The Vampire Photofrarure by John Andrew & Son after original by Burne-Jonei Uallaba antr to Huxr EfcttUm > Works of fiiplins Clrtnfiutgf) Cntthntt ONE THOUSAND IMPRESSIONS HAVE BEEN TAKKN FOB THIS EDITION OOPTieHT, 1909 BY THE EDINBITBOH SOCIETY CONTENTS Ballads PAGE THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST Oh East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet I THE LAST SUTTEE Udai Chand lay sick to death 8 THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told 14 THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JEST When springtime flushes the desert grass .... 21 THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE This is the ballad of Boh Da Thorne 27 THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER CATTLE THIEF O woe is me for the merry life 42 THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS ... At the close of a winter day 45 THE BALLAD OF THE "CLAMPHERDOWN" It was our war-ship "Clampherdown" 52 THE BALLAD OF THE "BOLIVAR" Seven men from all the world, back to dock again 57 BARRACK-ROOM 2234871 CONTENTS PAGE THE ENGLISH FLAG Winds of the World, give answer? They are whimpering to and fro 61 "CLEARED" Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt 67 AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT Now this is the tale of the Council the Ger- man Kaiser decreed 73 TOMLINSON Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square 77 Barrack-Room Ballads DANNY DEEVER "What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files- on- Parade 89 TOMMY I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer 92 "FUZZY-WUZZY" We've fought with many men acrost the seas 96 SOLDIER, SOLDIER "Soldier, soldier, come from the war" 99 SCREW-GUNS Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool 102 GUNGA DIN You may talk o' gin and beer 106 POEMS CONTENTS P4OB OONTS ! Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes him to perspire no LOOT If you've ever stole a pheasant egg be'ind the keeper's back 114 "SNARLEYOW" This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps 118 THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR 'Ave you 'card o' the widow at Windsor 121 BELTS There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay 124 THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East 127 MANDALAY By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the Sea 131 TROOPIN' Troopin', troopin', troopin' to the sea 135 FORD o' KABUL RIVER Kabul town's by Kabul river 138 ROUTE-MARCHIN' We're marchin' on relief over Injia's sunny plains 141 Departmental Ditties PRELUDE I have eaten your bread and salt 147 Poems CONTENTS VAGI GENERAL SUMMARY We are very slightly changed 149 ARMY HEADQUARTERS Ahasuerus Jenkins of the "Operatic Own" . . 151 STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK Potiphar Gubbins, C. E 154 A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE Rustum Beg of Kolazai slightly backward native state 156 THE STORY OF URIAH Jack Barrett went to Quetta 159 THE POST THAT FITTED Ere the steamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was engaged to marry 161 PUBLIC WASTE By the Laws of the Family Circle 'tis written in letters of brass 164 DELILAH Delilah Aberyswith was a lady not too young 167 WHAT HAPPENED Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, pride of Bow Bazar 171 PINK DOMINOES Jenny and Me were engaged, you see 175 THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen .... 178 POEMS CONTENTS rial MUNICIPAL It was an August evening, and, in snowy gar- ments clad 181 A CODE OF MORALS Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his house in order 184 THE LAST DEPARTMENT "None whole or clean," we cry, "or free from stain" 188 Other Verses RECESSIONAL God of our fathers, known of old 193 THE VAMPIRE A fool there was and he made his prayer .... 195 To THE UNKNOWN GODDESS Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my soul going out from afar ? 197 THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN Now the New Year, reviving last Year's Debt 199 LA NUIT BLANCHE I had seen, as dawn was breaking 202 MY RIVAL I go to concert, party, ball 206 THE LOVERS' LITANY Eyes of grey a sodden quay 209 A BALLAD OF BURIAL If down here I chance to die 211 POEMS CONTENTS MM DIVIDED DESTINIES It was an artless Bandar, and he danced upon a pine 213 THE MASQUE OF PLENTY "How sweet is the shepherd's sweet life !" ... 216 THE MARE'S NEST Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse 223 POSSIBILITIES Ay, lay him 'neath the Simla pine 216 CHRISTMAS IN INDIA Dim dawn behind the tarmarisks the sky is saffron-yellow 228 PAGETT, M. P. Pagett, M. P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith, 231 THE SONG OF THE WOMEN How shall she know the worship we would do her ? 234 A BALLADE OF JAKKO HILL One moment bid the horses wait 237 THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS "What have we ever done to bear this grudge" 239 BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 'Twas Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 242 "As THE BELL CLINKS" As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely 247 AN OLD SONG So long as 'neath the Kalka hills 251 POEMS CONTENTS CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ If It be pleasant to look on, stalled in the packed serai 254 THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD There's a widow in sleepy Chester 260 THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS Beneath the deep veranda's shade 264 THE OVERLAND MAIL In the name of the Empress of India, make way 266 WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID By the well, where the bullocks go 269 THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE The eldest son bestrides him 271 THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE This fell when dinner-time was done 274 ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER A great and glorious thing it is 277 ONE VICEROY RESIGNS So here's your Empire. No more wine, then? Good 279 THE BETROTHED Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout 288 A TALE OF Two CITIES Where the sober-colored cultivator smiles . . . 293 GRIFFEN'S DEBT Imprimis he was "broke." Thereafter left . . 297 POEMS CONTENTS PAGE IN SPRINGTIME My garden blazes brightly with the rosebush and the peach 301 Two MONTHS No hope, no change! The clouds have shut us in 303 THE GALLEY-SLAVE Oh, gallant was our galley from her carven steering-wheel 305 L'ENVOI The smoke upon your Altar dies 309 THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS When the flush of a newborn sun fell first on Eden's green and gold 310 THE EXPLANATION Love and Death once ceased their strife 313 THE GIFT OF THE SEA The dead child lay in the shroud 314 EVARRA AND HlS GODS Read here 318 POEMS LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THE VAMPIRE (See page 195) . .Frontispiece Photogravure by John Andrew & Son after original by Burne-Jones THEY WERE STRIPPED TO THE WAIST. . 55 Mezzogravure by John Andreiv & Son after original by Reginald Bolles FOR GAWD'S SAKE GIT THE WATER, GUNGA DIN ! 109 Mezzogravure by John Andrew & Son after original by Reginald Bolles COME You BACK, You BRITISH SOLDIER 131 Mezzogravure by John Andreiv & Son after original by Reginald Bolles LOVE LIKE OURS CAN NEVER DIE 209 Mezzogravure by John Andrew & Son after original by Reginald Bolles AND A WOMAN is ONLY A WOMAN, BUT A GOOD CIGAR is A SMOKE 292 Mezzogravure by John Andrew & Son after original by Reginald Bolles BARRACK-ROOM BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS AND OTHER VERSES 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, tho' they come from the ends of the earth! KAMAL 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 be- tween the dawn and the day, And turned the calkins upon her feet, and rid- den her far away. 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, I 2 POEMS, BALLADS "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 fly, "By the favor 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." 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, AND OTHER VERSES 3 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 whistling 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. 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 woful heap fell he, 4 POEMS, BALLADS 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 favor 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. "If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low, "The little jackals that flee so fast, were feast- ing 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 be- fore 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, AND OTHER VERSES 5 "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! "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 tur- quoise-studded rein, "My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain." 6 POEMS, BALLADS 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, arid 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 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, "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." AND OTHER VERSES 7 They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they have 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 Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's 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 ! "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' 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 favorite dancing-girl, passed through the line of guards and reached the pyre. There, her courage failing, she prayed her 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. 8 AND OTHER VERSES 9 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: 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. 10 POEMS, BALLADS 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 "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 And doomed to death at her drunken nod And swore by her lightest curl. 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 jeweled screen, And the wild boar couch in the house of the Queen On the drift of the desert sand. AND OTHER VERSES II 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 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, 12 POEMS, BALLADS 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. "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!" AND OTHER VERSES 13 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 reacheth far, 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. There was a hound of Hindustan had struck a Euzufzai, Wherefore they spat upon his face and led him out to die. '4 AND OTHER VERSES 15 It chanced the King went forth that hour when throat was bared to knife; The Kaffir groveled under-hoof and clamored for his life. Then said the King: "Have hope, O friend! Yea, Death disgraced is hard; "Much honor shall be thine"; and called the Captain of the Guard, Yar Khan, a bastard of the Blood, so city-bab- ble saith, And he was honored 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 yelp- ing cur of Hind. "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." 1 6 POEMS, BALLADS Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, to the North and the South is sold. The North and the South shall open their mouth to a Ghilzai flag unrolled, When the big guns speak to the Khyber peak, and his dog-Heratis fly, Ye have heard the song How long? How long? Wolves of the Abasai! That 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. 