 
 Nor may I ask the Tillers in Bengal — 
 Surely my Kith and Kin will not refuse 
 
 Pay — and I promise by the Dust of Spring, 
 Retrenchment. If my promises can bring 
 
 Comfort, Ye have them now a thousand-fold — 
 By Allah I X will promise A ny thing I 
 
 so 
 
THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN 51 
 
 Indeed, indeed, Retrenchment oft before 
 I swore — but did I mean it when I swore? 
 
 And then, and then, We wandered to the Hills, 
 And so the Little Less became Much More. 
 
 Whether a Boileaugunge or Babylon, 
 
 I know not how the wretched Thing is done, 
 
 The Items of Receipt grow surely small; 
 The Items of Expense mount one by one. 
 
 I cannot help it. What have I to do 
 
 With One and Five, or Four, or Three, or Two? 
 
 Let Scribes spit Blood and Sulphur as they please, 
 Or Statesmen call me foolish— Heed not you. 
 
 Behold, I promise— Anything You will. 
 Behold, I greet you with an empty Till — 
 
 Ah! Fellow-Sinners, of your Charity 
 Seek not the Reason of the Dearth, but nil. 
 
 For if I sinned and fell, where lies the Gain 
 
 Of Knowledge? Would it ease you of your Pain 
 
 To know the tangled Threads of Revenue 
 I ravel deeper in a hopeless Skein? 
 
52 THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN 
 
 "Who hath not Prudence" — what was it I said. 
 Of Her who paints her Eyes and tires Her Head, 
 And jibes and mocks the People in the Street, 
 And fawns upon them for Her thriftless Bread? 
 
 * 
 
 Accursed is She of Eve's daughters — She 
 Hath cast off Prudence, and Her End shall be 
 
 Destruction. . . . Brethren, of your Bounty grant 
 Some portion of your daily Bread to Me. 
 
PAGETT, M. P. 
 
 The toad beneath the harrow knows 
 Exactly where each tooth-point goes; 
 The Butterfly upon the road 
 Preaches contentment to that toad. 
 
 Pagett, M. P., was a liar, and a fluent liar there- 
 with, — 
 
 He spoke of the heat of India as the "Asian Solar 
 Myth"; 
 
 Came on a four months' visit, to "study the East," 
 in November. 
 
 And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to stay 
 till September. 
 
 March came in with the kbit. Pagett was cool and 
 
 gay, 
 Called me a "bloated Brahmin," talked of my 
 
 "princely pay." 
 March went out with the roses. "Where is your 
 
 heat? " said he. 
 "Coming," said I to Pagett. "Skittles!" said 
 
 Pagett, M. P. 
 
 53 
 
54 PAGETT, M. P. 
 
 April opened with punkahs, coolies, and prickly- 
 heat, — 
 
 Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a 
 treat. 
 
 He grew speckled and lumpy — hammered, I grieve 
 
 to say, 
 
 Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal way. 
 
 May set in with a dust-storm, — Pagett went down 
 with the sun. 
 
 All the delights of the season tickled him one by 
 one. 
 
 Imprimis — ten days' "liver" — due to his drinking 
 beer; 
 
 Later, a dose of fever — slight, but he called it se- 
 vere. 
 
 Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the Chota 
 
 Bursal — 
 Lowered his portly person — made him yearn to 
 
 depart. 
 He didn't call me a "Brahmin," or "bloated," or 
 
 "overpaid," 
 But seemed to think it a wonder that any one ever 
 
 stayed. 
 
PAGETT, M. P. 55 
 
 July was a trifle unhealthy, — Pagett was ill with fear, 
 Called it the " Cholera Morbus," hinted that life was 
 
 dear. 
 He babbled of "eastern exile," and mentioned hi? 
 
 home with tears; 
 But I hadn't seen my children for close upon seven 
 
 years. 
 
 We reached a hundred and twenty once in the Court 
 
 at noon, 
 [I've mentioned Pagett was portly] Pagett went off 
 
 in a swoon. 
 
 That was an end to the business; Pagett, the per- 
 jured, fled 
 
 With a practical, working knowledge of "Solar 
 Myths" in his head. 
 
 And I laughed as I drove from the station, but the 
 mirth died out on my lips 
 
 As I thought of the fools like Pagett who write of 
 their "Eastern trips," 
 
 And the sneers of the travelled idiots who duly mis- 
 govern the land, 
 
 And I prayed to the Lord to deliver another one into 
 my hand. 
 
LA NUIT BLANCHE 
 
 A much-discerning Public hold 
 The singer generally sings 
 Of personal and private things , 
 
 And prints and sells his past for gold. 
 
 Whatever I may here disclaim, 
 The very clever folk I sing to 
 Will most indubitably cling to 
 
 Their pet delusion, just the same. 
 
 I had seen, as dawn was breaking 
 
 And I staggered to my rest, 
 Tara Devi softly shaking 
 
 From the Cart Road to the crest. 
 I had seen the spurs of Jakko 
 
 Heave and quiver, swell and sink; 
 Was it Earthquake or tobacco, 
 
 Day of Doom or Night of Drink? 
 56 
 
LA NUIT BLANCHE 57 
 
 In the full, fresh, fragrant morning 
 
 I observed a camel crawl, 
 Laws of gravitation scorning, 
 
 On the ceiling and the wall; 
 Then I watched a fender walking, 
 
 And I heard gray leeches sing, 
 And a red-hot monkey talking 
 
 Did not seem the proper thing. 
 
 Then a Creature, skinned and crimson, 
 
 Ran about the floor and cried, 
 And they said I had the "jims" on, 
 
 And they dosed me with bromide, 
 And they locked me in my bed-room — 
 
 Me and one wee Blood Red Mouse- 
 Though I said: — "To give my head room 
 
 "You had best unroof the house." 
 
 But my words were all unheeded, 
 Though I told the grave M. D. 
 
 That the treatment really needed 
 Was a dip in open sea 
 
58 LA NUIT BLANCHE 
 
 That was lapping just below me, 
 Smooth as silver, white as snow, 
 
 And it took three men to throw me 
 When I found I could not go. 
 
 Half the night I watched the Heavens 
 
 Fizz like '81 champagne — 
 Fly to sixes and to sevens, 
 
 Wheel and thunder back again; 
 And when all was peace and order 
 
 Save one planet nailed askew, 
 Much I wept because my warden 
 
 Would not let me set it true. 
 
 After frenzied hours of waiting, 
 
 When the Earth and Skies were dumb, 
 Pealed an awful voice dictating 
 
 An interminable sum, 
 Changing to a tangled story — 
 
 "What she said you said I said—" 
 Till the Moon arose in glory, 
 
 And I found her . . . in my head; 
 
LA NUIT BLANCHE 59 
 
 Then a Face came, blind and weeping, 
 
 And It couldn't wipe Its eyes, 
 And It muttered I was keeping 
 
 Back the moonlight from the skies; 
 So I patted It for pity, 
 
 But It whistled shrill with^wrath, 
 And a huge, black Devil City 
 
 Poured its peoples on my path. 
 
 So I fled with steps uncertain 
 
 On a thousand-year long race, 
 But the bellying of the curtain 
 
 Kept me always in one place; 
 While the tumult rose and maddened 
 
 To the roar of Earth on fire, 
 Ere it ebbed and sank and saddened 
 
 To a whisper tense as wire. 
 
 In intolerable stillness 
 Rose one little, little star, 
 
 And it chuckled at my illness, 
 And it mocked me from afar; 
 
60 LA NUIT BLANCHE 
 
 And its brethren came and eyed me, 
 Called the Universe to aid, 
 
 Till I lay, with naught to hide me, 
 'Neath the Scorn of all Things Made. 
 
 Dun and saffron, robed and splendid 
 
 Broke the solemn, pitying Day, 
 And I knew my pains were ended, 
 
 And I turned and tried to pray; 
 But my speech was shattered wholly, 
 
 And I wept as children weep, 
 Till the dawn-wind, softly, slowly, 
 
 Brought to burning eyelids sleep. 
 
THE LOVERS' LITANY 
 
 Eyes of gray — the sodden quay, 
 Driving rain and falling tears, 
 As the steamer heads to sea 
 In a parting storm of cheers. 
 
 Sing, for Faith and Hope are high. 
 
 None so true as you and I — 
 
 Sing the Lovers' Litany: — 
 
 "Love like ours can never die I" 
 
 Eyes of black — the throbbing keel 
 
 Milky foam to left and right; 
 
 Little whispers near the wheel 
 
 In the brilliant tropic night. 
 
 Cross that rules the Southern Sky, 
 Stars that sweep, and wheel, and fly, 
 Hear the Lovers' Litany: — 
 "Love like ours can never die/" 
 
 Eyes of brown — the dusty plain 
 Split and parched with heat of June. 
 61 
 
62 THE LOVERS' LITANY 
 
 Flying hoof and tightened rein, 
 Hearts that beat the old, old tune. 
 Side by side the horses fly, 
 Frame we now the old reply 
 Of the Lovers' Litany: — 
 11 Love like ours can never die!" 
 
 Eyes of blue — the Simla Hills 
 Silvered with the moonlight hoar; 
 Pleading of the waltz that thrills, 
 Dies and echoes round Benmore. 
 "Mabel," "Officers," "Good-bye/ 
 Glamour, wine, and witchery — 
 On my soul's sincerity, 
 "Love like ours can never die!" 
 
 Maidens, of your charity, 
 Pity my most luckless state. 
 Four times Cupid's debtor I — 
 Bankrupt in quadruplicate. 
 Yet, despite this evil case, 
 And a maiden showed me grace, 
 Four-and-forty times would I 
 Sing the Lovers' Litany: — 
 "Love like ours can never die!" 
 
A BALLAD OF BURIAL 
 
 "Saint PraxeaVs ever was the Church for peace." 
 
 If down here I chance to die, 
 
 Solemnly I beg you take 
 All that is left of "I" 
 
 To the Hills for old sake's sake. 
 Pack, and pack me thoroughly, 
 
 In the ice that used to slake 
 Drinks I drank when I was dry — 
 
 This observe for old sake's sake. 
 
 To the railway station hie, 
 
 There a single ticket take 
 For Umballa — goods-train — I 
 
 Shall not mind delay or shake. 
 I shall rest contentedly 
 
 Spite of clamour coolies make; 
 Thus in frozen dignity 
 
 Send me up for old sake's sake. 
 63 
 
64 A BALLAD OF BURIAL 
 
 Next the sleepy van Babu wake, 
 
 Book a Kalka van "for four." 
 Few, I think, will care to make 
 
 Journeys with me any more 
 As they used to do of yore. 
 
 I shall need a " special" break — 
 Thing I never took before — 
 
 Get me one for old sake's sake. 
 
 After that — arrangements make, 
 
 No hotel will take me in, 
 And a bullock's back would break 
 
 'Neath the teak and leaden skin. 
 Tonga-ropes are frail and thin, 
 
 Or, did I a back seat take, 
 In a tonga I might spin, 
 
 Do your best for old sake's sake. 
 
 After that — your work is done. 
 
 Recollect a Padre must 
 Mourn the dear departed one — 
 
 Throw the ashes and the dust. 
 Don't go down at once. I trust 
 
 You will find excuse to "snake 
 
A BALLAD OF BURIAL 65 
 
 Three days' casual on the bust," — 
 Get your fun for old sake's sake. 
 
 I could never stand the Plains, 
 
 Think of blazing June and May, 
 Think of those September rains 
 
 Yearly till the Judgment Day! 
 I should never rest in peace, 
 
 I should sweat and lie awake. 
 Rail me then, on my decease, 
 
 To the Hills for old sake's sake. 
 
THE OVERLAND MAIL 
 
 [Foot-service to the Hills] 
 
 In the name of the Empress of India, make way, 
 Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam, 
 
 The woods are awake at the end of the day — 
 We exiles are waiting for letters from Home. 
 
 Let the robber retreat — and the tiger turn tail — 
 
 In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail! 
 
 With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in, 
 He turns to the foot-path that heads up the hill — 
 
 The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin, 
 And, tucked in his waistbelt, the Post Office bill; — 
 
 "Despatched on this date, as received by the rail, 
 
 "Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail." 
 
 Is the torrent in spate? He must ford it or swim. 
 Has the rain wrecked the road? He must climb by 
 the cliff. 
 
 66 
 
THE OVERLAND MAIL 67 
 
 Does the tempest cry halt? What are tempests to 
 him? 
 The service admits not a " but" or an "if." 
 
 While the breath's in his mouth, he must bear with- 
 out fail, 
 
 In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail. 
 
 From aloe to rose-oak, from rose-oak to fir, 
 From level to upland, from upland to crest, 
 
 From rice-field to rock-ridge, from rock-ridge to spur, 
 Fly the soft-sandalled feet, strains the scrawny 
 brown chest. 
 
 From rail to ravine— to the peak from the vale— 
 
 Up, up through the night goes the Overland Mail. 
 
 There's a speck on the hill-side, a dot on the road— 
 A jingle of bells on the foot-path below— 
 
 There's a scufile above in the monkey's abode— 
 The world is awake and the clouds are aglow. 
 
 For the great Sun himself must attend to the hail:— 
 
 "In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!" 
 
DIVIDED DESTINIES 
 
 It was an artless Bandar, and he danced upon a pine, 
 And much I wondered how he lived, and where the 
 
 beast might dine, 
 And many, many other things, till, o'er my morning 
 
 smoke, 
 I slept the sleep of idleness and dreamt that Bandar 
 
 spoke. 
 
 He said: — "Oh man of many clothes! Sad crawler 
 
 on the Hills! 
 " Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ranken's 
 
 monthly bills! 
 "I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you call 
 
 dress; 
 
 "Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks 
 
 at Mess. 
 "I steal the bunnia's grain at morn, at noon and 
 
 eventide 
 " (For he is fat and I am spare), I roam the mountain 
 side, 
 
 68 
 
DIVIDED DESTINIES 69 
 
 "I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in my life 
 "Have I flirted at Peliti's with another Bandar's wife. 
 
 "Oh man of futile fopperies — unnecessary wraps; 
 "I own no ponies in the hills, I drive no tall- wheeled 
 
 traps. 
 "I buy me not twelve-button gloves, 'short-sixes ' 
 
 eke, of rings, 
 ''Nor do I waste at Hamilton's my wealth on pretty 
 
 things. 
 
 "I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight 
 
 abroad; 
 "But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only lord. 
 "I never heard of fever — dumps nor debts depress my 
 
 soul; 
 1 ' And I pity and despise you ! ' ' Here he pouched my 
 
 breakfast-roll. 
 
 His hide was very mangy and his face was very red, 
 And undisguisedly he scratched with energy his head. 
 His manners were not always nice, but how my 
 
 spirit cried 
 To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountain side! 
 
7 o DIVIDED DESTINIES 
 
 So I answered: — " Gentle Bandar, an inscrutable 
 
 Decree, 
 "Makes thee a gleesome fleasome Thou, and me a 
 
 wretched Me. 
 "Go! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home 
 
 amid the pine; 
 "Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change his 
 
 lot with thine. " 
 
THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 
 
 Argument. — The Indian Government being minded to dis- 
 cover the economic condition of their lands, sent a Committee 
 to inquire into it; and saw that it was good. 
 
 Scene.— The wooded heights of Simla. The Incar- 
 nation of the Government of India in the raiment 
 of the Angel of Plenty sings, to pianoforte accom- 
 paniment: — ■ 
 
 "How sweet is the shepherd's sweet life! 
 
 From the dawn to the even he strays — 
 He shall follow his sheep all the day 
 
 And his tongue shall be filled with praise. 
 
 {adagio dim.) Filled with praise ! " 
 
 {largendo con sp.) Now this is the position, 
 Go make an inquisition 
 Into their real condition 
 As swiftly as ye may. 
 (p) Ay, paint our swarthly billions 
 The richest of vermilions 
 Ere two well-led cotillions 
 Have danced themselves away. 
 71 
 
72 THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 
 
 Turkish Patrol, as able and intelligent Investigators 
 . wind down the Himalayas: — 
 
 What is the state of the Nation? What is its occupa- 
 tion? 
 
 Hi! get along, get along, get along, — lend us the 
 information ! 
 
 (dim) Census the bylu and the yaba — capture a first- 
 class Babu, 
 Set him to cut Gazetteers — Gazetteers . . 
 (Jjf) What is the state of the Nation, &c, &c. 
 
 Interlude, from Nowhere in Particular, to stringed 
 and Oriental instruments. 
 
 Our cattle reel beneath the yoke they bear — 
 The earth is iron and the skies are brass — 
 
 And faint with fervour of the flaming air 
 The languid hours pass. 
 
 Our wells are dry beneath the village tree— 
 The young wheat withers ere it reach a span, 
 
 And belts of blinding sand show cruelly 
 Where once the river ran. 
 
 Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King — 
 Lift up your hands above the blighted grain, 
 
THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 73 
 
 Look westward— if They please, the Gods shall bring 
 Their mercy with the Rain. 
 
 Look westward— bears the blue no brown cloud-bank? 
 
 Nay, it is written — wherefore should we fly? 
 On our own field and by our cattle's flank 
 
 Lie down, lie down to die! 
 
 Semi-Chorus. 
 
 By the plumed heads of Kings 
 Waving high, 
 
 Where the tall corn springs 
 
 O'er the dead. 
 
 If they rust or rot we die, 
 
 If they ripen we are fed. 
 
 Very mighty is the power of our Kings! 
 
 Triumphal return to Simla of the Investigators, attired 
 after the manner of Dionysus, leading a pet tiger-cub 
 in wreaths of rhubarb leaves, symbolical of India 
 under medical treatment. They sing: — 
 
 We have seen, we have written — behold it, the proof 
 
 of our manifold toil! 
 In their hosts they assembled and told it— the tale 
 
 of the Sons of the Soil. 
 
74 THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 
 
 We have said of the Sickness — " Where is it?" — and 
 of Death — "It is far from our ken," — 
 
 We have paid a particular visit to the affluent chil- 
 dren of men. 
 
 We have trodden the mart and the well-curb — we 
 have stooped to the bield and the byre; 
 
 And the King may the forces of Hell curb — for the 
 People have all they desire! 
 
 Castanets and step-dance : 
 
 Oh, the dom and the mag and the thakur and the thag, 
 
 And the nat and the brinjaree, 
 And the bunnia and the ryot are as happy and as quiet 
 
 And as plump as they can be! 
 Yes, the jain and the jat in his stucco-fronted hut, 
 
 And the bounding bazugar, 
 By the favour of the King, are as fat as anything, 
 
 They are — they are — they are! 
 
 Recitative, Government of India, with white satin 
 wings and electroplated harp: — 
 
 How beautiful upon the mountains — in peace reclin- 
 ing, 
 
 Thus to be assured that our people are unanimously 
 dining. 
 
THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 75 
 
 And though there are places not so blessed as others 
 in natural advantages, which, after all, was only 
 to be expected, 
 
 Proud and glad are we to congratulate you upon the 
 work you have thus ably effected. 
 
 Chorus of the Crystallized Facts. 
 
 Before the beginning of years 
 
 There came to the rule of the State 
 
 Men with a pair of shears, 
 
 Men with an Estimate — 
 
 Strachey with Muir for leaven, 
 
 Lytton with locks that fell, 
 
 Ripon fooling with Heaven, 
 
 And Temple riding like H — 11! 
 
 And the bigots took in hand 
 
 Cess and the falling of rain, 
 
 And the measure of sifted sand 
 
 The dealer puts in the grain — 
 
 Imports by land and sea, 
 
 To uttermost decimal worth, 
 
 And registration — free — 
 
 In the Houses of Death and of Birth: 
 
 And fashioned with pens and paper, 
 
76 THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 
 
 And fashioned in black and white, 
 With Life for a flickering taper 
 And Death for a blazing light — 
 With the Armed and the Civil Power, 
 That his strength might endure for a span 
 From Adam's Bridge to Peshawur, 
 The Much Administered Man. 
 
 In the towns of the North and the East, 
 
 They gathered as unto rule, 
 
 They bade him starve his priest 
 
 And send his children to school. 
 
 Railways and roads they wrought, 
 
 For the needs of the trade within; 
 
 A time to squabble in court, 
 
 A time to bear and to grin; 
 
 And gave him peace in his ways, 
 
 Jails — and Police to fight, 
 
 Justice at length of days, 
 
 And Right— and Might in the Right. 
 
 His speech is of mortgaged bedding, 
 
 On his kine he borrows yet, 
 
 At his heart is his daughter's wedding, 
 
 In his eye foreknowledge of debt. 
 
THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 77 
 
 He eats and hath indigestion, 
 He toils and he may not stop; 
 His life is a long-drawn question 
 Between a crop and a crop. 
 
THE MARE'S NEST 
 
 Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse 
 Was good beyond all earthly need; 
 
 But, on the other hand, her spouse 
 Was very, very bad indeed. 
 
 He smoked cigars, called churches slow. 
 
 And raced — but this she did not know. 
 
 For Belial Machiavelli kept 
 
 The little fact a secret, and, 
 Though o'er his minor sins she wept, 
 
 Jane Austen did not understand 
 That Lilly — thirteen-two and bay — 
 Absorbed one half her husband's pay. 
 
 She was so good she made him worse 
 (Some women are like this, I think) ; 
 
 He taught her parrot how to curse, 
 Her Assam monkey how to drink. 
 
 He vexed her righteous soul until 
 
 She went up, and he went down hill. 
 78 
 
THE MARE'S NEST 79 
 
 Tlieii came the crisis, strange to say, 
 Which turned a good wife to a better. 
 
 A telegraphic peon, one day, 
 Brought her — now, had it been a letter 
 
 For Belial Machiavelli, I 
 
 Know Jane would just have let it lie. 
 
 But 'twas a telegram instead, 
 Marked "urgent," and her duty plain 
 
 To open it. Jane Austen read: — ■ 
 " Your Lilly 1 s got a cough again. 
 
 "Can't understand why she is kept 
 
 "At your expense" Jane Austen wept. 
 
 It was a misdirected wire, 
 
 Her husband was at Shaitanpore. 
 She spread her anger, hot as fire, 
 
 Through six thin foreign sheets or more, 
 Sent off that letter, wrote another 
 To her solicitor — and mother. 
 
 Then Belial Machiavelli saw 
 
 Her error and, I trust, his own, 
 Wired to the minion of the Law, 
 
 And travelled wifeward — not alone: 
 
THE MARE'S NEST 
 
 For Lilly — thirteen- two and bay — 
 Came in a horse-box all the way. 
 
 There was a scene — a weep or two — 
 With many kisses. Austen Jane 
 
 Rode Lilly all the season through, 
 And never opened wires again. 
 
 She races now with Belial. This 
 
 Is very sad, but so it is. 
 
THE BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING- 
 HOUSE 
 
 That night when through the mooring chains 
 
 The wide-eyed corpse rolled free. 
 To blunder down by Garden Reach 
 
 And rot at Kedgeree, 
 The tale the Hughli told the shoal 
 
 The lean shoal whispered me. 
 
 'Twas Fultah Fisher's boarding-house, 
 
 Where sailor-men reside, 
 And there were men of all the ports 
 
 From Mississip to Clyde, 
 And regally they spat and smoked, 
 
 And fearsomely they lied. 
 
 They lied about the purple Sea 
 
 That gave them scanty bread, 
 They lied about the Earth beneath, 
 
 The Heavens overhead, 
 For they had looked too often on 
 
 Black rum when that was red. 
 81 
 
82 BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 
 
 And there was Hans the Blue-eyed Dane, 
 
 Bull-throated, bare of arm, 
 Who carried on his hairy chest 
 
 The maid Ultruda's charm — 
 The little silver crucifix 
 
 That keeps a man from harm. 
 
 And there was Jake Without-the-Ears, 
 
 And Pamba the Malay, 
 And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook, 
 
 And Luz from Vigo Bay, 
 And Honest Jack who sold them slops 
 
 And harvested their pay. 
 
 And there was Salem Hardieker, 
 
 A lean Bostonian he — 
 Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn, 
 
 Yank, Dane, and Portugee, 
 At Fultah's Fisher's boarding-place 
 
 They rested from the sea. 
 
 Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks, 
 
 Collinga knew her fame, 
 From Tarnau in Galicia 
 
 To Jaun Bazar she came, 
 
BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 83 
 
 To eat the bread of infamy 
 And take the wage of shame. 
 
 She held a dozen men to heel — 
 
 Rich spoil of war was hers, 
 In hose and gown and ring and chain, 
 
 From twenty mariners, 
 And, by Port Law, that week, men called 
 
 Her Salem Hardieker's. 
 
 But seamen learnt — what landsmen know — 
 
 That neither gifts nor gain 
 Can hold a winking Light o' Love 
 
 Or Fancy's flight restrain, 
 When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes 
 
 On Hans the blue-eyed Dane. 
 
 Since Life is strife, and strife means knife, 
 
 From Howrah to the Bay, 
 And he may die before the dawn 
 
 Who liquored out the day, 
 In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 
 
 We woo while yet we may. 
 
 But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 
 Bull-throated, bare of arm, 
 
84 BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 
 
 And laughter shook the chest beneath 
 
 The maid Ultruda's charm — 
 The little silver crucifix 
 
 That keeps a man from harm. 
 
 "You speak to Salem Hardieker, 
 
 "You was his girl, I know. 
 "I ship mineselfs to-morrow, see, 
 
 "Und round the Skaw we go, 
 "South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm, 
 
 "To Besser in Saro." 
 
 When love rejected turns to hate, 
 
 All ill betide the man. 
 "You speak to Salem Hardieker" — 
 
 She spoke as woman can. 
 A scream — a sob — "He called me — names!" 
 
 And then the fray began. 
 
 An oath from Salem Hardieker, 
 
 A shriek upon the stairs, 
 A dance of shadows on the wall, 
 
 A knife-thrust unawares — 
 And Hans came down, as cattle drop, 
 
 Across the broken chairs. 
 
BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 
 
 In Anne of Austria's trembling hands 
 
 The weary head fell low: — 
 "I ship mineselfs to-morrow, straight 
 
 "For Besser in Saro; 
 "Und there Ultruda comes to me 
 
 "At Easter, und I go. 
 
 "South, down the Cattegat — What's here? 
 
 " There — are — no — lights — to — guide ! " 
 The mutter ceased, the spirit passed, 
 
 And Anne of Austria cried 
 In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 
 
 When Hans the mighty died. 
 
 Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 
 
 Bull-throated, bare of arm, 
 But Anne of Austria looted first 
 
 The maid Ultruda's charm — 
 The little silver crucifix 
 
 That keeps a man from harm. 
 
POSSIBILITIES 
 
 Ay, lay him 'neath the Simla pine — 
 A fortnight fully to be missed, 
 Behold, we lose our fourth at whist, 
 
 A chair is vacant where we dine. 
 
 His place forgets him; other men 
 Have bought his ponies, guns, and traps. 
 His fortune is the Great Perhaps 
 
 And that cool rest-house down the glen, 
 
 Whence he shall hear, as spirits may, 
 Our mundane revel on the height, 
 Shall watch each flashing 'rickshaw-light 
 
 Sweep on to dinner, dance, and play. 
 
 Benmore shall woo him to the ball 
 With lighted rooms and braying band: 
 And he shall hear and understand 
 
 "Dream Faces" better than us all. 
 86 
 
POSSIBILITIES 87 
 
 For, think you, as the vapours flee 
 
 Across Sanjaolie after rain, 
 
 His soul may climb the hill again 
 To each old field of victory. 
 
 Unseen, who women held so dear, 
 The strong man's yearning to his kind 
 Shall shake at most the window-blind, 
 
 Or dull awhile the card-room's cheer. 
 
 In his own place of power unknown, 
 His Light o' Love another's flame, 
 His dearest pony galloped lame, 
 
 Arid he an alien and alone. 
 
 Yet may he meet with many a friend- 
 Shrewd shadows, lingering long unseen 
 Among us when " God save the Queen" 
 
 Shows even "extras" have an end. 
 
 And, when we leave the heated room, 
 And, when at four the lights expire, 
 The crew shall gather round the fire 
 
 And mock our laughter in the gloom. 
 
88 POSSIBILITIES 
 
 Talk as we talked, and they ere death — 
 First wanly, danced in ghostly wise, 
 With ghosts of tunes for melodies, 
 
 And vanished at the morning's breath! 
 
ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER 
 
 A great and glorious thing it is 
 To learn, for seven years or so, 
 
 The Lord knows what of that and this, 
 Ere reckoned fit to face the foe — 
 
 The flying bullet down the Pass, 
 
 That whistles clear: — "All flesh is grass." 
 
 Three hundred pounds per annum spent 
 On making brairi and body meeter 
 
 For all the murderous intent 
 Comprised in "villanous saltpeter!" 
 
 And after? — Ask the Yusufzaies 
 
 What comes of all our 'ologies. 
 
 A scrimmage in a Border Station — 
 A canter down some dark defile — 
 
 Two thousand pounds of education 
 Drops to a ten-rupee jezail — 
 
 The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride, 
 
 Shot like a rabbit in a ride! 
 89 
 
go ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER 
 
 No proposition Euclid wrote, 
 No formulae the text-books know, 
 
 Will turn the bullet from your coat, 
 Or ward the tulwar's downward blow. 
 
 Strike hard who cares — shoot straight who can- 
 
 The odds are on the cheaper man. 
 
 One sword-knot stolen from the camp 
 Will pay for all the school-expenses 
 
 Of any Kurrum Valley scamp 
 Who knows no word of moods and tenses, 
 
 But, being blest with perfect sight, 
 
 Picks off our messmates left and right. 
 
 With home-bred hordes the hill-sides teem, 
 The troop-ships bring us one by one, 
 
 At vast expense of time and steam, 
 To slay Afridis where they run. 
 
 The " captives of our bow and spear " 
 
 Are cheap, alas! as we are dear. 
 
THE SONG OF THE WOMEN 
 
 (Lady Dufferin's Fund for Medical Aid to the Women 
 of India.) 
 
 How shall she know the worship we could do her? 
 
 The walls are high and she is very far. 
 How shall the women's message reach unto her 
 Above the tumult of the packed bazar? 
 Free wind of March, against the lattice blowing, 
 Bear thou our thanks lest she depart unknowing. 
 
 Go forth across the fields we may not roam in, 
 Go forth beyond the trees that rim the city 
 To whatsoe'er fair place she hath her home in, 
 Who dowered us with wealth of love and pity. 
 Out of our shadow pass and seek her singing — 
 "I have no gifts but Love alone for bringing." 
 
 Say that we be a feeble folk who greet her, 
 But old in grief, and very wise in tears; 
 
 Say that we, being desolate, entreat her 
 That she forget us not in after years; 
 
 91 
 
92 THE SONG OF THE WOMEN 
 
 For we have seen the light, and it were grievous 
 To dim that dawning if our lady leave us. 
 
