^r9.a^«A^-
 
 ;j>.r
 
 DEPARTMENTAL 
 DITTIES, BALLADS, 
 
 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 
 
 AND OTHER VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 New York 
 MANHATTAN PRESS 
 
 474 West Broadway
 
 Annex 
 
 CONTENTS. ^Ar-L 
 
 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prelude 7 
 
 General Summary 9 
 
 Army Pleadquarters 11 
 
 Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink 13 
 
 A Legend of the Foreign Otince 14 
 
 The Story of Uriah 16 
 
 The Post that Fitted 17 
 
 Public Waste 19 
 
 Delilah 21 
 
 What Happened 24. 
 
 Pink Dominoes 27 
 
 The Man who could Write 29 
 
 Municipal 31 
 
 A Code of Morals 23 
 
 The Last Department 36 
 
 BALLADS. 
 
 The Ballad of East and West 41 
 
 The Last Suttee 47 
 
 The Ballad of the King's Mercy 51 
 
 The Ballad of the King's Jest 56 
 
 The Ballad of Boh Da Thone 61 
 
 The Lament of the Border Cattle Thief y^ 
 
 The Rhyme of the Three Captains 75 
 
 The Ballad of the " Clampherdown " 81 
 
 The Ballad of the " Bolivar " 84 
 
 The English Flag Sj 
 
 " Cleared " 92' 
 
 An Imperial Rescript 97 
 
 Tomlinson 100 
 
 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 
 
 Danny Deever iir 
 
 " Tommy " 113 
 
 " Fuzzy Wuzzy " 116 
 
 Oonts ! I iS 
 
 2230784
 
 4 Contents 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Loot 121 
 
 " Snarleyow " 1 24 
 
 Soldier, Soldier 127 
 
 The Sons of the Widow 1 29 
 
 Troopin ' 131 
 
 (runga Din 133 
 
 Mandalay 136 
 
 The Young British Soldier 139 
 
 Screw-Guns 143 
 
 Belts 145 
 
 Ford o* Kabul River 148 
 
 Route Marchin* 1 50 
 
 OTHER VERSES. 
 
 To the Unknown Goddess 155 
 
 The Rupaiyat of Omar Kal Vin 1 56 
 
 La Nuit Blanche 1 58 
 
 My Rival 161 
 
 The Lovers' Litany 163 
 
 A Ballad of Burial 165 
 
 Divided Destinies 1 67 
 
 The Masque of Plenty 1 69 
 
 The Mare's Nest 175 
 
 Possibilities 176 
 
 Christmas in India 178 
 
 Pagett, M. P 181 
 
 The Song of the Women 183 
 
 A Ballade of Jakko Hill 185 
 
 The Plea of the Simla Dancers 187 
 
 The Ballad of Fisher's Boarding-House 189 
 
 "As the Bell Clinks" 193 
 
 An Old Song 196 
 
 Certain Maxims of Hafiz 198 
 
 The Grave of the Hundred Head 203 
 
 The Moon of Other Days 206 
 
 The Overland Mail 207 
 
 What the People Said 209 
 
 The Undertaker's Horse 211 
 
 The Fall of Jock Gillespie 213 
 
 Arithmetic on the Frontier 215 
 
 One Viceroy Resigns 210
 
 Contents 5 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Betrothed 224 
 
 A Tale of Two Cities 228 
 
 Griffeii's Debt 231 
 
 In Springtime 234 
 
 Two Months 235 
 
 The Galley-Slave 236 
 
 L'Envoi 240 
 
 The Conundrum of the Workshops 241 
 
 The Explanation 243 
 
 The Gift of the Sea 244 
 
 Evarra and His Gods 247 
 
 The Vampire 251 
 
 Our Lady of the Snows 252 
 
 Recessional 254
 
 / HA VE eaten your bread and salt, 
 I have drunk your water and wijie, 
 
 The deaths ye died I have watched beside^ 
 Afid 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 peopW 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 — th^n, 
 Even in those early days, 
 Won a simple Viceroy's praise 
 
 Through the toil of other men. 
 
 Ere they hewed the Sphinx's visage 
 Favoritism governed kissage, 
 Even as it does in this age. 
 
 9
 
 10 General Summary 
 
 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 for evermore.
 
 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES 
 
 ARMY HEADQUARTERS 
 
 Old is the song that I smg — 
 
 Old as my unpaid bills — 
 Old is the chicken that kitinntgars 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. 
 He warbled like a bulbul, but particularly at 
 Cornelia Agrippina who was musical and 
 
 fat. 
 
 II
 
 12 Departmental Ditties 
 
 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, /^r mensem,hy 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 catalog-ues three idle 
 hours a day, 
 
 And draw his plump retaining fee — which 
 means his double pay. 
 
 Now, ever after dinner, when the coffee-cups 
 
 are brought, 
 Ahasuerus waileth o'er the grand pianoforte ; 
 And, thanks to fair Cornelia, his fame hath 
 
 waxen great, 
 And Ahasuerus Jenkins is a power in the 
 
 State.
 
 An Elevation in Indian Ink 13 
 
 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 a tree ; 
 And I muse on 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. 
 
 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.
 
 14 Departmental Ditties 
 
 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 West- 
 ern line.
 
 A Legend of the Foreign Office 15 
 
 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 a supervision of dasturi ; 
 Turned the State of Kolazai very nearly 
 
 upside-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. I. E. / 
 
 Things were lively for a week in the State of 
 Kolazai. 
 
 Even now the people speak of that time re- 
 gretfully. 
 
 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 tha?ia ; 
 
 Turned the two-lakh Hospital into a superb 
 Zenana ;
 
 i6 Departmental Ditties 
 
 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. j 
 
 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. j 
 
 Jack Barrett went to Quetta. 
 
 He didn't understand j 
 
 The reason of his transfer i 
 
 From the pleasant mountain-land : J 
 
 The season was September, I 
 
 And it killed him out of hand. 
 
 Jack Barrett went to Quetta, 
 
 And there gave up the ghost, ' 
 
 Attempting two men's duty ; 
 
 In that very healthy post ; i 
 
 And Mrs. Barrett mourned for him j 
 
 Five lively months at most. ;
 
 The Post That Fitted 17 
 
 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 tahgle'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 ? 
 
 2
 
 i8 Departmental Ditties 
 
 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. 
 
 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 Boifkin — impulse 
 
 of a baser mind ? 
 No ! He started epileptic fits of an appalling 
 
 kind. 
 (Of his modjis operandi only this much I could 
 
 gather : — 
 " Pears' shaving sticks will give you little taste 
 
 and lots of lather.") 
 
 Frequently in public places his affliction used 
 to smite 
 
 Sleary with distressing vigor — always in the 
 Boffkins' sight. 
 
 Ere a week was over Minnie weepingly re- 
 turned his ring. 
 
 Told him his " unhappy weakness" stopped 
 all thoui-ht of marrvino:.
 
 Public Waste 19 
 
 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 INIountain 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 
 subjects wherein he must pass; 
 
 Because in all matters that deal not with Rail- 
 ways his knowledge is great.
 
 20 Departmental Ditties 
 
 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 — im- 
 portant the posts which he held ; 
 
 And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb 
 when he opened his mouth. 
 
 Black as the raven his garb, and his heresies 
 
 jettier still — 
 Hinting that Railways required lifetimes of 
 
 study and knowledge ; 
 Never clanked sword by his side — Vauban he 
 
 knew not, nor drill — 
 Nor was his name on the list of 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.
 
 Delilah 21 
 
 ** Special, well paid, and exempt from the 
 
 Law of the Y'lity 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 Bahamo State Line, 
 (The which was one mile and one furlong — a 
 
 guaranteed twenty-inch gauge). 
 So Exeter Battelby 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.
 
 22 Departmental Ditties 
 
 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. 
 
 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 lent her all his horses, and — she 
 galled them very much. 
 
 One day, They brewed a secret of a fine finan- 
 cial sort ; 
 
 It related to Appointments, to a Man and a 
 Report. 
 
 'Twas almost vv^orth the keeping (only seven 
 people knew it), 
 
 And Gunne rose up to seek the truth and 
 patiently ensue it.
 