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 clamor 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, AND : OTHER VERSES 17 Yar Khan came softly to the King to make his honor 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 ! " '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, i8 POEMS, BALLADS When the red-coats crawl to the sungar wall, and his Usbeg lances fail. Ye have heard the song How long? How long? Wolves of the Zuka Kheyl! They stoned him in rubbish-field when dawn was in the sky, According to the written word, "See that he do not die." They stoned him till the stones were piled above him on the plain, And those the laboring 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 mes- sage of Yar Khan. From shattered breast through shriveled lips broke forth the rattling breath; "Creature of God, deliver me from agony of Death." AND OTHER VERSES 19 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 an- swer came; "The night is short, and he can pray and learn to bless my name." 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. 20 POEMS, BALLADS 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 favors are. Ye have heard the song How long? How long? 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 tourquoise 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 pussy-cats, brought for sale, Spat at the dogs from the camel-bale ; And the tribesmen bellowed to hasten the food; And the camp-fires twingled by Fort Jumrood ; 21 22 POEMS, BALLADS And there fled on the wings of the gathering dusk A savor 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 AH, 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-mo; ith. Four things greater than all things are, Women and Horses and Power and War. We spake of them all, but the last the most, 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 AND OTHER VERSES 23 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 favor of kings at the Kabul court ; "And traveled, in hope of honor, far "To the line where the grey-coat squadrons are. "There have I journeyed too but I "Saw naught, said naught, and did not die! "He hearked to rumor, and snatched at a breath "Of 'this one knoweth' and 'that one saith,' 24 POEMS, BALLADS "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. "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? " 'Great is thy prudence await them, them. AND OTHER VERSES 25 " 'Watch from the tree. Thou art young and strong, " 'Surely thy vigil is not for long. 'The Russ is upon us, thy clamor 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 he tree. "The peach-bloom fell -n 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, "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 :. Kine of his enemies ? 26 POEMS, BALLADS "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 I" 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 henchman 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 !" 27 28 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Com- mand, 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, fervor, and zeal The mud on the boot-heels of "Crook" O'Neil. But ever a blight on their labors lay, And ever their quarry would vanish away, AND OTHER VERSES 29 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 clear- ing 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." jo POEMS, BALLADS They hunted the Boh from the hills to the plain He doubled and broke for the hills again: 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.) 1 AND OTHER VERSES 31 The shot-wound festered as shot-wounds may In a steaming barrack at Mandalay. The left arm throbbed, and the Captain swore, "I'd like to be after the Boh once more!" The fever held him the Captain said, "I'd give a hundred to look at his head !" The Hospital punkahs 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. 32 POEMS, BALLADS 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, 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. AND OTHER VERSES 33 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 slaved, And the cartmen flogged and the escort raved ; 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, 34 POEMS, BALLADS 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, 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 pet There 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. AND OTHER VERSES 35 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 laboring 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 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 sham- bles 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. 36 POExMiS, BALLADS Up the hill to Simoorie most patient of drudges, The bags on his shoulder, the mail-runner trudges. "For Captain O'Neil, Sahib. One hundred 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! And gummed to the scalp was a letter which ran: "!N FIELDING FORCE SERVICE. Encampment, "loth Jan. "Dear Sir, I have honor 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. AND OTHER VERSES 37 "Now violate Liberty, time being bad, "To mail V.P.P. (rupees hundred) Please add "Whatever Your Honor can pass. Price of Blood "Much cheap at one hundred, and children want food. "So trusting Your Honor will somewhat re- tain "True love and affection for Govt. Bullock Train, "And show awful kindness to satisfy me, "I am, "Graceful Master, "Your "H. Mukerji." 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, 38 POEMS, BALLADS 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 nap- kins' 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 Kutta- mow flood. AND OTHER VERSES 39 As 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 slaugh- ter, 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 controlled him But watched the twin Terror the head turned to head The scowling, scarred Black, and the flushed, savage Red 40 POEMS, BALLADS The spirit that changed from her knowing and flew to Some grim hidden Past she had never a clue to. But It knew as It grinned, for he touched it un fearing, And muttered aloud, "So you kept that jade earring!" 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, '777 write to Harendra !" With language un- sainted 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, AND OTHER VERSES 41 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 displaced, This: Gules upon argent, a Boh's Head, erased! 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. 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! 42 43 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 lie, Fat herds below Bonair! 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 44 POEMS, BALLADS 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 ex- ploits of the notorious Paul Jones, the Ameri- can Pirate. It is founded on fact. . . . AT the close of a winter day, Their anchors down, by London town, the Three Great Captains lay. And one was Admiral of the North from Sol- way Firth to Skye, And one was Lord of the Wessex coast and all the 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 that were thirty foot in the sheer, When there came a certain trading-brig with news of a privateer. 45 46 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Law ye 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. "He would not fly the Rovers' flag the bloody or the black, "But now he floated the Gridiron and now he flaunted the Jack. AND OTHER VERSES 47 "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 won 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; "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. "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 served them to him raw; 48 POEMS, BALLADS "I had flung him blind in a rudderless boat to rot in the rocking bark ; "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 tasselled 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! "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 bulwarks 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 merchant- man or ever your teeth were cut. AND OTHER VERSES 49 "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 skipper called to the tall taffrail: "And what is that to me? "Did ever you hear of a privateer that rifled a Seventy-three ? "Do I loom so large from your quarter-deck that I lift like a ship o' the Line? "He has learned to rim 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 r 'Fore Gad, then, why does he steal?" 50 POEMS, BALLADS The skipper bit on a deep-sea word, and the word it was not sweet, For he could see the Captains Three had sig- nalled 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." 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 flew 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 honor 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; AND OTHER VERSES 51 "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 "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 an 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 fairl" 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. 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 drooped like a lily tired That lolls upon the stalk. 52 AND OTHER VERSES 53 "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 stuck. "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 !" 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." 54 POEMS, BALLADS "Lie down, lie 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 armor-belt; But fifty feet at stern and bow, Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow, To the hail of the Nordenfeldt. "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. \ J-'cli AND OTHER VERSES 55 "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. 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. 56 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain; Give the girls another drink 'fore we sign aivay 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 Leaking like a lobster-pot, steering like a dray Out we took the "Bolivar," out across the Bay! 57 58 POEMS, BALLADS 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 bulk- head fly; Left The Wolf behind us with a two foot- list to port. Trailing like a wounded duck, working out her soul ; Clanging like a smith-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 ; 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; AND OTHER VERSES 59 Flayed and frozen foot and hand, sick of heart and soul; 'Last we prayed she'd buck herself into Judgment 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 be- tween ; Heard the rotten rivets draw when she took it green ; 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 60 POEMS, BALLADS 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. 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 Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain; Seven men from out of Hell. Ain't the own- ers gay, 'Cause we took the "Bolivar" safe across the Bay? THE ENGLISH FLAG Above the portico a flagstaff, bearing the Union Jack, remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ultimately 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 whimpering- to and fro And what should they know of England who only England know? The poor little street-bred people that vapor and fume and brag, They are lifting 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 cow- ard'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! 