 By life that ebbed with none to staunch the failing 
 
 By Love's sad harvest garnered in the spring, 
 When Love in Ignorance wept unavailing 
 O'er young buds dead before their blossoming; 
 By all the gray owl watched — the pale moon 
 
 viewed, 
 In past grim years declare our gratitude! 
 
 By hands uplif ted to the Gods that heard not, 
 
 By gifts that found no favour in Their sight, 
 By faces bent above the babe that stirred not, 
 By nameless horrors of the stifling night; 
 By ills foredone, by peace her toils discover, 
 Bid Earth be good beneath and Heaven above 
 her! 
 
 If she have sent her servants in our pain, 
 If she have fought with Death and dulled his 
 sword; 
 If she have given back our sick again, 
 And to the breast the weakling lips restored, 
 Is it a little thing that she has wrought? 
 Then Life and Death and Motherhood be naught 
 
THE SONG OF THE WOMEN 93 
 
 Go forth, wind, our message on thy wings, 
 
 And they shall hear thee pass and bid thee speed, 
 In reed-roofed hut, or white-walled home of kings, 
 Who have been holpen by her in their need. 
 All spring shall give thee fragrance, and the wheat 
 Shall be a tasselled floorcloth to thy feet. 
 
 Haste, for our hearts are with thee, take no rest! 
 
 Loud-voiced ambassador, from sea to sea 
 Proclaim the blessing, manifold, confest, 
 Of those in darkness by her hand set free, 
 Then very softly to her presence move, 
 And whisper: "Lady, lo, they know and love! ,, 
 
THE BETROTHED 
 
 " You must choose between me and your cigar." 
 
 Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, 
 For things are running crossways, and Maggie and \ 
 are out. 
 
 We quarrelled about Havanas — we fought o'er a 
 
 good cheroot, 
 And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a 
 
 brute. 
 
 Open the old cigar-box — let me consider a space; 
 In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's 
 face. 
 
 Maggie is pretty to look at — Maggie's a loving lass, 
 But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of 
 loves must pass. 
 
 9* 
 
THE BETROTHED 95 
 
 There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry 
 
 Clay, 
 But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown 
 
 away — 
 
 Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and 
 
 brown — 
 But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the 
 
 talko' the town! 
 
 Maggie, my wife at fifty — gray and dour and old — 
 With never another Maggie to purchase for love or 
 gold! 
 
 And the light of Days that have Been the dark of 
 
 . the Days that Are, 
 And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a 
 dead cigar — 
 
 The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in 
 
 your pocket — 
 With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and 
 
 black to the socket. 
 
 Open the old cigar-box — let me consider awhile — 
 Here is a mild Manilla — there is a wifely smile. 
 
96 THE BETROTHED 
 
 Which is the better portion — bondage bought with a 
 
 ring, 
 Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string? 
 
 Counsellors cunning and silent — comforters true 
 
 and tried, 
 And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride. 
 
 Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes, 
 Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eye- 
 lids close. 
 
 This will the fifty give me, asking naught in return, 
 With only a Suttee's passion — to do their duty and 
 burn. 
 
 This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and 
 
 dead, 
 Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead. 
 
 The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish 
 
 Main, 
 When they hear my harem is empty, will send me my 
 
 brides again. 
 
THE BETROTHED 97 
 
 I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their 
 
 mouths withal, 
 So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers 
 
 fall. 
 
 I will scent 'em with best Vanilla, with tea will I 
 
 temper their hides, 
 And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read 
 
 of the tale of my brides. 
 
 For Maggie has written a letter that gives me my 
 
 choice between 
 The wee little whimpering Love and the great god 
 
 Nick o' Teen. 
 
 And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelve- 
 month clear, 
 
 But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of seven 
 year; 
 
 And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with 
 
 the cheery light 
 Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure 
 
 and Work and Fight. 
 
"7 
 
 98 THE BETROTHED 
 
 And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I 
 
 must prove, 
 But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the- 
 
 Wisp of Love. 
 
 Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me 
 
 bogged in the mire? 
 Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the 
 
 fitful fire? 
 
 Open the old cigar-box — let me consider anew — 
 Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should aban- 
 don you ? 
 
 A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the 
 
 yoke; 
 And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a 
 
 Smoke. 
 
 Light me another Cuba — I hold to my first-sworn 
 
 vows, 
 If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for 
 
 spouse! 
 
A BALLADE OF JAKKO HILL 
 
 One moment bid the horses wait, 
 
 Since tiffin is not laid till three, 
 Below the upward path and strait 
 
 You climbed a year ago with me. 
 Love came upon us suddenly 
 
 And loosed — an idle hour to kill — 
 A headless, harmless armoury 
 
 That smote us both on Jakko Hill. 
 
 Ah Heaven ! we would wait and wait 
 
 Through Time and to Eternity! 
 Ah Heaven! we would conquer Fate 
 
 With more than Godlike constancy! 
 I cut the date upon a tree — 
 
 Here stand the clumsy figures still:— 
 "10-7-85, A. D." 
 
 Damp with the mist on Jakko Hill. 
 99 
 
ioo A BALLADE OF JAKKO HILL 
 
 What came of high resolve and great, 
 
 And until Death fidelity? 
 Whose horse is waiting at your gate? 
 
 Whose 'rickshaw-wheels ride over me? 
 No Saint's, I swear; and — let me see 
 
 To-night what names your programme fill- 
 We drift asunder merrily, 
 
 As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill! 
 
 L'envoi 
 
 Woman, behold our ancient state 
 
 Has clean departed; and we see 
 'Twas Idleness we took for Fate 
 
 That bound light bonds on you and me. 
 Amen! Here ends the comedy 
 
 Where it began in all good will, 
 Since Love and Leave together flee 
 
 As driven mist on Jakko Hill! 
 
THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS 
 
 Too late, alas! the song 
 To remedy the wrong; — 
 The rooms are taken from us, swept and garnished for 
 
 their fate, 
 But these tear-besprinkled pages 
 Shall attest to future ages 
 That we cried against the crime of it — too late, alas! 
 
 too late! 
 
 "What have we ever done to bear this grudge?" 
 
 Was there no room save only in Benmore 
 For docket, duftar, and for office drudge, 
 
 That you usurp our smoothest dancing floor? 
 Must babus do their work on polished teak? 
 
 Are ball-rooms fittest for the ink you spill? 
 Was there no other cheaper house to seek? 
 
 You might have left them all at Strawberry Hill. 
 
 We never harmed you ! Innocent our guise, 
 Dainty our shining feet, our voices low; 
 
 IOT 
 
io2 THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS 
 
 And we revolved to divers melodies, 
 
 And we were happy but a year ago. 
 To-night the moon that watched our lightsome wiles — 
 
 That beamed upon us through the deodars — 
 Is wan with gazing on official files, 
 
 And desecrating desks disgust the stars. 
 
 Nay ! by the memory of tuneful nights — 
 
 Nay! by the witchery of flying feet — 
 Nay! by the glamour of foredone delights — 
 
 By all things merry, musical, and meet — 
 By wine that sparkled, and by sparkling eyes — 
 
 By wailing waltz — by reckless gallop's strain— 
 By dim verandahs and by soft replies, 
 
 Give us our ravished ball-room back again! 
 
 Or — hearken to the curse we lay on you! 
 
 The ghosts of waltzes shall perplex your brain, 
 And murmurs of past merriment pursue 
 
 Your 'wildered clerks that they indite in vain; 
 And when you count your poor Provincial millions. 
 
 The only figures that your pen shall frame 
 Shall be the figures of dear, dear cotillons 
 
 Danced out in tumult long before you came. 
 
THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS 103 
 
 Yea! "See Saw" shall upset your estimates, 
 
 "Dream-faces" shall your heavy heads bemuse. 
 Because your hand, unheeding, desecrates 
 
 Our temple; fit for higher, worthier use. 
 And all the long verandahs, eloquent 
 
 With echoes of a score of Simla years, 
 Shall plague you with unbidden sentiment — 
 
 Babbling of kisses, laughter, love, and tears. 
 
 So shall you mazed amid old memories stand, 
 So shall you toil, and shall accomplish naught. 
 
 And ever in your ears a phantom Band 
 Shall blare away the staid official thought. 
 
 Wherefore — and ere this awful curse be spoken, 
 Cast out your swarthy, sacrilegious train, 
 
 And give — ere dancing cease and hearts be broken- 
 Give us our ravished ball-room back again! 
 
"AS THE BELL CLINKS" 
 
 As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a 
 
 comely 
 Maid last season worshipped dumbly, watched with 
 
 fervour from afar; 
 And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would 
 
 greet me kindly. 
 That was all — the rest was settled by the clinking 
 
 tonga-bar. 
 Ay, my life and hers were coupled by the tonga 
 
 coupling bar. 
 
 For my misty meditation, at the second changing- 
 
 station, 
 Suffered sudden dislocation, fled before the tuneless 
 
 jar 
 Of a Wagner obbligato, scherzo, double-hand staccato, 
 Played on either pony's saddle by the clacking 
 
 tonga-bar— 
 Played with human speech, I fancied, by the jigging, 
 
 jolting bar. 
 
 104 
 
"AS THE BELL CLINKS" 105 
 
 "She was sweet," thought I, "last season, but 'twere 
 
 surely wild unreason 
 " Such a tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by my 
 
 Star, 
 "When she whispered, something sadly: — 'I — we 
 
 feel your going badly? ' " 
 "And you let the chance escape you?" rapped the 
 
 rattling tonga-bar. 
 "What a chance and what an idiot!" clinked the 
 
 vicious tonga-bar. 
 
 Heart of man — Oh heart of putty! Had I gone by 
 
 Kakahutti, 
 On the old Hill-road and rutty, I had 'scaped that 
 
 fatal car: 
 But his fortune each must bide by, so I watched the 
 
 milestones slide by. 
 To — "You call on Her to-morrow!" — fugue with 
 
 cymbals by the bar — 
 "You must call on Her to-morrow! " — post-horn gallop 
 
 by the bar. 
 
 Yet a further stage my goal on — we were whirling 
 
 down to Solon, 
 With a double lurch and roll on, best foot foremost, 
 
 ganz und gar — 
 
io6 "AS THE BELL CLINKS" 
 
 " She was very sweet/' I hinted. " If a kiss had been 
 
 imprinted ? " 
 
 " Would ha' saved a world of trouble! " clashed the busy 
 
 tonga-bar. 
 " 'Been accepted or rejected I " banged and clanged the 
 
 tonga-bar. 
 
 Then a notion wild and daring, 'spite the income tax's 
 
 paring 
 And a hasty thought of sharing — less than many 
 
 incomes are 
 Made me put a question private, you can guess what 
 
 I would drive at. 
 "You must work the sum to prove it" clanked the 
 
 careless tonga-bar. 
 "Simple Rule of Two will prove it" lilted back the 
 
 tonga-bar. 
 
 It was under Khyraghaut I mused:— Suppose the 
 
 maid be haughty — 
 "[There are lovers rich — and forty] wait some 
 
 wealthy Avatar? 
 " Answer ^ monitor untiring, 'twixt the ponies twain 
 
 perspiring 1" 
 
"AS THE BELL CLINKS" 107 
 
 "Faint heart never won fair lady," creaked the strain- 
 ing tonga-bar. 
 
 "Can I tell you ere you ask Her?" pounded slow the 
 tonga-bar. 
 
 Last, the Tara Devi turning showed the lights of 
 
 Simla burning, 
 Lit my little lazy yearning to a fiercer flame by far. 
 As below the Mall we jingled, through my very heart 
 
 it tingled — 
 The reiterated order of the threshing tonga-bar:— 
 "Try your luck— you can't do better!" twanged the 
 
 loosened tonga-bar. 
 
CHRISTMAS IN INDIA 
 
 Dim dawn behind the tamarisks — the sky is saffron* 
 yellow — 
 As the women in the village grind the corn, 
 And the parrots seek the river-side, each calling to his 
 fellow 
 That the Day, the staring Eastern Day, is born. 
 Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the 
 stenches in the byway! 
 Oh the clammy fog that hovers over earth! 
 And at Home they're making merry 'neath the 
 white and scarlet berry — 
 What part have India's exiles in their mirth? 
 
 Full day behind the tamarisks — the sky is blue and 
 staring — 
 As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke, 
 And they bear One o'er the field-path who is past all 
 hope or caring, 
 To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke. 
 
 108 
 
CHRISTMAS IN INDIA 109 
 
 Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother 
 lowly — 
 Call on Rama — he may hear, perhaps, your 
 voice! 
 With our hymnbooks and our psalters we appeal 
 to other altars, 
 And to-day we bid "good Christian men 
 rejoice!" 
 
 High noon behind the tamarisks — the sun is hot 
 above us — 
 As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan. 
 They will drink our healths at dinner — those who 
 tell us how they love us, 
 And forget us till another year be gone ! 
 
 Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the 
 heimweh, ceaseless, aching! 
 Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain! 
 Youth was cheap — wherefore we sold it. 
 Gold was good — we hoped to hold it, . 
 And to-day we know the fulness of our gain. 
 
 Gray dusk behind the tamarisks— the parrots fly 
 together — 
 As the Sun is sinking slowly over Home; 
 
no CHRISTMAS IN INDIA 
 
 And his last ray turns to jeer us shackled in a life-long 
 tether 
 That drags us back howe'er so far we roam. 
 Hard her service, poor her payment — she in 
 ancient, tattered raiment — 
 India, she the grim stepmother of our kind. 
 If a year of life be lent her, if her temple's shrine 
 we enter, 
 The door is shut — we may not look behind. 
 
 Black night behind the tamarisks — the owls begin 
 their chorus — 
 As the conches from the temple scream and bray 
 With the fruitless years behind us and the hopeless 
 years before us, 
 Let us honour, oh my brothers, Christmas Day! 
 Call a truce, then, to our labours — let us feast 
 with friends and neighbours, 
 And be merry as the custom of our caste; 
 For, if "faint and forced the laughter," and if 
 sadness follow after, 
 We are richer by one mocking Christmas past. 
 
THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD 
 
 There's a widow in sleepy Chester 
 
 Who weeps for her only son; 
 There's a grave on the Pabeng River, 
 
 A grave that the Burmans shun, 
 And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri 
 
 Who tells how the work was done. 
 
 A Snider squibbed in the jungle — 
 
 Somebody laughed and fled, 
 And the men of the first Shikaris 
 
 Picked up their Subaltern dead, 
 With a big blue mark in his forehead 
 
 And the back blown out of his head. 
 
 Subadar Prag Tewarri, 
 
 Jemadar Hira Lai, 
 Took command of the party, 
 
 Twenty rifles in all; 
 Marched them down to the river 
 
 As the day was beginning to faU. 
 in 
 
ii2 THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD 
 
 They buried the boy by the river, 
 
 A blanket over his face — 
 They wept for their dead Lieutenant, 
 
 The men of an alien race — 
 They made a samddh in his honour, 
 
 A mark for his resting-place. 
 
 For they swore by the Holy Water, 
 They swore by the salt they ate, 
 
 That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib 
 Should go to his God in state; 
 
 With fifty file of Burman 
 To open him Heaven's gate. 
 
 The men of the First Shikaris 
 
 Marched till the break of day, 
 Till they came to the rebel village, 
 
 The village of Pabengmay — 
 hjingal covered the clearing, 
 
 Calthrops hampered the way. 
 
 Subadar Prag Tewarri, 
 
 Bidding them load with ball, 
 Halted a dozen rifles 
 
 Under the village-wall; 
 
THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD 113 
 
 Sent out a flanking party 
 With Jemadar Hira Lai. 
 
 The men of the First Shikaris 
 
 Shouted and smote and slew, 
 Turning the grinning jingal 
 
 On to the howling crew. 
 The Jemadar's flanking-party 
 
 Butchered the folk who flew. 
 
 Long was the morn of slaughter, 
 
 Long was the list of slain, 
 Five score heads were taken 
 
 Five score heads and twain; 
 And the men of the First Shikaris 
 
 Went back to their grave again; 
 
 Each man bearing a basket 
 
 Red as his palms that day, 
 Red as the blazing village — 
 
 The village of Pabengmay. 
 And the "drip-drip-drip" from the baskets 
 
 Reddened the grass by the way. 
 
 They made a pile of their trophies 
 High as a tall man's chin, 
 
H4 THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD 
 
 Head upon head distorted, 
 
 Clinched in a sightless grin, 
 Anger and pain and terror 
 
 Writ on the smoke-scorched skin. 
 
 Subadar Prag Tewarri 
 
 Set the head of the Boh 
 On the top of the mound in triumph 
 
 The head of his son below, 
 With the sword and the peacock-banner 
 
 That the world might behold and know. 
 
 Thus the samddh was perfect, 
 
 Thus was the lesson plain 
 Of the wrath of the First Shikaris — 
 
 The price of a white man slain; 
 And the men of the First Shikaris 
 
 Went back into camp again. 
 
 Then a silence came to the river, 
 
 A hush fell over the shore, 
 And Bohs that were brave departed, 
 And Sniders squibbed no more; 
 For the Burmans said 
 That a kuttah's head 
 Must be paid for with heads five score. 
 
THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD n S 
 
 There's a widow in sleepy Chester 
 
 Who weeps for her only son; 
 There's a grave on the Pabeng River, 
 
 A grave that the Burmans shun, 
 And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri 
 
 Who tells how the work was don$. 
 
AN OLD SONG 
 
 So long as 'neath the Kalka hills 
 
 The tonga-horn shall ring, 
 So long as down the Solon dip 
 
 The hard-held ponies swing; 
 So long as Tara Devi sees 
 
 The lights o' Simla town, 
 So long as Pleasure calls us up, 
 
 And duty drives us down, 
 // you love me as I love you 
 What pair so happy as we two ? 
 
 So long as Aces take the King, 
 
 Or backers take the bet, 
 So long as debt leads men to wed; 
 
 Or marriage leads to debt; 
 So long as little luncheons, Love, 
 And scandal hold their vogue, 
 While there is sport at Annandale 
 Or whiskey at Jutogh, 
 
 7/ you love me as I love you 
 What knite can cut our love in two f 
 116 
 
AN OLD SONG 117 
 
 So long as down the rocking floor 
 
 The raving polka spins, 
 So long as Kitchen Lancers spur 
 
 The maddened violins; 
 So long as through the whirling smoke 
 
 We hear the oft- told tale: — 
 "Twelve hundred in the Lotteries,' , 
 
 And Whatshername for sale? 
 If you love me as I love you 
 We'll play the game and win it too. 
 
 So long as Lust or Lucre tempt 
 
 Straight riders from the course, 
 So long as with each drink we pour 
 
 Black brewage of Remorse; 
 So long as those unloaded guns 
 
 We keep beside the bed, 
 Blow off, by obvious accident, 
 
 The lucky owner's head, 
 If you love me as I love you 
 What can Life kill or Death undo ? 
 
 So long as Death 'twixt dance and dance 
 Chills best and bravest blood 
 
Ii8 AN OLD SONG 
 
 And drops the reckless rider down 
 
 The rotten, rain-soaked khud; 
 So long as rumours from the North 
 
 Make loving wives afraid, 
 So long as Burma claims the boy, 
 And typhoid kills the maid, 
 If you love me as I love you 
 What knife can cut our love in two ? 
 
 By all that lights our daily life 
 
 Or works our lifelong woe, 
 From Boileaugurige to Simla Downs 
 
 And those grim glades below, 
 Where heedless of the flying hoof 
 
 And clamour overhead, 
 Sleep, with the gray-langur for guard 
 
 Our very scornful Dead, 
 If you love me as I love you 
 All Earth is servant to us two! 
 
 By Docket, Billetdoux, and File, 
 By Mountain, Cliff, and Fir, 
 
 By Fan and Sword and Office-box, 
 Bv Corset, Plume, and Spur; 
 
AN OLD SONG «g 
 
 By Riot, Revel, Waltz, and War, 
 
 By Woman, Work, and Bills, 
 By all the life that fizzes in 
 The everlasting Hills, 
 If you love me as I love you 
 What pair so happy as we two ? 
 
CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 
 
 If It be pleasant to look on, stalled in the packed 
 serai, 
 
 Does not the Young Man try Its temper and pace 
 ere he buy? 
 
 If She be pleasant to look on, what does the Young 
 Man say? 
 
 "Lo! She is pleasant to look on, give Her to me to- 
 day !" 
 
 2 
 
 Yea, though a Kafir die, to him is remitted Jehannum 
 If he borrowed in life from a native at sixty per cent, 
 per annum. 
 
 3 
 Blister we not for bursati ? So when the heart is vext ., 
 The pain of one maiden's refusal is drowned in the 
 pain of the next. 
 
 1 20 
 
CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 121 
 
 4 
 The temper of chums, the love of your wife, and a 
 
 new piano's tune — 
 Which of the three will you trust at the end of an 
 
 Indian June? 
 
 5 
 Who are the rulers of Ind — to whom shall we bow the 
 
 knee? 
 
 Make your peace with the women, and men will 
 
 make you L. G. 
 
 6 
 
 Does the woodpecker flit round the young ferash ? 
 
 Does grass clothe a new-built wall? 
 
 Is she under thirty the woman who holds a boy in her 
 
 thrall? 
 
 7 
 If She grows suddenly gracious — reflect. Is it all for 
 
 thee? 
 The blackbuck is stalked through the bullock, and 
 
 Man through jealousy. 
 
 8 
 Seek not for favour of women. So shall you find it 
 
 indeed. 
 Does not the boar break cover just when you're 
 
 lighting a weed? 
 
122 CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 
 
 9 
 If He play, being young and unskilful, for shekels of 
 
 silver and gold, 
 Take His money, my son, praising Allah. The kid 
 
 was ordained to be sold. 
 
 10 
 
 With a "weed" among men or horses verily this is 
 
 the best, 
 That you work him in office or dog-cart lightly — but 
 
 give him no rest. 
 
 ii 
 
 Pleasant the snaffle of Courtship, improving the 
 
 manners and carriage, 
 But the colt who is wise will abstain from the terrible 
 
 thorn-bit of Marriage; 
 
 12 
 
 As the thriftless gold of the babul so is the gold that 
 
 we spend 
 On a Derby Sweep, or our neighbour's wife, or the 
 
 horse that we buv from a friend. 
 
 V 
 
CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 123 
 
 The ways of man with a maid be strange, yet simple 
 
 and tame 
 To the ways of a man with a horse, when selling or 
 
 racing that same. 
 
 14 
 In public Her face turneth to thee, and pleasant 
 
 Her smile when ye meet. 
 It is ill. The cold rocks of El-Gidar smile thus on the 
 
 waves at their feet. 
 In public Her face is averted, with anger She nameth 
 
 thy name. 
 It is well. Was there ever a loser content with the 
 
 loss of the game? 
 
 15 
 If She have spoken a word, remember thy lips are 
 
 sealed, 
 And the Brand of the Dog is upon him by whom is 
 
 the secret revealed. 
 If She have written a letter, delay not an instant but 
 
 burn it. 
 Tear it in pieces, O Fool, and the wind to her mate 
 
 shall return it! 
 
124 CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 
 
 If there be trouble to Herward, and a lie of the 
 
 blackest can clear, 
 Lie, while thy lips can move or a man is alive to hear. 
 
 16 
 
 My Son, if a maiden deny thee and scuffiingly bid 
 
 thee give o'er, 
 Yet lip meets with lip at the lastward — get out! 
 
 She has been there before. 
 They are pecked on the ear and the chin and the nose 
 
 who are lacking in lore. 
 
 17 
 If we fall in the race, though we win, the hoof-slide is 
 
 scarred on the course 
 Though Allah and Earth pardon Sin, remaineth for 
 
 ever Remorse. 
 
 18 
 
 "By all I am misunderstood !" if the Matron shall 
 
 say, or the Maid: — 
 "Alas! I do not understand," my son, be thou nowise 
 
 afraid. 
 In vain in the sight of the Bird is the net of the 
 
 Fowler displayed. 
 
CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 125 
 
 My son, if I, Hafiz, thy father, take hold of thy knees 
 
 in my pain, 
 Demanding thy name on stamped paper, one day or 
 
 one hour — refrain. 
 Are the links of thy fetters so light that thou cravest 
 
 another man's chain? 
 
THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 Beneath the deep verandah's shade, 
 
 When bats begin to fly, 
 I sit me down and watch — alas 
 
 Another evening die. 
 Blood-red behind the sere ferash 
 
 She rises through the haze. 
 Sainted Diana ! can that be 
 
 The Moon of Other Days? 
 
 Ah! shade of little Kitty Smith, 
 
 Sweet Saint of Kensington! 
 Say, was it ever thus at Home 
 
 The Moon of August shone, 
 When arm in arm we wandered long 
 
 Through Putney's evening haze, 
 And Hammersmith was Heaven beneath 
 
 The Moon of Other Days? 
 
 But Wandle's stream is Sutlej now, 
 And Putney's evening haze 
 126 
 
[ THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS 127 
 
 The dust that half a hundred kine 
 
 Before my window raise. 
 Unkempt, unclean, athwart the mist 
 
 The seething city looms, 
 In place of Putney's golden gorse 
 
 The sickly babul blooms. 
 
 Glare down, old Hecate, through the dust 
 
 And bid the pie-dog yell, 
 Draw from the drain its typhoid germ, 
 
 From each bazar its smell; 
 Yea, suck the fever from the tank 
 
 And sap my strength therewith: 
 Thank Heaven, you show a smiling face 
 
 To little Kitty Smith! 
 
THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE 
 
 This fell when dinner-time was done — 
 'Twixt the first an' the second rub — 
 
 That oor mon Jock cam' hame again 
 To his rooms ahint the Club. 
 
 An' syne he laughed, an' syne he sang, 
 
 An' syne we thocht him f ou, 
 An' syne he trumped his partner's trick, 
 
 An' garred his partner rue. 
 
 Then up and spake an elder mon, 
 
 That held the Spade its Ace — 
 "God save the lad I Whence comes the licht 
 
 "That wimples on his face?" 
 
 An' Jock he sniggered, an' Jock he smiled, 
 An' ower the card-brim wunk: — 
 
 "I'm a' too fresh fra' the stirrup-peg, 
 "May be that I am drunk." 
 
 128 
 
THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE 129 
 
 " There's whusky brewed in Galashiels^ 
 
 "An' L. L. L. forbye; 
 "But never liquor lit the low 
 
 "That keeks fra' oot your eye. 
 
 "There's a thrid o' hair on your dress-coat breast 
 
 " Aboon the heart a wee? " 
 "Oh! that is fra' the lang-haired Skye 
 
 "That slobbers ower me." 
 
 "Oh! lang-haired Skyes are lovin' beasts, 
 
 "An' terrier dogs are fair, 
 "But never yet was terrier born, 
 
 " Wi' ell-lang gowden hair ! 
 
 "There's a smirch o' pouther on your breast 
 
 "Below the left lappel?" 
 "Oh! that is fra' my auld cigar, 
 
 " Whenas the stump-end fell." 
 
 "Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse, 
 
 "For ye are short o' cash. 
 "An' best Havannahs couldna leave, 
 
 "Sae white an' pure an ash. 
 
130 THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE 
 
 "This nicht ye stopped a story braid, 
 
 "An* stopped it wi' a curse — 
 "Last nicht ye told that tale yoursel, 
 
 "An' capped it wi' a worse! 
 
 " Oh ! we're no f ou ! Oh ! we're no f ou ! 
 
 "But plainly we can ken 
 " Ye're fallin', fallin', fra' the band 
 
 "O' cantie single men!" 
 
 An* it fell when wrm-shaws were sere, 
 An* the nichts were lang and mirk, 
 
 In braw new breeks, wi' a gowden ring, 
 Oor Joclrie gaed to the Kirk, 
 
WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID 
 
 [June 2ist, 1887] 
 
 By the well, where the bullocks go 
 
 Silent and blind and slow — 
 
 By the field, where the young corn dies 
 
 In the face of the sultry skies, 
 
 They have heard, as the dull Earth hears 
 
 The voice of the wind of an hour, 
 
 The sound of the Great Queen's voice:— 
 
 "My God hath given me years, 
 
 "Hath granted dominion and power: 
 
 "And I bid you, O Land, rejoice." 
 
 And the Ploughman settles the share 
 More deep in the grudging clod; 
 For he saith: — "The wheat is my care 
 "And the rest is the will of God. 
 "He sent the Mahratta spear 
 "As He sendeth the rain, 
 "And the Mlech, in the fated year, 
 "Broke the spear in twain, 
 
i 3 2 WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID 
 
 "And was broken in turn. Who knows 
 "How our Lords make strife? 
 "It is good that the young wheat grows ; 
 "For the bread is Life." 
 
 Then, far and near, as the twilight drew, 
 
 Hissed up to the scornful dark 
 Great serpents, blazing, of red and blue, 
 That rose and faded, and rose anew, 
 
 That the Land might wonder and mark. 
 "To-day is a day of days," they said, 
 "Make merry, O People all!" 
 And the Ploughman listened and bowed his head: 
 "To-day and to-morrow God's Will," he said, 
 As he trimmed the lamps on the wall. 
 
 "He sendeth us years that are good, 
 
 "As He sendeth the dearth. 
 
 "He giveth to each man his food, 
 
 "Or Her food to the Earth. 
 
 "Our Kings and our Queens are afar — 
 
 "On their peoples be peace — 
 
 " God bringeth the rain to the Bar, 
 
 "That our cattle increase." 
 
WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID 133 
 
 And the Ploughman settled the share 
 
 More deep in the sun-dried clod: — 
 
 "Mogul, Mahratta, and Mlech from the North, 
 
 "And White Queen over the Seas — 
 
 " God raise th them up and drive th them forth 
 
 "As the dust of the ploughshare flies in the breeze; 
 
 "But the wheat and the cattle are all my care, 
 
 "And the rest is the will of God." 
 
THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE 
 
 "To-tschin-shu is condemned to death. How can he drink 
 tea with the executioner ?" — Japanese Proverb. 
 
 The eldest son bestrides him, 
 
 And the pretty daughter rides him, 
 
 And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course; 
 
 And there wakens in my bosom 
 
 An emotion chill and gruesome 
 
 As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse. 
 
 Neither shies he nor is restive, 
 But a hideously suggestive 
 Trot, professional and placid, he affects; 
 And the cadence of his hoof-beats 
 To my mind this grim reproof beats:- — 
 "Mend your pace, my friend, I'm coming. Who's 
 the next?" 
 
 Ah! stud-bred of ill-omen, 
 I have watched the strongest go — men 
 
 134 
 
THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE 135 
 
 Of pith and might and muscle — at your heels, 
 Down the plantain-bordered highway 
 (Heaven send it ne'er be my way!), 
 In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels. 
 
 Answer, sombre Deast and dreary, 
 
 Where is Brown, the young, the cheery, 
 
 Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force? 
 