 Delilah 23 
 
 It was a Viceroy's Secret, but — perhaps the 
 wine was red — 
 
 Perhaps an Aged Councilor had lost his aged 
 head — 
 
 Perhaps Delilah's eyes were bright — Delilah's 
 whispers sweet — 
 
 The Aged Member told her what 'twere trea- 
 son lo repeat. 
 
 Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love 
 
 and flowers ; 
 Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for 
 
 several hours ; 
 Ulysses went a-waltzing, and Delilah helped 
 
 him dance — 
 Ulysses let the waltzes go, and waited for his 
 
 chance. 
 The summer sun was setting, and the summer 
 
 air was still, 
 The couple went a-walking in the shade of 
 
 Summer Hill, 
 The wasteful sunset faded out in turkis- 
 
 green and gold, 
 Ulysses pleaded softly, and . . . that bad 
 
 Delilah told ! 
 
 Next morn, a startled Empire learnt the all- 
 important news ; 
 
 Next week, the Aged Councilor was shaking 
 in his shoes ; 
 
 Next month, I met Delilah, and she did not 
 show the least 
 
 Hesitation in affirming that Ulysses was a 
 "beast."
 
 24 Departmental Ditties 
 
 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 
 Sabers by the bucketful, rifles by the pair. 
 
 Then the Indian Government winked a wicked 
 
 wink. 
 Said to Chunder Mookerjee : " Stick to pen 
 
 and ink. 
 They are safer implements ; but, if you insist. 
 We will let you carry arms wheresoe'er you 
 
 list/' 
 
 Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the 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.
 
 What Happened 25 
 
 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-00 
 Took advantage of the act — took a Snider too. 
 
 They were unenlightened men, Ballard knew 
 
 them not, 
 They procured their swords and guns chiefly 
 
 on the spot, 
 And the lore of centuries, plus a hundred 
 
 fights, 
 Made them slow to disregard one another's 
 
 rights. 
 
 With a unanimity dear to patriot hearts 
 
 All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts 
 
 Said : " The good old days are back — let us 
 
 go to war ! " 
 Swaggered down the Grand Trunk Road, into 
 
 Bow Bazar. 
 
 Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat found a hide-bound 
 
 flail, 
 Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer oiled his Tonk 
 
 jezail,
 
 26 Departmental Ditties 
 
 Yar Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned 
 
 with glee 
 As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khy- 
 
 beree. 
 
 Jowar Singh the Sikh procured saber, quoit, 
 
 and mace, 
 Abdul Huq, W.ahabi, 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, 
 Jowar Singh is reticent, Chimbu Singh is 
 
 mute. 
 But the belts of them all simply bulge with 
 
 loot. 
 
 What became of Ballard's guns ? Afghans 
 
 black and grubby 
 Sell them for their silver weight to the men of 
 
 Pubbi ; 
 And the shiny bowie-knife and the town-made 
 
 sword are 
 Hanging in a Marri camp just across the 
 
 Border.
 
 Pink Dominoes 27 
 
 What became of Mookerjee ? Ash Mahom- 
 
 med Yar 
 Prodding Siva's sacred bull down the Bow 
 
 Bazar. 
 Speak to placid Nubbee Baksh — question land 
 
 and sea — 
 Ask the Indian Congressmen — 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 1 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.
 
 28 Departmental Ditties ; 
 
 (I wish you to see that Jenny and Me i 
 
 Had barely exchanged our troth ; i 
 
 So a kiss or two was strictly due j 
 
 By, from, and between us both.) ' 
 
 When Three was over, an eager lover, \ 
 
 I fled to the gloom outside ; ■ 
 
 And a Domino came out also j 
 
 Whom I took for my future bride. 1 
 
 That is to say, in a casual way, I 
 
 I slipped my arm around her ; j 
 
 With a kiss or two (which is nothing" to you), 
 
 And ready to kiss I found her. j 
 
 She turned her head, and the name she said | 
 
 Was certainly not my own ; : 
 
 But ere I could speak, with a smothered ■ 
 
 shriek i 
 
 She fled and left me alone. \ 
 
 Then Jenny came, and I saw with shame ] 
 
 She'd doffed her domino ; j 
 
 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, j 
 
 Our big political gun. j 
 
 Sir J. was old, and her hair was gold, i 
 
 And her eye was a blue cerulean ; j 
 
 And the name she said when she turned her j 
 
 head i 
 
 Was not in the least like *' Julian." .;
 
 The Man Who Could Write 29 
 
 Now wasn't it nice, when want oi pice 
 
 Forbade us twain to marry, 
 That old Sir J., in the kindest way, 
 
 Made me his Secre/^rrj' / 
 
 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-black " — all 
 
 I know of is the iron and the gall. 
 
 Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen, 
 Is a dismal failure — is a Might-have-been. 
 In a luckless moment he discovered men 
 Rise to high position through a ready pen. 
 
 Boanerges Blitzen argued, therefore : " I 
 With the selfsame weapon can attain as high." 
 Only he did not possess, when he made the 
 
 trial, 
 Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L 1. 
 
 (Men who spar with Government need, to 
 
 back their blows, 
 Something more than ordinary journalistic 
 prose.) 
 
 Never young Civilian's prospects w^ere so 
 
 bright. 
 Till an Indian paper found that he could 
 
 write :
 
 30 Departmental Ditties 
 
 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. 
 
 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."
 
 Municipal 31 
 
 Languished in a District desolate and dry ; 
 VVatclied 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 
 garments 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 that Commissariat elephant had sud- 
 denly gone musth.
 
 32 Departmental Ditties 
 
 I didn't care to meet him, and I couldn't well 
 get down, 
 
 So I let the Waler have it, and we headed for 
 the town. 
 
 The buggy was a new one, and, praise Dykes, 
 it stood the strain, 
 
 Till the Waler jumped a bullock just above 
 the City Drain ; 
 
 And the next that I remember was a hur- 
 ricane 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! 
 
 It missed me by a fraction, but my hair was 
 turning gray 
 
 Before they called the drivers up and dragged 
 the brute away. 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 A Code of Morals 33 
 
 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, 
 /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. 
 
 3
 
 34 Departmental Ditties 
 
 At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed 
 
 her counsel wise — 
 At e'en, the dying sunset bore her husband's 
 
 homilies. 
 
 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 nangs) 
 That snowy-haired Lothario, Lieutenant- 
 
 General 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 stations 
 
 sacked and burnt — 
 So stopped to take the message down — and 
 
 this is what they learnt : — 
 
 " Dash dot dot, dot, dot dash, dot dash dot " 
 
 twice. The General swore. 
 " Was ever General Officer addressed as ' dear ' 
 
 before ? 
 * My Love,' i' faith ! ' My Duck,' Gadzooks ! 
 
 ' My darling popsy-wop ! ' 
 Spirit of great Lord Wolseley, who is on that 
 
 mountain top .'"
 
 A Code of Morals 35 
 
 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 heliographed 
 
 his wife 
 Some interesting details of the General's 
 
 private 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 ! " 
 
 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 M.oo\tan 
 They know the worthy General as "that most 
 
 immoral man."
 
 36 Departmental Ditties 
 
 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 \h2X pukka step, miscalled "decease;" 
 
 When leave, long over-due, none can deny ; 
 When idleness of all Eternity 
 
 Becomes our furlough, and the marigold 
 Our thriftless, bullion-minting Treasury. 
 
 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.
 
 The Last Department 37 
 
 (These be the glorious ends whereto we pass — 
 Let Him who Is, go call on Him who Was; 
 
 And He shall see the 77iallie 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 Indispensables, 
 Five hundred men can take your place or 
 mine.
 
 BALLADS 
 
 THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 
 
 Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the 
 
 twain shall meet. 
 Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great 
 
 Judgment Seat ; 
 But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, 
 
 nor Birth, 
 When two strong men stand face to face, 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 
 
 ridden 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, 
 " If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye 
 
 know where his pickets are. 
 41
 
 42 Ballads 
 
 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, 
 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.
 