61 62 POEMS, BALLADS 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. "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. "The lean white bear hath seen it in tfie 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 !" AND OTHER VERSES 63 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 Eng- lish flag was flown. "I have wrenched it free from the halliard to hang for a wisp on the Horn ; "I have chased it north to the Lizard rib- boned and rolled and torn ; "I have spread its folds o'er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea; "I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free. "My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross, "Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross. 64 POEMS, BALLADS "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 Singapore ! "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. "Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake, "But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England's sake AND OTHER VERSES 65 "Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid "Because on the bones of the English the Eng- lish Flag is stayed. "The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows "The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows. "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 thoughtless 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. "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, 66 POEMS, BALLADS "For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath, "And they see strange bows above them and the two 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 shriek- ing 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" (IN MEMORY OF A COMMISSION) HELP for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt, Help for an honorable clan sore trampled in the dirt! From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song, The honorable gentlemen have suffered griev- ous 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. Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime be- neath the surgeon's knife, The honorable gentleman deplored the loss of life; 68 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Phoenix Park (and what lay there) they rise! Go shout it to the emerald seas give word to Erin now, Her honorable 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, But sure it keeps their honor 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 ? AND OTHER VERSES 69 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 mad- den 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. They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of jail, They only fawned for dollars on the blood- dyed 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," honorable gentlemen. Be thankful it's no more : The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at your door. 70 POEMS, BALLADS 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. 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. Hold up those hands of innocence go, scare your sheep together, The blundering, tripping tups that bleat be- hind the old bell-weather ; 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? AND OTHER VERSES 71 If words are words, or death is death, or pow- der sends the ball, You spoke the words that sped the shot the curse be on you all. "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 hang- ing 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 and whisper bred, 72 POEMS, BALLADS 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 honor still, Go, help to make our country's laws that broke God's law at will One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal "strike again"; The other on your dress-shirt-front to show your heart is clane. 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 their 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 nted : 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. 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; 73 "With the even tramp of an army where no man breaks from the line, "Ye shall march to peace and plenty in the bond of 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 the paper, as a Yankee delegate spoke : "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. AND OTHER VERSES 75 "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 missus. 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." They passed one resolution: ''Your sub-com- mittee believe "You can lighten the curse of Adam when you've lightened the curse of Eve. 76 POEMS, BALLADS "But till we are built like angels with ham- mer and chisel and pen, "We will 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. 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 an- swer 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!" 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." 77 78 POEMS, BALLADS "For that ye strove in neighbor-love it shall be 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 lit- tle 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, "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 weari- nes and wrath. "Ye have read, ye have heard, ye have thought," he said, "and the tale is yet to run: "By the worth of the body that once ye had, ive answer what ha' ye done?" AND OTHER VERSES 79 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 idle- ness to prate! "Oh, none may reach by hired speech of neighbor, priest, and kin, "Through borrowed deed to God's good meed that lies so far 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, Tomlin- son!" The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun by sun they fell Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars that rim the mouth of Hell: 8o POEMS, BALLADS 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 as the light of his own hearth-stone. The Devil he sat behind the bars, where the desperate 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 yoursel' so fit for Hell and ask no leave of me ? "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 OTHER VERSES 81 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 beneath his feet The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in Hell-Mouth heat. "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 at 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 for 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." 82 POEMS, BALLADS 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? "I see no worth in the hobnailed mirth or the jolt-head jest ye did "That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleeping 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 yam- mered "Let me in "For I mind that I borrowed my neighbor'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!" AND OTHER VERSES 83 The Devil he blew upon his nails, and the lit- tle 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 all abroad, As children rifle a caddis-case or the raven's foolish hoard. And back they came with the tattered Thing, as children after play, And they said: "The soul that he got from God he 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 we cannot find : "We have handled him, we have dandled him, we have seared him to the bone, "And sure if tooth and nail show truth he has no soul of his own." 84 POEMS, BALLADS 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!" 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. AND OTHER VERfSES 85 "Honor 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 aq-ain. "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! "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 DANNY DEEVER "WHAT are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade. "To turn you out, to turn you out," the Color- Sergeant said. "What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade. "I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Color-Sergeant said. For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you 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'. "What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard ?" said Files-on-Parade. "It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Color- Sergeant said. "What makes that front-rank man fall down?" says Files-on-Parade. "A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Color- Sergeant said. 89 $0 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Color- Sergeant said. "I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times," said Files-on-Parade. " 'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Color- Sergeant said. 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 and the regi- ment's disgrace, iWhile 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 Color- Sergeant said. AND OTHER VERSES 91 'What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files-on-Parade. 'It's Danny's soul that's passin' now," the Color-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' gig- gled 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 ; 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! 92 AND OTHER VERSES 93 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 starvation 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' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?" But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll, 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. 94 POEMS, BALLADS We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards 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. Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace. AND OTHER VERSES 95 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 Paythan 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 Suakim 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 fightin' man; We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined. 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 : 96 AND OTHER VERSES 97 But all we ever got from such as they Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swal- ler; 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- Wuz 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. 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; 98 POEMS, BALLADS 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, 'e's '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 square ! 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 bet- ter 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 ?" "I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots began to fly- But you'd best go look for a new love." 99. ioo POEMS, BALLADS "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 'im 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 allus used to wear, An' you'd best go look for a new love." "Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, O then I know it's true I've lost my true love!" "An* I tell you the truth again when you've lost the feel o' pain You'd best take me for your true love." AND OTHER VERSES 101 True love ! New love ! Best take 'im for a new love. The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd bet- ter 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. 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 : 1 02 AND OTHER VERSES 103 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 you all 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, 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. 104 POEMS, BALLADS 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, sniffin' 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! 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! AND OTHER VERSES 105 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! 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! 1 You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din." The uniform 'e wore Was nothin' much before, TBrine water swiftly. 1 06 AND OTHER VERSES 107 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' eye^ brows 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* in it Or I'll marrow 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. With 'is mussick 4 on 'is back, i Mr. Atkins' equivalent for "O brother.' ' *Ba quick. Hit you. Water skla 108 POEMS, BALLADS '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 vvounded 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 shan'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 grate fullest to one from Gunga Din. It was "Din! Din! Din!" AND OTHER VERSES 109 '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 hope 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 camel an' 'is commis- sariat load. O the oont, 1 O the oont, O the commis- sariat 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? *Camel oo Is pronounced like u In "bull," but by Mr. Atkins to rhyme Irtth "Front." no AND OTHER VERSES in 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, O the Gawd- forsaken oont! The lumpy-'umpy 'ummin'-bird a- singin' where 'e lies, '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! 