 You were at that last dread dak 
 
 We must cover at a walk, 
 
 Bring them back to me, Undertaker's Horse! 
 
 With your mane unhogged and flowing, 
 
 And your curious way of going, 
 
 And that business-like black crimping of your tail, 
 
 E'en with Beauty on your back, Sir, 
 
 Pacing as a lady's hack, Sir, 
 
 What wonder when I meet you I turn pale? 
 
 It may be you wait your time, Beast, 
 
 Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast, 
 
 Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the glass, 
 
 Follow after with the others, 
 
 Where some dusky heathen smothers 
 
 Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass. 
 
i 3 6 THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE 
 
 Or, perchance, in years to follow, 
 
 I shall watch your plump sides hollow, 
 
 See Carnif ex (gone lame) become a corse, 
 
 See old age at last o'erpower you, 
 
 And the Station Pack devour you, 
 
 I shall chuckle then, Undertaker's Horse! 
 
 But to insult, gibe, and quest, I've 
 Still the hideously suggestive 
 Trot that hammers out the unrelenting text, 
 And I hear it hard behind me 
 In what place soe'er I find me: — 
 "Sure to catch you sooner or later. Who's tht 
 next?" 
 
ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 
 Lord Dufferin to Lord Landsdowne:— 
 
 So here's your Empire. No more wine, then? Good. 
 We'll clear the Aides and khitmatgars away. 
 (You'll know that fat old fellow with the knife — 
 He keeps the Name Book, talks in English, too, 
 And almost thinks himself the Government.) 
 
 Youth, Youth, Youth! Forgive me, you're so 
 
 young. 
 Forty from sixty — twenty years of work 
 And power to back the working. Ay de mi ! 
 You want to know, you want to see, to touch 
 And, by your lights, to act. It's natural. 
 
 1 wonder can I help you. Let me try. 
 
 You saw — what did you see from Bombay east ? 
 Enough to frighten any one but me? 
 Near that ! It frightened Me in Eighty-Four ! 
 You shouldn't take a man from Canada 
 And bid him smoke in powder-magazines; 
 Nor with a Reputation such as . . . Bah! 
 That ghost has haunted me for twenty years, 
 
 i37 
 
i 3 8 ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 
 
 My Reputation now full-blown — Your fault — 
 
 Yours, with your stories of the strife at Home, 
 
 Who's up, who's down, who leads and who is led — 
 
 One reads so much, one hears so little here. 
 
 Well, now's your turn of exile. I go back 
 
 To Rome and leisure. All roads lead to Rome. 
 
 Or books — the refuge of the destitute. 
 
 When you . . . that brings me back to India. See! 
 
 Start clear. / couldn't. Egypt served my turn. 
 You'll never plumb the Oriental mind, 
 And if you did it isn't worth the toil. 
 Think of a sleek French priest in Canada; 
 Divide by twenty half-breeds. Multiply 
 By twice the Sphinx's silence. There's your East, 
 And you're as wise as ever. So am I. 
 
 Accept on trust and work in darkness, strike 
 At a venture, stumble forward, make your mark, 
 (It's chalk on granite,) then thank God no flame 
 Leaps from the rock to shrivel mark and man. 
 I'm clear — my mark is made. Three months oi 
 
 drouth 
 Had ruined much. It rained and washed away 
 The specks that might have gathered on my Name. 
 I took a country twice the size of France, 
 
ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 139 
 
 And shuttered up one doorway in the North. 
 
 I stand by those. You'll find that both will pay, 
 
 I pledged my Name on both— they're yours to-night. 
 
 Hold to them — they hold fame enough for two. 
 
 I'm old, but I shall live till Burma pays. 
 
 Men there — not German traders— Cr-sthw-te 
 
 knows — 
 You'll find it in my papers. For the North 
 Guns always — quietly — but always guns. 
 You've seen your Council? Yes, they'll try to rule, 
 And prize their Reputations. Have you met 
 A grim lay-reader with a taste for coins, 
 And faith in Sin most men withhold from God? 
 He's gone to England. R-p-n knew his grip 
 And kicked. A Council always has its H-pes. 
 They look for nothing from the West but Death 
 Or Bath or Bournemouth. Here's their ground. 
 
 They fight 
 Until the middle classes take them back, 
 One of ten millions plus a C. S. I. 
 Or drop in harness. Legion of the Lost? 
 Not altogether — earnest, narrow men, 
 But chiefly earnest, and they'll do your work, 
 And end by writing letters to the Times. 
 
i 4 o ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 
 
 (Shall / write letters, answering H-nt-r — fawn 
 With R-p-n on the Yorkshire grocers? Ugh !) 
 They have their Reputations. Look to one — 
 I work with him — the smallest of them all, 
 White-haired, red-faced, who sat the plunging horse 
 Out in the garden. He's your right-hand man, 
 And dreams of tilting W-ls-y from the throne, 
 But while he dreams gives work he cannot buy; 
 He has his Reputation — wants the Lords 
 By way of Frontier Roads. Meantime, I think, 
 He values very much the hand that falls 
 Upon his shoulder at the Council table — 
 Hates cats and knows his business: which is yours. 
 
 Your business! Twice a hundred million souls. 
 Your business ! I could tell you what I did 
 Some nights of Eighty-Five, at Simla, worth 
 A Kingdom's ransom. When a big ship drives 
 God knows to what new reef, the man at the wheel 
 Prays with the passengers. They lose their lives. 
 Or rescued go their way; but he's no man 
 To take his trick at the wheel again — that's worse 
 Than drowning. Well, a galled Mashobra mule 
 (You'll see Mashobra) passed me on the Mall, 
 And I was — some fool's wife had ducked and bowed 
 
ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 141 
 
 To show the others I would stop and speak. 
 
 Then the mule fell — three galls, a hand-breadth each 
 
 Behind the withers. Mrs. Whatsisname 
 
 Leers at the mule and me by turns, thweet thoul! 
 
 "How could they make him carry such a load! " 
 
 I saw — it isn't often I dream dreams — 
 
 More than the mule that minute— smoke and flame 
 
 From Simla to the haze below. That's weak. 
 
 You're younger. You'll dream dreams before you've 
 
 done. 
 You've youth, that's one— good workmen— that 
 
 means two 
 Fair chances in your favour. Fate's the third. 
 I know what J did. Do you ask me, "Preach? " 
 I answer by my past or else go back 
 To platitudes of rule — or take you thus 
 In confidence and say: — "You know the trick: 
 " You've governed Canada. You know. You know !" 
 And all the while commend you to Fate's hand 
 (Here at the top one loses sight o' God), 
 Commend you, then, to something more than you — 
 The Other People's blunders . . . that's all. 
 I'd agonize to serve you if I could. 
 It's incommunicable, like the cast 
 
142 ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 
 
 That drops the tackle with the gut adry. 
 
 Too much — too little — there's your salmon lost S 
 
 And so I tell you nothing — wish you luck, 
 
 And wonder — how I wonder! — for your sake 
 
 And triumph for my own. You're young, you're 
 
 young, 
 You hold to half a hundred Shibboleths. 
 I'm old. I followed Power to the last, 
 Gave her my best, and Power followed Me. 
 It's worth it — on my soul I'm speaking plain, 
 Here by the claret glasses! — worth it all. 
 I gave — no matter what I gave — I win. 
 I know I win. Mine's work, good work that lives! 
 A country twice the size of France — the North 
 Safeguarded. That's my record : sink the rest 
 And better if you can. The Rains may serve, 
 Rupees may rise — threepence will give you Fame — 
 It's rash to hope for sixpence — If they rise 
 Get guns, more guns, and lift the salt-tax. 
 
 Oh! 
 I told you what the Congress meant or thought? 
 I'll answer nothing. Half a year will prove 
 The full extent of time and thought you'll spare 
 To Congress. Ask a Lady Doctor once 
 
ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 143 
 
 How little Begums see the light — deduce 
 
 Thence how the True Reformer's child is born. 
 
 It's interesting, curious ... and vile. 
 
 I told the Turk he was a gentleman. 
 
 I told the Russian that his Tarter veins 
 
 Bled pure Parisian ichor; and he purred. 
 
 The Congress doesn't purr. I think it swears. 
 
 You're young — you'll swear too ere you've reached 
 
 the end. 
 The End! God help you, if there be a God. 
 (There must be one to startle Gl-dst-ne's soul 
 In that new land where all the wires are cut, 
 And Cr-ss snores anthems on the asphodel.) 
 God help you ! And I'd help you if I could, 
 But that's beyond me. Yes, your speech was crude. 
 Sound claret after olives — yours and mine; 
 But Medoc slips into vin ordinaire. 
 (I'll drink my first at Genoa to your health) 
 Raise it to Hock. You'll never catch my style. 
 And, after all, the middle-classes grip 
 The middle-class — for Brompton talk Earl's Court. 
 Perhaps you're right. I'll see you in the Times — 
 A quarter-column of eye-searing print, 
 A leader once a quarter — then a war; 
 
144 ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 
 
 The Strand abellow through the fog: — "Defeat!" 
 " 'Orrible slaughter ! " While you lie awake 
 And wonder. Oh, you'll wonder ere you're free! 
 I wonder now. The four years slide away 
 So fast, so fast, and leave me here alone. 
 R — y C-lv-n, L — 1, R-b-rts, B-ck, the rest, 
 Princes and Powers of Darkness, troops and trains, 
 (I cannot sleep in trains,) land piled on land, 
 Whitewash and weariness, red rockets, dust, 
 White snows that mocked me, palaces — with 
 
 draughts, 
 And W-stl-nd with the drafts he couldn't pay, 
 Poor W-ls-n reading his obituary 
 Before he died, and H-pe, the man with bones, 
 And A-tch-s-n a dripping mackintosh 
 At Council in the Rains, his grating "Sirrr" 
 Half drowned by H-nt-r's silky: — "Bat my 
 
 lahd." 
 Hunterian always: M-rsh-1 spinning plates 
 Or standing on his head; the Rent Bill's roar, 
 A hundred thousand speeches, much red cloth, 
 And Smiths thrice happy if I call them Jones, 
 (I can't remember half their names) or reined 
 My pony on the Mall to greet their wives, 
 
ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 145 
 
 More trains, more troops, more dust, and then all's 
 
 done. 
 Four years, and I forget. If I forget 
 How will they bear me in their minds? The North 
 Safeguarded — nearly (R-b-rts knows the rest), 
 A country twice the size of France annexed. 
 That stays at least. The rest may pass — may pass — 
 Your heritage — and I can teach you naught. 
 "High trust," "vast honour," "interests twice as 
 
 vast," 
 "Due reverence to your Council" — keep to those. 
 t envy you the twenty years you've gained, 
 But not the five to follow. What's that? One! 
 Two! — Surely not so late. Good-night. Don't 
 
 dream. 
 
THE GALLEY-SLAVE 
 
 Oh gallant was our galley from her carven steering- 
 wheel 
 
 To her figurehead of silver and her beak of hammered 
 steel; 
 
 The leg-bar chafed the ankle and we gasped for 
 cooler air, 
 
 But no galley on the water with our galley could 
 compare! 
 
 Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts 
 
 were stepped in gold — 
 We ran a mighty merchandise of niggers in the hold; 
 The white foam spun behind us, and the black shark 
 
 swam below, 
 As we gripped the kicking sweep-head and we made 
 
 that galley go. 
 
 'Twas merry in the galley, for we revelled now and 
 
 then — 
 If they wore us down like cattle, f aith, we fought an<? 
 
 loved like men! 
 
 146 
 
THE GALLEY-SLAVE 147 
 
 As we snatched her through the water, so we 
 
 snatched a minute's bliss, 
 And the mutter of the dying never spoiled the lovers* 
 
 kiss. 
 
 Our women and our children toiled beside us in the 
 dark — 
 
 They died, we filed their fetters, and we heaved 
 
 them to the shark — 
 We heaved them to the fishes, but so fast the galley 
 
 sped 
 We had only time to envy, for we could not mourn 
 
 our dead. 
 
 Bear witness, once my comrades, what a hard-bit 
 
 gang were we — 
 The servants of the sweep-head but the masters of 
 
 the sea! 
 By the hands that drove her forward as she plunged 
 
 and yawed and sheered, 
 Woman, Man, or God or Devil, was there anything 
 
 we feared? 
 
 Was it storm? Our fathers faced it and a wilder 
 never blew; 
 
148 THE GALLEY-SLAVE 
 
 Earth that waited for the wreckage watched the 
 
 galley struggle through. 
 Burning noon or choking midnight, Sickness, Sorrow, 
 
 Parting, Death? 
 Nay, our very babes would mock you had they time 
 
 for idle breath. 
 
 But to-day I leave the galley and another takes my 
 
 place; 
 There's my name upon the deck-beam — let it stand 
 
 a little space. 
 I am free — to watch my messmates beating out to 
 
 open main. 
 Free of all that Life can offer — save to handle sweep 
 
 again. 
 
 By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of cling- 
 ing steel, 
 
 By the welt the whips have left me, by the scars that 
 never heal; 
 
 By eyes grown old with staring through the sun- 
 wash on the brine, 
 
 I am paid in full for service — would that service still 
 were mine! 
 
THE GALLEY-SLAVE 149 
 
 Yet they talk of times and seasons and of woe the 
 
 years bring forth, 
 Of our galley swamped and shattered in the rollers of 
 
 the North. 
 When the niggers break the hatches and the decks 
 
 are gay with gore. 
 And a craven-hearted pilot crams her crashing on the 
 
 shore. 
 
 She will need no half-mast signal, minute-gun, or 
 
 rocket-flare, 
 When the cry for help goes seaward, she will find her 
 
 servants there. 
 Battered chain-gangs of the orlop, grizzled drafts of 
 
 years gone by, 
 To the bench that broke their manhood, they shall 
 
 lash themselves and die. 
 
 Hale and crippled, young and aged, paid, deserted, 
 
 shipped away — 
 Palace, cot, and lazaretto shall make up the tale that 
 
 day 
 
ISO THE GALLEY-SLAVE 
 
 When the skies are black above them, and the decks 
 ablaze beneath, 
 
 And the top-men clear the raffle with their clasp- 
 knives in their teeth. 
 
 It may be that Fate will give me life and leave to 
 
 row once more — 
 Set some strong man free for righting as I take awhile 
 
 his oar. 
 But to-day I leave the galley. Shall I curse her 
 
 service then? 
 God be thanked — whate'er comes alter, I have 
 
 lived and toiled with Men! 
 
A TALE OF TWO CITIES 
 
 Where the sober-coloured cultivator smiles 
 
 On his bytes; 
 Where the cholera, the cyclone, and the Crow 
 
 Come and go; 
 Where the merchant deals in indigo and tea, 
 
 Hides and ghi; 
 Where the Babu drops inflammatory hints 
 
 In his prints; 
 Stands a City — Charnock chose it — packed away 
 
 Near a Bay — 
 By the sewage rendered fetid, by the sewer 
 
 Made impure, 
 By the Sunderbunds unwholesome, by the swamp 
 
 Moist and damp; 
 And the City and the Viceroy, as we see, 
 
 Don't agree. 
 
 Once, two hundred years ago, the trader came 
 Meek and tame. 
 isi 
 
i 5 2 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 
 
 Where his timid foot first halted, there he stayed, 
 
 Till mere trade 
 Grew to Empire, and he sent his armies forth 
 
 South and North. 
 Till the country from Peshawar to Ceylon 
 
 Was his own. 
 Thus the midday halt of Charnock — more's the pity! 
 
 Grew a City. 
 As the fungus sprouts chaotic from its bed, 
 
 So it spread — 
 Chance-directed, chance-erected, laid and built 
 
 On the silt — 
 Palace, byre, hovel — poverty and pride — 
 
 Side by Side; 
 And, above the packed and pestilential town, 
 
 Death looked down. 
 
 But the Rulers in that City by the Sea, 
 
 Turned to flee — 
 Fled, with each returning Spring-tide from its ills 
 
 To the Hills. 
 From the clammy fogs of morning, from the blaze 
 
 Of the days, 
 From the sickness of the noontide, from the heat 
 
 Beat retreat; 
 
A TALE OF TWO CITIES 153 
 
 For the country from Peshawar to Ceylon 
 
 Was their own. 
 But the Merchant risked the perils of the Plain 
 
 For his gain. 
 Now the resting-place of Charnock, 'neath the palms> 
 
 Asks an alms, 
 And the burden of its lamentation is, 
 
 Briefly, this: — 
 " Because, for certain months, we boil and stew, 
 
 " So should you. 
 "Cast the Viceroy and his Council, to perspire 
 
 "In our fire!" 
 And for answer to the argument, in vain 
 
 We explain 
 That an amateur Saint Lawrence cannot cry: — 
 
 "All must fry!" 
 That the Merchant risks the perils of the Plain 
 
 For his gain. 
 Nor can Rulers rule a house that men grow rich in, 
 
 From its kitchen. 
 
 Let the Babu drop inflammatory hints 
 
 In his prints; 
 And mature — consistent soul — his plan: for stealing 
 
 To Darjeeling: 
 
154 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 
 
 Let the Merchant seek, who makes his silver pile, 
 
 England's isle; 
 Let the City Charnock pitched on — evil day I — 
 
 Go Her way. 
 Though the argosies of Asia at Her doors 
 
 Heap their stores, 
 Though Her enterprise and energy secure 
 
 Income sure, 
 Though "out-station orders punctually obeyed'' 
 
 Swell Her trade — 
 Still } for rule, administration, and the rest 
 
 Simla's best. 
 
IN SPRINGTIME 
 
 My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and 
 the peach, 
 And the k'dil sings above it, in the siris by the well, 
 From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel's 
 chattering speech, 
 And the blue jay screams and flutters where the 
 cheery satbhai dwell. 
 But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the kail's note 
 is strange; 
 I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom- 
 burdened bough. 
 Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds 
 of Springtime range- 
 Give me back one day in England, for it's Spring in 
 England now! 
 Through the pines the gusts are booming, o'er the 
 brown fields blowing chill, 
 From the furrow of the plough-share streams the 
 fragrance of the loam, 
 
156 IN SPRINGTIME 
 
 And the hawk nests in the cliff side and the jackdaw 
 on the hill, 
 And my heart is back in England 'mid the sights 
 and sounds of Home. 
 But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of rose 
 and peach is, 
 Ah! koil, little koil, singing on the siris bough, 
 In my ears the knell of exile your ceaseless bell-like 
 speech is — 
 Can you tell me aught of England or of Spring in 
 England now? 
 
GIFFEN'S DEBT 
 
 r mprimis he was " broke." Thereafter left 
 
 His regiment and, later, took to drink; 
 
 Then, having lost the balance of his friends, 
 
 "Went Fantee" — joined the people of the land, 
 
 Turned three parts Mussulman and one Hindu, 
 
 And lived among the Gauri villagers, 
 
 Who gave him shelter and a wife or twain, 
 
 And boasted that a thorough, full-blood sahib 
 
 Had come among them. Thus he spent his time. 
 
 Deeply indebted to the village shroff, 
 
 (Who never asked for payment) always drunk, 
 
 Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels; 
 
 Forgetting that he was an Englishman. 
 
 You know they dammed the Gauri with a dam, 
 And all the good contractors scamped their work, 
 And all the bad material at hand 
 Was used to dam the Gauri — which was cheap, 
 And, therefore, proper. Then the Gauri burst, 
 And several hundred thousand cubic tons 
 
 151 
 
158 GIFFEN'S DEBT 
 
 Of water dropped into the valley, flop, 
 
 And drowned some five and twenty villagers, 
 
 And did a lakh or two of detriment 
 
 To crops and cattle. When the flood went down 
 
 We found him dead, beneath an old dead horse, 
 
 Full six miles down the valley. So we said 
 
 He was a victim to the Demon Drink, 
 
 And moralized upon him for a week, 
 
 And then forgot him. Which was natural. 
 
 But, in the valley of the Gauri, men 
 Beneath the shadow of the big new dam, 
 Relate a foolish legend of the flood, 
 Accounting for the little loss of life 
 (Only those five and twenty villagers) 
 In this wise: — On the evening of the flood, 
 They heard the groaning of the rotten dam, 
 And voices of the Mountain Devils. Then 
 An incarnation of the local God, 
 Mounted upon a monster-neighing horse, 
 And flourishing a flail-like whip, came down, 
 Breathing ambrosia, to the villages, 
 And fell upon the simple villagers 
 With yells beyond the power of mortal throat, 
 And blows beyond the power of mortal hand, 
 
GIFFEN'S DEBT 159 
 
 And smote them with the flail-like whip, and drove 
 
 Them clamorous with terror up the hill, 
 
 And scattered, with the monster-neighing steed, 
 
 Their crazy cottages about their ears, 
 
 And generally cleared those villages. . 
 
 Then came the water, and the local God, 
 
 Breathing ambrosia, flourishing his whip, 
 
 And mounted on his monster-neighing steed, 
 
 Went down the valley with the flying trees 
 
 And residue of homesteads, while they watched 
 
 Safe on the mountain-side these wondrous things, 
 
 And knew that they were much beloved of Heaven. 
 
 Wherefore, and when the dam was newly built, 
 
 They raised a temple to the local God, 
 
 And burnt all manner of unsavoury things 
 
 Upon his altar, and created priests, 
 
 And blew into a conch and banged a bell, 
 
 And told the story of the Gauri flood 
 
 With circumstance and much embroidery. 
 
 So be, the whiskified Objectionable, 
 
 Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels, 
 
 Became the tutelary Deity 
 
 Of all the Gauri valley villages; 
 
 And may in time become a Solar Myth. 
 
TWO MONTHS 
 
 In June 
 
 No hope, no change! The clouds have shut us in, 
 And through the cloud the sullen Sun strikes down 
 Full on the bosom of the tortured Town. 
 Till Night falls heavy as remembered sin 
 That will not suffer sleep or thought of ease. 
 And, hour on hour, the dry-eyed Moon in spite 
 Glares through the haze and mocks with watery 
 light 
 The torment of the uncomplaining trees. 
 Far off, the Thunder bellows her despair 
 To echoing Earth thrice parched. The lightnings fly 
 In vain. No help the heaped-up clouds afford, 
 But wearier weight of burdened, burning air. 
 What truce with Dawn? Look, from the aching sky 
 Day stalks, a tyrant with a flaming sword! 
 
 160 
 
TWO MONTHS 
 In September 
 
 At dawn there was a murmur in the trees, 
 
 A ripple on the tank, and in the air 
 
 Presage of coming coolness — everywhere 
 A voice of prophecy upon the breeze. 
 Up leapt the Sun and smote the dust to gold, 
 
 And strove to parch anew the heedless land, 
 All impotently, as a King grown old 
 
 Wars for the Empire crumbling 'neath his hand. 
 
 One after one, the lotos-petals fell, 
 
 Beneath the onslaught of the rebel year 
 
 In mutiny against a furious sky; 
 
 And far-off Winter whispered: — "It is well! 
 
 "Hot Summer dies. Behold your help is near, 
 
 : 'For when men's need is sorest, then come 'I." 
 
 161 
 
L'ENVOI 
 
 [To whom it may concern] 
 
 The smoke upon your Altar dies, 
 
 The flowers decay, 
 The Goddess of your sacrifice 
 
 Has flown away. 
 What profit then to sing or slay 
 The sacrifice from day to day? 
 
 "We know the Shrine is void," they said, 
 
 "The Goddess flown— 
 "Yet wreaths are on the altar laid — 
 
 "The Altar-Stone 
 "Is black with fumes of sacrifice, 
 "Albeit She has fled our eyes. 
 
 "For, it may be, if still we sing 
 
 "And tend the Shrine, 
 "Some Deity on wandering wing 
 
 "May there incline; 
 "And, finding all in order meet, 
 " Stay while we worship at Her feet." 
 
 162 
 
BALLADS 
 
 AND 
 
 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
WOLCOTT BALESTIER 
 
Beyond the path of the outmost sun, through utter darkness 
 
 hurled, 
 Further than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled. 
 Sit such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved, and made our 
 
 world. 
 
 They are purged of pride because they died; they know the worth 
 
 of their bays; 
 They sit at wine with the Maidens Nine, and the Gods of the 
 
 Elder Days — 
 It is their will to serve or be still as fitteth our Father's praise. 
 
 'Tis theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where Azrael's 
 
 outposts are, 
 Or buffet a path through the Pit's red wrath when God goes out 
 
 to war, 
 Or hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a redmaned ' 
 
 star. 
 
 They take their mirth in the joy of the earth — they dare not grieve 
 
 for her pain — 
 For they know of toil and the end of toil — they know God's Law 
 
 is plain; 
 So they whistle the Devil to make them sport who know that sin 
 
 is vain. 
 
 And oftiimes cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade^ 
 And tells them tales of the Seventh Day — of Edens newly made. 
 And they rise to their feet as He passes by — gentlemen un* 
 afraid. 
 
To these who are cleansed of base Desire, Sorrow and Lust and 
 
 Shame — 
 Gods, for they knew the heart of Men — men, for they stooped 
 
 to Fame — 
 Some on the breath that men call Death, my brother's spirit 
 
 came. 
 
 Scarce had he need to cast his pride or slough the dross of earth. 
 E'en as he trod that day to God, so walked he from this birth — 
 In simpleness and gentleness and honour and clean mirth. 
 
 So, cup to lip in fellowship, they gave him welcome high 
 
 And made him place at the banquet board, the Strong Men 
 
 ranged thereby, 
 Who had done his work and held his peace and had no fear to 
 
 Beyond the loom of the last lone star through open darkness 
 
 hurled, 
 Further than rebel comet dared or hiving star-swarm swirled, 
 Sits he with such as praise our God for that they served hi$ 
 
 vmld. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The greater part of the "Barrack-Roam Bal- 
 lads," as well as "Cleared" "Tomlinson" 
 and "The English Flag" have appeared in the 
 "National Observer" Messrs. Macmillan and 
 Co. have kindly given me permission to reproduce 
 four ballads contributed to their Magazine, 
 and I am indebted to the "St. James Gazette" 
 for a like courtesy in regard to the ballads of 
 the " Clampherdown" and "Bolivar" and the 
 1 ' Imperial Rescript. " " The Rhyme of the Three 
 Captains" was printed first in the " Athenmum." 
 I fancy that most of the other verses are new. 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING. 
 
BALLADS 
 
THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 
 
 Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the 
 
 twain shall meet, 
 Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great 
 
 Judgment Seat; 
 But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, 
 
 nor Birth, 
 When two strong men stand face to face, thoi' they come 
 
 from the ends of the earth 1 
 
 K.amal is out with twenty men to raise the Border 
 
 side, 
 And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the 
 
 Colonel's pride: 
 He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the 
 
 dawn and the day, 
 And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her 
 
 far away. 
 
4 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop 
 
 of the Guides: 
 "Is there never a man of all my men can say where 
 
 Kamal hides? " 
 Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the 
 
 Ressaldar, 
 "If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know 
 
 where his pickets are. 
 "At dusk he harries the Abazai — at dawn he is into 
 
 Bonair, 
 "But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to 
 
 fare, 
 "So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can 
 
 " By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win 
 
 to the Tongue of Jagai, 
 "But if he be passed the Tongue of Jagai, right 
 
 swiftly turn ye then, 
 "For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain 
 
 is sown with Kamal's men. 
 "There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and 
 
 low lean thorn between, 
 "And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a 
 
 man is seen." 
 
EAST AND WEST 5 
 
 The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough 
 
 dun was he, 
 With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell, and 
 
 the head of the gallows-tree. 
 The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him 
 
 stay to eat — 
 Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long 
 
 at his meat. 
 He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can 
 
 fly, 
 
 Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of 
 the Tongue of Jagai, 
 
 Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal 
 upon her back, 
 
 And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made 
 the pistol crack. 
 
 He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whist- 
 ling ball went wide. 
 
 "Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. "Show now 
 if ye can ride." 
 
 It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust- 
 devils go, 
 
 The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a 
 barren doe. 
 
6 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his 
 
 head above, 
 But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a 
 
 maiden plays with a glove. 
 There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and 
 
 low lean thorn between, 
 And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a 
 
 man was seen. 
 They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their 
 
 hoofs drum up the dawn, 
 The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare 
 
 like a new-roused fawn. 
 The dun he fell at a water-course — in a woeful heap 
 
 fell he, 
 And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and 
 
 pulled the rider free. 
 He has knocked the pistol out of his hand — small 
 
 room was there to strive, 
 " Twas only by favour of mine," quoth he, "ye rode 
 
 so long alive: 
 "There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not 
 
 a clump of tree, 
 "But covered a man of my own men with his rifle 
 
 cocked on his knee. 
 
EAST AND WEST 7 
 
 "If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it 
 
 low, 
 "The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all 
 
 in a row: 
 "If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have 
 
 held it high, 
 "The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till 
 
 she could not fly." 
 Lightly answered the Colonel's son:— "Do good to 
 
 bird and beast, 
 "But count who come for the broken meats before 
 
 thou makest a feast. 
 "If there should follow a thousand swords to carry 
 
 my bones away, 
 "Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a 
 
 thief could pay. 
 "They will feed their horse on the standing crop, 
 
 their men on the garnered grain, 
 "The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when 
 
 all the cattle are slain. 
 " But if thou thinkest the price be fair,— thy brethren 
 
 wait to sup, 
 "The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn,— howl, dog, 
 
 and call them up! 
 
8 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 "And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and 
 
 gear and stack, 
 " Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my 
 
 own way back!" 
 Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon 
 
 his feet. 
 "No talk shall be of dogs," said he, "when wolf and 
 
 grey wolf meet. 
 "May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or 
 
 breath; 
 "What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at 
 
 the dawn with Death? " 
 Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "I hold by the 
 
 blood of my clan: 
 "Take up the mare for my father's gift — by God, 
 
 she has carried a man! " 
 The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled 
 
 against his breast, 
 "We be two strong men," said Kamal then, "but she 
 
 loveth the younger best. 
 "So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise- 
 studded rein, 
 "My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver 
 
 stirrups twain." 
 
EAST AND WEST 9 
 
 The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle- 
 end, 
 "Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he; "will 
 
 ye take the mate from a friend? " 
 "A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a limb for 
 
 the risk of a limb. 
 "Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son 
 
 to him!" 
 With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from 
 
 a mountain-crest — 
 He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked 
 
 like a lance in rest. 
 "Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who leads a 
 
 troop of the Guides, 
 "And thou must ride at his left side as shield on 
 
 shoulder rides. 
 "Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board 
 
 and bed, 
 "Thy life is his — thy fate it is to guard him with thy 
 
 head. 
 "So thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all 
 
 her foes are thine, 
 " And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace 
 
 of the Border-line, 
 
io THE BALLAD OF 
 
 "And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy 
 
 way to power — 
 " Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am 
 
 hanged in Peshawur." 
 