 The Ballad of East and West 43 
 
 *' 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. 
 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 of 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 :
 
 44 Ballads 
 
 If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I 
 
 have held it high, 
 The kite that whistles above us now were 
 
 gorged till she could not fly." 
 Lightly answered the Colonel's son : " Do 
 
 good to bird and beast, 
 But count who come for the broken meats 
 
 before thou makest a feast. 
 If there should follow a thousand swords to 
 
 carry my bones away, 
 Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more 
 
 than a thief could pay. 
 They will feed their horse on the standing 
 
 crop, their men on the garnered grain, 
 The thatch of the byres will serve their 
 
 fires when all the cattle are slain. 
 But if thou thinkest the price be fair, — thy 
 
 brethren wait to sup, 
 The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, — howl, 
 
 dog, and call them up ! 
 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 gray 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 :
 
 The Ballad of East and West 45 
 
 Take up the mare of 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." 
 The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it 
 
 muzzle-end, 
 ** Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he ; 
 
 " will ye take the mate from a friend .'' " 
 *' A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight ; " a 
 
 limb for the risk of a limb. 
 Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send 
 
 my son to him ! " 
 With that he whistled his only son, that 
 
 dropped from a mountain-crest — 
 He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he 
 
 looked like a lance in rest. 
 *' Now here is thy master," Kamal said, " who 
 
 leads a troop of the Guides, 
 And thou must ride at his left side as shield 
 
 on shoulder rides. 
 Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and 
 
 board and bed, 
 Thy life is his — thy fate 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,
 
 46 Ballads 
 
 And thou must make a trooper tough and hack 
 
 thy way to power — 
 Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when 
 
 I am hanged in Peshawur." 
 They have looked each other between the eyes, 
 
 and there they found no fault, 
 They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in- 
 
 Blood on leavened bread and salt : 
 They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in- 
 
 Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod, 
 On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, 
 
 and the wondrous Names of God. 
 The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Ka- 
 
 mal'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 47 
 
 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 saber and Tonk jezail, 
 Mewar headstall and Marwar mail, 
 
 That clinked in the palace yard. 
 
 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.
 
 48 Ballads 
 
 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 I 
 
 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. 
 
 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 1 
 Guard them safely, but let me go, 
 Or ever they pay the debt they owe 
 In scourge and torture ! " She leaped 
 belov/. 
 And the grim guard watched her flee.
 
 \ The Last Suttee 49 
 
 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 gray apes swing, and the pea- 
 cocks 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. 
 
 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 flames 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. 
 4
 
 50 Ballads 
 
 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 gray, 
 
 And kin to the Boondi Queen. 
 
 He said : " O shameless, put aside 
 
 The veil upon thy brow ! 
 Who held the King and all his land 
 To the wanton will of a harlot's hand ! 
 Will the white ash rise from the blistered 
 
 brand ? 
 Stoop down, and call him now ! " 
 
 Then she : " By the faith of my tarnished soul, 
 
 All things I did not well 
 I had hoped to clear ere the fire died, 
 And lay me down by my master's side 
 To rule in Heaven his only bride. 
 
 While the others howl in Hell. 
 
 " 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, *' Aye."
 
 The Ballad of the King's Mercy 51 
 
 He drew and struck : the straight blade drank 
 
 The life beneath the breast. 
 *' I had looked for the Queen to face the 
 
 fiame, 
 But the harlot dies for the Rajpoot dame — 
 Sister of mine, pass, free from shame. 
 
 Pass with thy King to rest ! " 
 
 The black log crashed above the white : 
 
 The little flames and lean, 
 Red as slaughter and blue as steel, 
 That whistled and fluttered from head to heel. 
 Leaped up anew, for they found their meal 
 
 On the heart of — the Boondi Queen I 
 
 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.
 
 52 Ballads 
 
 There was a hound of Hindustan had struck 
 
 a Euzufzai, 
 Wherefore they spat upon his face and led 
 
 him out to die. 
 It chanced the King went forth that hour 
 
 when throat was bared to knife ; 
 The Kaffir groveled under-hoof and clamored 
 
 for his life. 
 
 Then said the King : " Have hope, O friend I 
 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- 
 babble 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. 
 
 *'0 man, thy will is done," quoth he; "A 
 King this dog hath slain."
 
 The Ballad of the King's Mercy 53 
 
 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 Abazai 1 
 
 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, 
 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.
 
 54 Ballads 
 
 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, 
 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 the 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.
 
 The Ballad of the King's Mercy 55 
 
 One watched beside the dreary mound that 
 
 veiled the battered thing, 
 And him the King with laughter called the 
 
 Herald of the King. 
 
 It was upon the second night, the night of 
 
 Ramazan, 
 The watcher leaning earthward heard the 
 
 message of Yar Khan. 
 
 From shattered breast through shriveled lips 
 broke forth the rattling breath : 
 
 *' Creature of God, deliver me from agony of 
 Death." 
 
 They sought the King among his girls, and 
 
 risked their lives thereby : 
 *' Protector of the Pitiful, give orders that he 
 
 die ! " 
 
 "Bid him endure until the day," a lagging 
 
 answer came ; 
 *'The night is short, and he can pray and learn 
 
 to bless my name." 
 
 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.
 
 56 Ballads 
 
 Which thing the singers made a song for all 
 
 the world to sing, 
 So that the Outer Seas may know the mercy of 
 
 the King. 
 
 Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the 
 
 story told. 
 He has opened his mouth to the North and the 
 
 South, they have stuffed his mouth with gold. 
 Ye know the truth of his tender ruth — and sweet 
 
 his 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 turquoise twilight, crisp and chill, 
 A kafila camped at the foot of the hill. 
 Then blue smoke-haze of the cooking rose, 
 And tentpeg answered to hammer-nose; 
 And the picketed ponies shag and wild, 
 Strained at their ropes as the feed was piled ; 
 And the bubbling camels beside the load 
 Sprawled for a furlong adown the road ;
 
 The Ballad of the King's Jest 57 
 
 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 twinkled by Fort Jumrood ; 
 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 Ali, the muleteer, 
 Patching his bridles and counting his gear, 
 Crammed with the gossip of half a year. 
 But Mahbub xA.li the kindly said, 
 " Better is speech when the belly is fed." 
 So we plunged the hand to the mid-wrist deep 
 In a cinnamon stew of the fat-tailed sheep, 
 And he who never hath tasted the food, 
 By Allah ! he knoweth not bad from good. 
 
 We cleansed our beards of the mutton-grease. 
 We lay on the mats and were filled with peace, 
 And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south, 
 With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth. 
 Four things greater than all things are, — 
 Women and Horses and Power and War. 
 We spake of them all, but the last the most, 
 For I sought a word of a Russian post, 
 Of a shifty promise, an unsheathed sword 
 And a gray-coat guard on the Helmund ford.
 
 58 Ballads 
 
 Then Mahbub AH lowered his eyes 
 
 In the fashion of one who is weaving lies. 
 
 Quoth he : " Of the Russians who can say ? 
 
 When the night is gathering all is gray. 
 
 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 gray-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/ — 
 Legends that ran from mouth to mouth 
 Of a gray-coat coming, and sack of the South. 
 These have I also heard — they pass 
 With each new spring and the winter grass.
 
 The Ballad of the King's Jest 59 
 
 Hot-foot southward, forgotten of God, 
 
 Back to the city ran Wall 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, thou. 
 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 ?
 
 6o Ballads 
 
 A guard was set that he might not flee — 
 A score of bayonets ringed the tree. 
 The peach-bloom fell in showers of snow, 
 When he shook at his death as he looked 
 
 below. 
 By the power of God, who alone is great, 
 Till the seventh day he fought with his fate. 
 Then madness took him, and men declare 
 He mowed in the branches as ape and bear, 
 And last as a sloth, ere his body failed, 
 And he hung as a bat in the forks, and 
 
 wailed, 
 And sleep the cord of his hands untied. 
 And he fell, and was caught on the points 
 
 and died. 
 
 " Heart of my heart, is it meet or wise 
 To warn a King of his enemies ? 
 We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, 
 But no man knoweth the mind of the King, 
 Of the gray-coat coming who can say .•* 
 When the night is gathering all is gray. 
 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 1 "
 
 The Ballad of Boh Da Thone 6i 
 
 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 a Mukerji, 
 Senior Gomashta, G. B. T. 
 
 Boh Da Thone was a warrior bold, 
 His sword and his Snider were bossed with 
 gold, 
 
 And the Peacock Banner his henchmen bore 
 Was stiff with bullion but stiller 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 ! " 
 
 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.
 