112 POEMS, BALLADS 'E'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight 'e smells most awful vile; 'E'll lose 'isself forever 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 'issel in two. O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin', 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, Ho then we strips 'is saddle off, and all 'is woes is past: 'E thinks on us that used 'im so, and gets re- venge at last. O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin', bloatin' oont! AND OTHER VERSES 113 The late lamented camel in the water-cut 'e lies; We keeps a mile behind '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' 'aversack, 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! It's the same with dogs an' men, If you'd make 'em come again 114 AND OTHER VERSES 115 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't 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 lootin' should be entered as a crime; So if ray 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 ; 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!) Il6 POEMS, BALLADS 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 beyond a doubt As if there weren't enough to dust a flute (Cornet: Toot! toot!) 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 Quar- ter-master too, If you only take the proper way to go; 7 could never keep my pickin's, but I've learned you all I knew An' don't you never say I told you so. AND OTHER VERSES 117 An' now I'll bid good-bye, for I'm gettin* rather dry, An' I see another tunin' up to toot (Cornet: Toot! toot!)- So 'ere's good-luck to those that wears the Widow's clo'es, An' the Devil send '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 (///) 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 re- member 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 schoolin' to a native army corps, They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin' down the brow, When a tricky, trundlin' round-shot gives the knock to Snarleyow. 118 AND OTHER VERSES 119 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: Tull up, pull up for Snarleyow 'is 'ead's be- tween '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 between your 'eels!" 'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke the word, before a drop- pin' shell A little right the batt'ry an' between the sec- tions fell; An' when the smoke 'ad cleared away, before the limber wheels, There lay the Driver's Brother with 'is 'ead be- tween 'is 'eels. Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very plain, 120 POEMS, BALLADS "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 cough- in' grunt, But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came to "Action front!" An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head 'Twas jucier for the niggers when the case be- gun to spread. The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen ; You 'avn't got no families when servin' of the Queen You 'avn'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 ; 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! THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR 'AvE you 'card '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 what make up the forces O' Missis Victorier's sons. (Poor beggars! Victorier's sons!) 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. 121 122 POEMS, BALLADS (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 Em- perors 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 file, An' open in form with the guns. (Poor beggars! it's always they guns!) We 'ave 'card 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!) Take o'ld o' the Wings o' the Mornin', An' flop round the earth till you're dead; AND OTHER VERSES 123 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 cav- alree ; It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark : The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last fornist 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 !" O buckle an' tongue Was the song that we sung From Harrison's down to the Park! There was a row in Silver Street the regi- ments was out, They called us "Delhi Rebels," an' we an- swered "Threes about!" 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 * 124 AND OTHER VERSES 125 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 simultane- ous rose, Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was tatthered clo'es. For it was: Belts There was a row in Silver Street it might ha' raged till now, But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' no- body 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 126 POEMS, BALLADS 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 punish- ments to get ; 'Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie : There was a row in Silver Street begob, 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 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. 127 128 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Vll knock you down dead An 5 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 sol- dier. 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 sol- dier. , AND OTHER VERSES 129 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', and 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 sol- dier. 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. 130 POEMS, BALLADS For noise never startles the soldier. Start-, start-, startles the soldier. . . . 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 Afghanis- tan's plains, And the women come out to cut up what re- mains, 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 tem- ple-bells they say : "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!" 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'-fishes 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, 131 132 POEMS, BALLADS An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackiri 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 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla- lo-lo!" With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my cheek We useter 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. But that's all shove be'ind me long ago an* fur away, An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Gank to Mandalay; AND OTHER VERSES 133 An' I'm learnin* 'ere in London what the ten- year soldier tells : "If you've 'card 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 Chel- sea to the Strand, An' they talks a lot o' lovin,' but wot do they understand ? Beefy face an' grubby 'and Law! wot do they understand? I've 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 : 134 POEMS, BALLADS 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 ! On 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! The Malabar's in 'arbor with the Jumner at 'er tail, An* the time-expired's waitin* of 'is orders for to sail. 135 136 POEMS, BALLADS Ho ! the weary waitin' when on Khyber 'ills we lay, But the time-expired's waitin' of '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 complain ; 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 cam- paign; 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 ; 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. AND OTHER VERSES 137 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. FORD O' KABUL RIVER KABUL town's by Kabul river Blow the bugle, draw the sword There I lef ' my mate forever, 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 sha'n'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 o' Kabul river in the dark. AND OTHER VERSES 139 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 *For I see him 'live an' well 'Im the best beside the ford. Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 140 POEMS, BALLADS 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 use o' callin' 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. ROUTE-MARCHIN' 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 'card 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 ex- actly like the last; While the Big Drum says, With 'is "rowdy-doivdy-dow!" "Kiko kusywarsti don't you hamsher 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, 141 142 POEMS, BALLADS 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 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 laC An' it's best foot first, etc. It's none so bad o' Sunday, when you're lyin* at your ease, TThomas's first and firmest conviction Is that he is a profound Orient- alist and a fluent speaker of Hindustani. As a matter of fact he depends largely on the sign-language. AND OTHER VERSES 143 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 orficers goes shootin' an' the men they plays at cards. Till it's best foot first, etc. So 'ark an' 'eed you rookies, which is always grumblin' sore, There's worser things than marchin' from Um- balla 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 Col- onel, and the Band. Ho! get away, you bullock-man, you've 'card the bugle blowed. There's a regiment a-comin* down the Grand Trunk Road. 144 POEMS, BALLADS With its best foot first And the road a-slidin' past, An' every bloomin' campin'-ground ex- actly like the last; While the Big Drum says, With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!" "Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy-jow?" 1 1 Why don't you get on? DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES / 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. 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 as it does in this age. Won a simple viceroy's praise Through the toil of other men. Ere they hewed the Sphinx's visage Favoritism governed kissage, Even in those early days, 150 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Civilians? 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 forevermore. ARMY HEADQUARTERS Old is the song that I sing Old as my unpaid bills Old as the chicken that kitmutgars bring Men at dak-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 quit his charger in a parabolic way, His method of saluting was the joy of all be- holders, But Ahasuerus Jenkins had a head upon his shoulders. He took two months to Simla when the year was at the spring. And underneath the deodars eternally did sing. 152 POEMS, BALLADS He warbled like a bulbul, but particularly at Cornelia Agrippina who was musical and fat. She controlled a humble husband, who, in turn, controlled 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 with 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 bud- ding 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, To play with maps and catalogues three idle hours a day, And draw his plump retaining fee which means his double pay. AND OTHER VERSES 153 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 State. 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 he 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. 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. IS4 AND OTHER VERSES 155 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 what Potiphar is, Hadst thou been mated to Me ? 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 Jail and Hospital nearly built a City drain Till his faithful subjects all thought their ruler was insane. Strange departures made he then yea, De- partments 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. 156 AND OTHER VERSES 157 Rajah Rustum held his peace; lowered octroi dues a 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 das- turi; Turned the State of Kolazai very nearly up- side-down ; When the end of May was nigh, waited his achievement crown. Then the Birthday Honors came. Sad to state and sad to see, Stood against the Rajah's name nothing more than C. L E.l Things were lively for a week in the State of Kolazai. Even now the people speak of that time regret- fully. 