 They have looked each other between the eyes, and 
 
 there they found no fault, 
 They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on 
 
 leavened bread and salt: 
 They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on 
 
 fire and fresh-cut sod, 
 On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the 
 
 Wondrous Names of God. 
 The Coloners son he rides the mare and KamaFs boy 
 
 the dun, 
 And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where 
 
 there went forth but one. 
 And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full 
 
 twenty swords flew clear — 
 There was not a man but carried his feud with the 
 
 blood of the mountaineer. 
 "Ha' done! ha' done!" said the Colonel's son. 
 
 "Put up the steel at your sides* 
 
EAST AND WEST n 
 
 "Last night ye had struck at a Border thief — to-night 
 'tis a man of the Guides! " 
 
 Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the two 
 
 shall meet, 
 Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great 
 
 Judgment Seat; 
 But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, 
 
 nor Birth, 
 When two strong men stand face to face, tho y they come 
 
 from the ends of the earth. 
 
THE LAST SUTTEE 
 
 Not many years ago a King died in one of the Rajpoot States. 
 His wives, disregarding the orders of the English against suttee, 
 would have broken out of the palace had not the gates been barred. 
 But one of them, disguised as the King's favourite dancing-girl, 
 passed through the line of guards and reached the pyre. There, 
 her courage failing, she prayed Iter cousin, a baron of the court, 
 to kill her. This he did, not knowing who she was. 
 
 Udai Chand lay sick to death 
 
 In his hold by Gungra hill. 
 All night we heard the death-gongs ring 
 For the soul of the dying Rajpoot King, 
 All night beat up from the women's wing 
 
 A cry that we could not still. 
 
 All night the barons came and went, 
 
 The lords of the outer guard: 
 All night the cressets glimmered pale 
 On Ulwar sabre and Tonk jezail, 
 Mewar headstall and Marwar mail, 
 
 That clinked in the palace yard. 
 
 13 
 
THE LAST SUTTEE i S 
 
 In the Golden room on the palace roof 
 
 All night he fought for air: 
 And there was sobbing behind the screen, 
 Rustle and whisper of women unseen, 
 And the hungry eyes of the Boondi Queen 
 
 On the death she might not share. 
 
 He passed at dawn — the death-fire leaped 
 
 From ridge to river-head, 
 From the Malwa plains to the Abu scaurs 
 And wail upon wail went up to the stars 
 Behind the grim zenana-bars, 
 
 When they knew that the King was dead. 
 
 The dumb priest knelt to tie his mouth 
 
 And robe him for the pyre. 
 The Boondi Queen beneath us cried: 
 " See, now, that we die as our mothers died 
 "In the bridal-bed by our master's side! 
 
 "Out, women! — to the fire!" 
 
 We drove the great gates home apace: 
 White hands were on the sill: 
 
i 4 THE LAST SUTTEE 
 
 But ere the rush of the unseen feet 
 Had reached the turn to the open street, 
 The bars shot down, the guard-drum beat — 
 We held the dove-cot still. 
 
 A face looked down in the gathering day, 
 And laughing spoke from the wall: 
 
 "Ohe, they mourn here: let me by — 
 
 " Azizun, the Lucknow nautch-girl, I? 
 
 "When the house is rotten, the rats must fly, 
 "And I seek another thrall. 
 
 " For I ruled the King as ne'er did Queen,— 
 
 "To-night the Queens rule me! 
 " Guard them safely, but let me go, 
 "Or ever they pay the debt they owe 
 1 ' In scourge and torture ! " She leaped below, 
 And the grim guard watched her flee. 
 
 They knew that the King had spent his soul 
 
 On a North-bred dancing girl: 
 That he prayed to a flat-nosed Lucknow god, 
 And kissed the ground where her feet had trod, 
 Vnd doomed to death at her drunken nod 
 
 And swore by her lightest curl. 
 
THE LAST SUTTEE 1$ 
 
 We bore the King to his fathers' place, 
 
 Where the tombs of the Sun-born stand: 
 
 Where the grey apes swing, and the peacocks preen 
 
 On fretted pillar and jewelled screen, 
 
 And the wild boar couch in the house of the Queen 
 On the drift of the desert sand. 
 
 The herald read his titles forth, 
 
 We set the logs aglow: 
 " Friend of the English, free from fear, 
 "Baron of Luni to Jeysulmeer, 
 "Lord of the Desert of Bikaneer, 
 
 " King of the Jungle, — go ! " 
 
 All night the red flame stabbed the sky 
 
 With wavering wind- tossed spears: 
 And out of a shattered temple crept 
 A woman who veiled her head and wept, 
 And called on the King — but the great King slept 
 And turned not for her tears. 
 
 Small thought had he to mark the strife — 
 Cold fear with hot desire — 
 
16 THE LAST SUTTEE 
 
 When thrice she leaped from the leaping flame, 
 And thrice she beat her breast for shame, 
 And thrice like a wounded dove she came 
 And moaned about the fire. 
 
 One watched, a bow-shot from the blaze, 
 
 The silent streets between, 
 Who had stood by the King in sport and fray, 
 To blade in ambush or boar at bay, 
 And he was a baron old and grey, 
 
 And kin to the Boondi Queen. 
 
 He said: "O shameless, put aside 
 
 "The veil upon thy brow! 
 "Who held the King and all his land 
 "To the wanton will of a harlot's hand! 
 "Will the white ash rise from the blistered brand? 
 
 "Stoop down, and call him now!" 
 
 Then she: "By the faith of my tarnished soul, 
 
 "All things I did not well 
 "I had hoped to clear ere the fire died, 
 "And lay me down by my master's side 
 "To rule in Heaven his only bride, 
 
 "While the others howl in Hell. 
 
THE LAST SUTTEE 17 
 
 "But I have felt the fire's breath, 
 
 "And hard it is to die! 
 " Yet if I may pray a Rajpoot lord 
 "To sully the steel of a Thakur's sword 
 "With base-born blood of a trade abhorred/' — 
 
 And the Thakur answered, "Ay." 
 
 He drew and struck: the straight blade drank 
 
 The life beneath the breast. 
 " I had looked for the Queen to face the flame, 
 "But the harlot dies for the Rajpoot dame — 
 " Sister of mine, pass, free from shame. 
 
 "Pass with thy King to rest ! " 
 
 The black log crashed above the white; 
 
 The little flames and lean, 
 Red as slaughter and blue as steel, 
 That whistled and fluttered from head to heel, 
 Leaped up anew, for they found their meal 
 
 On the heart of — the Boondi Queen! 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY 
 
 Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the 
 
 story told. 
 His mercy fills the Khyber hills — his grace is 
 
 manifold; 
 He has taken toll of the North and the South — his 
 
 glory reachethfar, 
 And they tell the tale of his charity from Balkh to 
 
 Kandahar. 
 
 Before the old Peshawur Gate, where Kurd and 
 
 Kaffir meet, 
 The Governor of Kabul dealt the Justice of the 
 
 Street, 
 And that was strait as running noose and swift as 
 
 plunging knife, 
 Tho' he who held the longer purse might hold the 
 
 longer life. 
 
 18 
 
THE KING'S MERCY 19 
 
 There was a hound of Hindustan had struck a 
 
 Euzufzai, 
 Wherefore they spat upon his face and led him out to 
 
 die. 
 It chanced the King went forth that hour when 
 
 throat was bared to knife; 
 The Kaffir grovelled under-hoof and clamoured for 
 
 his life. 
 
 Then said the King: "Have hope, O friend I Yea, 
 
 Death disgraced is hard; 
 "Much honour shall be thine"; and called the Cap- 
 tain of the Guard, 
 Yar Khan, a bastard of the Blood, so city-babble 
 
 saith, 
 And he was honoured of the King — the which is salt 
 
 to Death; 
 And he was son of Daoud Shah the Reiver of the 
 
 Plains, 
 And blood of old Durani Lords ran fire in his veins; 
 And 'twas to tame an Afghan pride nor Hell nor 
 
 Heaven could bind, 
 The King would make him butcher to a yelping cur 
 
 of Hind. 
 
20 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 " Strike ! "said the King. " King's blood art thou— 
 
 his death shall be his pride! " 
 Then louder, that the crowd might catch: "Fear not 
 
 — his arms are tied! " 
 Yar Khan drew clear the Khyber knife, and struck, 
 
 and sheathed again. 
 "O man, thy will is done," quoth he; "A King this 
 
 dog hath slain." 
 
 Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, to the North 
 
 and the South is sold. 
 The North and the South shall open their mouth to 
 
 a Ghilzaiflag unrolled, 
 [When the big guns speak to the Khyber peak, and 
 
 his dog-Heratisfiy, 
 Ye have heard the song — How long ? How long ? 
 
 Wolves of the Abazai I 
 
 The night before the watch was set, when all the 
 
 streets were clear, 
 The Governor of Kabul spoke: "My King, hast thou 
 
 no fear? 
 "Thou knowest — thou hast heard," — his speech died 
 
 at his master's face. 
 
THE KING'S MERCY 21 
 
 And grimly said the Afghan King: "I rule the 
 
 Afghan race. 
 "My path is mine— see thou to thine— to-night 
 
 upon thy bed 
 "Think who there be in Kabul now that clamour for 
 thy head." 
 
 That night when all the gates were shut to City and 
 
 to Throne, 
 Within a little garden-house the King lay down 
 
 alone. 
 Before the sinking of the moon, which is the Night of 
 
 Night, 
 
 Yar Khan came softly to the King to make his hon- 
 our white. 
 
 The children of the town had mocked beneath his 
 horse's hoofs, 
 
 The harlots of the town had hailed him "butcher!" 
 from their roofs. 
 
 But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon 
 him fell, 
 
 The King behind his shoulder spoke: "Dead man, 
 thou dost not well! 
 
22 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 "'Tis ill to jest with Kings by day and seek a boon 
 
 by night; 
 "And that thou bearest in thy hand is all too sharp 
 
 to write. 
 "But three days hence, if God be good ; and if thy 
 
 strength remain, 
 "Thou shalt demand one boon of me and bless me in 
 
 thy pain. 
 "For I am merciful to all, and most of all to thee. 
 "My butcher of the shambles, rest — no knife hast 
 
 thou for me!" 
 
 Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, holds hard by 
 
 the South and the North; 
 But the Ghilzai knows, ere the melting snows, 
 
 when the swollen banks break forth, 
 When the red-coats crawl to the sungar wall, and 
 
 his Usb eg lances fail. 
 Ye have heard the song — How long ? How long ? 
 
 Wolves of the Zuka Kheyl I 
 
 They stoned him in the rubbish-field when dawn was 
 
 in the sky, 
 According to the written word, "See that he do not 
 
 die." 
 
THE KING'S MERCY 23 
 
 They stoned him till the stones were piled above him 
 
 on the plain, 
 And those the labouring limbs displaced they tumbled 
 
 back again. 
 
 One watched beside the dreary mound that veiled the 
 
 battered thing, 
 And him the King with laughter called the Herald of 
 
 the King. 
 
 It was upon the second night, the night of Ramazan, 
 The watcher leaning earthward heard the message of 
 
 Yar Khan. 
 From shattered breast through shrivelled lips broke 
 
 forth the rattling breath: 
 " Creature of God, deliver me from agony of Death." 
 
 They sought the King among his girls, and risked 
 
 their lives thereby: 
 "Protector of the Pitiful, give orders that he die! " 
 
 "Bid him endure until the day," a lagging answer 
 
 came; 
 "The night is short, and he can pray and learn to 
 
 bless my name." 
 
24 THE KING'S MERCY 
 
 Before the dawn three times he spoke, and on the 
 
 day once more: 
 "Creature of God, deliver me and bless the King 
 
 therefore!" 
 
 They shot him at the morning prayer, to ease him of 
 
 his pain, 
 And when he heard the matchlocks clink, he blessed 
 
 the King again. 
 Which thing the singers made a song for all the 
 
 world to sing, 
 So that the Outer Seas may know the mercy of the 
 
 King. 
 
 Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the 
 
 story told. 
 He has opened his mouth to the North and the 
 
 South, they have stuffed his mouth with gold. 
 Ye know the truth of his tender ruth — and sweet 
 
 his favours are. 
 Ye have heard the song — How long ? How long 1 
 
 from Balkh to Kandahar, 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JEST 
 
 When springtime flushes the desert grass, 
 
 Our kafilas wind through the Khyber Pass, 
 
 Lean are the camels but fat the frails, 
 
 Light are the purses but heavy the bales, 
 
 As the snowbound trade of the North comes down 
 
 To the market-square of Peshawur town. 
 
 In a turquoise twilight, crisp and chill, 
 A kafila camped at the foot of the hill. 
 Then blue smoke-haze of the cooking rose, 
 And tentpeg answered to hammer-nose; 
 And the picketed ponies, shag and wild, 
 Strained at their ropes as the feed was piled; 
 And the bubbling camels beside the load 
 Sprawled for a furlong adown the road; 
 And the Persian pu&y-cats, brought for sale, 
 Spat at the dogs from the camel-bale; 
 And the tribesmen bellowed to hasten the food; 
 
 35 
 
*6 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 And the camp-fires twinkled by Fort Jumrood; 
 And there fled on the wings of the gathering dusk 
 A savour of camels and carpets and musk, 
 A murmur of voices, a reek of smoke, 
 To tell us the trade of the Khyber woke. 
 
 The lid of the flesh-pot chattered high, 
 
 The knives were whetted and — then came I 
 
 To Mahbub Ali, the muleteer, 
 
 Patching his bridles and counting his gear, 
 
 Crammed with the gossip of half a year. 
 
 But Mahbub Ali the kindly said, 
 
 " Better is speech when the belly is fed." 
 
 So we plunged the hand to the mid- wrist deep 
 
 In a cinnamon stew of the fat- tailed sheep, 
 
 And he who never hath tasted the food, 
 
 By Allah! he knoweth not bad from good. 
 
 We cleansed our beards of the mutton-grease, 
 We lay on the mats and were filled with peace, 
 And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south, 
 With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth. 
 Four things greater than all things are, — 
 Women and Horses and Power and War. 
 We spake of them all, but the last the most., 
 
THE KING'S JEST 27 
 
 For I sought a word of a Russian post. 
 
 Of a shifty promise, an unsheathed sword 
 
 And a grey-coat guard on the Helmund ford. 
 
 Then Mahbub Ali lowered his eyes 
 
 In the fashion of one who is weaving lies. 
 
 Quoth he: "Of the Russians who can say? 
 
 "When the night is gathering all is grey. 
 
 "But we look that the gloom of the night shall die 
 
 "In the morning flush of a blood-red sky. 
 
 "Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise 
 
 "To warn a King of his enemies? 
 
 "We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, 
 
 " But no man knoweth the mind of the King. 
 
 "That unsought counsel is cursed of God 
 
 " Attesteth the story of Wali Dad. 
 
 " His sire was leaky of tongue and pen, 
 
 "His dam was a clucking Khuttuck hen; 
 
 "And the colt bred close to the vice of each, 
 
 "For he carried the curse of an unstaunched speech. 
 
 "Therewith madness—so that he sought 
 
 "The favour of kings at the Kabul court; 
 
 " And travelled, in hope of honour, far 
 
 "To the line where the grey-coat squadrons are. 
 
28 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 'There have I journeyed too — but I 
 
 'Saw naught, said naught, and — did not die! 
 
 'He hearked to rumour, and snatched at a breath 
 
 'Of 'this one knoweth' and 'that one saith ■ — 
 
 'Legends that ran from mouth to mouth 
 
 'Of a grey-coat coming, and sack of the South. 
 
 'These have I also heard — they pass 
 
 ' With each new spring and the winter grass. 
 
 'Hot-foot southward, forgotten of God, 
 
 'Back to the city ran Wali Dad, 
 
 'Even to Kabul — in full durbar 
 
 'The King held talk with his Chief in War. 
 
 ' Into the press of the crowd he broke, 
 
 'And what he had heard of the coming spoke. 
 
 'Then Gholam Hyder, the Red Chief, smiled, 
 
 'As a mother might on a babbling child; 
 
 ' But those who would laugh restrained their breath, 
 
 'When the face of the King showed dark as death, 
 
 ' Evil it is in full durbar 
 
 'To cry to a ruler of gathering war! 
 
 ' Slowly he led to a peach-tree small, 
 
 'That grew by a cleft of the city wall. 
 
THE KING'S JEST 29 
 
 " And he said to the boy: 'They shall praise thy zeal 
 
 '"So long as the red spurt follows the steel. 
 
 " And the Russ is upon us even now? 
 
 " l Great is thy prudence — await them, thou. 
 
 * ' l Watch from the tree. Thou art young and strong, 
 
 " l Surely thy vigil is not for long. 
 
 '"The Russ is upon us, thy clamour ran? 
 
 " ' Surely an hour shall bring their van. 
 
 " ' Wait and watch. When the host is near, 
 
 " ' Shout aloud that my men may hear.' 
 
 " Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise 
 
 "To warn a King of his enemies? 
 
 "A guard was set that he might not flee — 
 
 "A score of bayonets ringed the tree. 
 
 "The peach-bloom fell in showers of snow, 
 
 "When he shook at his death as he looked below. 
 
 "By the power of God, who alone is great, 
 
 " Till the seventh day he fought with his fate. 
 
 "Then madness took him, and men declare 
 
 " He mowed in the branches as ape and bear, 
 
 "And last as a sloth, ere his body failed, 
 
 " And he hung as a bat in the forks, and wailed, 
 
3 o THE KING'S JEST 
 
 " And sleep the cord of his hands untied, 
 
 "And he fell, and was caught on the points and died. 
 
 " Heart of my heart, is it meet or wise 
 " To warn a King of his enemies? 
 " We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, 
 "But no man knoweth the mind of the King. 
 "Of the grey-coat coming who can say? 
 "When the night is gathering all is grey. 
 "Two things greater than all things are, 
 "The first is Love, and the second War. 
 "And since we know not how War may prove, 
 "Heart of my heart, let us talk of Love!" 
 
WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 
 
 More than a hundred years ago, in a great battle 
 fought near Delhi, an Indian Prince rode fifty miles 
 after the day was lost with a beggar- girl, who had loved 
 him and followed him in all his camps, on his saddle 
 bow. He lost the girl when almost within sight of safety. 
 A Maratta trooper tells the story: — 
 
 The wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on 
 the neck, 
 Our hands and scarves were safTron-dyed for signal 
 of despair, 
 When we went forth to Paniput to battle with the 
 Mlech, — 
 Ere we came back from Paniput and left a king- 
 dom there. 
 
 Thrice thirty-thousand men were we to force the 
 Jumna fords — 
 The hawk-winged horse of Damajee, mailed 
 squadrons of the Bhao, 
 
 31 
 
33 WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 
 
 Stark levies of the southern hills, the Deccan's 
 sharpest swords, 
 And he the harlot's traitor son the goatherd Mul- 
 harRao! 
 
 Thrice thirty-thousand men were we before the mists 
 had cleared, 
 The low white mists of morning heard the war- 
 conch scream and bray; 
 We called upon Bhowani and we gripped them by the 
 beard, 
 We rolled them like a flood and washed their 
 ranks away. 
 
 The children of the hills of Khost before our lances 
 ran, 
 We drove the black Rohillas back as cattle to the 
 pen; 
 'Twas then we needed Mulhar Rao to end what we 
 
 began, 
 A thousand men had saved the charge; he fled the 
 field with ten! 
 
WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 33 
 
 There was no room to clear a sword — no power to 
 strike a blow, 
 For foot to foot, ay, breast to breast, the battle 
 held us fast- 
 Save where the naked hill men ran and stabbing 
 from below 
 Brought down the horse and rider and we trampled 
 them and passed. 
 
 To left the war of musketry rang like a falling 
 flood- 
 To right the sunshine rippled red from redder 
 lance and blade — 
 Above the dark Upsaras flew, beneath us plashed 
 the blood, 
 And, bellying black against the dust, the Bhagwa 
 Jhanda swayed. 
 
 I saw it fall in smoke and fire, the banner of the 
 Bhao; 
 I heard a voice across the press of one who called 
 in vain: — 
 
 1 The Choosers of the Slain. 
 
34 WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 
 
 "Ho! Anand Rao Nimbalkhur ride! Get aid of 
 MulharRao! 
 " Go shame his squadrons into fight — the Bhao-— 
 the Bhao is slain!" 
 
 Thereat, as when a sand-bar breaks in clotted spume 
 and spray — 
 When rain of later autumn sweeps the Jumna 
 water-head, 
 Before their charge from flank to flank our riven 
 ranks gave way; 
 But of the waters of that flood the Jumna fords ran 
 red. 
 
 I held by Scindia, my lord, as close as man might 
 hold; 
 A Soobah of the Deccan asks no aid to guard his 
 life; 
 But Holkar's Horse were flying, and our chief est 
 chiefs were cold, 
 And like a flame among us leapt the long lean 
 Northern knife. 
 
WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 35 
 
 I held by Scindia— my lance from butt to tuft was 
 dyed, 
 The froth of battle bossed the shield and roped the 
 bridle-chain — 
 What time beneath our horses' feet a maiden rose 
 and cried, 
 And clung to Scindia, and I turned a sword-cut 
 from the twain. 
 
 (He set a spell upon the maid in woodlands long 
 
 ago, 
 A hunter by the Tapti banks she gave him water 
 
 there: 
 He turned her heart to water, and she followed to her 
 
 woe. 
 What need had he of Lalun who had twenty maids 
 
 as fair?) 
 
 Now in that hour strength left my lord; he wrenched 
 his mare aside; 
 He bound the girl behind him and we slashed and 
 struggled free. 
 
3 6 WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 
 
 Across the reeling wreck of strife we rode as shadows 
 ride 
 From Paniput to Delhi town, but not alone were 
 we. 
 
 'Twas Lutuf-Ullah Populzai laid horse upon our 
 track, 
 A swine-fed reiver of the North that lusted for the 
 maid; 
 I might have barred his path awhile, but Scindia 
 called me back, 
 And I — Oh woe for Scindia!— I listened and 
 obeyed. 
 
 League after league the formless scrub took shape 
 and glided by — 
 League after league the white road swirled behind 
 the white mare's feet — 
 League after league, when leagues were done, we 
 heard the Populzai, 
 When sure as Time and swift, as Death the tireless 
 footfall beat. 
 
WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 37 
 
 Noon's eye beheld that shame of flight, the shadows 
 fell, we fled 
 Where steadfast as the wheeling kite he followed 
 in our train; 
 The black wolf warred where we had warred, the 
 jackal mocked our dead, 
 And terror born of twilight tide made mad the 
 labouring brain. 
 
 * gasped:— " A kingdom waits my lord; her love is 
 but her own. 
 "A day shall mar, a day shall cure for her, but 
 what for thee? 
 *Xut loose the girl: he follows fast. Cut loose and 
 
 ride alone!" 
 Then Scindia 'twixt his blistered lips: — "My 
 Queen's Queen shall she be! 
 
 "Of all who eat my bread last night 'twas she alone 
 that came 
 "To seek her love between the spears and find her 
 frown therein! 
 
38 WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 
 
 "One shame is mine to-day, what need the weight of 
 double shame? 
 "If once we reach the Delhi gate, though all be 
 lost, I win!" 
 
 We rode — the white mare failed — her trot a stagger- 
 ing stumble grew, — 
 The cooking-smoke of even rose and weltered 
 and hung low; 
 And still we heard the Populzai and still we strained 
 anew, 
 And Delhi town was very near, but nearer was the 
 foe. 
 
 Yea, Delhi town was very near when Lalun whis- 
 pered: — "Slay! 
 "Lord of my life, the mare sinks fast — stab deep 
 and let me die!" 
 But Scindia would not, and the maid tore free and 
 flung away, 
 And turning as she fell we heard the clattering 
 Populzai. 
 
WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 39 
 
 Then Scindia checked the gasping mare that rocked 
 and groaned for breath, 
 And wheeled to charge and plunged the knife a 
 hands-breadth in her side — 
 The hunter and the hunted know how that last pause 
 is death — 
 The blood had chilled about her heart, she reared 
 and fell and died. 
 
 Our Gods were kind. Before he heard the maiden's 
 piteous scream 
 A log upon the Delhi road, beneath the mare he 
 lay — 
 Lost mistress and lost battle passed before him like 
 a dream; 
 The darkness closed about his eyes — I bore my 
 King away. 
 
THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE 
 
 This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone, 
 Erst a Pretender to Theebaw's throne, 
 Who harried the district of Alalone: 
 How he met with his fate and the V. P. P. 
 At the hand of Harendra Mukerji, 
 Senior Gomashta, G. B. T\ 
 
 Boh Da Thone was a warrior bold, 
 
 His sword and his Snider were bossed with gold, 
 
 And the Peacock Banner his henchmen bore 
 Was stiff with bullion but stiffer with gore. 
 
 He shot at the strong and he slashed at the weak 
 From the Salween scrub to the Chindwin teak: 
 
 He crucified noble, he sacrificed mean, 
 He filled old women with kerosene: 
 
 While over the water the papers cried, 
 "The patriot fights for his countryside!" 
 
 40 
 
BOH DA THONE 41 
 
 But little they cared for the Native Press, 
 The worn white soldiers in Khaki dress, 
 
 Who tramped through the jungle and camped in the 
 
 byre, 
 Who died in the swamp and were tombed in the mire, 
 
 Who gave up their lives, at the Queen's Command 
 For the Pride of their Race and the Peace of the 
 Land. 
 
 Now, first of the foemen of Boh Da Thone 
 Was Captain O'Neil of the "Black Tyrone," 
 
 And his was a Company, seventy strong, 
 Who hustled that dissolute Chief along. 
 
 There were lads from Galway and Louth and Meath 
 Who went to their death with a joke in their teeth, 
 
 And worshipped with fluency, fervour, and zeal 
 The mud on the boot-heels of " Crook " O'Neil. 
 
 But ever a blight on their labours lay, 
 And ever their quarry would vanish away, 
 
42 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 Till the sun-dried boys of the Black Tyrone 
 Took a brotherly interest in Boh Da Thone: 
 
 And, sooth, if pursuit in possession ends, 
 The Boh and his trackers were best of friends. 
 
 The word of a scout — a march by night — 
 A rush through the mist — a scattering fight — 
 
 A volley from cover — a corpse in the clearing— 
 The glimpse of a loin-cloth and heavy jade earring — 
 
 The flare of a village — the tally of slain — 
 And . . . the Boh was abroad "on the raid" 
 again ! 
 
 They cursed their luck as the Irish will, 
 They gave him credit for cunning and skill, 
 
 They buried their dead, they bolted their beef, 
 And started anew on the track of the thief 
 
 Till, in place of the "Kalends of Greece," men said, 
 "When Crook and his darlings come back with the 
 head." 
 
 They had hunted the Boh from the Hills to the 
 
 plain — 
 He doubled and broke for the hills again: 
 
BOH DA THONE 43 
 
 They had crippled his power for rapine and raid, 
 They had routed him out of his pet stockade, 
 
 And at last, they came, when the Day Star tired, 
 To a camp deserted — a village fired. 
 
 A black cross blistered the Morning-gold, 
 And the body upon it was stark and cold. 
 
 The wind of the dawn went merrily past, 
 The high grass bowed her plumes to the blast. 
 
 And out of the grass, on a sudden, broke 
 A spirtle of fire, a whorl of smoke — 
 
 And Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone 
 Was blessed with a slug in the ulna-bone — 
 The gift of his enemy Boh Da Thone. 
 
 (Now a slug that is hammered from telegraph-wire 
 Is a thorn in the flesh and a rankling fire.) 
 
 The shot- wound festered — as shot- wounds may 
 In a steaming barrack at Mandalay. 
 
 The left arm throbbed, and the Captain swore, 
 " I'd Jike to be after the Boh once more ! " 
 
44 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 The fever held him — the Captain said, 
 " I'd give a hundred to look at his head! " 
 
 The Hospital punkas creaked and whirred, 
 But Babu Harendra (Gomashta) heard. 
 
 He thought of the cane-brake, green and dank, 
 That girdled his home by the Dacca tank. 
 
 He thought of his wife and his High School son, 
 He thought — but abandoned the thought — of a gun 
 
 His sleep was broken by visions dread 
 Of a shining Boh with a silver head. 
 
 He kept his counsel and went his way, 
 And swindled the cartmen of half their pay. 
 
 And the months went on, as the worst must do, 
 And the Boh returned to the raid anew. 
 
 But the Captain had quitted the long-drawn strife, 
 And in far Simoorie had taken a wife. 
 
 And she was a damsel of delicate mould, 
 With hair like the sunshine and heart of gold, 
 
BOH DA THONE 45 
 
 And little she knew the arms that embraced 
 Had cloven a man from the brow to the waist: 
 
 And little she knew that the loving lips 
 Had ordered a quivering life's eclipse, 
 
 And the eye that lit at her lightest breath 
 Had glared unawed in the Gates of Death. 
 
 (For these be matters a man would hide, 
 As a general rule, from an innocent Bride.) 
 
 And little the Captain thought of the past, 
 And, of all men, Babu Harendra last. 
 • **•••• 
 
 But slow, in the sludge of the Kathun road, 
 The Government Bullock Train toted its load. 
 
 Speckless and spotless and shining with ghee, 
 In the rearmost cart sat the Babu-jee. 
 
 And ever a phantom before him fled 
 Of a scowling Boh with a silver head. 
 
 Then the lead-cart stuck, though the coolies slav© j, 
 And the cartmen flogged and the escort raved; 
 
46 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 And out of the jungle, with yells and squeals, 
 Pranced Boh Da Thone, and his gang at his heels ! 
 
 Then belching blunderbuss answered back 
 The Snider's snarl and the carbine's crack, 
 
 And the blithe revolver began to sing 
 
 To the blade that twanged on the locking-ring, 
 
 And the brown flesh blued where the bay'net kissed, 
 As the steel shot back with a wrench and a twist, 
 
 And the great white bullocks with onyx eyes 
 Watched the souls of the dead arise, 
 
 And over the smoke of the fusillade 
 
 The Peacock Banner staggered and swayed. 
 
 Oh, gayest of scrimmages man may see 
 Is a well- worked rush on the G. B. T. ! 
 
 The Babu shook at the horrible sight, 
 And girded his ponderous loins for flight, 
 
 But Fate had ordained that the Boh should start 
 On a lone-hand raid of the rearmost cart, 
 
BOH DA THONE 47 
 
 And out of that cart, with a bellow of woe, 
 The Babu fell— flat on the top of the Boh! 
 
 For years had Harendra served the State, 
 
 To the growth of his purse and the girth of his pU — 
 
 They were twenty stone, as the tally-man knows, 
 On the broad of the chest of this best of Bohs. 
 
 And twenty stone from a height discharged 
 Are bad for a Boh with a spleen enlarged. 
 
 Oh, short was the struggle — severe was the shock — 
 He dropped like a bullock — he lay like a block; 
 
 And the Babu above him, convulsed with fear, 
 Heard the labouring life-breath hissed out in his ear. 
 