 62 Ballads 
 
 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 worshiped 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, 
 
 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 lion-cloth and heavy jade 
 earring —
 
 The Ballad of Boh Da Thone 63 
 
 The flare of a village — the tally of slain — 
 And . . . the Boh was abroad " on the 
 raid " again ! 
 
 They cursed their luck as the Irish will, 
 They gave him credit for cunning and skill, 
 
 They buried their dead, they bolted their beef, 
 And started anew on the track of the thief 
 
 Till, in place of the " Kalends of Greece," men 
 
 said, 
 " When Crook and his darlings come back 
 
 with the head." 
 
 They had hunted the Boh from the Hills to 
 
 the plain — 
 He doubled and broke for the hills again : 
 
 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 merril}^ 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 —
 
 64 Ballads 
 
 And Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone 
 Was blessed with a slug in the ulna-bone — 
 The gift of his enemy Boh Da Thone. 
 
 (Now a slug that is hammered from telegraph- 
 wire 
 Is a thorn in the flesh and a rankling fire.) 
 
 The shot-wound festered — as shot-wounds may 
 In a steaming barrack at Mandalay. 
 
 The left arm throbbed, and the captain swore, 
 *' I'd 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 shinins: Boh with a silver head.
 
 The Ballad of Boh Da Thone 65 
 
 He kept his counsel and went his way, 
 And swindled the cartmen of half their pay. 
 
 And the months went on, as the worst must 
 
 do. 
 And the Boh returned to the raid anew. 
 
 But the Captain had quitted the long-drawn 
 
 strife, 
 And in far Simoorie had taken a wife. 
 
 And she was a damsel of delicate mold, 
 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 loted its load. 
 5
 
 66 Ballads 
 
 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, 
 
 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,
 
 The Ballad of Boh Da Thone 67 
 
 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 wo , 
 That Babu fell— flat on the top of the Boh ! 
 
 For years had Harendra served the Stale, 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 68 Ballads 
 
 Where the whit of the bullet, the wounded 
 
 man's scream 
 Are mixed as the mist of some devilish 
 
 dream — 
 Forgotten, forgotten the sweat of the shambles 
 Where the hill daisy blooms and the gray 
 
 monkey gambols, 
 
 From the sword-belt set free and released 
 
 from the steel, 
 The Peace of the Lord is with Captain O'Neil. 
 
 Up the hill to Simoorie — most patient of 
 
 drudges — 
 The bags on his shoulder, the mail-runner 
 
 trudges. 
 " For Captain O'Neil, Sahib. One 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 : 
 
 " In Fielding Force Service. 
 " Encampment^ 
 
 " loth Jan.
 
 The Ballad of Boh Da Thone 69 
 
 " 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 ta 
 bear. 
 
 *' 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.
 
 70 Ballads 
 
 As a horse reaches up to the manger above, 
 As the waiting ear yearns for the whisper of 
 love, 
 
 From the arms of the Bride, iron-visaged and 
 
 slow, 
 The Captain bent down to the Head of the 
 
 Boh. 
 
 And e'en as he looked on the Thing where It 
 lay 
 
 'Twixt the winking new spoons and the 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.
 
 The Ballad of Boh Da Thone 71 
 
 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 
 
 slaughter, 
 
 And men who had fought with O'Neil for the 
 
 life 
 Had gazed on his face with less dread than 
 
 his wife. 
 
 For she who had held him so long could not 
 
 hold him — 
 Though a four-month Eternity should have 
 
 controlled him — 
 
 But watched the twin Terror — the head turned 
 
 to head — 
 The scowling, scarred Black, and the flushed 
 
 savage Red — 
 
 The spirit that changed from her knowing and 
 
 flew to 
 Some grim hidden Past she had never a clue 
 
 to
 
 72 Ballads 
 
 But It knew as It grinned, for he touched it 
 
 unfearing, 
 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 fash- 
 ion, 
 
 "/'// 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, 
 
 A pert litttle,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!
 
 The Lament of the Cattle Thief 73 
 
 THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER 
 CATTLE THIEF 
 
 O wo is me for the merry life 
 
 I led beyond the Bar, 
 And a treble wo for my winsome wife 
 
 That weeps at Shalimar. 
 
 They have taken away my long jezail, 
 
 My shield and saber 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 wo to bend the stubborn back 
 Above the grinching quern, 
 
 It's wo to hear the leg-bar clack 
 And jingle when I turn ! 
 
 But for the sorrow and the shame, 
 The brand on me and mine, 
 
 I'll pay you back in leaping flame 
 And loss of the butchered kine.
 
 74 Ballads 
 
 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 
 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 !
 
 Rhyme of the Three Captains 75 
 
 THE RHYME OF THE THREE 
 CAPTAINS 
 
 This ballad appears to refer to one of the exploits of 
 the notorious Paul Jones, the American 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 Lime- 
 house to Blackwall, 
 And he was Captain of the Fleet — the bravest 
 
 of them all. 
 Their good guns guarded their great gray 
 
 sides that were thirty foot in the sheer, 
 When there came a certain trading-brig with 
 
 news of a privateer. 
 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.
 
 76 Ballads 
 
 " 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. 
 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 ?
 
 Rhyme of the Three Captains "]^ 
 
 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 ; 
 I had flung him blind in a rudderless boat 
 
 to rot in the rocking dark ; 
 I had towed him aft of his own craft, a bait 
 
 for his brother shark ; 
 I had lapped him round with cocoa husk, 
 
 and drenched him with the oil, 
 And lashed him fast to his own mast to blaze 
 
 above my spoil ; 
 I had stripped his hide for my hammock- 
 side, and tasseled his beard i' the mesh, 
 And spitted his crew on the live bamboo 
 
 that grows through the gangrened flesh ; 
 I had hove him down by the mangroves 
 
 brown, where the mud-reef sucks and 
 
 draws. 
 Moored by the heel to his own keel to wait 
 
 for the land-crab's claws !
 
 y^ Ballads 
 
 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. 
 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 run from a shotted gun 
 
 and harry such craft as mine.
 
 Rhyme of the Three Captains 79 
 
 There is never a Law on the Cocos Keys to 
 
 hold a white man in, 
 But we do not steal the niggers' meal, for 
 
 that is a nigger's sin. 
 Must he have his Law as a quid to chaw, or 
 
 laid in brass on his wheel ? 
 Does he steal with tears when he buccaneers ? 
 
 'Fore Gad, then, why does he steal ? " 
 The skipper bit on a deep-sea word, and the 
 
 word it was not sweet. 
 For he could see the Captains Three had 
 
 signaled 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 blew free to lash 
 
 the laughing air, 
 " We have sold our spars to the merchantman 
 
 — we know that his price is fair." 
 The skipper winked his Western eye, and 
 
 swore by a China storm : 
 *'They ha' rigged him a Joseph's jury-coat to 
 
 keep his 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.
 
 So Ballads 
 
 Masthead — masthead, the signal sped by the 
 
 line o' the British craft; 
 The skipper called to his Lascar crew, and 
 
 put her about and laughed : 
 It's mainsail haul, my bully boys all — we'll 
 
 out to the seas again ; 
 Ere they set us to paint their pirate saint, or 
 
 scrub at his grapnel-chain 
 It's fore-sheet free, with her head to the sea, 
 
 and the swing of the unbought brine — 
 We'll make no sport in an English court till 
 
 we come as a ship o' the Line, 
 Till we come as a ship o' the Line, my lads, 
 
 of thirty foot in the sheer, 
 Lifting again from the outer main with news 
 
 of a privateer ; 
 Flying his pluck at our mizzen-truck for 
 
 weft of Admiralty, 
 Heaving his head for our dipsy-lead in sign 
 
 that we keep the sea. 
 Then fore-sheet home as she lifts to the foam 
 
 — we stand on the outward tack 
 We are paid in the coin of the white man's 
 
 trade — the bezant is hard, ay, and black. 
 The frigate-bird shall carry my word to the 
 
 Kling and the Orang-Laut 
 How a man may sail from a heathen coast 
 
 to be robbed in a Christian port ; 
 How a man may be robbed in Christian port 
 
 while Three Great Captains there 
 Shall dip their flag to a slaver's rag — to show 
 
 that his trade is fair ! "
 
 Ballad of the '' Clampherdown " 8i 
 
 THE BALLAD OF THE ** CLAMPHER- 
 DOWN " 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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." 
 6
 
 82 Ballads 
 
 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. " 
 
 " 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.
 