158 POEMS, BALLADS How he disendowed the jail stopped at once the City drain; Turned to beauty fair and frail got his senses back again; 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 honors manifold; Clad himself in Eastern garb squeezed his people as of old. Happy, happy Kolazai ! Never more will Rus- tum 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 health}' post; And Mrs. Barrett mourned for him Five lively months at most X 59. . 160 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Boffkin, 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. 161 162 POEMS, BALLADS So they recognized the business, and, to feed and clothe the bride, Got him made a Something Something some- where 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 give you little taste and lots of lather.") Frequently in public places his affliction used to smite Sleary with distressing vigor always in the Boffkins' sight. Ere a week was over Minnie weepingly re- turned his ring, Told him his "unhappy weakness" stopped all thought of marrying. AND OTHER VERSES 163 Sleary bore the information with a chastened holy joy, Epileptic fits don't matter in Political em- ploy- 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. PUBLIC WASTE Walpole talks of "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 letters of brass That only a Colonel from Chatham can man- age the Railways of State, Because of the gold on his breeks, and the sub- jects wherein he must pass : Because in all matters that deal not with Rail- ways his knowledge is great. Now Exeter Battleby Tring had labored from boyhood to eld On the Lines of the East and the West, and eke of the North and South ; Many Lines had he built and surveyed impor- tant the posts which he held ; And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb when he opened his mouth. AND OTHER VERSES 165 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 the 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 honor to state," It would be better for all men if he were laid on the shelf: Much would accrue to his bank-book, and he consented to wait Until the Little Tin Gods built him a berth for himself. 166 POEMS, BALLADS "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 Highnesses 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 guaranteed twenty-inch gauge). So Exeter Battleby Tring consented his claims to resign, And died, on four thousand a month, in the ninetieth year of his age. 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 shameful one. 167 i68 POEMS, BALLADS He wrote for divers papers, which, as every- body 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 compli- ment unstinted. He went with her a-riding, and his love for her was such That he loaned her all his horses, and she galled them very much. One day, THEY brewed a secret of a fine fin- ancial sort; It related to Appointments, to a Man and a Report. 'Twas almost worth the keeping (only seven people knew it), And Gunne rose up to seek the truth and pa- tiently ensue it. It was a Viceroy's Secret, but perhaps the wine was red Perhaps an Aged Councillor had lost his aged head AND OTHER VERSES 169 Perhaps Delilah's eyes were bright Delilah's whispers sweet The Aged Member told her what 'twere trea- son to repeat Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love and flowers; Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for sev- eral 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 learned the all- important news; Next week, the Aged Councillor was shaking in his shoes; POEMS, BALLADS Next month, I met Delilah, and she did not show the least Hesitation in affirming that Ulysses was a "beast." ****** We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead and done, Of Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulysses Gunne! 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 whereso'er you list." Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the gun- smith and Bought the tuber 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. 172 POEMS, BALLADS But the Indian Government, always keen to please, Also gave permission to horrid men like these 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 patriotic hearts All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts AND OTHER VERSES 173 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, Ynr Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned with glee As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khy- beree. Jowar Singh the Sikh procured sabre, quoit, and mace, Abdul Huq, Wahabi, took the dagger from its place, While amid the jungle-grass danced and grinned and jabbered Little Boh Hla-oo and cleared the dah-blade from the scabbard. What became of Mookerjee? Soothly, who can say? Yar Mahommed only grins in a nasty way, 174 POEMS, BALLADS Jowar Singh is reticent, Chimbu Singh is mute, But the belts of them all simply bulge with loot. What became of BallarcTs 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! PINK DOMINOES "They are fools who kiss and tell" Wisely has the poet sung. Man may hold all sorts 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 ex- changed Early that afternoon, At Number Four to waltz no more, But to sit in the dusk and spoon. (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.) 175 176 POEMS, BALLADS 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 an alien waist But I did not tell her so. Next morn I knew that there were two Dominoes pink, and one Had cloaked the spouse of Sir Julian Vouse, Our big political gun. AND OTHER VERSES 177 Sir J. was old, and her hair was gold, And her eye was 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 Secreforryf THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE Shun shun the Bowl! That fatal, facile drink Has ruined many geese who dipped their quills in't, Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of Ink Save when you write receipts for paid-up bills in't. There may be silver in the "blue-back" 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 1. (Men who spar with Government need, to back their blows, Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.) 178 AND OTHER VERSES 179 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 Rag he wrote for 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 l8o POEMS, BALLADS 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." 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, MUNICIPAL "Why is my District death-rate low?** Said Binks of Hezabad. "Wells, drains, and sewage-outfalls are My own peculiar fad. I learned a lesson once." It ran "Thus," quoth that most veracious man: IT was an August evening, and, in snowy gar- ments clad, I paid a round of visits in the lines of Heza- bad; 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 the Commissariat elephant had suddenly gone musth. 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. 181. 182 POEMS, BALLADS 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, dis- traught with fear, To the Main Drain sewage-outfall while 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 eight feet up, with mire; And, for twenty reeking minutes, Sir, my very marrow froze, While the trunk was feeling blindly for a pur- chase on my toes ! AND OTHER VERSES 183 It missed me by a fraction, but my hair was turning grey 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. 7 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 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. 184 AND OTHER VERSES 185 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 the ditty hangs) That snowy-haired Lothario, Lieutenant-Gen- eral Bangs. 'Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, that tittupped on the way, When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at play; They thought of Border risings, and of sta- tions sacked and burned So stopped to take the message down and this is what they learned : "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 Wolseley, who is on that mountain top?" 186 POEMS, BALLADS The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the gilded Staff were still, As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that message from the hill; For, clear as summer's lightning flare, the hus- band'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 helio- graphed his wife Some interesting details of the General's pri- vate life. The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the shin- ing 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! Threes about there ! Trot !" AND OTHER VERSES 187 All honor 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 Moolfaw They know the worthy General as "that most immoral man." 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 favor." Wait awhile, till we attain The Last Department, where nor fraud nor fools, Nor grade nor greed, shall trouble us again. Fear, Favor, 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 overdue, none can deny; When idleness of all Eternity Becomes our furlough, and the marigold Our thriftless, bullion-minting Treasury. 188 AND OTHER VERSES 189 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 (These be the glorious ends whereto we pass Let Him who Is, go call on Him who Was ; And He shall see the mallie steals the slab 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 or Me. Do those who live decline The step that offers, or their work resign? Trust me, To-day's Most Indispensable*, FWe hundred men can take your place or mine. OTHER VERSES RECESSIONAL (A VICTORIAN ODE) GOD of our fathers, known of old Lord of our far-flung battle line* Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget les^ we forget ! The tumult and the shouting dies The Captains and the Kings depart-** Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget lest we forget! Far-called, our navies melt away - On dune and headland sinks the fire * Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget lest we forget! 193 194 POEMS, BALLADS If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe Such boastings as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget lest we forget ! For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard All valiant dust that builds on dust, And, guarding, calls not Thee to guard. For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord I Amen. THE VAMPIRE The verses as suggested by the painting by Philip Burne-Jones, first exhibited at the new gallery in Lon- don in 1897. A FOOL there was and he made his prayer (Even as you and I!) To a rag and a >one and a hank of hair (We called her the woman who did not care), But the fool he called her his lady fair (Even as you and I!) Oh the years we /aste and the tears we waste And the work of our head and hand, Belong to the woman who did not know (And now we know that she never could know) And did not understand. A fool there was and his goods he spent (Even as you and I!) Honor and faith and a sure intent (And it wasn't the least what the lady meant). But a fool must follow his natural bent (Even as you and I!) 195 196 POEMS, BALLADS Oh the toil we lost and the spoil we lost And the excellent things we planned, Belong to the woman who didn't know why (And now we know she never knew why) And did not understand. The fool was stripped to his foolish hide (Even as you and I !) Which she might have seen when she threw him aside (But it isn't on record the lady tried) So some of him lived but the most of him died (Even as you and I!) And it isn't the shame and it .sn't the blame That stings like a white hot brand. It's coming to know that she never knew why (Seeing at last she could never know why) And never could understand. 