 And thus in a fashion undignified 
 The princely pest of the Chindwin died. 
 
 Turn now to Simoorie where, lapped in his ease, 
 The Captain is petting the Bride on his knees, 
 
48 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 Where the whit of the bullet, the wounded man's 
 
 scream, 
 Are mixed as the mist of some devilish dream — 
 
 Forgotten, forgotten the sweat of the shambles 
 Where the hill-daisy blooms and the grey monkey 
 gambols, 
 
 From the sword-belt set free and released from the 
 
 steel, 
 The Peace of the Lord is with Captain O'Neil. 
 
 Up the hill to Simoorie — most patient of drudges — 
 The bags on his shoulder, the mail-runner trudges. 
 
 "For Captain O'Neil, Sahib. One himdred and ten 
 
 Rupees to collect on delivery." 
 
 Then 
 
 (Their breakfast was stopped while the screw-jack 
 
 and hammer 
 Tore wax-cloth, split teak-wood, and chipped out 
 
 the dammer;) 
 
 Open-eyed, open-mouthed, on the napery's snow, 
 With a crash and a thud, rolled — the Head of the 
 Boh! 
 
BOH DA THONE 49 
 
 And gummed to the scalp was a letter which ran: — 
 "In Fielding Force Service. 
 " Encampment, 
 
 " ioth Jan. 
 
 "Dear Sir,— I have honour to send, as you said, 
 " For final approval (see under) Boh's Head; 
 
 "Was took by myself in most bloody affair. 
 " By High Education brought pressure to bear. 
 
 "Now violate Liberty, time being bad, 
 
 "To mail V. P. P. (rupees hundred) Please add 
 
 "Whatever Your Honour can pass. Price of Blood 
 "Much cheap at one hundred, and children want 
 food. 
 
 "So trusting Your Honour will somewhat retain 
 "True love and affection for Govt. Bullock Train, 
 
 "And show awful kindness to satisfy me, 
 "I am, 
 " Graceful Master, 
 "Your 
 
 "H. Mukerji." 
 
5o THE BALLAD OF 
 
 As the rabbit is drawn to the rattlesnake's power, 
 As the smoker's eye fills at the opium hour, 
 
 As a horse reaches up to the manger above, 
 
 As the waiting ear yearns for the whisper of love, 
 
 From the arms of the Bride, iron-visaged and slow, 
 The Captain bent down to the Head of the Boh. 
 
 And e'en as he looked on the Thing where It lay 
 'Twixt the winking new spoons and the napkins' 
 array. 
 
 The freed mind fled back to the long-ago days — 
 The hand-to-hand scuffle — the smoke and the blaze— 
 
 The forced march at night and the quick rush at 
 
 dawn — 
 The banjo at twilight, the burial ere morn — 
 
 The stench of the marshes — the raw, piercing smell 
 When the overhand stabbing-cut silenced the yell — 
 
 The oaths of his Irish that surged when they stood 
 Where the black crosses hung o'er the Kuttamow 
 flood. 
 
EOH DA THONE 51 
 
 \s a derelict ship drifts away with the tide 
 
 The Captain went out on the Past from his Bride, 
 
 Back, back, through the springs to the chill of the 
 
 year, 
 When he hunted the Boh from Maloon to Tsaleer. 
 
 As the shape of a corpse dimmers up through deep 
 
 water, 
 In his eye lit the passionless passion of slaughter, 
 
 And men who had fought with O'Neil for the life 
 Had gazed on his face with less dread than his wife. 
 
 For she who had held him so long could not hold 
 him — 
 
 Though a four-month Eternity should have con- 
 trolled him — 
 
 But watched the twin Terror— the head turned to 
 
 head — 
 The scowling, scarred Black, and the flushed savage 
 
 Red— 
 
 The spirit that changed from her knowing and flew 
 
 to 
 Some grim hidden Past she had never a clue to, 
 
52 BOH DA THONE 
 
 But It knew as It grinned, for he touched it unfear- 
 ing, 
 
 And muttered aloud, "So you kept that jade ear- 
 ring!" 
 
 Then nodded, and kindly, as friend nods to friend, 
 ''Old man, you fought well, but you lost in the end." 
 
 The visions departed, and Shame followed Passion, 
 "He took what I said in this horrible fashion, 
 
 " I'll write to Harendra ! ' ' With language unsainted 
 The Captain came back to the Bride who had 
 fainted. 
 
 And this is a fiction? No. Go to Simoorie 
 
 And look at their baby, a twelve-month old Houri, 
 
 A pert little, Irish-eyed Kathleen Mavournin — 
 She's always about on the Mall of a mornin' — 
 
 And you'll see, if her right shoulder-strap is dis- 
 placed, 
 This: Gules upon argent, a Boh's Head, erased! 
 
THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER CATTLE 
 
 THIEF 
 
 O woe is me for the merry life 
 
 I led beyond the Bar, 
 And a treble woe for my winsome wife 
 
 That weeps at Shalimar. 
 
 They have taken away my long jezail, 
 
 My shield and sabre fine, 
 And heaved me into the Central Jail 
 
 For lifting of the kine. 
 
 The steer may low within the byre, 
 
 The Jut may tend his grain, 
 But there'll be neither loot nor fire 
 
 Till I come back again. 
 
 And God have mercy on the Jut 
 
 When once my fetters fall, 
 And Heaven defend the farmer's hut 
 
 When I am loosed from thrall. 
 
 53 
 
54 THE LAMENT OF THE 
 
 It's woe to bend the stubborn back 
 Above the grinching quern, 
 
 It's woe to hear the leg-bar clack 
 And jingle when I turn! 
 
 But for the sorrow and the shame, 
 The brand on me and mine, 
 
 I'll pay you back in leaping flame 
 And loss of the butchered kine. 
 
 For every cow I spared before 
 
 In charity set free, 
 If I may reach my hold once more' 
 
 I'll reive an honest three! 
 
 For every time I raised the low 
 That scared the dusty plain, 
 
 By sword and cord, by torch and tow 
 I'll light the land with twain! 
 
 Ride hard, ride hard to Abazai, 
 
 Young sahib with the yellow hair — 
 
 Lie close, lie close as khuttucks He, 
 Fat herds below Bonair! 
 
BORDER CATTLE THIEF 55 
 
 The one I'll shoot at twilight tide, 
 
 At dawn I'll drive the other; 
 The black shall mourn for hoof and hide, 
 
 The white man for his brother! 
 
 'Tis war, red war, I'll give you then, 
 
 War till my sinews fail, 
 For the wrong you have done to a chief of men 
 
 And a thief of the Zukka Kheyl. 
 
 And if I fall to your hand afresh 
 
 I give you leave for the sin, 
 That you cram my throat with the foul pig's flesh 
 
 And swing me in the skin! 
 
THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS 
 
 This ballad appears to refer to one of the exploits of the noto-* 
 rious Paid Jones, the American Pirate. It is founded on fact. 
 
 . . . At the close of a winter day, 
 Their anchors down, by London town the Threv 
 
 Great Captains lay. 
 And one was Admiral of the North from Solwa> 
 
 Firth to Skye, 
 And one was Lord of the Wessex coast and all tht 
 
 lands thereby, 
 And one was Master of the Thames from Limehouse 
 
 to Blackwall. 
 And he was Captain of the Fleet — the bravest of 
 
 them all. 
 Their good guns guarded their great grey sides thai 
 
 were thirty foot in the sheer, 
 When there came a certain trading-brig with newi _ * 
 
 a privateer. 
 
 *6 
 
THE THREE CAPTAINS 57 
 
 Her rigging was rough with the clotted drift that 
 
 drives in a Northern breeze, 
 Her sides were clogged with the lazy weed that 
 
 spawns in the Eastern seas. 
 Light she rode in the rude tide-rip, to left and right 
 
 she rolled, 
 And the skipper sat on the scuttle-butt and stared at 
 
 an empty hold. 
 '•' I ha' paid Port dues for your Law," quoth he, " and 
 
 where is the Lawyer boast 
 *'If I sail unscathed from a heathen port to be robbed 
 
 on a Christian coast? 
 'Ye have smoked the hives of the Laccadives as we 
 
 burn the lice in a bunk; 
 " We tack not now to a Gallang prow or a plunging 
 
 Pei-ho junk; 
 "I had no fear but the seas were clear as far as a sail 
 
 might fare 
 "Till I met with a lime- washed Yankee brig that 
 
 rode off Finisterre. 
 "There were canvas blinds to his bow-gun ports to 
 
 screen the weight he bore 
 "And the signals ran for a merchantman from Sandy 
 
 Hook to the Nore. 
 
58 THE RHYME OF 
 
 "He would not fly the Rovers' flag — the bloody or 
 
 the black, 
 "But now he floated the Gridiron and now he 
 
 flaunted the Jack. 
 "He spoke of the Law as he crimped my crew — he 
 
 swore it was only a loan; 
 "But when I would ask for my own again, he swore 
 
 it was none of my own. 
 "He has taken my little parrakeets that nest beneath 
 
 the Line, 
 "He has stripped my rails of the shaddock-frails and 
 
 the green unripened pine; 
 "He has taken my bale of dammer and spice I wo 
 
 beyond the seas, 
 " He has taken my grinning heathen gods — and what 
 
 should he want o' these? 
 "My foremast would not mend his boom, my deck- 
 house patch his boats; 
 ' l He has whittled the two this Yank Yahoo, to peddle 
 
 for shoepeg-oats. 
 "I could not fight for the failing light and a rough 
 
 beam-sea beside, 
 "But I hulled him once for a clumsy crimp and twice 
 
 because he lied. 
 
THE THREE CAPTAINS 59 
 
 "Had I had guns (as I had goods) to work my 
 
 Christian harm, 
 "I had run him up from his quarter-deck to trade 
 
 with his own yard-arm; 
 " I had nailed his ears to my capstan-head, and ripped 
 
 them off with a saw, 
 "And soused them in the bilgewater, and serve them 
 
 to him raw; 
 "I had flung him blind in a rudderless boat to rot in 
 
 the rocking dark 
 "I had towed him aft of his own craft, a bait for his 
 
 brother shark; 
 "I had lapped him round with cocoa husk, and 
 
 drenched him with the oil, 
 "And lashed him fast to his own mast to blaze 
 
 above my spoil; 
 "I had stripped his hide for my hammock-side, and 
 
 tasseled his beard i' the mesh 
 "And spitted his crew on the live bamboo that grows 
 
 through the gangrened flesh; 
 "I had hove him down by the mangroves brown, 
 
 where the mud-reef sucks and draws, 
 "Moored by the heel to his own keel to wait for the 
 
 land-crab's claws! 
 
5o THE RHYME OF 
 
 "He is lazar within and lime without, ye can nose 
 
 him far enow, 
 "For he carries the taint of a musky ship— the reek 
 
 of the slaver's dhow!" 
 The skipper looked at the tiering guns and the bul- 
 warks tall and cold, 
 And the Captains Three full courteously peered down 
 
 at the gutted hole, 
 And the Captains Three called courteously from 
 
 deck to scuttle-butt: — 
 " Good Sir, we ha' dealt with that merchantman or 
 
 ever your teeth were cut. 
 "Your words be words of a lawless race, and the Law 
 
 it standeth thus: 
 "He comes of a race that have never a Law, and he 
 
 never has boarded us. 
 "We ha' sold him canvas and rope and spar — we 
 
 know that his price is fair, 
 "And we know that he weeps for the lack of a Law 
 
 as he rides off Finisterre. 
 "And since he is damned for a gallows-thief by you 
 
 and better than you, 
 "We hold it meet that the English fleet should know 
 
 that we hold him true." 
 
THE THREE CAPTAINS 61 
 
 The skipper called to the tall taffrail: "And what is 
 
 that to me? 
 "Did ever you hear of a privateer that rifled a Sev- 
 enty-three? 
 "Do I loom so large from your quarter-deck that I 
 
 lift like a ship o' the Line? 
 "He has learned to run from a shotted gun and harry 
 
 such craft as mine. 
 "There is never a Law on the Cocos Keys to hold a 
 
 white man in, 
 "But we do not steal the niggers' meal, for that is a 
 
 nigger's sin. 
 " Must he have his Law as a quid to chaw, or laid in 
 
 brass on his wheel? 
 "Does he steal with tears when he buccaneers? Fore 
 
 Gad, then, why does he steal? " 
 The skipper bit on a deep-sea word, and the word it 
 
 was not sweet, 
 F< r he could see the Captains Three had signalled to 
 
 the Fleet. 
 But three and two, in white and blue, the whimpering 
 
 flags began: 
 "We have heard a tale of a foreign sail, but he is a 
 
 merchantman." 
 
62 THE RHYME OF 
 
 The skipper peered beneath his palm and swore by 
 
 the Great Horn Spoon, 
 "Fore Gad, the Chaplain of the Fleet would bless my 
 
 picaroon!" 
 By two and three the flags blew free to lash the 
 
 laughing air, 
 "We have sold our spars to the merchantman — we 
 
 know that his price is fair." 
 The skipper winked his Western eye, and swore by a 
 
 China storm: — 
 "They ha' rigged him a Joseph's jury-coat to keep 
 
 his honour warm." 
 The halliards twanged against the tops, the bunting 
 
 bellied broad, 
 The skipper spat in the empty hold and mourned for 
 
 a wasted cord. 
 Masthead — masthead, the signal sped by the line o* 
 
 the British craft; 
 The skipper called to his Lascar crew, and put her 
 
 about and laughed: — 
 "It's mainsail haul, my bully boys all — we'll out to 
 
 the seas again;. 
 "Ere they set us to paint their pirate saint, or scrub 
 
 at his grapnel-chain 
 
THE THREE CAPTAINS 63 
 
 "It's fore-sheet free, with her head to the sea, and 
 
 the swing of the unbought brine — 
 "We'll make no sport in an English court till we 
 
 come as a ship o' the Line, 
 "Till we come as a ship o' the Line, my lads, of 
 
 thirty foot in the sheer, 
 "Lifting again from the outer main with news of a 
 
 privateer; 
 "Flying his pluck at our mizzen- truck for weft of 
 • Admiralty, 
 "Heaving his head for our dipsy-lead in sign that we 
 
 keep the sea. 
 " Then fore-sheet home as she lifts to the foam — we 
 
 stand on the outward tack 
 " We are paid in the coin of the white man's trade— 
 
 the bezant is hard, ay, and black. 
 "The frigate-bird shall carry my word to the Kling 
 
 and the Orang-Laut 
 "How a man may sail from a heathen coast to be 
 
 robbed in a Christian port; 
 "How a man may be robbed in Christian port while 
 
 Three Great Captains there 
 "Shall dip their flag to a slaver's rag — to show that 
 
 his trade is fair!" 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE " CLAMPHERDOWN " 
 
 It was our war-ship "Clampherdown" 
 
 Would sweep the Channel clean, 
 Wherefore she kept her hatches close 
 When the merry Channel chops arose, 
 
 To save the bleached marine. 
 
 She had one bow-gun of a hundred ton, 
 
 And a great stern-gun beside; 
 They dipped their noses deep in the sea, 
 They racked their stays and staunchions free 
 
 In the wash of the wind-whipped tide. 
 
 It was our war-ship " Clampherdown," 
 
 Fell in with a cruiser light 
 That carried the dainty Hotchkiss gun 
 And a pair o' heels wherewith to run, 
 
 From the grip of a close-fought fight. 
 64 
 
THE "CLAMPHERDOWN" 6s 
 
 She opened fire at seven miles — 
 
 As ye shoot at a bobbing cork — 
 And once she fired and twice she fired, 
 Till the bow-gun dropped like a lily tired 
 
 That lolls upon the stalk. 
 
 "Captain, the bow-gun melts apace, 
 
 "The deck-beams break below, 
 " 'Twere well to rest for an hour or twain, 
 "And botch the shattered plates again." 
 
 And he answered, "Make it so." 
 
 She opened fire within the mile — 
 
 As ye shoot at the flying duck — 
 And the great stern-gun shot fair and true. 
 With the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue 
 
 And the great stern-turret struck. 
 
 " Captain, the turret fills with steam, 
 
 "The feed-pipes burst below — 
 "You can hear the hiss of helpless ram, 
 "You can hear the twisted runners jam." 
 
 And he answered, " Turn and go ! " 
 
66 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 It was our war-ship " Clampherdown," 
 
 And grimly did she roll; 
 Swung round to take the cruiser's fire 
 As the White Whale faces the Thresher's ire, 
 
 When they war by the frozen Pole. 
 
 "Captain, the shells are falling fast, 
 
 "And faster still fall we; 
 "And it is not meet for English stock, 
 " To bide in the heart of an eight-day clock, 
 
 "The death they cannot see." 
 
 "Lie down, he down my bold A. B., 
 
 "We drift upon her beam; 
 " We dare not ram for she can run; 
 "And dare ye fire another gun, 
 
 "And die in the peeling steam? " 
 
 It was our war-ship " Clampherdown " 
 
 That carried an armour-belt; 
 But fifty feet at stern and bow, 
 Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow, 
 
 To the hail of the Nordenf eldt. 
 
THE "CLAMPHERDOWN" 67 
 
 " Captain, they lack us through and through; 
 
 "The chilled steel bolts are swift! 
 "We have emptied the bunkers in open sea, 
 "Their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be." 
 
 And he answered, "Let her drift." 
 
 It was our war-ship "Clampherdown," 
 
 Swung round upon the tide, 
 Her two dumb guns glared south and north, 
 And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth, 
 
 And she ground the cruiser's side. 
 
 "Captain, they cry, the fight is done, 
 "They bid you send your sword." 
 And he answered, " Grapple her stern and bow. 
 "They have asked for the steel. They shall 
 
 have it now; 
 "Out cutlasses and board! " 
 
 It was our war-ship " Clampherdown," 
 
 Spewed up four hundred men; 
 And the scalded stokers yelped delight, 
 As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight, 
 
 Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen. 
 
THE "CLAMPHERDOWN" 
 
 They cleared the cruiser end to end, 
 
 From conning- tower to hold. 
 They fought as they fought in Nelson's fleet; 
 They were stripped to the waist, they were bare 
 to the feet, 
 
 As it was in the days of old. 
 
 It was the sinking "Clampherdown" 
 
 Heaved up her battered side — 
 And carried a million pounds in steel, 
 To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel 
 
 And the scour of the Channel tide. 
 
 It was the crew of the " Clampherdown" 
 
 Stood out to sweep the sea, 
 On a cruiser won from an ancient foe. 
 As it was in the days of long-ago, 
 
 And as it still shall be. 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE "BOLIVAR" 
 
 Seven men from all the world, back to Docks again, 
 Rolling down the Ratclijfe Road drunk and raising 
 
 Cain: 
 Give the girls another drink 'fore we sign away — 
 We that took the "Bolivar" out across the Bay! 
 
 We put out from Sunderland loaded down with rails; 
 
 We put back to Sunderland 'cause our cargo 
 
 shifted; 
 
 We put out from Sunderland— met the winter gales — 
 
 Seven days and seven nights to the Start we 
 
 drifted. 
 
 Racketing her rivets loose, smoke-stack white 
 
 as snow, 
 All the coals adrift a deck, half the rails below 
 69 
 
7 o THE BALLAD OF 
 
 Leaking like a lobster-pot, steering like a dray- 
 Out we took the "Bolivar," out across the Bay! 
 
 One by one the Lights came up, winked and let us 
 
 by; 
 Mile by mile we waddled on, coal and fo'c'sle 
 short; 
 Met a blow that laid us down, heard a bulkhead 
 
 fly; 
 
 Left The Wolf behind us with a two-foot list to 
 port. 
 
 Trailing like a wounded duck, working out hei 
 
 soul; 
 Clanging like a smithy-shop after every roll; 
 Just a funnel and a mast lurching through the 
 
 spray — 
 So we threshed the "Bolivar" out across the 
 
 Bay! 
 
 Felt her hog and felt her sag, betted when she'd 
 break; 
 Wondered every time she raced if she'd stand the 
 shock; 
 
THE " BOLIVAR" 71 
 
 Heard the seas like drunken men pounding at her 
 strake; 
 Hoped the Lord 'ud keep his thumb on the 
 plummer-block. 
 
 Banged against the iron decks, bilges choked 
 with coal; 
 
 Flayed and frozen foot and hand, sick of heart 
 and soul; 
 
 'Last we prayed she'd buck herself into Judg- 
 ment Day — 
 
 Hi ! we cursed the "Bolivar " knocking round the 
 Bay! 
 
 Oh! her nose flung up to sky, groaning to be still — 
 Up and down and back we went, never time for 
 breath; 
 Then the money paid at Lloyd's caught her by the 
 heel, 
 And the stars ran round and round dancin' at our 
 death. 
 
 Aching for an hour's sleep, dozing off between; 
 Heard the rotten rivets draw when she took it 
 green, 
 
?a THE BALLAD OF 
 
 Watched the compass chase its tail like a cat at 
 
 play- 
 That was on the " Bolivar," south across the 
 
 Bay. 
 
 Once we saw between the squalls, lyin' head to 
 swell — 
 Mad with work and weariness, wishin' they was 
 we — 
 Some damned Liner's lights go by like a grand hotel; 
 Cheered her from the "Bolivar," swampin' in the 
 sea. 
 
 Then a greyback cleared us out, then the 
 
 skipper laughed; 
 "Boys, the wheel has gone to Hell — rig the 
 
 winches aft! 
 "Yoke the kicking rudder-head — get her under 
 
 way!" 
 
 So we steered her, pulley-haul, out across the 
 Bay! 
 
 Just a pack o' rotten plates puttied up with tar, 
 In we came, an' time enough 'cross Bilbao Bar. 
 
THE "BOLIVAR" 73 
 
 Overloaded, undermanned, meant to founder, 
 
 we 
 Euchred God Almighty's storm, bluffed the 
 
 Eternal Sea! 
 
 Seven men from all the world, back to town again, 
 Rollin' down the Ratclijfe Road drunk and raising 
 
 Cain. 
 Seven men from out of Hell. Ain't the owners gay, 
 'Cause we took the "Bolivar" safe across the Bay ? 
 
THE LOST LEGION 
 
 There's a Legion that never was 'listed, 
 
 That carries no colours or crest, 
 But, split in a thousand detachments, 
 
 Is breaking the road for the rest. 
 Our fathers they left us their blessing — 
 
 They taught us, and groomed us, and crammed; 
 But we've shaken the Clubs and the Messes 
 
 To go and find out and be damned, 
 
 Dear boys! 
 
 To go and get shot and be damned. 
 
 So some of us chevy the slaver, 
 
 And some of us cherish the black, 
 And some of us hunt on the Oil Coast, 
 
 And some on — the Wallaby track: 
 And some of us drift to Sarawak, 
 
 And some of us drift up The Fly, 
 And some share our tucker with tigers, 
 And some with the gentle Masai, 
 
 Dear boys! 
 Take tea with the giddy Masai. 
 
 (Copyright, 1893, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 74 
 
THE LOST LEGION 7S 
 
 We've painted The Islands vermilion, 
 
 We've pearled on half-shares in the Bay, 
 We've shouted on seven-ounce nuggets, 
 
 We've starved on a Kanaka's pay. 
 We've laughed at the world as we found it, — 
 
 Its women and cities and men — 
 From Say Yid Burgash in a tantrum 
 
 To the smoke-reddened eyes of Loben, 
 
 Dear boys! 
 
 We've a little account with Loben. 
 
 We opened the Chinaman's oil-well, 
 
 But the dynamite didn't agree, 
 And the people got up and fan-kwaied us, 
 
 And we ran from Ichang to the sea. 
 Yes, somehow and somewhere and always 
 
 We were first when the trouble began, 
 From a lottery-row in Manila 
 
 To an I. D. B. race on the Pan, 
 
 Dear boys! 
 
 With the Mounted Police on the Pan. 
 
 We preach in advance of the Army, 
 
 We skirmish ahead of the Church, 
 With never a gunboat to help us 
 
 When we're scuppered and left in the lurch. 
 
76 THE LOST LEGION 
 
 But we know as the cartridges finish 
 And we're filed on our last little shelves, 
 
 That the Legion that never was 'listed 
 Will send us as good as ourselves, 
 
 (Good men!) 
 Five hundred as good as ourselves. 
 
 Then a health (we must drink it in whispers). 
 
 To our wholly unauthorised horde — 
 To the line of our dusty foreloopers, 
 
 The Gentlemen Rovers abroad. 
 Yes, a health to ourselves ere we scatter, 
 
 For the steamer won't wait for the train. 
 And the Legion that never was 'listed 
 Goes back into quarters again. 
 
 'Regards ! 
 Goes back under canvas again. 
 
 Hurrah! 
 The swag and the billy again. 
 
 Here's how! 
 The trail and the packhorse again. 
 
 Salue! 
 The trek and the lager again. 
 
THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 
 
 Er-Heb beyond the Hills of Ao-Safai 
 Bears witness to the truth, and Ao-Safai 
 Hath told the men of Gorukh. Thence the tale 
 Comes westward o'er the peaks to India. 
 
 The story of Bisesa, ArmocPs child, — 
 A maiden plighted to the Chief in War 
 The Man of Sixty Spears who held the Pass 
 That leads to Thibet, but to-day is gone 
 To seek his comfort of the God called Budh 
 The Silent — showing how the Sickness ceased 
 Because of her who died to save the tribe. 
 
 Taman is One and greater than us all, 
 
 Taman is One and greater than all Gods: 
 
 Taman is Two in One and rides the sky, 
 
 Curved like a stallion's croup, from dusk to dawn, 
 
 And drums upon it with his heels, whereby 
 
 Is bred the neighing thunder in the hills. 
 
 (Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 77 
 
78 THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 
 
 This is Taman, the God of all Er-Heb, 
 
 Who was before all Gods, and made all Gods, 
 
 And presently will break the Gods he made, 
 
 And step upon the Earth to govern men 
 
 Who give him milk-dry ewes and cheat his Priests, 
 
 Or leave his shrine unlighted — as Er-Heb 
 
 Left it unlighted and forgot Taman, 
 
 When all the Valley followed after Kysh 
 
 And Yabosh, little Gods but very wise, 
 
 And from the sky Taman beheld their sin. 
 
 He sent the Sickness out upon the hills 
 
 The Red Horse Sickness with the iron hooves, 
 
 To turn the Valley to Taman again. 
 
 And the Red Horse snuffed thrice into the wind, 
 The naked wind that had no fear of him; 
 And the Red Horse stamped thrice upon the snow, 
 The naked snow that had no fear of him; 
 And the Red Horse went out across the rocks 
 The ringing rocks that had no fear of him; 
 And downward, where the lean birch meets the 
 • c low 
 
THE SACRIFICE OF ER-IIEB 79 
 
 And downward, where the grey pine meets the birch, 
 And downward, where the dwarf oak meets the pine, 
 Till at his feet our cup-like pastures lay. 
 
 That night, the slow mists of the evening dropped, 
 Dropped as a cloth upon a dead man's face, 
 And weltered in the valley, bluish-white 
 Like water very silent — spread abroad, 
 Like water very silent, from the Shrine 
 Unlighted of Taman to where the stream 
 Is dammed to fill our cattle-troughs — sent up 
 White waves that rocked and heaved and then were 
 
 still, 
 Till all the Valley glittered like a marsh, 
 Beneath the moonlight, filled with sluggish mist 
 Knee-deep, so that men waded as they walked. 
 
 That night, the Red Horse grazed above the Dam 
 Beyond the cattle-troughs. Men heard him feed, 
 And those that heard him sickened where they lay. 
 
 Thus came the sickness to Er-Heb, and slew 
 Ten men, strong men, and of the women four; 
 And the Red Horse went hillward with the dawn, 
 But near the cat tie- troughs his hoof-prints lay. 
 
8o THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 
 
 That night, the slow mists of the evening dropped, 
 
 Dropped as a cloth upon the dead, but rose 
 
 A little higher, to a young girl's height; 
 
 Till all the valley glittered like a lake, 
 
 Beneath the moonlight, filled with sluggish mist. 
 
 That night, the Red Horse grazed beyond the Dam 
 A stone's throw from the troughs. Men heard him 
 
 feed, 
 And those that heard him sickened where they lay. 
 Thus came the sickness of Er-Heb, and slew 
 Of men a score, and of the women eight, 
 And of the children two. 
 
 Because the road 
 To Gorukh was a road of enemies, 
 And Ao-Safai was blocked with early snow, 
 We could not flee from out the Valley. Death 
 Smote at us in a slaughter-pen, and Kysh 
 Was mute as Yabosh, though the goats were slain; 
 And the Red Horse grazed nightly by the stream, 
 And later, outward, towards the Unlighted Shrine, 
 And those that heard him sickened where they lay. 
 
THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB Si 
 
 Then said Bisesa to the Priests at dusk, 
 
 When the white mist rose up breast-high and choked 
 
 The voices in the houses of the dead: — 
 
 " Yabosh and Kysh avail not. If the Horse 
 
 " Reach the Unlighted Shrine we surely die. 
 
 "Ye have forgotten of all Gods the Chief 
 
 "Taman ! " Here rolled the thunder through the Hill. 
 
 And Yabosh shook upon his pedestal. 
 
 " Ye have forgotten of all Gods the chief 
 
 " Too long. " And all were dumb save one who cried 
 
 On Yabosh with the Sapphire 'twixt His knees 
 
 But found no answer in the smoky roof 
 
 And, being smitten of the sickness died 
 
 Before the altar of the Sapphire Shrine. 
 
 Then said Bisesa: — "I am near to Death, 
 
 " And have the Wisdom of the Grave for gift 
 
 "To bear me on the path my feet must tread. 
 
 "If there be wealth on earth, then I am rich, 
 
 " For Armod is the first of all Er-Heb ; 
 
 "If there be beauty on the earth," — her eyes 
 
 Dropped for a moment to the temple floor, — 
 
 "Ye know that I am fair. If there be Love, 
 
 "Ye know that love is mine." The Chief in War, 
 
82 THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 
 
 The Man of Sixty Spears, broke from the press, 
 
 And would have clasped her, but the Priests with- 
 stood, 
 
 Saying: — " She has a message from Tainan." 
 
 Then said Bisesa: — " By my wealth and love 
 
 "And beauty, I am chosen of the God 
 
 "Taman." Here rolled the thunder through the 
 Hills. 
 
 And Kysh fell forward on the Mound of Skulls. 
 
 In darkness and before our Priests, the maid 
 
 Between the altars, cast her bracelets down, 
 
 Therewith the heavy earrings Armod made, 
 
 When he was young, out of the water-gold 
 
 Of Gorukh — threw the breast-plate thick with jade 
 
 Upon the turquoise anklets — put aside 
 
 The bands of silver on her brow and neck; 
 
 And as the trinkets tinkled on the stones, 
 
 The Thunder of Taman lowed like a bull. 
 