 Ballad of the '' Clampherdown " 83 
 
 " 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 tvvo dumb guns glared south and north, 
 And the blood and the bubbling steam ran 
 forth, 
 
 And she ground the cruiser's side. 
 
 ''Captain, they cry, the fight is done, 
 
 They bid you send your sword." 
 And he answered, " Grapple her stern and 
 
 bow. 
 They have asked for the steel. They shall 
 have it now ; 
 Out cutlasses and board ! " 
 
 It was our war-ship " Clampherdown," 
 
 Spewed up four hundred men ; 
 And the scalded stokers yelped delight, 
 As they rolled in the waist and heard the 
 fight, 
 
 Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen. 
 
 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.
 
 84 Ballads 
 
 It was the sinking " Clampherdown '* 
 
 Heaved up her battered side — 
 And carried a million pounds in steel, 
 To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel, 
 And the scour of the Channel tide. 
 
 It was the crew of the " Clampherdown " 
 
 Stood out to sweep the sea, 
 On a cruiser won from an ancient foe, 
 As it was in the days of long-ago, 
 
 And as it still shall be. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF THE "BOLIVAR" 
 
 Seven men from all the world, back to Docks again, 
 Rolling down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising 
 
 Cain : 
 Give the girls another drink 'fore we sign away— 
 We that took the " Bolivar " out across the Bay ! 
 
 We put out from Sunderland loaded down 
 with rails ; 
 We put back to Sunderland 'cause our cargo 
 shifted ; 
 We put out from Sunderland — met the winter 
 gales — 
 Seven days and seven nights to the Start 
 we drifted, 
 
 E-acketing her rivets loose, smoke-stack 
 
 white as snow, 
 All the coals adrift a deck, half the rails 
 
 below
 
 The Ballad of the " Bolivar " 85 
 
 Leaking like a lobster-pot, steering like a 
 
 dray — 
 Out we took the " Bolivar," out across 
 
 the Bay ! 
 
 One by one the Lights came up, winked and 
 let us by ; 
 Mile by mile we waddled on, coal and 
 fo'c'sle short; 
 Met a blow that laid us down, heard a 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 smithy-shop after every 
 
 roll ; 
 Just a funnel and a mast lurching through 
 
 the spray — 
 So we threshed the " Bolivar " out across 
 
 the Bay ! 
 
 Felt her hog and felt her sag, betted when 
 she'd break ; 
 Wondered every time she raced if she'd 
 stand the shock ; 
 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 ;
 
 86 Ballads 
 
 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 — 
 Some damned Liner's lights go by like a grand 
 hotel ; 
 Cheered her from the " Bolivar," swampin' 
 in the sea.
 
 The English Flag 87 
 
 Then a grayback 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 owners 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 ? —
 
 88 Ballads 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 English Flag 89 
 
 " The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, 
 
 long Arctic night, 
 The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts 
 
 the Northern Light : 
 What is tlie Flag of England ? Ye have but 
 
 my bergs to dare, 
 Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go 
 
 forth, for it is there ! '' 
 
 The South Wind sighed : " From The Virgins 
 
 my mid-sea course was ta'en 
 Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main, 
 Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and 
 
 the long-backed breakers croon 
 Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, 
 
 locked lagoon. 
 
 "Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid 
 
 outer keys, 
 I waked the palms to laughter — I tossed the 
 
 scud in the breeze — 
 Never was isle so little, never was sea so 
 
 lone. 
 But over the scud and the palm-trees an 
 
 English flag was flown. 
 
 " I have wrenched it free from the 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 fold o'er the dying, adrift 
 in a hopeless sea ; 
 
 I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and 
 seen the slave set free.
 
 90 Ballads 
 
 " My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling 
 
 albatross, 
 Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the 
 
 Southern Cross. 
 What is the Flag of England ? Ye have but 
 
 my reefs to dare, 
 Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, 
 
 for it is there ! " 
 The East Wind roared : *' From the Kuriles, 
 
 the Bitter Seas, I come, 
 And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring 
 
 the English home. 
 Look — look well to your shipping ! By the 
 
 breath of my mad typhoon 
 I swept your close-packed Praya and beached 
 
 your best at Kowloon ! 
 
 *' The reeling junks behind me and the racing 
 
 seas before, 
 I raped your richest roadstead — I plundered 
 
 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 — 
 
 Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride 
 or maid — 
 
 Because on the bones of the English the Eng- 
 lish Flag is stayed.
 
 The English Flag 91 
 
 "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, 
 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.
 
 92 Ballads 
 
 " The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it — the 
 
 frozen dews have kissed — 
 The nalced 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.
 
 '' Cleared " 93 
 
 Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime be- 
 neath the surgeon's knife, 
 
 The honorable gentleman deplored the loss of 
 life; 
 
 Bear witness of those chanting choirs that 
 burk and shirk and snigger, 
 
 No man laid hand upon the knife or finger to 
 the trigger ! 
 
 Cleared in the face of all mankind beneath 
 
 the winking skies. 
 Like phoenixes from 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 ? —
 
 94 Ballads 
 
 They only said '' intimidate," and talked and 
 
 went away — 
 Ey 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 thank- 
 ful it's no more : 
 
 The widow's curse is on your house, the dead 
 are at your door. 
 
 On you the shame of open shame, on you 
 from North to South 
 
 The hand of every honest man flat-heeled 
 across your mouth.
 
 *' Cleared " 95 
 
 ** 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 ? 
 If words are words, or death is death, or 
 
 powder sends the ball, 
 You spoke the words that sped the shot — the 
 
 curse be on you all. 
 
 *' Our friends believe"? Of course they do 
 
 — as sheltered women may ; 
 But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped 
 
 from the quivering clay ?
 
 q6 Ballads 
 
 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 country keeps, the whisper 
 in the lane, 
 
 The shriek that tells the shot went home be- 
 hind 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. 
 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.
 
 An Imperial Rescript 97 
 
 Cleared — you that " lost " the League ac- 
 counts — 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 learn- 
 ed Court prepends : 
 
 We are not ruled by murderers, but only — by 
 their friends. 
 
 AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 
 
 Now this is the tale of the Council the Ger- 
 man Kaiser decreed, 
 
 To ease the strong of their burden, to help 
 the weak in their need 
 
 He sent a word to the people, 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. 
 7
 
 98 Ballads 
 
 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 the weary, the 
 
 hale shall halt for the weak ; 
 With the even tramp of an army where no 
 
 man breaks from the line, 
 Ye shall march to peace and plenty in the 
 
 bond 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 ! " 
 And 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 ;
 
 An Imperial Rescript 99 
 
 We're going to hitch our horses and dig for 
 a house of our own, 
 
 With gas and water connections, and steam- 
 heat through to the top ; 
 
 And, W. HohenzoUern, 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 col- 
 lars der girl from Schmitt." 
 
 They passed one resolution: "Your sub- 
 committee believe 
 
 You can lighten the curse of Adam when 
 you've lightened the curse of Eve. 
 
 But till we are built like angels — with ham- 
 mer and chisel and pen. 
 
 We will work for ourself and a woman, forever 
 and ever. Amen."
 
 100 Ballads 
 
 Now this is the tale of the Council the Ger- 
 man Kaiser held — 
 
 The day that they razored the Grindstone, 
 the day that the Cat was belled, 
 
 The day of the Fig-s from Thistles, the day 
 of the Twisted Sands, 
 
 The day that the laugh of a maiden made 
 light of the Lords of Their Hands. 
 
 TOMLINSON 
 
 Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his 
 
 house in Berkeley Square, 
 And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped 
 
 him by the hair — 
 A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried 
 
 him far away, 
 Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford 
 
 the roar of the Milky Way, 
 Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die 
 
 down and drone and cease, 
 And they came to the Gate within the Wall 
 
 where Peter holds the keys. 
 " Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and 
 
 answer loud and high 
 The good that ye did for the sake of men or 
 
 ever ye came to die — 
 The good that ye did for the sake of men in 
 
 little earth so lone ! " 
 And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white 
 
 as a rain-washed bone.
 