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, un- knowing, unthinking, and blind? Shall I meet you next session at Simla, O sweetest and best of your kind ? Does the P. and O. bear you to me-ward, or, clad in short frocks in the West, Are you growing the charms that shall capture and torture the heart in my breast? Will 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? 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" ; 197 198 POEMS, BALLADS When the peg and the pig-skin shall please not; when I buy me Calcutta-built clothes ; When I quit the Delight of Wild Asses; for- swearing 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 half that men tell me be true, You will come in the future, and therefore these verses are written to you. THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN (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 casteth 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 will promise Anything! 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. 199 200 POEMS, BALLADS Whether at 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 Statemen 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 fill. 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? "Who hath not Prudence" what was it I said, Of Her who paints her Eyes and tires Her Head, AND OTHER VERSES 201 And gibes 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. 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, Tari 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 ? 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 grey leeches sing, And a red-hot monkey talking Did not seem the proper thing. 202 AND OTHER VERSES 203 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 bedroom 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 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 warder Would not let me set it true. 204 POEMS, BALLADS 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 ; Then a Face came, blind anJ weeping, And It couldn't wipe It's 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. AND OTHER VERSES 205 In tolerable stillness Rose one little, little star, And it chuckled at my illness, And it mocked me from afar; 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 v/ept as children weep, Till the dawn-wind, softly, slowly, Brought to burning eyelids sleep. 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 color 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 / had Her constant cheek : I wish that I could sing All sorts of funny little songs, Not quite the proper thing. 206 AND OTHER VERSES 207 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 None ever 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! 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. 208 POEMS, BALLADS 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 forever 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. THE LOVERS' LITANY EYES of grey a sodden quay, Driving rain and falling tears, As the steamer wears 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!' 9 Eyes of black a throbbing keel, Milky foam to left and right ; Whispered converse 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 a dusty plain Split and parched with heat of June, Flying hoof and tightened rein, Hearts that beat the old, old tune. 209 2io POEMS, BALLADS Side by side the horses fly, Frame we now the old reply Of the Lovers' Litany : "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," "Oncers," "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 Prazed's 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 me very thoroughly In the ice that used to slake Pegs 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 clamor coolies make; Thus in state and dignity Send me up for old sake's sake. Next the sleepy Babu wake, Book a Kalka van "for four." Few, I think, will care to make Journeys with me any more 211 212 POEMS, BALLADS 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 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 thoie 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. 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: "O man of many clothes! Sad crawler on the Hills ! Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ran- ken'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, 214 POEMS, BALLADS I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in my life Have I flirted at Peliti's with another Ban- dar's wife. "O 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, or rings, Nor do I wast 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 that I am her only lord. I never heard of fever dumps nor debts de- press my soul; And I pity and despise you!" Here he pouched my breakfast-roll. His hide was very mangy, and his face was very red, And ever and anon he scratched with energy his head. AND OTHER VERSES 215 His manners were not always nice, but how my spirit cried To be an artless Bandar loose upon the moun- tain side! 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 mindei. to discover 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 Incarnation of the Government of India in the raiment of the Angel of Plenty sings, to pianoforte accompaniment: "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. (/.) Ay, paint our swarthy billions The richest of vermilions Ere two well-led cotillions Have danced themselves away. 216 AND OTHER VERSES 217 TURKISH PATROL, as able and intelligent In- vestigators wind down the Himalayas: What is the state of the Nation? What is its occupation ? Hi! get along, get along, get along lend us the information! (Dim.) Census the byle and the yabu cap- ture a first-class Babu, Set him to cut Gazetteers Gazetteers . . . (ff.) What is the state of the Nation, etc., etc. 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 fervor of the flaming air The languid hours pass. The well is 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. 218 POEMS, BALLADS Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King Lift up your hands above the blighted grain, Look westward if they please, the Gods shall bring Their mercy with the rain. Look westward bears the blue no brown cloudbank ? 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 Investigat- ors, attired after the manner of Dionysus, leading a pet tiger-cub in wreaths of rhubarb leaves, symbolical of India under medical treatment. They sing: AND OTHER VERSES 219 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. 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 children of men. We have trodden the mart and the well-curb we have trooped to the bield and the byre ; And the King may the forces of Hell curb, for the People have all they desire I 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 join and the jat in his stucco-fronted hut, And the bounding bazugar, By the favor of the King are as fat as any- thing, They are they are they are ! 220 POEMS, BALLADS RECITATIVE, Government of India, with white satin wings and electroplated harp: How beautiful upon the mountains in peace reclining, Thus to be assured that our people are unani- mously dining. 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. (Cres.) How be-ewtiful upon the mountains! HIRED BAND, brasses only, full chorus: God bless the Squire And all his rich relations Who teach us poor people We eat our proper rations We eat our proper rations, In spite of inundations, Malarial exhalations, And casual starvations, We have, we have, they say we have We have our proper rations ! {Cornet.) Which nobody can deny! If he does he tells a lie* AND OTHER VERSES 221 We are all as willing as Barkis We all of us loves the Markiss We all of us stuffs our ca-ar-kis With food until we die! (Da capo.) . 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-ll ! And the bigots took in hand Cess and the falling 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, And fashioned in black and white, With Life for a flickering taper And Death for a blazing light 222 POEMS, BALLADS 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 the priest And send his children to school. Railways and roads they wrought, For the needs of the soil 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. 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 Machia , elli 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. 223 224 POEMS, BALLADS Then 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'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 traveled wifeward not alone. For Lilly thirteen-two and bay Came in a horse-box all the way. AND OTHER VERSES 225 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. 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 tear, as spirits may, Our mundane revel on the height, Shall watch eac 1 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. For, think you, as the vapors flee Across Sanjaolie after rain, His soul may climb the hill again To each old field of victory. 226 AND OTHER VERSES 227 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, And 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. Talk as we talked, and they ere death First wanly, dance in ghostly wise, With ghosts of tunes for melodies, And vanish at the morning's breath. 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 riverside, 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. Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly 228 AND OTHER VERSES 229 Call on Rama he may hear, perhaps, your voice! With our hymn-books, and our psalters we appeal to other altars, And to-day we bid "good Christian men rejoice 1" 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. Grey dusk behind the tamarisks the parrots fly together As the sun is sinking slowly over Home; And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether That drags us back howe-er so far we roam. 230 POEMS, BALLADS 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 be- hind. 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 honor, O my brothers, Christmas Day! Call a truce, then, to our labors let us feast with friends and neighbors, 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 Christ- mas past. 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 therewith, 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 koil. 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. April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat, Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat. 231 232 POEMS, BALLADS 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 drink- ing beer ; Later, a dose of fever slight, but he called it severe. Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the Chota Bur sat 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 stayed. July was a trifle unhealthy, Pagett was ill with fear, 'Called it the "Cholera Morbus," hinted that life was dear. AND OTHER VERSES 233 He babbled of "Eastern exile," and mentioned his 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 perjured, 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 traveled idiots who duly misgovern the land, And I prayed to the Lord to deliver another one into my hand. THE SONG OF THE WOMEN (Lady Dufferin's Fund for medical aid to tht Women of India) How shall she know the worship we would 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 bazaar? Free wind of March, against the lattice blowing, Bear thou our thanks, lest she depart un- knowing. 