 Then said Bisesa stretching out her hands, 
 As one in darkness fearing Devils: — " Help! 
 " Priests, I am a woman very weak. 
 
THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 83 
 
 And who am I to know the will of Gods? 
 
 j Taman hath called me — whither shall I go? " 
 The Chief in War, the Man of Sixty Spears 
 Howled in his torment fettered by the Priests 
 But dared not come to her to drag her forth, 
 And dared not lift his spear against the Priests. 
 Then all men wept. 
 
 There was a Priest of Kysh 
 Bent with a hundred winters, hairless, blind 
 And taloned as the great Snow-Eagle is. 
 His seat was nearest to the altar-fires, 
 And he was counted dumb among the Priests. 
 But, whether Kysh decreed, or from Taman 
 The impotent tongue found utterance we know 
 As little as the bats beneath the eaves. 
 He cried so that they heard who stood without; — 
 "To the Unlighted Shrine!" and crept aside 
 Into the shadow of his fallen God 
 And whimpered, and Bisesa went her way. 
 
 That night, the slow mists of the evening dropped, 
 Dropped as a cloth upon the dead, and rose 
 Above the roofs, and by the Unlighted Shrine 
 
84 THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 
 
 Lay as the slimy water of the troughs 
 
 When murrain thins the cattle of Er-Heb : 
 
 And through the mist men heard the Red Horse feed. 
 
 In Armod's house they burned Bisesa's dower, 
 And killed her black bull Tor, and broke her wheel, 
 And loosed her hair, as for the marriage-feast 
 With cries more loud than mourning for the dead. 
 
 Across the fields, from Armod's dwelling-place, 
 
 We heard Bisesa weeping where she passed 
 
 To seek the Unlighted Shrine; the Red Horse 
 
 neighed 
 And followed her, and on the river-mint 
 His hooves struck dead and heavy in our ears. 
 
 Out of the mists of evening, as the star 
 
 Of Ao-Safai climbs through the black snow-blur 
 
 To show the Pass is clear, Bisesa stepped 
 
 Upon the great grey slope of mortised itone, 
 
 The Causeway of Taman. The Red Horse neighed 
 
 Behind her to the Unlighted Shrine — then fled 
 
 North to the Mountain where his stable lies. 
 
THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 85 
 
 They know who dared the anger of Taman, 
 
 And watched that night above the clinging mists, 
 
 Far up the hill, Bisesa's passing in. 
 
 She set her hand upon the carven door, 
 Fouled by a myriad bats, and black with time, 
 Whereon is graved the Glory of Taman 
 In letters older then Ao-Safai; 
 And twice she turned aside and twice she wept, 
 Cast down upon the threshold, clamouring 
 for him she loved — the Man of Sixty Spears, 
 And for her father, — and the black bull Tor 
 Hers and her pride. Yea, twice she turned away 
 Before the awful darkness of the door, 
 And the great horror of the Wall of Man 
 Where Man is made the plaything of Taman, 
 An Eyeless Face that waits above and laughs. 
 
 But the third time she cried and put her palms 
 Against the hewn stone leaves, and prayed Taman 
 To spare Er-Heb and take her life for price. 
 
 They know who watched, the doors were rent apart 
 And closed upon Bisesa, and the rain 
 
86 THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 
 
 Broke like a flood across the Valley, washed 
 The mist away; but louder than the rain 
 The thunder of Taman filled men with fear. 
 
 Some say that from the Unlighted Shrine she cried 
 
 For succour, very pitifully, thrice, 
 
 And others that she sang and had no fear. 
 
 And some that there was neither song nor cry, 
 
 But only thunder and the lashing rain. 
 
 Howbeit, in the morning, men rose up, 
 Perplexed with horror, crowding to the Shrine, 
 And when Er-Heb was gathered at the doors 
 The Priests made lamentation and passed in 
 To a strange Temple and a God they feared 
 But knew not. 
 
 From the crevices the grass 
 Had thrust the altar-slabs apart, the walls 
 Were grey with stains unclean, the roof-beams 
 
 swelled 
 With many-coloured growth of rottenness, 
 And lichen veiled the Image of Taman 
 In leprosy. The Basin of the Blood 
 
THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 87 
 
 Above the altar held the morning sun 
 A winking ruby on its heart; below, 
 Face hid in hands, the maid Bisesa lay. 
 
 Er-Heb beyond the Hills of Ao-Safai 
 Bears witness to the truth, and Ao-Safai 
 Hath told the men of Gorukh. Thence the tale 
 Comes westward o'er the peaks to India. 
 
THE DOVE OF DACCA 
 
 The freed dove flew to the Rajah's tower — 
 Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings — 
 
 And the thorns have covered the city of Gaur. 
 Dove — dove — oh, homing dove! 
 
 Little white traitor, with woe on thy wings! 
 
 The Rajah of Dacca rode under the wall; 
 
 He set in his bosom a dove of flight — 
 "If she return, be sure that I fall." 
 
 Dove — dove — oh, homing dove! 
 Pressed to his heart in the thick of the fight. 
 
 " Fire the palace, the fort, and the keep — 
 
 Leave to the f oeman no spoil at all. 
 In the flame of the palace lie down and sleep 
 
 If the dove, if the dove— if the homing dove 
 Come and alone to the palace wall." 
 
 The Kings of the North they were scattered abroad- 
 The Rajah of Dacca he slew them all. 
 
 Hot from slaughter he stopped at the ford, 
 And the dove — the dove — oh, the homing dove! 
 
 She thought of her cote on the palace wall. 
 
 (Copyright, 1893, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 88 
 
THE DOVE OF DACCA 89 
 
 She opened her wings and she flew away — 
 
 Fluttered away beyond recall; 
 She came to the palace at break of day. 
 
 Dove — dove — oh, homing dove! 
 Flying so fast for a kingdom's fall. 
 
 The Queens of Dacca they slept in flame — 
 
 Slept in the flame of the palace old — 
 To save their honour from Moslem shame. 
 
 And the dove — the dove — oh, the homing dove! 
 She cooed to her young where the smoke-cloud rolled. 
 
 The Rajah of Dacca rode far and fleet, 
 
 Followed as fast as a horse could fly, 
 He came and the palace was black at his feet; 
 
 And the dove — the dove — the homing dove, 
 Circled alone in the stainless sky. 
 
 So the dove flew to the Rajah's tower — 
 Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings; 
 
 So the thorns covered the city of Gaur, 
 And Dacca was lost for a white dove's wings. 
 
 Dove — dove — oh, homing dove, 
 Dacca is lost from the roll of the kings! 
 
THE EXPLANATION 
 
 Love and Death once ceased their strife 
 At the Tavern of Man's Life. 
 Called for wine, and threw — alas! — 
 Each his quiver on the grass. 
 When the bout was o'er they found 
 Mingled arrows strewed the ground. 
 Hastily they gathered then 
 Each the loves and lives of men. 
 Ah, the fateful dawn deceived! 
 Mingled arrows each one sheaved; 
 Death's dread armoury was stored 
 With the shafts he most abhorred; 
 Love's light quiver groaned beneath 
 Venom-headed darts of Death. 
 
 Thus it was they wrought our woe 
 At the Tavern long ago. 
 Tell me, do our masters know, 
 Loosing blindly as they fly, 
 Old men love while young men 4ie? 
 90 
 
AN ANSWER 
 
 A Rose, in tatters on the garden path, 
 Cried out to God and murmured 'gainst His wrath, 
 Because a sudden wind at twilight's hush 
 Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush. 
 And God, who hears both sun-dried dust and sun, 
 Made answer whispering to that luckless one, 
 " Sister, in that thou sayest We did not well — 
 "What voices heardst thou when thy petals fell?" 
 And the Rose answered, "In that evil hour 
 U A voice said, ' Father, wherefore falls the flower? 
 "'For lo, the very gossamers are still.' 
 "And a voice answered, 'Son, by Allah's will!'" 
 Then softly as a rain-mist on the sward, 
 Came to the Rose the Answer of the Lord: 
 " Sister, before We smote the dark in twain, 
 "'* Ere yet the stars saw one another plain, 
 "Time, tide, and space, We bound unto the task 
 "That thou shouldst fall, and such an one should 
 ask." 
 
 Whereat the withered flower, all content, 
 Died as they die whose days are innocent; 
 While he who questioned why the flower fell 
 Caught hold of God and saved his soul from Hell. 
 (Copyright, 1893, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 91 
 
THE GIFT OF THE SEA 
 
 The dead child lay in the shroud, 
 And the widow watched beside; 
 
 And her mother slept, and the Channel swept 
 The gale in the teeth of the tide. 
 
 But the mother laughed at all. 
 
 "I have lost my man in the sea, 
 "And the child is dead. Be still," she said. 
 
 "What more can ye do to me?" 
 
 The widow watched the dead, 
 
 And the candle guttered low, 
 And she tried to sing the Passing Song 
 
 That bids the poor soul go. 
 
 And "Mary take you now," she sang, 
 
 "That lay against my heart." 
 And "Mary smooth your crib to-night, ,; 
 
 But she could not say "Depart." 
 92 
 
THE GIFT OF THE SEA 93 
 
 Then came a cry from the sea, 
 But the sea-rime blinded the glass, 
 
 And ''Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said, 
 " 'Tis the child that waits to pass." 
 
 And the nodding mother sighed. 
 
 " ' Tis a lambing ewe in the whin, 
 "For why should the christened soul cry out, 
 
 "That never knew of sin?" 
 
 "O feet I have held in my hand, 
 
 "O hands at my heart to catch, 
 "How should they know the road to go, 
 
 "And how should they lift the latch?" 
 
 They laid a sheet to the door, 
 
 With a little quilt atop, 
 That it might not hurt from the cold or the dirt, 
 
 But the crying would not stop. 
 
 The widow lifted the latch 
 
 And strained her eyes to see, 
 And opened the door on the bitter shore 
 
 To let the soul go free. 
 
94 THE GIFT OF THE SEA 
 
 There was neither glimmer nor ghost, 
 
 There was neither spirit nor spark, 
 And " Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said, 
 
 " Tis crying for me in the dark." 
 
 And the nodding mother sighed, 
 
 " ' Tis sorrow makes ye dull; 
 "Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern, 
 
 "Or the wail of the wind-blown gull? " 
 
 " The terns are blown inland, 
 
 "The grey gull follows the plough. 
 " 'Twas never a bird, the voice I heard, 
 
 "O mother, I hear it now!" 
 
 "Lie still, dear lamb, lie still; 
 
 "The child is passed from harm, 
 "'Tis the ache in your breast that broke your rest 
 
 "And the feel of an empty arm." 
 
 She put her mother aside, 
 
 "In Mary's name let be! 
 "For the peace of my soul I must go," she said, 
 
 And she went to the calling sea. 
 
THE GIFT OF THE SEA 95 
 
 In the heel of the wind-bit pier, 
 
 Where the twisted weed was piled, 
 She came to the life she had missed by an hour, 
 
 For she came to a little child. 
 
 She laid it into her breast, 
 
 And back to her mother she came, 
 But it would not feed and it would not heed, 
 
 Though she gave it her own child's name. 
 
 And the dead child dripped on her breast, 
 And her own in the shroud lay stark; 
 
 And "God forgive us, mother," she said, 
 "We let it die in the dark!" 
 
EVARRA AND HIS GODS 
 
 Read here, 
 
 This is the story of Evarra — man — 
 
 Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
 Because the city gave him of her gold, 
 Because the caravans brought turquoises, 
 Because his life was sheltered by the King, 
 So that no man should maim him, none should 
 
 steal, 
 Or break his rest with babble in the streets 
 When he was weary after toil, he made 
 An image of his God in gold and pearl, 
 With turquoise diadem and human eyes, 
 A Wonder in the sunshine, known afar 
 And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with 
 
 pride, 
 Because the city bowed to him for God, 
 He wrote above the shrine: " Thus Gods are made, 
 "And whoso makes them otherwise shall die" 
 And all the city praised him. . . . Then he died. 
 
 96 
 
EVARRA AND HIS GODS 97 
 
 Read here the story of Evarra — man — 
 
 Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
 Because the city had no wealth to give, 
 Because the caravans were spoiled afar, 
 Because his life was threatened by the King, 
 So that all men despised him in the streets, 
 He hewed the living rock, with sweat and tears, 
 And reared a God against the morning-gold, 
 A terror in the sunshine, seen afar, 
 And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with 
 
 pride, 
 Because the city fawned to bring him back, 
 He carved upon the plinth: " Thus Gods are made, 
 "And whoso makes them otherwise shall die." 
 And all the people praised him. . . . Then he 
 died. 
 
 Read here the story of Evarra — man — 
 
 Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
 Because he lived among a simple folk, 
 Because his village was between the hills, 
 Because he smeared his cheeks with blood of ewes, 
 He cut an idol from a fallen pine, 
 Smeared blood upon its cheeks, and wedged a shell 
 
98 EVARRA AND HIS GODS 
 
 Above its brows for eyes, and gave it hair 
 Of trailing moss, and plaited straw for crown. 
 And all the village praised him for his craft, 
 And brought him butter, honey, milk, and curds. 
 Wherefore, because the shoutings drove him mad, 
 He scratched upon that log: " Thus Gods are made, 
 "And whoso makes them otherwise shall die." 
 And all the people praised him. . . . Then he 
 died. 
 
 Read here the story ofEvarra — man — 
 
 Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
 
 Because his God decreed one clot of blood 
 Should swerve one hair's-breadth from the pulse's 
 
 path, 
 And chafe his brain, Evarra mowed alone, 
 Rag- wrapped, among the cattle in the fields, 
 Counting his fingers, jesting with the trees, 
 And mocking at the mist, until his God 
 Drove him to labour. Out of dung and horns 
 Dropped in the mire he made a monstrous God, 
 Abhorrent, shapeless, crowned with plain tain tufts, 
 And when the cattle lowed at twilight time, 
 He dreamed it was the clamour of lost crowds, 
 
EVARRA AND HIS GODS gg 
 
 And howled among the beasts: "Thus Gods are 
 
 made, 
 "And whoso makes them otherwise shall die." 
 Thereat the cattle bellowed. . . . Then he died. 
 
 Yet at the last he came to Paradise, 
 
 And found his own four Gods, and that he wrote; 
 
 And marvelled, being very near to God, 
 
 What oaf on earth had made his toil God's law, 
 
 Till God said mocking: "Mock not. These be 
 
 thine." 
 Then cried Evarra: "I have sinned!" — "Not so. 
 "If thou hadst written otherwise, thy Gods 
 "Had rested in the mountain and the mine, 
 " And I were poorer by four wondrous Gods, 
 "And thy more wondrous law, Evarra. Thine, 
 "Servant of shouting crowds and lowing kine." 
 
 Thereat, with laughing mouth, but tear-wet eyes, 
 Evarra cast his Gods from Paradise. 
 
 This is the story of Evarra— man — 
 M »ke* of Gods in lands bevoitd the sea. 
 
THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS 
 
 When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's 
 
 green and gold, 
 Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched 
 
 with a stick in the mould; 
 And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was 
 
 joy to his mighty heart, 
 Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's 
 
 pretty, but is it Art? " 
 
 Wherefore he called to his wife, and fled to fashion 
 
 his work anew — 
 The first of his race who cared a fig for the first, most 
 
 dread review; 
 And he left his lore to the use of his sons — and that 
 
 was a glorious gain 
 When the Devil chuckled "Is it Art?" in the ear of 
 
 the branded Cain. 
 
 ioo 
 
THE CONUNDRUM 101 
 
 They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench 
 
 the stars apart, 
 Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks- "It's 
 
 striking, but is it Art? " 
 The stone was dropped at the quarry-side and the 
 
 idle derrick swung, 
 While each man talked of the aims of Art, and each 
 
 in an alien tongue. 
 
 They fought and they talked in the North and the 
 
 South, they talked and they fought in the West, 
 Till the waters rose on the pitiful land, and the poor 
 
 Red Clay had rest — 
 Had rest till the dank, blank-canvas dawn when the 
 
 dove was preened to start, 
 And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, 
 
 but is it Art?" 
 
 The tale is as old as the Eden Tree— and new as the 
 
 new-cut tooth — 
 For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is 
 
 master of Art and Truth; 
 
io2 THE CONUNDRUM OF 
 
 And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat 
 
 of his dying heart, 
 The Devil drum on the darkened pane: " You did it, 
 
 but was it Art? " 
 
 We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the 
 
 shape of a surplice-peg, 
 We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the 
 
 yelk of an addled egg, 
 We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the 
 
 horse is drawn by the cart ; 
 But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old "It's 
 
 clever, but is it Art? " 
 
 When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the 
 
 Club-room's green and gold, 
 The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with 
 
 their pens in the mould — 
 They scratch with their pens in the mould of their 
 
 graves, and the ink and the anguish start, 
 For the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It'f 
 
 pretty, but is it Art? " 
 
THE WORKSHOPS 103 
 
 Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the 
 
 Four Great Rivers flow, 
 And the Wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left 
 
 it long ago, 
 And if we could come when the sentry slept and softly 
 
 scurry through, 
 By the favour of God we might know as much— as 
 
 our father Adam knew. 
 
IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE 
 
 In the Neolithic Age savage warfare did I wage 
 For food and fame and two- toed horses' pelt; 
 
 I was singer to my clan in that dim, red Dawn of 
 Man, 
 And I sang of all we fought and feared and felt. 
 
 Yea, I sang as now I sing, when the Prehistoric spring 
 Made the piled Biscayan ice-pack split and shove, 
 
 And the troll and gnome and dwerg, and the Gods of 
 Cliff and Berg 
 Were about me and beneath me and above. 
 
 But a rival of Solutre told the tribe my style was 
 outrS — 
 By a hammer, grooved of dolomite, he fell. 
 And I left my views on Art, barbed and tanged, be- 
 neath the heart 
 Of a mammothistic etcher at Grenelle. 
 
 Then I stripped them, scalp from skull, and my hunt- 
 ing dogs fed full, 
 And their teeth I threaded neatly on a thong; 
 
 (Copyright, 1893, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 104 
 
IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE 105 
 
 And I wiped my mouth and said, "It is well that 
 they are dead, 
 "For I know my work is right and theirs was 
 wrong." 
 
 But my Totem saw the shame; from his ridgepole 
 shrine he came, 
 And he told me in a virion of the night:— 
 "There are nine and sixty ways of constructing 
 tribal lays, 
 "And every single one of them is right! " 
 
 Then the silence closed upon me till They put new 
 clothing on me 
 Of whiter, weaker flesh and bone more frail; 
 And I stepped beneath Time's finger once again a 
 tribal singer 
 And a minor poet certified by Tr — 1. 
 
 Still they skirmish to and fro, men my messmates on 
 the snow, 
 When we headed off the aurochs turn for turn; 
 When the rich Allobrogenses never kept amanuenses, 
 
io6 IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE 
 
 And our only plots were piled in lakes at Berne. 
 Still a cultured Christian age sees us scuffle, squeak, 
 and rage, 
 Still we pinch and slap and jabber — scratch and 
 dirk; 
 Still we let our business slide — as we dropped the 
 half-dressed hide — 
 To show a fellow-savage how to work. 
 
 Still the world is wondrous large, — seven seas from 
 marge to marge, — 
 And it holds a vast of various kinds of man; 
 And the wildest dreams of Kew are the facts of 
 Khatmandhu 
 And the crimes of Clapham chaste in Martaban. 
 
 Here's my wisdom for your use, as I learned it when 
 the moose 
 And the reindeer roared where Paris roars to-night: 
 There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal 
 lays, 
 And — every — single — one — of — them — is — right. 
 
THE LEGEND OF EVIL 
 
 This is the sorrowful story 
 
 Told when the twilight fails 
 And the monkeys walk together 
 
 Holding each other's tails. 
 
 "Our fathers lived in the forest, 
 
 " Foolish people were they, 
 "They went down to the cornland 
 
 "To teach the farmers to play. 
 
 "Our fathers frisked in the millet, 
 "Our fathers skipped in the wheat, 
 
 "Our fathers hung from the branches, 
 " Our fathers danced in the street. 
 
 "Then came the terrible farmers, 
 
 "Nothing of play they knew, 
 "Only . . . they caught our fathers 
 ; And set them to labour too! 
 (Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 107 
 
 ct 
 
108 THE LEGEND OF EVIL 
 
 " Set them to work in the cornland 
 
 " With ploughs and sickles and flails, 
 "Put them in mud-walled prisons 
 "And — cut off their beautiful tails! 
 
 "Now, we can watch our fathers, 
 " Sullen and bowed and old, 
 
 " Stooping over the millet, 
 " Sharing the silly mould. 
 
 "Driving a foolish furrow, 
 "Mending a muddy yoke, 
 
 " Sleeping in mud- walled prisons, 
 " Steeping their food in smoke. 
 
 "We may not speak to our fathers, 
 "For if the farmers knew 
 
 "They would come up to the forest 
 "And set us to labour too!" 
 
 This is the horrible story 
 
 Told as the twilight fails 
 &nd the monkeys walk together 
 
 Holding each other's tails. 
 
THE LEGEND OF EVIL 109 
 
 n 
 
 Twas when the rain fell steady an' the Ark was 
 pitched an' ready, 
 That Noah got his orders for to take the bastes 
 below; 
 He dragged them all together by the horn an' hide 
 an' feather, 
 An' all excipt the Donkey was agreeable to go. 
 
 Thin Noah spoke him fairly, thin talked to him 
 sevarely, 
 An' thin he cursed him squarely to the glory av the 
 Lord: 
 "Divil take the ass that bred you, and the greater ass 
 that fed you — 
 Divil go wid you, ye spalpeen!" an' the Donkey 
 went aboard. 
 
 But the wind was always failin', an' 'twas most 
 onaisy sailin', 
 An' the ladies in the cabin couldn't stand the 
 stable air; 
 
no THE LEGEND OF EVIL 
 
 An' the bastes betwuxt the hatches, they tuk an' died 
 in batches, 
 Till Noah said: "There's wan av us that hasn't 
 paid his fare!" 
 
 For he heard a flusteration wid the bastes av all 
 creation — 
 The trumpetin' av elephints an' bellowin' av 
 whales; 
 An' he saw forninst the windy whin he wint to stop 
 the shindy 
 The Divil wid a stable-fork bedivillin' their tails. 
 
 The Divil cursed outrageous, but Noah said um- 
 brageous: 
 "To what am I indebted for this tenant-right in- 
 vasion?" 
 An' the Divil gave for answer: "Evict me if you can, 
 sir, 
 "For I came in wid the Donkey — on Your Hon- 
 our's invitation." 
 
THE ENGLISH FLAG 
 
 Above the portico a flagstaff bearing the Union Jack, 
 remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ul- 
 timately when it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts, 
 and seemed to see significance in the incident. 
 
 — Daily Papers. 
 
 Winds of the World, give answer? They are whim- 
 pering to and fro — 
 
 And what should they know of England who only 
 England know? — 
 
 The poor little street-bred people that vapour and 
 fume and brag, 
 
 They are Hf ting their heads in the stillness to yelp at 
 the English Flag! 
 
 Must we borrow a clout from the Boer — to plaster 
 
 anew with dirt? 
 An Irish liar's bandage, or an English coward's shirt? 
 We may not speak of England: her Flag's to sell or 
 
 share. 
 What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World. 
 
 declare! 
 
 in 
 
ii2 THE ENGLISH FLAG 
 
 The North Wind blew: — "From Bergen my steel- 
 shod vanguards go; 
 
 "I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe; 
 
 "By the great North Lights above me I work the will 
 of God, 
 
 "That the liner splits on the ice-field or the Dogger 
 fills with cod. 
 
 r 
 
 "I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors 
 
 with flame, 
 "Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies 
 
 came; 
 "I took the sun from their presence, I cut them 
 
 down with my blast, 
 "And they died, but the Flag of England blew free 
 
 ere the spirit passed. 
 
 u The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long 
 
 Arctic night, 
 "The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the 
 
 Northern Light: 
 "What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my 
 
 bergs to dare, 
 " Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it 
 
 is there f " 
 
THE ENGLISH FLAG 113 
 
 The South Wind sighed: — "From The Virgins my 
 mid-sea course was ta'en 
 
 "Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main, 
 
 "Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long- 
 backed breakers croon 
 
 "Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked 
 lagoon. 
 
 " Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys, 
 "I waked the palms to laughter — I tossed the scud 
 
 in the breeze — 
 "Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone, 
 "But over the scud and the palm-trees an English 
 
 Flag was flown. 
 
 "I have wrenched it free from the halHard to hang 
 
 for a wisp on the Horn; 
 "I have chased it north to the Lizard — ribboned and 
 
 rolled and torn; 
 "I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a 
 
 hopeless sea; 
 "I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the 
 
 slave set free. 
 
n 4 THE ENGLISH FLAG 
 
 "My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross, 
 "Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the 
 
 Southern Cross. 
 "What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my 
 
 reefs to dare, 
 " Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is 
 
 there!" 
 
 The East Wind roared:— "From the Kuriles, the 
 
 Bitter Seas, I come, 
 "And me men call the Home- Wind, for I bring the 
 
 English home. 
 "Look — look well to your shipping! By the breath 
 
 of my mad typhoon 
 "I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your 
 
 best at Kowloon! 
 
 "The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas 
 before, 
 
 "I raped your richest roadstead — I plundered Singa- 
 pore! 
 
 "I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she 
 rose, 
 
 "And I flung your stoutest steamers to roost with 
 the startled crows. 
 
THE ENGLISH FLAG n 5 
 
 ' Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake, 
 " But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died 
 
 for England's sake — 
 "Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or 
 
 maid — 
 ''Because on the bones of the English the English 
 Flag is stayed. 
 
 "The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild- 
 ass knows 
 
 "The scared white leopard winds it across the taint- 
 less snows. 
 
 * 4 What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun 
 to dare, 
 
 "Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is 
 there!" 
 
 The West Wind called:— "In squadrons the thought- 
 less galleons fly 
 
 "That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred 
 people die. 
 
 "They make my might their porter, they make my 
 house their path, 
 
 "Till I loose my neck from their rudder and whelm 
 them all in my wrath. 
 
n6 THE ENGLISH FLAG 
 
 "I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn 
 from the hole; 
 
 "They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship- 
 bells toll, 
 
 "For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud 
 with my breath, 
 
 "And they see strange bows above them and the twc 
 go locked to death. 
 
 "But whether in calm or wrack- wreath, whether by 
 
 dark or day, 
 "I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates 
 
 away, 
 "First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky, 
 "Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes 
 
 by. 
 
 "The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it — the frozen 
 
 dews have kissed — 
 "The naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the 
 
 mist. 
 "What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my 
 
 breath to dare, 
 " Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for 
 
 it is there!" 
 
"CLEARED" 
 
 (lH MEMORY OP A COMMISSION) 
 
 Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt, 
 Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the 
 
 dirt\ 
 From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my 
 
 song, 
 The honourable gentlemen have suffered grievous 
 
 wrong. 
 
 Their noble names were mentioned — O the burning 
 
 black disgrace! — 
 By a brutal Saxon paper in an Irish shooting-case; 
 They sat upon it for a year, then steeled their heart 
 
 to brave it, 
 And "coruscating innocence " the learned Judges 
 
 gave it. 
 
 117 
 
n8 "CLEARED" 
 
 Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime beneath the 
 
 surgeon's knife, 
 The honourable gentleman deplored the loss of life; 
 Bear witness of those chanting choirs that burk and 
 
 shirk and snigger, 
 No man laid hand upon the knife or finger to the 
 
 trigger! 
 
 Cleared in the face of all mankind beneath the 
 
 winking skies, 
 Like phoenixes from Phcenix Park (and what lay 
 
 there) they rise ! 
 Go shout it to the emerald seas — give word to Erin 
 
 now, 
 Her honourable gentlemen are cleared — and this is 
 
 how: — 
 
 They only paid the Moonlighter his cattle-hocking 
 
 price, 
 They only helped the murderer with council's best 
 
 advice, 
 
"CLEARED" IIg 
 
 But— sure it keeps their honour white— the learned 
 
 Court believes 
 They never gave a piece of plate to murderers and 
 
 thieves. 
 
 They never told the ramping crowd to card a 
 
 woman's hide, 
 They never marked a man for death—what fault of 
 
 theirs he died? — 
 They only said "intimidate," and talked and went 
 
 away — 
 
 By God, the boys that did the work were braver men 
 than they! 
 
 Their sin it was that fed the fire— small blame to 
 
 them that heard— 
 The "bhoys" get drunk on rhetoric, and madden at 
 
 the word — 
 They knew whom they were talking at, if they were 
 
 Irish too, 
 The gentlemen that lied in Court, they knew and 
 
 well they knew. 
 
i2o "CLEARED" 
 
 They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of 
 
 jail, 
 They only fawned for dollars on the blood-eyed 
 
 Clan-na-Gael. 
 If black is black or white is white, in black and white 
 
 it's down, 
 They're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to 
 
 the Crown. 
 
 " Cleared," honourable gentlemen. Be thankful it's 
 
 no more: — 
 The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at 
 
 your door. 
 On you the shame of open shame, on you from North 
 
 to South 
 The hand of every honest man flat-heeled across your 
 
 mouth. 
 
 "Less black than we were painted"? — Faith, no 
 
 word of black was said; 
 The lightest touch was human blood, and that, ye 
 
 know, runs red. 
 
"CLEARED" 121 
 
 It's sticking to your fist to-day for all your sneer and 
 
 scoff, 
 And by the Judge's well-weighed word you cannot 
 
 wipe it off. 
 
 tlold up those hands of innocence — go, scare your 
 
 sheep together, 
 The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the 
 
 old bell-wether; 
 And if they snuff the taint and break to find another 
 
 pen, 
 Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them 
 
 yours again! 
 
 "The charge is old"? — As old as Cain — as fresh as 
 
 yesterday; 
 Old as the Ten Commandments, have ye talked those 
 
 laws away? 
 If words are words, or death is death, or powder 
 
 sends the ball, 
 You spoke the words that sped the shot — the curse 
 
 be on you all. 
 
122 "CLEARED" 
 
 "Our friends believe"? Of course they do — as 
 
 sheltered women may; 
 But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped from the 
 
 quivering clay? 
 They! — If their own front door is shut, they'll swear 
 
 the whole world's warm; 
 What do they know of dread of death or hanging fear 
 
 of harm? 
 
 The secret half a county keeps, the whisper in the 
 
 lane, 
 The shriek that tells the shot went home behind the 
 
 broken pane, 
 The dry blood crisping in the sun that scares the 
 
 honest bees, 
 And shows the "bhoys " have heard your talk— what 
 
 do they know of these? 
 
 But you — you know — ay, ten times more; the 
 
 secrets of the dead, 
 Black terror on the country-side by word an<f 
 
 whisper bred. 
 