 Tomlinson loi 
 
 " O, I have a friend on earth, " he said, " that 
 
 was my priest and guide, 
 And well would he answer all for me if he 
 
 were by my side." 
 — " For that ye strove in 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 
 
 little gain was there, 
 For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he 
 
 saw that his soul was bare : 
 The Wind that blows between the worlds, it 
 
 cut him like a knife. 
 And Tomlinson took up his tale and spoke of 
 
 his good in life. 
 "This I have read in a book," he sa'd, "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- 
 ness 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, 
 
 give answer — what ha' ye done " ?
 
 102 Ballads 
 
 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 1 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 neigh- 
 bor, 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 Berk- 
 eley Square uphold you, Tomlinson ! " 
 
 The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun by 
 
 sun they fell 
 Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars 
 
 that rim the mouth of Hell : 
 The first are red with pride and wrath, the 
 
 next are white with pain. 
 But the third are black with clinkered sin 
 
 that cannot burn again : 
 They may hold their path, they may leave 
 
 their path, with never a soul to mark, 
 They may burn or freeze, but they must not 
 
 cease in the Scorn of the Outer Dark.
 
 Tomlinson 103 
 
 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 hearthstone. 
 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 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,
 
 104 Ballads 
 
 But now ye wait at Hell-Mouth Gate and not 
 
 in Berkele}' 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." 
 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 ? "
 
 Tomlinson 105 
 
 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 ! " 
 The Devil he blew upon his nails, and the little 
 
 devils ran ; 
 And he said, ''Go husk this whimpering thief 
 
 that comes in the guise of a man : 
 Winnow him out 'twixt star and star, and 
 
 sieve his proper worth : 
 There's sore decline in Adam's line if this be 
 
 spawn of earth." 
 Empusa's crew, so naked-new they may not 
 
 face the fire. 
 But weep that they bin too small to sin to the 
 
 height of their desire. 
 Over the coal they chased the Soul, and racked 
 
 it 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,
 
 io6 Ballads 
 
 And sure if tooth and nail show truth he has 
 
 no soul of his own." 
 The Devil he bowed his head on his breast and 
 
 rumbled deep and low : 
 " I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should 
 
 bid him go. 
 Vet 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. 
 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.
 
 Tomlinson 107 
 
 Ye are neither spirit nor spirk," he said ; "ye 
 
 are neither book nor brute — 
 Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake 
 
 of Man's repute. 
 I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should 
 
 mock your pain, 
 But look that ye win to worthier sin ere ye 
 
 come back again. 
 Get hence, the hearse is at your door — the 
 
 grim black stallions wait — 
 They bear your clay to place to-day. Speed, 
 
 lest ye come too late ! 
 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 1 "
 
 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 
 
 can 'ear 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. 
 
 Ill
 
 112 Barrack- Room Ballads 
 
 "What makes that front-rank man fall 
 
 down ? " says Files-on-Parade. 
 " A touch of sun, a touch of sun," the Color- 
 Sergeant said. 
 
 They are hangin' Danny Deever, they 
 
 are marchin' of 'im round, 
 They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is 
 
 coffin on the ground ; 
 An' 'e'U 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 an' the regi- 
 ment's disgrace. 
 While they're hangin' Danny Deever in 
 the mornin'. 
 
 ** What's that so black agin the sun ? " said 
 Files-on-Parade. 
 
 " It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Color- 
 Sergeant said.
 
 ** Tommy " 113 
 
 "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. 
 8
 
 114 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 I went into a theater as sober as could be, 
 They give 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. 
 
 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, 
 etc. 
 
 O makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you 
 
 while you sleep 
 Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're 
 
 starvation cheap ; 
 An' hustlin' drunken sodgers 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, etc. 
 
 We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't 
 
 no blackguards too. 
 But single men in barricks, most remarkable 
 
 like you ;
 
 "Tommy" iiS 
 
 An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your 
 
 fancy paints, 
 Why, single men in barricks don't grow mto 
 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, etc. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 ; 
 An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, 
 
 an' anything you please ; 
 An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool — you 
 bet that Tommy sees !
 
 Ii6 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 « 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 S\i2.kim, 
 
 An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our 
 forces. 
 So *ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 
 
 'ome in the Sowdan ; 
 You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a 
 
 first-class fightin' man ; 
 We gives you your certifikit, 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 guv us Irriwaddy chills, 
 An' a Zulu i7?ij)i dished us up in style: 
 
 But all we ever got from such as they 
 
 Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller ;
 
 " Fuzzy-Wuzzy " 117 
 
 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 bruk 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, 
 A 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush 
 Will last a 'ealthy Tommy for a year. 
 
 So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your 
 
 friends which is no more. 
 If we 'adn't lost some messmates we 
 
 would 'elp you to deplore ; 
 But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll 
 
 call the bargain fair. 
 For if you 'ave lost more than us, you 
 crumpled up the square ! 
 
 'E rushes at the smoke when w^e 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.
 
 ii8 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 '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 care a damn 
 For the Regiment o' British Infantree. 
 
 So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 
 
 'ome in the Sowdan ; 
 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 
 bruk a British square. 
 
 OONTS ! 
 
 {Northern India Transport Train) 
 
 Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot 
 
 makes 'im to perspire ? 
 It isn't standin' up to charge or 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,'' O the ooni, O the commis- 
 
 asriat oontl 
 With 'is silly neck a-bobbin' like a 
 basket full o' snakes ; 
 
 1 Camel : oo is pronounced like u in " bull/* but by 
 Mr. Atkins to rhyme with " front."
 
 Oonts r 119 
 
 We packs 'im like a 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 ? 
 It ain't the chanst o' bein' rushed by Paythans 
 
 frum the 'ills. 
 It's the commissariat camel puttin' on 'is 
 blessed frills ! 
 
 O the oont^ O the oojit^ 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 baggage- 
 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 !
 
 120 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 The 'umpy-lumpy, 'ummin'-bird a-sing- 
 
 where 'e lies, 
 'E's blocked the *ole division from 
 
 the rear-guard to the front, 
 An' when we gets 'im up again — the 
 
 beggar goes an' dies ! 
 
 'E'll gall an* chafe an' lame an' fight ; 'e smells 
 
 most awful vile ; 
 'E'U lose 'imself 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 
 'isself in two. 
 
 O the oont, O the oont, O the flop- 
 pin', droppin' oont I 
 When 'is long legs give from under an' 
 
 'is meltin' eye is dim, 
 The tribes is up be'ind us an' the tribes 
 
 is out in front, 
 It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's 
 kites and 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, 
 
 O then we strips 'is saddle off, an' all 'is woes 
 is past : 
 
 *E thinks on us that used 'im so, an' gets re- 
 venge at last.
 
 Loot 121 
 
 O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin', 
 bloatin' oont I 
 
 The late lamented camel in the water- 
 cut he 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, an' frum such 
 we are debarred, 
 For the same with British morals does not 
 suit (Corned- Toot! toot!) — 
 W'y, they call a man a robber if 'e stuffs 'is 
 marchin' clobber 
 With the— 
 {Chorus.) Loo 1 loo 1 Lulu 1 lulu ! Loo I 
 loo ! Loot ! loot ! loot I 
 'Ow the loot' 
 Bloomin' loot !
 
 122 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 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 
 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 him as well. 
 Then the sweatin' Tommies w^onder as they 
 spade the beggars under 
 Why lootin' should be entered as a crime; 
 So if my song you'll 'ear, I will learn you plain 
 an' clear 
 'Ow to pay yourself for fightin' overtime 
 {Chorus. ) With the loot, etc. 
 