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 bring- ing." 234 AND OTHER VERSES 235 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 its not in after years ; For we have seen the light, and it were greviotis To dim that dawning if our lady leave us. By life that ebbed with none to stanch the fail- ing By Love's sad harvest garnered in the spring, When Love in ignorance wept unavailing O'er young buds dead before their blossom- ing; By all the grey owl watched, the pale moon viewed, In past grim years, declare our gratitude ! By hands uplifted to the Gods that heard not, By gifts that found no favor 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 dis- cover, Bid Earth be good beneath and Heaven above herl 236 POEMS, BALLADS 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 nought. Go forth, O 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 helpen 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, confessed, *)f those in darkness by her hand set free, Then very softly to her presence move, And whisper: "Lady, lo, they know and love!" A BALLADE OF JAKKO HILL ONE moment bid the horses wait, Since tiffin is not laid till three, Below the upward path and straight You climbed a year ago with me. Love came upon us suddenly And loosed an idle hour to kill A headless, armless armory That smote us both on Jakko Hill. Ah Heaven ! we would wait and wait Through Time and to Eternity! Ah Heaven ! we could conquer Fate With more than Godlike constancy! I cut the date upon a tree Here stand the clumsy figures still: "107-85, A.D." Damp with the mist on 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? 237 238 POEMS, BALLADS 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! I/ENVOI. Princess, 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; And we revolved to divers melodies, And we were happy but a year ago. 239 240 POEMS, BALLADS To-night, the moon that watched our light- some 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 verandas 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 cotillions Danced out in tumult long before you came. AND OTHER VERSES 241 Yea ! "See Saw" shall upset your estimates, "Dream Faces" shall your heavy heads be- muse, Because your hand, unheeding, desecrates Our temple; fit for higher, worthier use. And all the long- verandas, 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 nought, 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! 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 told to 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. They told their tales of wreck and wrong, Of shame and lust and fraud, They backed their toughest statements with The Brimstone of the Lord, And crackling oaths went to and fro Across the fist-banged board. 242 AND OTHER VERSES 243 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, Half breed, Finn, Yank, Dane, and Portugee, At Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 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, To eat the bread of infamy And take the wage of shame. 244 POEMS, BALLADS 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 learned 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, And laughter shook the chest beneath The maid Ultruda's charm The little silver crucifix That keeps a man from harm. AND OTHER VERSES 245 "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. 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 246 POEMS, BALLADS "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. "AS THE BELL CLINKS" As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely Maid last season worshipped dumbly, watched with fervor from afar ; And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would greet me kindly. That was all the rest was settled by the clink- ing tonga-bar. Yea, my life and hers were coupled by the tonga coupling-bar. For my misty meditation, at the second chang- ing-station, Suffered sudden dislocation, fled before the tuneless jar Of a Wagner obligate, 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. "She was sweet," thought I, "last season, but 'twere surely wild unreason 247 248 POEMS, BALLADS Such 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!" clicked 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 fore- most, ganz und gar "She was very sweet," I hinted. "If a kiss had been imprinted?" AND OTHER VERSES 249 "'Would ha' saved a world of trouble!'' clashed the busy tonga-bar. "'Been accepted or rejected!" banged and clanged the tonga-bar. Then a notion wild and daring, 'spite the in- come 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!" "Faint heart never won fair lady," creaked the straining tonga-bar. "Can I tell you ere you ask Her?" pounded slow the tonga-bar. 250 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Did the iterated order of the threshing tonga- bar "Try your luck you can't do better!" twanged the loosened tonga-bar. 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, // you love me as I love you, What knife can cut our love in two? 252 POEMS, BALLADS 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 ? // 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 thos unloaded guns We keep beside the bed Blow off, by obvious accident, The lucky owner's head, // you love me as I love you, What can Life .H/7 or Death undo? So long as Death 'twixt dance and dance Chills best and bravest blood, And drops the reckless rider down The rotten, rain-soaked khud, AND OTHER VERSES 253 So long as rumors from the North Make loving wives afraid. So long as Burma takes the boy And typhoid kills the maid, // 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 Boileaugunge to Simla Downs And those grim glades below, Where, heedless of the flying hoof And clamor overhead, Sleep, with the grey 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, By Corset, Plume, and Spur, By Riot, Revel, Waltz, and War, By Women, Work, and Bill?, By all the life that fizzes in The everlasting Hills, // you love me as I love you What pair so happy as we two? CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ i. 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 doe* the Young Man say? "Lo! She is pleasant to look on, give Her to me to-day!" n. Yea, though a Kafir die, to him is remitted Jehannum If he borrowed in life from a native at sixty per cent, per annum. in. Blister we not for bursati? So when the heart is vexed, The pain of one maiden's refusal is drowned in the pain of the next. 254 AND OTHER VERSES 255 IV. 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? v. 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. VI. Does the woodpecker flit round the young f cr- ash f Does grass clothe a new-built wall ? Is she under thirty, the woman who holds a boy in her thrall ? vn. If She grow suddenly gracious reflect. Is it all for thee? The black-buck is stalked through the bullock, and Man through jealousy. 256 POEMS, BALLADS VIII. Seek not for favor of women. So shall you find it indeed. Does not the boar break cover just when you're lighting a weed ? IX. If He play, being young and unskilful, for shekels of silver and gold, Take His money, my sort, praising Allah. The kid was ordained to be sold. x. 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. XI. Pleasant the snafHe of Courtship, improving the manners and Carriage; But the colt who is wise will abstain from the terrible thorn-bit of Marriage. AND OTHER VERSES 257 XII. As the thriftless gold of the babul, so is the gold that we spend On a Derby Sweep, or our neighbor's wife, or the horse that we buy from a friend. XIII. The ways of man with a maid be strange, yet simple and tame To the ways of a man with a horse, when sell- ing or racing that same. XIV. In public Her face turneth to thee, and pleas- ant 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? xv. 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. 258 POEMS, BALLADS If She have written a letter, delay not an in- stant, but burn it, Tear it in pieces, O Fool, and the wind to her mate shall return it! 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. XVI. My Son, if a maiden deny thee and scuffingly 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. XVII. If we fall in the race, though we win, the hoof- slide is scarred on the course. Though Allah and Earth pardon Sin, remain- eth forever Remorse. XVIII. "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. AND OTHER VERSES 259 XIX. 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 GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD There's a widow in sleepy Chester Who weeps for her only son; There's a grave on the Pdbeng River, A grave that the Bimnans 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 fall. 260 AND OTHER VERSES 261 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 honor, 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 A jingal covered the clearing, Calthrops hampered the way. Subadar Prag Tewarri, Bidding them load with ball, Halted a dozen rifles Under the village wall ; Sent out a flanking-party With Jemadar Hira Lai. 262 POEMS, BALLADS 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 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, Head upon head distorted, Set in a sightless grin, Anger and pain and terror Stamped on the smoke-scorched akin. AND OTHER VERSES 263 Subadar Prag Tewarri Put the head of the Boh On the top of the mound of 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 kullah's head Must be paid for with heads five score. There's a widow in sleepy Chester W ho 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. THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS BENEATH the deep veranda'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 The dust that half a hundred kine Before my window raise. 264 AND OTHER VERSES 265 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 bazaar 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 OVERLAND MAIL (Foot-Service to the Hills) IN the name of the Empress of India, make way, O Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam. The woods are astir at the close of the day We exiles are waiting for letters from Home. Let the robber retreat let 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 waist-belt, the Post Office bill: "Despatched on this date, as received by the rail, Ptr runner, two bags of the Overland Mail." 266 AND OTHER VERSES 267 Is the torrent in spate? He must ford it or swim. Has the rain wrecked the road? He must climb by the cliff. Does the tempest cry "Halt" ? What are tem- pests to him? The Service admits not a "but" or an "if." While the breath's in his mouth, he must bear without 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 brawny 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 hillside, a dot on the road A jingle of bells on the foot-path below There's a scuffle above in the monkey's abode 268 POEMS, BALLADS 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!" 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, 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." 269 270 POEMS, BALLADS Then, far and near, as the twilight drew, Hissed up to the scornful dark Great serpents, blazing 1 , 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 catle increase." 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 raiseth them up and driveth 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 Prov- erb. 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 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. 271 272 POEMS, BALLADS Answer, sombre beast and dreary, Where is Brown, the young and 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, O 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. Or, perchance, in years to follow, I shall watch your plump sides hollow, See Carnifex (gone lame) become a corse. See old age at last o'erpower you, And the Station Pack devour you, I shall chuckle then, O Undertaker's Horse! AND OTHER VERSES 273 But to insult, gibe, and quest, I've Still the hideously suggestive Trot that hammers out the grim and warning 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 the next?" 