"CLEARED" j 23 
 
 The mangled stallion's scream at night, the tail- 
 cropped heifer's low. 
 
 Who set the whisper going first? You know, and 
 well you know! 
 
 My soul! I'd sooner lie in jail for murder plain and 
 
 straight, 
 Pure crime I'd done with my own hand for money, 
 
 lust, or hate, 
 Than take a seat in Parliament by fellow-felons 
 
 cheered, 
 While one of those "not provens" proved me cleared 
 
 as you are cleared. 
 
 Cleared— you that "lost" the league accounts— go, 
 
 guard our honour still, 
 Go, help to make our country's laws that broke God's 
 
 law at will — 4 
 One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal 
 
 "strike again"; 
 The other on your dress-shirt-front to show your 
 
 heart is clant. 
 
124 "CLEARED" 
 
 If black is black or white is white, in black and white 
 
 it's down, 
 You're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the 
 
 Crown. 
 If print is print or words are words, the learned 
 
 Court perpends: 
 We are not ruled by murderers, but only—by thefr 
 
 friends. 
 
AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 
 
 Now this is the tale of the Council the German 
 
 Kaiser decreed, 
 To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak 
 
 in their need 
 He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and 
 
 pant, and sweat, 
 That the straw might be counted fairly and the tally 
 
 of bricks be set. 
 
 The Lords of Their Hands assembled; from the East 
 
 and the West they drew — 
 Baltimore, Lille, and Essen, Brummagem, Clyde, and 
 
 Crewe. 
 And some were black from the furnace, and some 
 
 were brown from the soil, 
 And some were blue from the dye- vat; but all were 
 
 wearied of toil. 
 
 i«5 
 
126 AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 
 
 And the young King said, "I have found it, the road 
 
 to the rest ye seek; 
 "The strong shall wait for the weary, the hale shall 
 
 halt for the weak; 
 "With the even tramp of an army where no man 
 
 breaks from the line, 
 "Ye shall march to peace and plenty in the bond ol 
 
 brotherhood — sign! " 
 
 The paper lay on the table, the strong heads bowed 
 
 thereby, 
 And a wail went up from the peoples: "Ay, sign — 
 
 give rest, for we die! " 
 A hand was stretched to the goose-quill, a fist was 
 
 cramped to scrawl, 
 When — the laugh of a blue-eyed maiden ran clear 
 
 through the council-hall. 
 
 And each one heard Her laughing as each one saw 
 
 Her plain — 
 Saidie, Mimi, or Olga, Gretchen, or Mary Jane. 
 And the Spirit of Man that is in Him to the light of 
 
 the vision woke; 
 And the men drew back from th© paper, as a Yankee 
 
 delegate spoke; — 
 
AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 127 
 
 "There's a girl in Jersey City who works on the 
 
 telephone; 
 " We're going to hitch our horses and dig for a house 
 
 of our own, 
 "With gas and water connections, and steam-heat 
 
 through to the top; 
 "And, W. Hohenzollern, I guess I shall work till I 
 
 drop." 
 
 And an English delegate thundered: "The weak an' 
 
 the lame be blowed! 
 "I've a berth in the Sou'- West workshops, a home in 
 
 the Wandsworth Road; 
 "And till the 'sociation has footed my buryin' bill, 
 " I work for the kids an' the missis. Pull up ! I'll be 
 
 damned if I will!" 
 
 And over the German benches the bearded whisper 
 
 ran: — 
 "Lager, der girls und der dollars, dey makes or dey 
 
 breaks a man. 
 "If Schmitt haf collared der dollars, he collars der 
 
 girl deremit; 
 " But if Schmitt bust in der pizness, we collars der girl 
 
 from Schmitt." 
 
128 AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 
 
 They passed one resolution: "Your sub-committee 
 
 believe 
 "You can lighten the curse of Adam when you've 
 
 lightened the curse of Eve. 
 "But till we are built like angels — with hammer and 
 
 chisel and pen, 
 "We'll work for ourself and a woman, for ever and 
 
 ever. Amen." 
 
 Now this is the tale of the Council the German 
 
 Kaiser held — 
 The day that they razored the Grindstone, the day 
 
 that the Cat was belled, 
 The day of the Figs from Thistles, the day of the 
 
 Twisted Sands, 
 The day that the laugh of a maiden made light of the 
 
 Lords of Their Hands. 
 
TOMLINSON 
 
 Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in 
 
 Berkeley Square, 
 And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by 
 
 the hair — 
 A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far 
 
 away, 
 Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of 
 
 the Milky Way, 
 Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and 
 
 drone and cease, 
 And they came to the Gate within the Wall where 
 
 Peter holds the keys. 
 "Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and answer 
 
 loud and high 
 "The good that ye did for the sake of men or ever ye 
 
 came to die — 
 "The good that ye did for the sake of men in little 
 
 earth so lone!" 
 
 129 
 
130 TOMLINSON 
 
 And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white as a 
 
 rain-washed bone. 
 "O, I have a friend on earth," he said, "that was my 
 
 priest and guide, 
 "And well would he answer all for me if he were by 
 
 my side." 
 — "For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall b& 
 
 written fair, 
 "But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in 
 
 Berkeley Square: 
 "Though we called your friend from his bed this 
 
 night, he could not speak for you, 
 " For the race is run by one and one and never by two 
 
 and two." 
 Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain 
 
 was there, 
 For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw 
 
 that his soul was bare: 
 The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him 
 
 like a knife, 
 And Tomlinson took up his tale and spoke of his good 
 
 in life. 
 "This I have read in a book," he said, "and that was 
 
 told to me, 
 
TOMLINSON 131 
 
 "And this I have thought that another man. thought 
 
 of a Prince in Muscovy." 
 The good souls flocked like homing doves and bade 
 
 him clear the path, 
 And Peter twirled the jangling keys in weariness and 
 
 wrath. 
 "Ye have read, ye have heard, he have thought," he 
 
 said, "and the tale is yet to run: 
 "By the worth of the body that once ye had, give 
 
 answer — what ha' ye done? " 
 Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and little 
 
 good it bore, 
 For the Darkness stayed at his shoulder-blade and 
 
 Heaven's Gate before: 
 "Oh, this I have felt, and this I have guessed, and 
 
 this I have heard men say, 
 "And this they wrote that another man wrote of a 
 
 carl in Norroway." 
 "Ye have read, ye have felt, ye have guessed, good 
 
 lack! Ye have hampered Heaven's Gate; 
 " There's little room between the stars in idleness to 
 
 prate ! 
 "Oh, none may reach by hired speech of neighbour, 
 
 priest, and kin, 
 
132 TOMLINSON 
 
 " Through borrowed deed to God's good need that 
 lies so fair within; 
 
 "Get hence, get hence to the Lord of Wrong, for 
 doom has yet to run, 
 
 "And . . . the faith that ye share with Berkeley- 
 Square uphold you, Tomlinson ! " 
 
 The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun by sun 
 
 they fell 
 Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars that rux 
 
 the mouth of Hell: 
 The first are red with pride and wrath, the next are 
 
 white with pain, 
 But the third are black with clinkered sin that cannot 
 
 burn again: 
 They may hold their path, they may leave their 
 
 path, with never a soul to mark, 
 They may burn or freeze, but they must not cease in 
 
 the scorn of the Outer Dark. 
 The Wind that blows between the worlds, it nipped 
 
 him to the bone, 
 And he yearned to the flare of Hell-gate there ?s the 
 
 light of his own hearth-stone. 
 
TOMLINSON 133 
 
 The Devil he sat behind the bars, where the des- 
 perate legions drew, 
 
 But he caught the hasting Tomlinson and would not 
 let him through. 
 
 "Wot ye the price of good pit-coal that I must pay? " 
 said he, 
 
 "That ye rank yourseP so fit for Hell and ask no 
 leave of me? 
 
 %f I am all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that ye should 
 give me scorn, 
 
 **'For I strove with God for your First Father the day 
 that he was born. 
 
 " Sit down, sit down upon the slag, and answer loud 
 and high 
 
 ''The harm that ye did to the Sons of Men or ever 
 you came to die." 
 
 And Tomlinson looked up and up, and saw against 
 
 the night 
 The belly of a tortured star blood-red in Hell-Mouth 
 
 light; 
 And Tomlinson looked down and down, and saw be- 
 neath his feet 
 The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in Hell- 
 Mouth heat 
 
i 3 4 TOMLINSON 
 
 "Oh, I had a love on earth," said he, " that kissed me 
 
 to my fall, 
 "And if ye would call my love to me I know she 
 
 would answer all." 
 — "All that ye did in love forbid it shall be written 
 
 fair, 
 "But now ye wait in Hell-Mouth Gate and not in 
 
 Berkeley Square: 
 "Though we whistled your love from her bed to- 
 night I trow she would not run, 
 "For the sin ye do by two and two ye must pay foi 
 
 one by one!" 
 The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him 
 
 like a knife, 
 And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sin 
 
 in life : 
 "Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice 
 
 at the grip of the Grave, 
 "And thrice I ha' patted my God on the head that 
 
 men might call me brave." 
 The Devil he blew on a brandered soul and set it 
 
 aside to cool: 
 "Do ye think I would waste my good pit-coal on the 
 
 hide of a brain-sick fool? 
 
TOMLINSON 135 
 
 "I see no worth in the hobnailed mirth or the jolt- 
 head jest ye did 
 
 "That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleep- 
 ing three on a grid." 
 
 Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and there 
 was little grace, 
 
 For Hell-Gate filled the houseless Soul with the Fear 
 of Naked Space. 
 
 "Nay, this I ha' heard," quo' Tomlinson, "and this 
 was noised abroad, 
 
 "And this I ha' got from a Belgian book on the word 
 of a dead French lord." 
 
 —"Ye ha' heard, ye ha' read, ye ha' got, good lack! 
 And the tale begins afresh— 
 
 " Have ye sinned one sin for the pride o' the eye or the 
 sinful lust of the flesh? " 
 
 Then Tomlinson he gripped the bars and yammered 
 "Let me in — 
 
 "For I mind that I borrowed my neighbour's wife to 
 sin the deadly sin." 
 
 The Devil he grinned behind the bars, and banked 
 the fires high: 
 
 "Did ye read of that sin in a book?" said he; and 
 Tomlinson said "Ay!" 
 
i 3 6 TOMLINSON 
 
 The Devil he blew upon his nails, and the little devils 
 
 ran; 
 And he said, "Go husk this whimpering thief that 
 
 comes in the guise of a man : 
 " Winnow him out 'twixt star and star, and sieve his 
 
 proper worth: 
 "There's sore decline in Adam's line if this be spawn 
 
 of earth." 
 Empusa's crew, so naked-new they may not face the 
 
 fire, 
 But weep that they bin too small to sin to the height 
 
 of their desire, 
 Over the coal they chased the Soul, and racked it al] 
 
 abroad, 
 As children rifle a caddis-case or the raven's foolisk 
 
 hoard. 
 And back they came with the tattered Thing, aa 
 
 children after play, 
 And they said: "The soul that he got from God h6 
 
 has bartered clean away. 
 "We have threshed a stook of print and book, and 
 
 winnowed a chattering wind 
 "And many a soul wherefrom he stole, but his wa 
 
 cannot find: 
 
TOMLINSON i37 
 
 "We have handled him, we have dandled him, we 
 
 have seared him to the bone, 
 "And sure if y tooth and nail show truth he has no soul 
 
 of his own." 
 The Devil he bowed his head on his breast and 
 
 rumbled deep and low: — 
 "I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should bid 
 
 him go. 
 "Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him 
 
 place, 
 "My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to 
 
 my face; 
 "They'd call my house a common stews and me a 
 
 careless host, 
 " And— I would not anger my gentlemen for the sake 
 
 of a shiftless ghost." 
 The Devil he looked at the mangled Soul that 
 
 prayed to feel the flame, 
 And he thought of Holy Charity, but he thought of 
 
 his own good name: 
 "Now ye could haste my coal to waste, and sit ye 
 
 down to fry: 
 "Did ye think of that theft for yourself?" said he; 
 
 and Tomlinson said "Ay!" 
 
138 TOMLINSON 
 
 The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart 
 
 was free from care: 
 "Ye have scarce the soul of a louse," he said, "but 
 
 the roots of sin are there, 
 "And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord 
 
 alone. 
 "But sinful pride has rule inside — and mightier than 
 
 my own. 
 "Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his 
 
 priest and whore: 
 "Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd 
 
 torture sore. 
 "Ye are neither spirit nor spirk," he said; "ye are 
 
 neither book nor brute — 
 " Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of 
 
 Man's repute. 
 "I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock 
 
 your pain, 
 "But look that ye win to worthier sin ere ye come 
 
 back again. 
 "Get hence, the hearse is at your door — the grim 
 
 black stallions wait — 
 "They bear your clay to place to-day. Speed, lest 
 
 ye come too late! 
 
TOMLINSON i 39 
 
 "Go back to Earth with a lip unsealed—go back 
 
 with an open eye, 
 "And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye 
 
 come to die: 
 " That the sin they do by two and two they must pay 
 
 for one by one — 
 ' And ... the God that you took from a printed 
 
 book be with you, Tomlinson!" 
 
BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
To T. A. 
 
 / have made for you a song, 
 And it may be right or wrong. 
 
 But only you can tell me if it's true; 
 I have tried for to explain 
 Both your pleasure and your pain. 
 
 And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you I 
 Oh, there'll surely come a day 
 When they'll grant you all your pay, 
 
 And treat you as a Christian ought to do; 
 So, until that day comes round, 
 Heaven keep you safe and sound, 
 
 And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you. 
 
 R. K. 
 
DANNY DEEVER 
 
 et What are the bugles blowin' for? " said Files-on- 
 
 Parade. 
 "To turn you out, to turn you out," the Colour- 
 Sergeant said. 
 "What makes you look so white, so white?" said 
 
 Files-on-Parade. 
 "I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Colour- 
 Sergeant said. 
 
 For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can 
 
 hear the Dead March play, 
 The regiment's in 'ollow square — they're 
 
 hangin' him to-day; 
 They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his 
 
 stripes away, 
 An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the 
 mornin'. 
 
 H3 
 
144 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 "What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said 
 
 Files-on-Parade. 
 "It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Colour- 
 Sergeant said. 
 "What makes that front-rank man fall down?" says 
 
 Files-on-Parade. 
 "A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Colour- 
 Sergeant said. 
 They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are 
 
 marchin' of 'im round, 
 They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin 
 
 on the ground; 
 An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' 
 
 shootin' hound — 
 O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the 
 mornin' ! 
 
 "'Is cot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on- 
 Parade. 
 
 "'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Colour- 
 Sergeant said. 
 
 "I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times." said Files-on- 
 Parade. 
 
 " 'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Colour-Sergeant 
 said. 
 
DANNY DEEVER 14S 
 
 They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must 
 
 mark 'im to 'is place, 
 For 'e shot a comrade sleepin' — you must 
 
 look 'im in the face; 
 Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's 
 
 disgrace, 
 While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the 
 
 mornin'. 
 
 "What's that so black agin the sun?" said Files-on- 
 
 Parade. 
 "It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Colour- 
 Sergeant said. 
 " What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files- 
 
 on-Parade. 
 "It's Danny's soul that's passin' now," the Colour- 
 Sergeant said. 
 For they're done with Danny Deever, you 
 
 can 'ear the quickstep play, 
 The regiment's in column, an' they're 
 
 marchin' us away; 
 Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll 
 
 want their beer to-day, 
 After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. 
 
TOMMY 
 
 I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer, 
 The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats 
 
 here." 
 The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit 
 
 to die, 
 I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I: 
 
 O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 
 
 "Tommy, go away"; 
 But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when 
 
 the band begins to play, 
 The band begins to play, my boys, the band 
 
 begins to play, 
 O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the 
 
 band begins to play. 
 
 I went into a theatre as sober as could be, 
 They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for 
 me; 
 
 14.6 
 
TOMMY 147 
 
 They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls, 
 But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me 
 in the stalls! 
 
 For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 
 
 "Tommy, wait outside"; 
 But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the 
 
 trooper's on the tide, 
 The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the 
 
 troopship's on the tide, 
 O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the 
 
 trooper's on the tide. 
 
 Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while 
 you sleep 
 
 Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starva- 
 tion cheap; 
 
 An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' 
 large a bit 
 
 Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit. 
 
 Then it's Tommy this, an' To nmy that, 
 an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?" 
 
 But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the 
 drums begin to roll, 
 
i 4 8 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums 
 
 begin to roll, 
 O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the 
 
 drums begin to roll. 
 
 We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no black- 
 guards too, 
 
 But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; 
 
 An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy 
 paints: 
 
 Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster 
 saints; 
 
 While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 
 
 "Tommy, fall be'ind," 
 But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when 
 
 there's trouble in the wind ; 
 There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's 
 
 trouble in the wind, 
 O it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when 
 
 there's trouble in the wind. 
 
 You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, 
 
 an' all: 
 We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. 
 
TOMMY 149 
 
 Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it 
 to our face 
 
 The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's dis- 
 grace. 
 
 For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 
 
 " Chuck him out, the brute!" 
 But it's "Saviour of 'is country," when the 
 
 guns begin to shoot; 
 Yes it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 
 
 anything you please; 
 But Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool — you bet 
 
 that Tommy sees! 
 
"FUZZY-WUZZY" 
 
 SOUDAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE 
 
 We've fought with many men acrost the seas, 
 
 An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not 
 The Pay than an' the Zulu an' Burmese; 
 
 But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot. 
 We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im: 
 
 'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses. 
 'E cut our sentries up at Sua&iw, 
 
 An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces 
 
 So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy- Wuzzy, at your 'ome 
 in the Soudan; 
 
 You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first- 
 class figh tin' man; 
 
 We gives you your certificate, an' if you want 
 it signed 
 
 We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you when- 
 ever you're inclined. 
 150 
 
"FUZZY-WUZZY" 151 
 
 We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills, 
 
 The Boers knocked us silly at a mile, 
 The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills, 
 
 An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style: 
 But all we ever got from such as they 
 
 Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller; 
 We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say, 
 But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oiler. 
 
 Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the 
 
 missis and the kid; 
 Our orders was to break you, an' of course we 
 
 went an' did. 
 We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 
 
 'ardly fair; 
 But for all the odds agin' you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy 
 you broke the square. 
 
 'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own, 
 
 'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards, 
 So we must certify the skill 'e's shown 
 
 In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords: 
 When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush 
 
 With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear, 
 An' 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush 
 
 Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year. 
 
i 5 2 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your 
 
 friends which are no more, 
 If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 
 
 'elp you to deplore; 
 But give an' take's the gospel, an* we'll call 
 
 the bargain fair, 
 For if you 'ave lost more than us, you 
 
 crumpled up the square! 
 
 'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive, 
 
 An', before we know, Vs 'ackin' at our 'ead; 
 'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive, 
 
 An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead. 
 'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb! 
 
 'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree, 
 'E's the on'y thing that doesn't give a damn 
 For a Regiment o' British Infantree! 
 
 So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome 
 
 in the Soudan; 
 You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first- 
 class fightin' man; 
 An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 
 
 'ayrick 'ead of 'air — 
 You big black boundin' beggar — for you 
 broke a British squarei 
 
SOLDIER, SOLDIER 
 
 " Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 
 
 Why don't you march with my true love? " 
 
 "We're fresh from off the ship an' 'e's maybe give the 
 
 slip, 
 An' you'd best go look for a new love." 
 
 New love ! True love ! 
 
 Best go look for a new love, 
 
 The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better 
 
 dry your eyes, 
 An' you'd best go look for a new love. 
 
 " Soldier, Soldier, come from the wars, 
 
 What did you see o' my true love? " 
 
 "I seed 'im serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-green, 
 
 An' you'd best go look for a new love." 
 
 "Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 
 Did ye see no more o' my true love? " 
 
 153 
 
i 5 4 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 "I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots begun to fly — 
 But you'd best go look for a new love." 
 
 "Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 
 
 Did aught take 'arm to my true love? " 
 
 "I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay so 
 
 white — 
 An' you'd best go look for a new love." 
 
 " Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 
 
 I'll up an' tend to my true love! " 
 
 " 'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead, 
 
 An' you'd best go look for a new love." 
 
 "Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 
 
 I'll down an' die with my true love! " 
 
 "The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 
 
 Mm — 
 An' you'd best go look for a new love." 
 
 " Soldier, soldier, come from the wars. 
 Do you bring no sign from my true love? " 
 "I bring a lock of 'air that 'e alius used to wear, 
 An' you'd best go look for a new love." 
 
SOLDIER, SOLDIER 155 
 
 " Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 
 
 O then I know it's true I've lost my true love! " 
 
 "An' I tell you truth again — when you've lost the 
 
 feel o' pain 
 7ou'd best take me for your true love." 
 
 True love ! New love ! 
 
 Best take 'im for a new love. 
 
 The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better 
 
 dry your eyes, 
 An : you'd best take 'im for your true love. 
 
SCREW-GUNS 
 
 Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the 
 
 mornin' cool, 
 I walks in my old brown gaiters along o' my old 
 
 brown mule, 
 With seventy gunners be'ind me, an' never a beggar 
 
 forgets 
 It's only the pick of the Army that handles the dear 
 
 little pets— 'Tss! Tss! 
 
 For you all love the screw-guns, the screw- 
 guns they all love you! 
 
 So when we call round with a few guns, o' 
 course you will know what to do — hoo! 
 hoo! 
 
 Jest send in your Chief an' surrender— it's 
 worse if you fights or you runs: 
 
 You can go where you please, you can skid up 
 the trees, but you don't get away from 
 the guns. 
 
 J 56 
 
SCREW-GUNS is7 
 
 They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly 
 
 we goes where they ain't: 
 We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to 
 
 the stick o' the paint: 
 We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, we've give the 
 
 Afreedeeman fits, 
 For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns 
 
 that are built in two bits— 'Tss ! 'Tss ! 
 For all you love the screw-guns, etc. 
 
 If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 
 
 'im 'ow to behave; 
 If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 
 
 'im into 'is grave. 
 You've got to stand up to our business an' spring 
 
 without snatchin' or fuss. 
 D'you say that you sweat with the field guns? By 
 
 God, you must lather with us — 'Tss! 'Tss! 
 For you all love the screw-guns, etc. 
 
 The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a- 
 
 moanin' below, 
 We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub, we're out 
 
 on the rocks an' the snow, 
 
i 5 8 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries 
 
 away to the plains 
 The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules — the jinglety- 
 
 jink o' the chains — 'Tss! 'Tss! 
 
 For you all love the screw-guns, etc. 
 
 There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin', an' a 
 
 wheel on the edge o' the Pit, 
 An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a 
 
 beggar can spit: 
 With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, an' 
 
 the sun off the snow in your face, 
 An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old 
 
 gun in 'er place — 'Tss! 'Tss! 
 
 For you all love the screw-guns, etc. 
 
 Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, snifnn' the 
 mornin' cool, 
 
 I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old 
 brown mule. 
 
 The monkey can say what our road was — the wild- 
 goat 'e knows where we passed. 
 
 Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! Out drag- 
 ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast— 'Tss! Tss.' 
 
SCREW-GUNS 159 
 
 For you all love the screw-guns — the screw- 
 guns they all love you! 
 
 So when we take tea with a few guns, o ? course 
 you will know what to do — hoo ! hoo ! 
 
 Just send in your Chief and surrender — it's 
 worse if you fights or you runs: 
 
 You may hide in the caves, they'll be only 
 your graves, but you can't get away from 
 the guns! 
 
CELLS 
 
 I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a 
 
 button-stick: 
 I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a 
 
 little sick, 
 But I've had my fun o' the Corp'rals Guard: I've 
 
 made the cinders fly, 
 And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink and 
 
 blacking the Corporal's eye. 
 
 With a second-hand overcoat under my head, 
 And a beautiful view of the yard, 
 Oh, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 
 For "drunk and resisting the Guard!" 
 Mad drunk and resisting the Guard — 
 'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! 
 So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 
 For "drunk and resisting the Guard." 
 
 (Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 160 
 
CELLS 161 
 
 I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen 
 
 beer, 
 But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that 
 
 brought me here. 
 'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed 
 
 my nose in the dirt; 
 But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock and the 
 
 best of the Corp'ral's shirt. 
 
 I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the 
 
 public road, 
 And Lord knows where, and I don't care, my belt and 
 
 my tunic goed, 
 They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away the stripes I 
 
 used to wear, 
 But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, and I 
 
 think he'll keep it there! 
 
 My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the 
 
 barrack-yard, 
 It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room— it's that that 
 
 cuts so hard. 
 
162 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 I'll take my oath before them both that I will sure 
 
 abstain, 
 But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, I know I'll 
 
 do it again! 
 
 With a second-hand overcoat under my head 
 And a beautiful view of the yard, 
 Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 
 For "drunk and resisting the Guard." 
 Mad drunk and resisting the Guard — 
 'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! — 
 So it's pack-drill with me and a fortnight's C. B. 
 For " drunk and resisting the Guard." 
 
GUNGA DIN 
 
 You may talk o' gin and beer 
 
 When you're quartered safe out 'ere, 
 
 An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it; 
 
 But when it comes to slaughter 
 
 You will do your work on water, 
 
 An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it. 
 
 Now in Injia's sunny clime, 
 
 Where I used to spend my time 
 
 A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen, 
 
 Of all them black-faced crew 
 
 The finest man I knew 
 
 Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. 
 
 He was "Din! Din! Din! 
 
 You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din! 
 
 Hi! slippery hitherao! 
 
 Water, get it! Panee lao ! l 
 
 You squigy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.' , 
 
 The uniform 'e wore 
 Was nothin' much before, 
 
 1 Bring water swiftly. 
 163 
 
164 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, 
 
 For a piece o' twisty rag 
 
 An' a goatskin water-bag 
 
 Was all the field-equipment e' could find. 
 
 When the sweatin' troop-train lay 
 
 In a sidin' through the day, 
 
 Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows 
 
 crawl, 
 We shouted " Harry By!" 1 
 Till our throats were bricky-dry, 
 Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. 
 
 It was "Din! Din! Din! 
 
 You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? 
 
 You put some juldee 2 in it 
 
 Or I'll marrow 3 you this minute 
 
 If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din! 
 
 'E would dot an' carry one 
 
 Till the longest day was done 
 An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. 
 
 If we charged or broke or cut, 
 
 You could bet your bloomin' nut, 
 'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. 
 
 1 Mr. Atkins' equivalent for "O brother." 
 *Be quick. 'Hit you. 
 
GUNGA DIN 165 
 
 With 'is mussick 1 on 'is back, 
 
 'E would skip with our attack, 
 An* watch us till the bugles made "Retire," 
 
 An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 
 
 'E was white, clear white, inside 
 When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! 
 
 It was "Din! Din! Din!" 
 With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green, 
 
 When the cartridges ran out, 
 
 You could hear the front-files shout, 
 "Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!" 
 
 I sha'n't forgit the night 
 
 When I dropped be'ind the fight 
 With a bullet where my belt plate should 'a' been. 
 
 I was chokin' mad with thirst, 
 
 An' the man that spied me first 
 Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din* 
 
 'E lifted up my 'ead, 
 
 An' he plugged me where I bled, 
 An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green: 
 
 It was crawlin' and it stunk, 
 
 But of all the drinks I've drunk, 
 
 I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. 
 Water skins. 
 
166 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 It was "Din! Din! Din!" 
 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen; 
 
 'E's chawin' up the ground, 
 
 An' 'e's kickin' all around: 
 For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din! 
 
 'E carried me away 
 To where a dooli lay, 
 An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 
 'E put me safe inside, 
 An' just before 'e died: 
 "I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din. 
 So I'll meet 'im later on 
 At the place where 'e is gone — 
 Where it's always double drill and no canteen; 
 'E'll be squattin' on the coals, 
 Givin' drink to poor damned souls, 
 An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din! 
 Yes, Din! Din! Din! 
 You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din! 
 
 Though I've belted you and flayed you, 
 By the living Gawd that made you, 
 You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din! 
 
OONTS 
 
 (NORTHERN INDIA TRANSPORT TRAIN) 
 
 Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes 
 
 him to perspire? 
 It isn't standin' up to charge nor lyin' down to fire: 
 But it's everlastin' waitin' on a everlastin' road 
 For the commissariat came! an' 'is commissariat load 
 O the oont, 1 O the oont, O the commissariat 
 oont! 
 With 'is silly neck a-bobbin' like a basket 
 full o' snakes; 
 We packs 'im like an idol, an' you ought to 
 'ear 'im grunt, 
 An' when we gets 'im loaded up 'is blessed 
 girth-rope breaks. 
 
 Wot makes the rear-guard swear so 'ard when night 
 
 is drorin' in, 
 An' every native follower is shiverin' for 'is skin? 
 
 1 Camel — oo is pronounced like u in "bull," but by Mr. At- 
 kins to rhyme with " front," 
 
 167 
 
i68 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 It ain't the chanst o' being rushed by Paythans from 
 
 the 'ills, 
 It's the commissariat camel puttin' on 'is bloomin , 
 frills! 
 O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy, scary 
 oont! 
 A-trippin' over tent-ropes when we've got 
 the night alarm! 
 We socks 'im with a stretcher-pole an' 'eads 
 'im off in front, 
 An' when we've saved 'is bloomin' life 'e 
 chaws our bloomin' arm. 
 
 The 'orse 'e knows above a bit, the bullock's but a 
 
 fool, 
 The elephant's a gentleman, the battery-mule's a 
 
 mule; 
 But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an' 
 
 done, 
 'E's a devil an' a ostrich an' a orphan-child in one. 
 O the oont, O the oont, the Gawd-forsaken 
 oont! 
 The lumpy-'umpy 'ummin'-bird a-singjn' 
 where 'e lies, 
 
OONTS 169 
 
 'E's blocked the whole division from the rear- 
 guard to the front, 
 An' when we get him up again — the beggar 
 goes an' dies! 
 
 'E'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight — 'e smells most 
 
 awful vile; 
 'E'll lose 'isself for ever if you let 'im stray a mile; 
 'E's game to graze the 'ole day long an' 'owl the 'ole 
 
 night through, 
 An' when 'e comes to greasy ground 'e splits 'isself in 
 two. 
 O the oont, O the oont, O the fioppin', 
 droppin' oont! 
 When 'is long legs give from under an' 'is 
 meltin' eye is dim, 
 The tribes is up be'ind us, and the tribes is out 
 in front — 
 It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's kites 
 an' crows for 'im. 
 
 So when the cruel march is done, an' when the roads 
 
 is blind, 
 An' when we sees the camp in front an' 'ears the 
 
 shots be'ind, 
 
i 7 o BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 Ho then we strips 'is saddle off, and all 'is woes is 
 
 past: 
 'E thinks on us that used 'im so, and gets revenge at 
 last. 
 