 Now remember when you're 'acking round a 
 gilded Burma god 
 That 'is eyes is very often precious stones ; 
 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 !)—
 
 Loot 123 
 
 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 'untin' you 
 must always work in pairs — 
 It 'alves the gain, but safer you will find — 
 For a single man gits 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 ; 
 / could never keep my pickin's but I've 
 learned you all I know — 
 An' don't you never say I told you so. 
 An' now I'll bid good-by, for I'm gettin' rather 
 dry. 
 An' I see another tunin' up to toot {Cornet: 
 Toot! toot!)—
 
 124 Barrack- Room Ballads 
 
 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 the Loo ! loo I 
 
 Lulu ! Loot ! loot ! loot ! 
 Heeya 1 Sick 'im, puppy ! Loo I loo I 
 Lulu ! Loot ! loot ! loot I 
 
 *' 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 !
 
 *' Snarleyow '' 125 
 
 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 gave the 
 
 knock to Snarleyow. 
 
 They cut 'im loose an' left 'im — 'e was almost 
 tore in two, — 
 
 But 'e tried to follow after, as a well-trained 
 'orse should do. 
 
 *Ewent an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's 
 Brother squeals : 
 
 ** Pull 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 iov yoi^ — your 'ead 
 
 between your 'eels ! " 
 
 'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke the word, before a 
 droppin' shell 
 
 A little right the batt'ry and 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 
 between 'is 'eels.
 
 126 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words 
 
 was very plain, 
 " For Gawd's own sake, get over me, an' put 
 
 me out o' pain ! " 
 They saw 'is wounds was mortal, an' they 
 
 judged that it was best, 
 So they took an' drove the limber straight 
 
 across 'is back an' chest. 
 
 The Driver 'e gave nothin' 'cept a little 
 
 coughin' grunt — 
 But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came 
 
 to *' Action front ! " 
 An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your 
 
 Monday 'ead, 
 'Twas juicier for the niggers when the case 
 
 begun to spread. 
 
 The moril of this story — it is plainly to be 
 
 seen : 
 You 'aven't got no families when servin' of 
 
 the Queen — 
 You 'aven't got no brothers, fathers, sisters, 
 
 wives, or sons ; 
 If you want to win your battles, take an' work 
 
 your bloomin' guns ! 
 
 Down in the Infantry, nobody cares ; 
 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 !
 
 Soldier, Soldier 127 
 
 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 I True love ! 
 Best go look for a new love, 
 The dead they cannot rise, an^ you^d 
 
 better dry your eyes, 
 An^ you^d best go look for a fiew love, 
 
 " Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 
 What did you see o' my true love ? " 
 
 " I see '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 1 " 
 
 " I see 'im runnin' by when the shots begun 
 to fly- 
 But you'd best go look for a new love." 
 
 " Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 
 Did aught take 'arm to my true love? " 
 
 *' I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay 
 so white — 
 An' you'd best go look for a new love."
 
 128 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 " 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 lie down an' die with my true love !" 
 
 "The pit we dug'U 'ide 'im an' 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 alius 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 truth again — when you've lost 
 the feel o' pain 
 You'd best take me for your true love. " 
 True love ! New love ! 
 Best take ^imfor a 7iew love. 
 2'he dead they cannot rise, an'' you'd 
 
 better dry your eyes, 
 An^ you'd best take 'imfor your true love.
 
 The Sons of the Widow 129 
 
 THE SONS OF THE WIDOW 
 
 'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor 
 Witii 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 Windsofj 
 An' 'ere's to the stores an' the 
 guns, 
 The men an' the 'orses what makes 
 up the forces 
 O' Missis Victorier's sons. 
 (Poor beggars ! — Victorier's sons I) 
 
 Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor, 
 
 For 'alf o' creation she owns: 
 We *ave bought 'er the same with the sword 
 an' the flame, 
 An* we've salted it down with our bones. 
 (Poor beggars ! — it's blue with our 
 bones.) 
 Hands off o' the sons of the Widow, 
 Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, 
 9
 
 130 Barrack- Room Ballads 
 
 For the Kings must come down an' the Em- 
 peror 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 forms with the guns. 
 (Poor beggars ! — it's always them guns !) 
 
 We *ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor 
 
 It's safest to let '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 'old o' the wings o' the mornin', 
 
 An' flop round the earth till you're dead ; 
 But you won't get away from the tune that 
 they play 
 To the bloomin' old rag over'ead. 
 
 (Poor beggars ! — it's 'ot over'ead !) 
 
 Then 'ere's to the sons o' the 
 Widow, 
 Wherever, 'owever they roam. 
 'Ere's all they desire, an' if they 
 require 
 A speedy return to their 'ome. 
 (Poor beggars ! — they'll never see 'ome!)
 
 Troopin' 131 
 
 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 take 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-Anne, 
 
 For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny 
 
 bit 
 As a time-expired man. 
 
 The Malabar's in 'arbor with the Jummer at 
 
 'er tail, 
 An' the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders for 
 
 to sail. 
 O the weary waitin' when on Khyber 'ills we 
 
 lay 
 But the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders 
 
 'ome to-day.
 
 132 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 They'll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in 
 
 cold an' v;et 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 
 
 campaign ; 
 Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to 
 
 earn your pay — 
 What's the last from Lunnon, lads ? We're 
 
 goin' there to-day. 
 
 Troopin', troopin', give another cheer — 
 'Ere's to English women an' a quart of Eng- 
 lish 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. 
 
 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 5'ou grieve for me, 
 
 My lovely Mary- Anne, 
 
 For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny 
 
 bit 
 As a time-expired man.
 
 Gunga Din 133 
 
 GUNGA DIN 
 
 The bhisti, or water-carrier, attached to regiments 
 in India, is often one of the most devoted of the. 
 Queen's servants. He is also appreciated by the men. 
 
 [this ballad is extensively plagiarized.] 
 
 You may talk o' gin an' beer 
 
 When you're quartered safe out 'ere, 
 
 An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot 
 
 it; 
 But if it comes to slaughter 
 You will do your work on water, 
 An' you'll lick the bloomin' boats 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 ! slippy hit her ao ! 
 Water, get it ! Hanee lao / ' 
 You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga 
 Din ! " 
 
 The uniform 'e wore 
 Was nothin' much before, 
 
 1 Bring water swiftly.
 
 134 Barrack- Room Ballads 
 
 An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, 
 For a twisty piece o' rag 
 An' a goatskin water bag 
 Was all the field-equipment 'e could find. 
 When the sweatin' troop-train lay- 
 In a sidin' through the day, 
 Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' 
 
 eyebrows crawl, 
 We shouted "Harry By!"' 
 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 somQ j'lddee 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 vvaitin' fifty pace's right flank rear. 
 
 With 'is mussick on 'is back, 
 
 'E would skip with our attack, 
 
 An' watch us till the bugles made " Retire." 
 
 An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 
 
 1 Mr. Atkins's equivalent for " O Brother ! " 
 
 2 Hit you.
 
 Gunga Din 135 
 
 'E was white, clear white, inside 
 When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! 
 It was " Din ! Din ! Din ! " 
 With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on 
 
 the green. 
 When the cartridges ran out, 
 You could 'ear the front-files shout : 
 " Hi ! amnmnition-mules an' Gunga 
 Din ! " 
 
 I sha'n't forgit the night 
 
 When 1 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' 'e plugged me w^here I bled, 
 An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water — green : 
 It was crawlin' and it stunk, 
 But of all the drinks I've drunk, 
 I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. 
 It was "Din! Din! Din! 
 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is 
 
 spleen ; 
 'E's chawin'up the ground an' 'e's kick- 
 in' all around : 
 For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga 
 Din!" 
 
 'E carried me away 
 To where a dooli lay,
 
 136 Barrack- Room Ballads 
 
 An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 
 
 'E put me safe inside, 
 
 An, just before 'e died: 
 
 " 1 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din, 
 
 So I'll meet 'im later on 
 
 In 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 pore damned souls, 
 
 An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din ! 
 
 Din ! Din ! Din ! 
 
 You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din! 
 
 Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you. 
 
 By the livin' Gawd that made you, 
 
 You're a better man than I am, Gunga 
 Din! 
 
 MANDALAY 
 
 By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' east- 
 ward to the sea, 
 There's a Burma girl a-settin', an' I know she 
 
 thinks o' me ; 
 For the wind is in the palm-trees, an' the 
 
 temple-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 ?
 
 Mandalay 137 
 
 O the road to ^landalay, 
 
 Where the iiyin'-fishes play, 
 
 An' the dawn comes up like thunder 
 
 outer 
 China 'crost the Bay ! 
 