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 thoct him fou, 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! Whence comes the lick, 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." "There's whusky brewed in Galashiels, An' L. L. L. forbye; But never liquor lit the low That keeks fra' oot your eye. 274 AND OTHER VERSES 275 "There's a thrid o' hair on your dress-coat breast, Aboon the heart a wee?" "Oh ! that is f ra' the lang-haired Skyc 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 f ra' my auld cigar, Whenas the stump-end fell." "Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse, For ye are short o' cash, An' best Havanas couldna leave Sae white an' pure an ash. "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 ! 276 POEMS, BALLADS "Oh! we're no fou! Oh! we're no fou! But plainly we can ken Ye're fallin', fallin', fra' the band O' cantie single men!" An' it fell when ^irm-shaws were sere, An' the nichts were lang and mirk, In braw new breeks, wi a gowden ring, Oor Jockie gaed to the Kirk. 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 brain and body meeter For all the murderous intent Comprised in "villanous saltpetre!" And after ask the Yusufzaies iWhat 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 ! 277 278 POEMS, BALLADS 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 or moods and tenses, But, being blessed with perfect sight, Picks off our messmates left and right. With home-bred hordes the hillsides teem, The troop-ships bring us one by one, At vast expense of time and steam, To slay Airidis where they run. The "captives of our bow and spear" Are cheap alas ! as we are dear. ONE VICEROY RESIGNS (Lord Dufferin to Lord Lansdowne) 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? Neat 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! 279 280 POEMS, BALLADS That ghost has haunted me for twenty years, 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. I 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 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 of drought Had ruined much. It rained and washed away AND OTHER VERSES 281 The specks that might have gathered on my Name. I took a country twice the size of France, 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, 282 POEMS, BALLADS 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. (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 we 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, AND OTHER VERSES 283 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 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. Your'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 favor. Fate's the third. 284 TOEMS, BALLADS I know what / 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 and . . . that's all. I'd agonize to serve you if I could. It's incommunicable, like the cast That drops the tackle with the gut adry. Too much too little there's your salmon lost! 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 live! AND OTHER VERSES 285 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 three pence 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 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 Tartar 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, 286 POEMS, BALLADS 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; The Strand abellow through the fog: "De- feat!" " '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-ch, 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 AND OTHER VERSES 287 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. 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 nought. "High trust," "vast honor," "interests twice as vast," "Due reverence to your Council" keep to those. I 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 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 Mag- gie and I are out. We quarreled 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 vapor, musing on Maggie's face. Maggie is pretty to look at Maggie's a lov- ing lass, But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass. 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 288 . AND OTHER VERSES 289 Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town! Maggie, my wife at fifty grey 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 a while Here is a mild Manilla there is a wifely smile. Which is the better portion bondage bought with a ring, Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string ? 290 POEMS, BALLADS 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 eyelids close. This will the fifty give me, asking nought 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. 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. AND OTHER VERSES 291 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 to give 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 twelvemonth 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. 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? 292 POEMS, BALLADS Open the old cigar-box let me consider anew Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon 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 TALE OF TWO CITIES WHERE the sober-colored 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. Where his timid foot first halted, there he stayed, Till mere trade Grew to Empire, and he sent his armies forth South and North 293 294 POEMS, BALLADS Till the country from Peshawur 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; For the country from Peshawur to Ceylon Was their own. But the Merchant risked the perils of the Plain For his gain. AND OTHER VERSES 295 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 fry; "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; Let the Merchant seek, who makes his silver pile, England's isle; 296 POEMS, BALLADS Let the City Charnock pitched on evil day! 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. GRIFFEN'S DEBT IMPRIMIS 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, 297 98 POEMS, BALLADS 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 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 OTHER VERSES 299 And fell upon the simple villagers With yells beyond the power of mortal throat, And blows beyond the power of mortal hand, 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 burned all manner of unsavory 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. 300 POEMS, BALLADS So he 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. IN SPRINGTIME MY garden blazes brightly with the rosebush and the peach, And the koil 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 sat-bhai dwell. But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the kail's note is strange; I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blos- som-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 ploughshare streams the fragrance of the loam, And the hawk nests on the cliff-side and the jackdaw in the hill, And my heart is back in England mid the sights and sounds of Home. 301 302 POEMS, BALLADS But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of rose and peach is; Ah! koil, little koil, singing on the sins 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? 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 light- nings In vain. No help the heaped-up clouds afford, But wearier weight of burdened, burning air. What truce with Dawn ? Look, from the ach- ing sky, Day stalks, a tyrant with a flaming sword! 303 304 POEMS, BALLADS IN SEPTEMBER AT dawn there was a murmur in the trees, A ripple on the tank, and in the air Presage of coming coolness every- where A voice of prophecy upon the breeze. Up leaped 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 by one, the lotus-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." 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. It was merry in the galley, for we revelled now and then If they wore us down like cattle, faith, we; fought and loved like men! 305 306 POEMS, BALLADS 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 for 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 mas- ters 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; Earth that waited for the wreckage watched the galley struggle through. AND OTHER VERSES 307 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 clinging 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 ser- vice still were mine! 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. 308 POEMS, BALLADS 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, de- serted, shipped away Palace, cot, and lazaretto shall make up the tale that day, 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 after, I have lived and -toiled with Men! 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." 309 THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS WHEN the flush of a newborn 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. 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 by the quarry-side, and the idle derrick swung, While each man talked of the aims of art, and each in an alien tongue. AND OTHER VERSES 311 They fought and they talked in the north and south, they talked and they fought in the west, Till the waters rose on the jabbering 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 old as the Eden Tree as new as the new-cut tooth For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is maste of art and truth; And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his dyinc- 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 yolk of an addled egg, We kno\ that the tail must wag the dog, as the horse is drawn by the cart ; But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old : "It's clever, but is it art?" 312 POEMS, BALLADS 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 pens in the mould of their graves, and the ink and the anguish start When the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it art?" 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 favor of God we might know as much as our father Adam knew. 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 sheared: Death's dread armory 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 die? 313 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 widow 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?" And 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." 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." 314 AND OTHER VERSES 315 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?" "Oh, feet I have held in my hand, Oh, 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 the 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. 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 ; 3 i6 POEMS, BALLADS 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 puts 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. 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, AND OTHER VERSES 317 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 wakes them otherwise shall die." And all the city praised him. . . . Then he died. AND OTHER VERSES 319 Read here the story of Evarra man Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. Because his 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 hacked 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, 320 POEMS, BALLADS Smeared blood upon its cheeks, and wedged a shell Above its brows for eye, and gave it hair Of trailing moss, and plaited straw for crown. And all the village praised him for this 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 of Evarra man Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. Because his God decreed one clot of blood Should swerve a 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 labor. Out of dung and horns AND OTHER VERSES 321 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 clamor of lost crowds, 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 marveled, 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, 322 POEMS, BALLADS 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 Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. I II II III II I A 000117932 4