 O the oont, O the oont, the floatin', bloatin' 
 oont! 
 The late lamented camel in the water-cut 'e 
 lies; 
 We keeps a mile be'ind 'im an' we keeps a 
 mile in front, 
 But 'e gets into the drinkin'-casks, and 
 then o' course we dies. 
 
LOOT 
 
 If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the 
 keeper's back, 
 If you've ever snigged the washin' from the line, 
 If you've ever crammed a gander in your bloomin' 
 'aver sack, 
 You will understand this little song o' mine. 
 But the service rules are 'ard, and from such we are 
 debarred, 
 For the same with English morals does not suit. 
 (Cornet: Toot! toot!) 
 W'y, they call a man a robber if 'e stuffs 'is marchin' 
 clobber 
 With the— 
 (Chorus.) Loo ! loo ! Lulu ! lulu ! Loo ! loo ! Loot ! 
 loot! loot! 
 
 Ow the loot! 
 Bloomin' loot! 
 That's the thing to make the boys git up an' 
 shoot! 
 
 171 
 
17* BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 It's the same with dogs an' men, 
 If you'd make 'em come again 
 Clap 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! 
 Loot! 
 (ff) Whoopee! Tear 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! 
 Loot! loot! loot! 
 
 If you've knocked a nigger edgeways when 'e's 
 thrustin' for your life, 
 You must leave 'im very careful where 'e fell; 
 An' may thank your stars an' gaiters if you didn'; 
 feel 'is knife 
 That you ain't told off to bury 'im as well. 
 Then the sweatin' Tommies wonder as they spade 
 the beggars under 
 Why loo tin' should be entered as a crime; 
 So if my song you'll 'ear, I will learn you plain an' 
 clear 
 'Ow to pay yourself for fightin' overtime 
 (Chorus.) With the loot, etc. 
 
 Now remember when you're 'acking round a gilded 
 Burma god 
 That 'is eyes is very often precious stones; 
 
LOOT 173 
 
 An' if you treat a nigger to a dose o' cleanin'-rod 
 
 'E's like to show you everything 'e owns. 
 When 'e won't prodooce no more, pour some water on 
 the floor 
 Where you 'ear it answer 'ollow to the boot 
 {Cornet: Toot! toot!)— 
 When the ground begins to sink, shove your baynick 
 down the chink, 
 An' you're sure to touch the — 
 (Chorus.) Loo ! loo ! Lulu ! Loot ! loot ! loot ! 
 Ow the loot! etc. 
 
 When from 'ouse to 'ouse you're 'unting, you must 
 always work in pairs — 
 It 'alves the gain, but safer you will find— 
 For a single man gets bottled on them twisty-wisty 
 stairs, 
 An' a woman comes and clobs 'im from be'ind. 
 When you've turned 'em inside out, an' it seems be- 
 yond a doubt 
 A& if there weren't enough to dust a flute 
 (Cornet: Toot! toot!)— 
 
174 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 Before you sling your 'ook, at the 'ouse-tops take a 
 look, 
 For it's underneath the tiles they 'ide the loot. 
 (Chorus.) Ow the loot, etc. 
 
 You can mostly square a Sergint an' a Quartermaster 
 too, 
 If you only take the proper way to go; 
 / could never keep my pickin's, but I've learned you 
 all I knew — 
 An' don't you never say I told you so. 
 An' now I'll bid good-by, for I'm gettin' rather dry 5 
 An' I see another tunin' up to toot (Cornel: Toot! 
 toot)—! 
 So 'ere's good-luck to those that wears the Widow's 
 clo'es, 
 An' the Devil send f em all they want o' loot! 
 (Chorus.) Yes, the loot, 
 Bloomin' loot. 
 In the tunic an' the mess- tin an' the boot! 
 It's the same with dogs an' men, 
 If you'd make 'em come again 
 (fff) Whoop 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! 
 
 Loot! loot! loot! 
 Heeya! Sick 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! 
 loot! loot! 
 
"SNARLEYOW" 
 
 This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps 
 Which is first among the women an' amazin' first 
 
 in war; 
 An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember 
 
 now, 
 But Two's off-lead 'e answered to the name o* 
 
 Snarleyow. 
 
 Down in the Infantry, nobody cares; 
 Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; 
 But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog 
 Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped 
 dog! 
 
 They was movin' into action, they was needed very 
 
 sore, 
 To learn a little schoolm' to a native army corps, 
 
 i7S 
 
176 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckhV 
 
 down the brow, 
 When a tricky, trundlin' round-shot give the knock 
 
 to Snarleyow. 
 
 They cut 'im loose an' left 'im — 'e was almost tore in 
 
 two — 
 But he tried to follow after as a well-trained 'orse 
 
 should do; 
 'E went an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's 
 
 Brother squeals: 
 "Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow — 'is 'ead's between 
 
 'is 'eels!" 
 
 The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was 
 goin' round, 
 
 An' there aren't no "Stop, conductor!" when a 
 batt'ry's changin' ground; 
 
 Sez 'e: "I broke the beggar in, an' very sad I feels, 
 
 But I couldn't pull up, not for you — your 'ead be- 
 tween your 'eels!" 
 
 'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke the word, before a droppin' 
 
 shell 
 A little right the batt'ry an' between the sections fell; 
 
"SNARLEYOW" 177 
 
 An' when the smoke 'ad cleared away, before the 
 
 limber wheels, 
 There lay the Driver's Brother with 'is 'ead between 
 
 'is 'eels. 
 
 Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very 
 
 plain, 
 "For Gawd's own sake get over me, an' put me out 
 
 o' pain." 
 They saw 'is wounds was mortial, an' they judged 
 
 that it was best, 
 So they took an' drove the limber straight across 'is 
 
 back an' chest. 
 
 The Driver 'e give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' 
 grunt, 
 
 But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came to 
 "Action front!" 
 
 An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Mon- 
 day head 
 
 'Twas juicier for the niggers when the case begun to 
 spread. 
 
 The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen: 
 
 You 'avn't got no families whenservin' of the Queen — 
 
178 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 You* aven't got no brothers, fathers, sisters, wives, or 
 
 sons — 
 If you want to win your battles take an' work your 
 
 bloomin' guns! 
 
 Down in the Infantry, nobody cares; 
 Dc wn in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; 
 But down in the lead with the wheel at tht 
 
 flog 
 Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped 
 
 dog! 
 
THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR 
 
 'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor 
 
 With a hairy gold crown on 'er 'ead? 
 She 'as ships on the foam — she 'as millions at 'ome, 
 
 An' she pays us poor beggars in red. 
 (Ow, poor beggars in red!) 
 There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses, 
 
 There's 'er mark on the medical stores — 
 An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind 
 
 That takes us to various wars. 
 (Poor beggars! — barbarious wars!) 
 
 Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor, 
 An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns, 
 The men an' the 'orses that makes up the 
 
 forces 
 0' Missis Victorier's sons. 
 
 (Poor beggars! Victorier's sons!) 
 179 
 
180 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor, 
 
 For 'alf o' Creation she owns: 
 We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the 
 flame, 
 An' we've salted it down with our bones. 
 
 (Poor beggars! — it's blue with our bones!) 
 Hands off o' the sons of the Widow, 
 Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, 
 For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors 
 frown 
 When the Widow at Windsor says "Stop"! 
 (Poor beggars! — we're sent to say "Stop "!) 
 
 Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Widow, 
 From the Pole to the Tropics it runs — 
 
 To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' 
 the tile, 
 
 An' open in form with the guns. 
 
 (Poor beggars! — it's always the guns!) 
 
 We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor, 
 
 It's safest to leave 'er alone: 
 For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land 
 
 Wherever the bugles are blown. 
 
 (Poor beggars! — an' don't we get blown!) 
 
THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR 181 
 
 Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Mornin', 
 An' flop round the earth till you're dead; 
 
 But you won't get away from the tune that they play 
 To the bloomin' old Rag over'ead. 
 (Poor beggars!— it's 'ot over'ead!) 
 
 Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow 
 Wherever, 'owever they roam. 
 
 'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require 
 A speedy return to their 'ome. 
 
 (Poor beggars! — they'll never see 'ome!) 
 
BELTS 
 
 There was a row in Silver Street that's near to 
 
 Dublin Quay, 
 Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree; 
 It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark: 
 The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst 
 
 the Park. 
 
 For it was " Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one 
 
 for you ! " 
 An' it was " Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done 
 
 for you!" 
 buckle an' tongue 
 Was the song that we sung 
 From Harrison's down to the Park! 
 
 There was a row in Silver Street — the regiments was 
 
 out, 
 They called us "Delhi Rebels," an' we answered 
 
 " Threes about!" 
 
 182 
 
BELTS 183 
 
 That drew them like a hornet's nest— we met them 
 
 good an' large, 
 The English at the double an' the Irish at the 
 
 charge. 
 
 Then it was: Belts — 
 
 There was a row in Silver Street— an' I was in it too % 
 We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts went 
 
 whirraru! 
 I misremember what occurred, but subsequint the 
 
 storm 
 A Freeman's Journal Supplemint was all my uniform. 
 
 O it was : Belts- 
 There was a row in Silver Street— they sent the Polis 
 
 there, 
 The English were too drunk to know, the Irish didn't 
 
 care; 
 But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous 
 
 rose, 
 Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was 
 
 tatthered clo'es. 
 
 For it was: Belts— 
 
184 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 There was a row in Silver Street — it might ha' raged 
 
 till now, 
 But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' nobody 
 
 knew how; 
 'Twas Hogan took the point an' dropped; we saw the 
 
 red blood run: 
 An' so we all was murderers that started out in fun. 
 While it was: Belts — 
 
 There was a row in Silver Street — but that put down 
 
 the shine, 
 Wid each man whisperin' to his next: "'Twas never 
 
 work o' mine!" 
 We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street 
 
 we bore him, 
 The poor dumb corpse that couldn't tell the bhoys 
 
 were sorry for him. 
 
 When it was: Belts — 
 
 There was a row in Silver Street — it isn't over yet, 
 For half of us are under guard wid punishments to 
 get; 
 
BELTS 185 
 
 Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie: 
 There was a row in Silver Street— begod, I wonder 
 why! 
 But it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one 
 
 for you!" 
 An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done 
 
 for you!" 
 O buckle and tongue 
 Was the song that we sung 
 From Harrison's down to the Park! 
 
THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER 
 
 When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East 
 'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast, 
 An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased 
 Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier, 
 Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
 Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
 Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
 So-oldier of the Queen! 
 
 Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day, 
 You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay, 
 An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may: 
 A soldier what's fit for a soldier. 
 Fit, fit, fit for a soldier. 
 
 First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, 
 For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your 
 
 guts- 
 Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts — 
 An' it's bad for the young British soldier. 
 Bad, bad, bad for the soldier. 
 186 
 
THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER 187 
 
 When the cholera comes — as it will past a doubt — 
 Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout, 
 For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out, 
 
 An' it crumples the young British soldier. 
 Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier. . . 
 
 But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead: 
 You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said: 
 If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead, 
 An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier. 
 Fool, fool, fool of a soldier. . . 
 
 If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind, 
 Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind; 
 Be handy and civil and then you will find 
 
 That it's beer for the young British soldier. 
 Beer, beer, beer for the soldier. 
 
 Now, if you must marry, take care she is old — 
 A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told — 
 For beauty won't help if your rations is cold, 
 Nor love ain't enough for a soldier, 
 
 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier. . . 
 
1 88 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loth 
 To shoot when you catch 'em — you'll swing, on my 
 
 oath!— 
 Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them 
 both, 
 An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier. 
 Curse, curse, curse o' a soldier. . . 
 
 When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck, 
 Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck, 
 Be thankful you're livin', an trust to your luck 
 And march to your front like a soldier. 
 Front, front, front like a soldier. . . 
 
 When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, 
 Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch; 
 She's human as you are — you treat her as sich, 
 
 An' she'll fight for the young British soldier. 
 Fight, fight, fight for the soldier. . . 
 
 When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine, 
 The guns o' the enemy wheel into line; 
 Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine, 
 For noise never startles the soldier. 
 
 Start-, start-, startles the soldier. . . 
 
THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER 189 
 
 If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white, 
 Remember it's ruin to run from a fight: 
 So take open order, lie down, and sit tight, 
 And wait for supports like a soldier. 
 Wait, wait, wait like a soldier. . . 
 
 When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's 
 
 plains, 
 And the women come out to cut up what remains, 
 Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains 
 An' go to your Gawd like a soldier. 
 Go, go, go like a soldier, 
 Go, go, go like a soldier, 
 Go, go, go like a soldier, 
 So-oldier of the Queen! 
 
MANDALAY 
 
 By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to 
 the sea, 
 
 There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she 
 thinks o' me; 
 
 For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple- 
 bells they say: 
 
 "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back 
 toMandalay!" 
 
 Come you back to Mandalay, 
 
 Where the old Flotilla lay; 
 
 Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from 
 
 Rangoon to Mandalay, 
 On the road to Mandalay, 
 Where the flyin'-nshes play, 
 An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer 
 
 China 'crost the Bay! 
 
 'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, 
 An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat— jes' the same as 
 Theebaw's Queen, 
 
 190 
 
MANDALAY . 191 
 
 An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white 
 
 cheroot, 
 An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's 
 
 foot: 
 
 Bloomin' idol made o' mud — 
 
 What they called the Great Gawd Budd — 
 
 Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 
 
 'er where she stud! 
 On the road to Mandalay, etc. 
 
 When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was 
 
 droppin' slow, 
 She'd git her little banjo an' she'd sing " Kulla-lo-lo! " 
 With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my 
 
 cheek 
 We uster watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin* 
 
 teak. 
 
 Elephints a-pilin' teak 
 
 In the sludgy, squdgy creek, 
 
 Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 
 
 'arf afraid to speak! 
 On the road to Mandalay, etc. 
 
i 9 2 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 But that's all shove be'ind me — long ago an* fur 
 
 away, 
 An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to 
 
 Mandalay; 
 An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year 
 
 soldier tells: 
 'If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 
 
 'eed naught else." 
 
 No ! you won't 'eed nothin' else 
 
 But them spicy garlic smells, 
 
 An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the 
 
 tinkly temple-bells; 
 On the road to Mandalay, etc. 
 
 I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin' 
 stones, 
 
 An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in 
 my bones; 
 
 Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to 
 the Strand, 
 
 An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they under- 
 stand? 
 
 Beefy face an' grubby 'and — 
 Law! wot do they understand? 
 
MANDALAY 193 
 
 Fve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, 
 
 greener land! 
 On the road to Mandalay, etc. 
 
 Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is 
 
 like the worst, 
 Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a 
 
 man can raise a thirst; 
 For the temple-bells are callin', and it's there that I 
 
 would be — 
 By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the 
 
 sea. 
 
 On the road to Mandalay, 
 Where the old Flotilla lay, 
 With our sick beneath the awnings when we 
 
 went to Mandalay! 
 Oh the road to Mandalay, 
 Where the flyin'-fishes play, 
 An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer 
 
 China 'crost the Bay! 
 
TROOPIN' 
 
 (our army in the east) 
 
 Troopin', troopin', troopin' to the sea: 
 
 'Ere's September come again — the six-year men are 
 
 free. 
 O leave the dead be'ind us, for they cannot come 
 
 away 
 To where the ship's a-coalin' up that takes us 'ome to. 
 
 day. 
 
 We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, 
 
 Our ship is at the shore, 
 
 An' you must pack your 'aversack, 
 
 For we won't come back no more. 
 
 Ho, don't you grieve for me, 
 
 My lovely Mary- Ann, 
 
 For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit 
 
 As a time-expired man! 
 
 IQ4 
 
TROOPIN' 195 
 
 The Malabar's in 'arbour with the Jumner at 'er tail, 
 An' the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders for to sail. 
 Ho! the weary waitin' when on Khyber 'ills we lay, 
 But the time-expired's waitin' for 'is orders 'ome to- 
 day. 
 
 They'll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an' 
 wet an' rain,. 
 
 All wearin' Injian cotton kit, but we will not com- 
 plain; 
 
 They'll kill us of pneumonia — for that's their little 
 way — 
 
 But damn the chills and fever, men, we're goin' 
 'ome to-day! 
 
 Troopin', troopin', winter's round again! 
 
 See the new draf's pourin' in for the old campaign; 
 
 Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your 
 
 pay— 
 What's the last from Lunnon, lads? We're goin' 
 
 there to-day. 
 
 Troopin', troopin', give another cheer — 
 
 'Ere's to English women an' a quart of English beer; 
 
x 9 6 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 The Colonel an' the regiment an' all who've got to 
 
 stay, 
 Gawd's mercy strike 'em gentle — Whoop! we're goin' 
 
 'ome to-day. 
 
 We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, 
 
 Our ship is at the shore, 
 
 An' you must pack your 'aversack, 
 
 For we won't come back no more. 
 
 Ho, don't you grieve for me, 
 
 My lovely Mary-Ann, 
 
 For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit 
 
 As a time-expired man. 
 
THE WIDOW'S PARTY 
 
 "Where have you been this while away, 
 
 Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
 Out with the rest on a picnic lay, 
 
 Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
 They called us out of the barrack-yard 
 To Gawd knows where from Gosport Hard, 
 And you can't refuse when you get the card, 
 
 And the Widow gives the party. 
 (Bugle.) Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara! 
 
 "What did you get to eat and drink, 
 
 Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
 Standing water as thick as ink, 
 
 Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
 A bit o' beef that were three year stored, 
 A bit o' mutton as tough as a board, 
 And a fowl we killed with a sergeant's sword, 
 
 When the Widow give the party. 
 
 (Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 197 
 
198 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 "What did you do for knives and forks, 
 
 Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
 We carries 'em with us wherever we walks, 
 
 Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
 And some was sliced and some was halved, 
 And some was crimped and some was carved, 
 And some was gutted and some was starved, 
 
 When the Widow give the party. 
 
 "What ha' you done with half your mess, 
 
 Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
 They couldn't do more and they wouldn't do less 
 
 Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
 They ate their whack and they drank their fill, 
 And I think the rations has made them ill, 
 For half my comp'ny's lying still 
 
 Where the Widow give the party. 
 
 "How did you get away — away, 
 
 Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
 On the broad o' my back at the end o' the day, 
 
 Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
 
THE WIDOW'S PARTY 199 
 
 I corned away like a bleedin' toff, 
 For I got four niggers to carry me off, 
 As I lay in the bight of a canvas trough, 
 
 When the Widow give the party. 
 
 "What was the end of all the show, 
 
 Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
 Ask my Colonel, for I don't know, 
 
 Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
 We broke a King and we built a road — 
 A court-house stands where the reg'ment goed. 
 And the river's clean where the raw blood flowed 
 
 When the Widow give the party. 
 (Bugle.) Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara! 
 
FORD O' KABUL RIVER 
 
 Kabul town's by Kabul river — 
 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
 There I lef ' my mate for ever, 
 Wet an' drippin' by the ford. 
 Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
 Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
 There's the river up and brimmin', an' there's 
 'arf a squadron swimmin' 
 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 
 
 Kabul town's a blasted place — 
 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
 'Strewth I shan't forget 'is face 
 Wet an' drippin' by the ford! 
 Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
 Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
 Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an' they 
 will surely guide you 
 'Cross the ford of Kabul river in the dark. 
 200 
 
FORD 0' KABUL RIVER 201 
 
 Kabul town is sun and dust — 
 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
 I'd ha' sooner drownded fust 
 'Stead of 'im beside the ford. 
 Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
 Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
 You can 'ear the 'orses threshin', you can 'ear the 
 men a-splashin', 
 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 
 
 Kabul town was ours to take — 
 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
 I'd ha' left it for 'is sake — 
 'Im that left me by the ford. 
 Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
 Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
 It's none so bloomin' dry there; ain't you never 
 comin' nigh there, 
 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark? 
 
 Kabul town'll go to hell — 
 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
 'Fore I see him 'live an' well — 
 
 'Im the best beside the ford. 
 
»o2 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
 Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
 Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder, for their boots'll 
 pull 'em under, 
 By the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 
 
 Turn your 'orse from Kabul town — 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
 Im an' 'arf my troop is down, 
 Down an' drownded by the ford. 
 Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
 Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
 There's the river low an' fallin', but it ain't no 
 useo' callin' 
 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 
 
GENTLEMEN-RANKERS 
 
 To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the 
 damned, 
 To my brethren in their sorrow overseas, 
 Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, ma- 
 chinery crammed, 
 And a trooper of the Empress, if you please. 
 Yea, a trooper of the forces who has run his own six 
 horses, 
 And faith he went the pace and went it blind, 
 And the world was more than kin while he held the 
 ready tin, 
 But to-day the Sergeant's something less than kind. 
 We're poor little lambs who've lost our way, 
 
 Baa! Baa! Baa! 
 We're little black sheep who've gone astray, 
 
 Baa — aa — aa! 
 Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree 
 Damned from here to eternity, 
 God ha' mercy on such as we, 
 Baa! Yah! Bah! 
 (Copyright 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 203 
 
204 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 Oh, it's sweet to sweat through stables, sweet to 
 empty kitchen slops, 
 And it's sweet to hear the tales the troopers tell, 
 To dance with blowzy housemaids at the regimental 
 hops, 
 And thrash the cad who says you waltz too well. 
 Yes, it makes you cock-a-hoop to be "Rider" to your 
 troop, 
 And branded with a blasted worsted spur, 
 When you envy, Oh, how keenly, one poor Tommy 
 being cleanly 
 Who blacks your boots and sometimes call you 
 "Sir." 
 If the home we never write to, and the oaths we never 
 keep, 
 And all we know most distant and most dear, 
 Across the snoring barrack-room return to break our 
 sleep, 
 Can you blame us if we soak ourselves in beer? 
 When the drunken comrade mutters and the great 
 guard-lantern gutters 
 And the horror of our fall is written plain, 
 Every secret, self-revealing on the aching white- 
 washed ceiling, 
 Do you wonder that we drug ourselves from pain? 
 
GENTLEMEN-RANKERS 205 
 
 We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to, 
 Love and Truth, 
 We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung, 
 And the measure of our torment is the measure of our 
 youth. 
 God help us, for we knew the worst too young! 
 Our shame is clean repentance for the crime that 
 brought the sentence, 
 Our pride it is to know no spur of pride, 
 And the Curse of Reuben holds us till an alien turf 
 enfolds us 
 And we die, and none can tell Them where we died. 
 We're poor little lambs who've lost our way, 
 
 Baa! Baa! Baa! 
 We're little black sheep who've gone astray, 
 
 Baa — aa — aa! 
 Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree, 
 Damned from here to Eternity, 
 God ha' mercy on such as we, 
 Baa! Yah! Bah! 
 
ROUTE MAROON' 
 
 We're marchin' on relief over Injia's sunny plains, 
 A little front o' Christmas time an' just be'ind the 
 
 Rains, 
 Ho! get away, you bullock-man, you've 'eard the 
 
 bugle blowed, 
 There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk 
 Road; 
 
 With its best foot first 
 
 And the road a-sliding past, 
 
 An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly 
 
 like the last; 
 While the Big Drum says, 
 With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!" — 
 "Kiko kissywarsti don't you hams her argy- 
 jow?" 
 
 Oh, there's them Injian temples to admire when you 
 
 see, 
 There's the peacock round the corner an' the monkey 
 
 up the tree, 
 
 206 
 
ROUTE MARCHIN' 207 
 
 An' there's that rummy silver grass a-wavin' in the 
 
 wind, 
 An' the old Grand Trunk a-trailin' like a rifle-sling 
 
 be'ind. 
 While it's best foot first, etc. 
 
 At half-past five's Revelly, an' our tents they down 
 
 must come, 
 Like a lot of button mushrooms when you pick 'em 
 
 up at 'ome. 
 But it's over in a minute, an' at six the column starts, 
 While the women and the kiddies sit an' shiver in the 
 
 carts. 
 And it's best foot first, etc. 
 
 Oh, then it's open order, an' we lights our pipes an* 
 
 sings, 
 An' we talks about our rations an' a lot of other thing 
 
 things, 
 And we thinks o' friends in England, an' we wonders 
 
 what they're at, 
 An' 'ow they would admire for to hear us sling the bat. 1 
 An' it's best foot first, etc. 
 
 Thomas's first and firmest conviction is that he is a pro- 
 found Orientalist and a fluent speaker of Hindustani. As a 
 tjoatter of fact, he depends largely on the sign-language. 
 
2 o8 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 It's none so bad o' Sunday, when you're lyin' at your 
 
 ease, 
 To watch the kites a-wheelin' round them feather- 
 
 'eaded trees, 
 For although there ain't no women, yet there ain't no 
 
 barrick-yards, 
 So the orricers goes shoo tin' an' the men they plays at 
 
 cards. 
 Till it's best foot first, etc. 
 
 So 'ark an 'eed you rookies, which is always grum- 
 
 blin' sore, 
 There's worser things than marchin' from Umballa to 
 
 Cawnpore; 
 And if your 'eels are blistered an' they feels to 'urt 
 
 like 'ell 
 You drop some tallow in your socks an' that will 
 
 make 'em well. 
 For it's best foot first, etc. 
 
 We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand, 
 Eight 'undred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and 
 the Band. 
 
ROUTE MARCH1N' 309 
 
 Ho! get away, you bullock-man, youVe 'eard the 
 
 bugle blowed, 
 There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk 
 Road. 
 With its best foot first 
 And the road a-sliding past, 
 An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly 
 
 like the last; 
 While the Big Drum says, 
 With 'is " rowdy-dowdy-dow" — 
 "Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argyjow ? m 
 
 1 Why don't you get on? 
 
SHILLIN' A DAY 
 
 My name is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly 
 
 From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore, ' 
 
 Hong-Kong and Peshawur, 
 
 Lucknow and Etawah, 
 
 And fifty-five more all endin' in "pore." 
 
 Black Death and his quickness, the depth and the 
 
 thickness, 
 Of sorrow and sickness I've known on my way, 
 But I'm old and I'm nervis, 
 I'm cast from the Service, 
 And all I deserve is a shillin' a day. 
 
 (Chorus.) Shillin' a day 
 
 Bloomin' good pay — 
 
 Lucky to touch it, a shillin' a day! 
 
 Oh, it drives me half crazy to think of the days I 
 Went slap for the Ghazi my sword at my side, 
 
 (Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 210 
 
SHILLIN' A DAY 211 
 
 When we rode Hell-for-leather 
 
 Both squadrons together, 
 
 That didn't care whether we lived or we died. 
 
 But it's no use desparin', my wife must go charm' 
 
 An' me commissairin' the pay-bills to better, 
 
 So if me you be'old 
 
 In the wet and the cold, 
 
 By the Grand Metropold won't you give me a letter? 
 
 (Full Chorus.) Give 'im a letter — 
 Can't do no better 
 Late Troop-Sergeant Major an' — 
 
 runs with a letter! 
 Think what 'e's been, 
 Think what 'e's seen, 
 
 Think of his pensions an' 
 
 Gawd save the Queen! 
 
L'ENVOI 
 
 There's a whisper down the field where the year has 
 shot her yield, 
 And the ricks stand grey to the sun, 
 Singing: — "Over then, come over, for the bee has 
 quit the clover, 
 And your English summer's done." 
 
 You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind, 
 
 And the thresh of the deep-sea rain; 
 
 You have heard the song — how long! how 
 
 long? 
 Pull out on the trail again! 
 
 Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass. 
 
 We've seen the seasons through, 
 
 And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own 
 
 trail, the out trail, 
 Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail — the trail 
 
 that is always new. 
 
 (Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
 212 
 
L'ENVOI 213 
 
 It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun 
 
 Or South to the blind Horn's hate; 
 Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay, 
 
 Or West to the Golden Gate; 
 
 Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass, 
 
 And the wildest tales are true, 
 
 And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own 
 
 trail, the out trail, 
 And life runs large on the Long Trail — the 
 
 trail that is always new. 
 
 The days are sick and cold, and the skies are grey and 
 old, 
 And the twice-breathed airs blow damp; 
 And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea 
 roll 
 Of a black Bilbao tramp; 
 
 With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass, 
 
 And a drunken Dago crew, 
 
 And her nose held down on the old trail our 
 
 own trail, the out trail 
 From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail — the trail 
 
 that is always new. 
 
?i4 I/ENYOI 
 
 There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake, 
 
 Or the way of a man with a maid; 
 But the sweetest way to me is a ship's upon the sea 
 
 In the heel of the North-East Trade. 
 
 Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass, 
 
 And the drum of the racing screw, 
 
 As she ships it green on the old trail, our own 
 
 trail, the out trail, 
 As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail — the 
 
 trail that is always new? 
 
 See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the 
 fore, 
 And the fenders grind and heave, 
 And the derricks clack and grate as tjie tackle hooks 
 the crate, 
 And the fall-rope whines through the sheave; 
 
 It's " Gang-plank up and in," dear lass, 
 It's "Hawsers warp her through!" 
 And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our 
 
 own trail, the out trail, 
 We're backing down on the Long Trail — the 
 
 trail that is always new. 
 
L'ENVOI 215 
 
 Oh, the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us 
 tied, 
 And the syrens hoot their dread ! 
 When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless viewless 
 deep 
 To the sob of the questing lead! 
 
 It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass, 
 
 With the Gunfleet Sands in view, 
 
 Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail, 
 
 our own trail, the out trail, 
 And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail— 
 the trail that is always new. 
 
 Oh, the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt 
 of light 
 That holds the hot sky tame, 
 And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet- 
 powdered floors 
 Where the scared whale flukes in flame! 
 
 Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass, 
 
 Her ropes are taunt with the dew, 
 
 For we're booming down on the old trail, our 
 
 own trail, the out trail, 
 We're sagging south on the Long Trail— the 
 trail that is always new. 
 
2i6 L'ENVOI 
 
 Then home, get her home where the drunken rollers 
 comb, 
 And the shouting seas drive by, 
 And the engines stamp and ring and the wet bows 
 reel and swing, 
 And the Southern Cross rides high! 
 
 Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass, 
 
 That blaze in the velvet blue. 
 
 They're all old friends on the old trail, our own 
 
 trail, the out trail, 
 They're God's own guides on the Long Trail— 
 
 the trail that is always new. 
 
 Fly forward, my heart, from the Foreland to the 
 Start— 
 
 We're steaming all too slow, 
 And it's twenty thousand miles to our little lazy isle 
 
 Where the trumpet-orchids blow! 
 
 You have heard the call of the off-shore wind 
 And the voice of the deep-sea rain — 
 You have heard the song — how long! how long? 
 Pull out on the trail again! 
 
L'ENVOI 217 
 
 The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass, 
 
 And the Deuce knows what we may do — 
 
 But we're back once more on the old trail, our own 
 
 trail, the out trail, 
 We're down, huil-doWn on the Long Trail — the trail 
 that is always new. 
 
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
 GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 
 
 G74 89 
 

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 Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 
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