 'Er petticut was yaller an' 'er little cap was 
 
 green, 
 An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat — jes' the same 
 
 as Theebaw's Queen, 
 An' I seed her fust a-smokin' of a whackin' 
 
 white cheroot, 
 An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen 
 idol's foot : 
 Bloomin' idol made o' mud — 
 Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd— 
 Plucky lot she cared for idols when I 
 
 kissed 'er where she stud ! 
 On the road to Mandalay — 
 
 When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the 
 
 sun was droppin' slow, 
 She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing " Kul- 
 
 la-Io-lo ! " 
 With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' her cheek 
 
 agin my cheek 
 We useter watch the steamers and 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 —
 
 138 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 But that's all shove be'ind me — long ago an' 
 
 fur away, 
 An' there ain't no 'buses runnin' from the 
 
 Benk to Mandalay ; 
 An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten- 
 year sodger tells : 
 " If you've 'eard the East a-calling," why, you 
 w^on't 'eed nothin' 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 — 
 
 I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gutty 
 
 pavin'-stones, 
 An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the 
 
 fever in my bones ; 
 Tho' I walks wath 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 — 
 
 Ship me somewheres east of Suez where the 
 
 best is like the worst. 
 Where there aren't no Ten CommandmentSj 
 
 an' a man can raise a thirst ;
 
 The Young British Soldier 139 
 
 P'or the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there 
 
 that I would be — 
 By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at 
 the sea — 
 
 On the road to Mandalay, 
 Where the old Flotilla lay, 
 With our sick beneath the awnings 
 
 when we went to Mandalay ! 
 Oh, the road to Mandalay, 
 Where the flyin'-fishes play, 
 An' the dawn comes up like thunder 
 outer China 'crost the Bay ! 
 
 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 de- 
 ceased 
 
 Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier. 
 
 Serve, serve, serve as a soldier. 
 
 Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
 
 Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
 
 So-oldier y^^the Queen ! 
 
 Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day. 
 You shut up 3^our 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 —
 
 140 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 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 — 
 
 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 comes in as the liquor dies 
 out, 
 
 An' it crumples the young British sol- 
 dier. 
 Crum-, crum-, crumples the sol- 
 dier — 
 
 But the worst o' your foes is the sun over- 
 head ; 
 You must wear your *elmet for all that is 
 
 said. 
 If 'e finds you uncovered ^e'll knock you 
 down dead, 
 
 An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier. 
 Fool, fool, fool of a soldier — 
 
 If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant un- 
 kind,
 
 The Young British Soldier 141 
 
 Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor 
 
 blind ; 
 Be handy and civil, and then you will find 
 
 As 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 vittles is cold, 
 An' love ain't enough for a soldier. 
 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a 
 soldier — 
 
 If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, 
 
 be loath 
 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 quit o' the curse of a soldier. 
 Curse, curse, curse of a soldier — 
 
 When first under fire an' you're wishful to 
 
 duck. 
 Don't look or take 'eed at the man that is 
 
 struck: 
 Be thankful you're livin* an' trust to your 
 luck, 
 
 An' march to your front like a soldier. 
 Front, front, front like a soldier.
 
 142 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 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 light for the young British 
 soldier. 
 Fight, fight, fight for the soldier — 
 
 When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine 
 The guns 'o the enemy wheel into line ; 
 Shoot low at the limbers and don't mind the 
 shine, 
 
 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, 
 An' wait for supports like a soldier. 
 Wait, wait, wait, like a soldier — 
 
 When you're wounded an' left on Afghanistan's 
 
 plains, 
 An' the women come out to cut up your re- 
 mains, 
 Jest roll to your rifle an' blow out your brains, 
 An' go to your Gawd like a soldier : 
 Go, go, go like soldier, 
 Go, go, go like a soldier. 
 Go, go, go like a soldier 
 So-oldier /w/the Queen.
 
 Screw-Guns 143 
 
 SCREW-GUNS 
 
 Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' 
 
 ttie 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 o' 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 send us along where the roads are, but 
 
 mostly we goes where they ain't ; 
 We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' 
 
 trust to the stick o' the paint ; 
 We've chivied the Nava an' Lushai, we've 
 
 give the Afreedeeman fits, 
 For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we 
 
 guns that are built in two bits — Tss ! Tss f 
 For you all love the screw-guns —
 
 144 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an* 
 
 teaches 'im 'ow to be'ave, 
 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 I 
 
 Tss! 
 
 For you all love the screw-guns — 
 
 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 — 
 
 There's a wheel on the Plorns o' the Mornin' 
 
 an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit, 
 An' a drop into nothin' beneath us 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 — 
 
 Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffm' the 
 
 mornin'-cool, 
 I climbs in my old brov.'n gaiters along o' my 
 
 old brown mule.
 
 Belts 145 
 
 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 ! 
 Just send in your Chief and surrender — 
 
 it's worse if you fights or you runs : 
 You may hide in the caves, they'll he 
 
 only your graves, but you don't get 
 
 away from the guns ! 
 
 BELTS 
 
 There was a row in Silver Street that's near 
 
 to Dublin Quay, 
 Between an Irish regiment an' English caval- 
 
 ree ; 
 It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark ; 
 The first man dropped at Harrison's the last 
 
 forninst the Park. 
 For it was '^ Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one 
 
 for you ! " 
 An* it was " Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done 
 
 for you ! " 
 
 O buckle an' tongue 
 
 Was the song that we sung 
 
 From Harrison's on to the Park ! 
 
 10
 
 146 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 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 — ■ 
 
 There was a row in Silver Street — an' I was 
 
 in it too ; 
 We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts 
 
 went ti'hirraru ! 
 I misremember what occurred, but subsequint 
 
 the storm 
 A Freeman s Journal Siipplemijit was all my 
 uniform. 
 
 O it was : Belts — 
 
 There v/as a row in Silver Street — they sent 
 
 the Polls there, 
 The English were too drunk to know, the 
 
 Irish did't care ; 
 But when they grew impertinint we simulta- 
 neous 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' 
 
 nobody knew how ;
 
 Belts 147 
 
 'Twas Hogan took the point an' dropped ; we 
 
 saw the red blood run : 
 An' so we all was murderers that started out 
 
 in fun. 
 
 While it was : Belts — 
 
 There was a row in Silver Street — but that 
 
 took off the shine, 
 Wid each man whishperin' 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 see 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- 
 
 mints to get ; 
 'Tis all a mericle to me as in the Clink I lie ; 
 There was a row in Silver Street — begod, 1 
 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 1 " 
 O buckle an' tongue 
 Was the song that we sung 
 From Harrison's down to the Park !
 
 T48 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 FORD O' KABUL RIVER 
 
 Kabul town's by Kabul river — 
 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword ! — 
 There I left my mate forever, 
 Wet an' dripping' by the ford. 
 
 Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
 Ford o' Kabul river in the dark ! 
 There's- the river up an' brimmin*, an' 
 there's 'arf a squadron swiramin' 
 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the 
 dark. 
 
 Kabul town's a blasted place — 
 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword ! — 
 'Strew^th 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 crossin'-stakes beside you, an' 
 they will surely guide you 
 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the 
 dark. 
 Kabul town is sun an' 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 thrashin', you can 
 'ear the men a-splashin' 
 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the 
 dark.
 
 Ford o' Kabul River 149 
 
 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 '11 go to hell — 
 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword ! — 
 'Fore I see 'im 'live an' well — 
 'Im the best beside the ford. 
 
 Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
 Ford o' Kabul river in the dark ! 
 Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder — for their 
 boots'll pull 'em under. 
 By the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 
 
 Turn your 'orse from Kabul town — 
 
 Blow the bugle, draw the sword ! — • 
 'Im an' 'arf my troop is down — 
 Down an' drownded by the ford. 
 
 Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river. 
 Ford o' Kabul river in the dark ! 
 There's the river low an' fallin', but it 
 ain't no use o^ callin' 
 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the 
 dark.
 
 1 50 Barrack-Room Ballads 
 
 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 1 you've 'eard 
 
 the bugle blowed — 
 There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand 
 Trunk Road — 
 
 With its best foot first, 
 An' 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' i you hams her argy 
 joiv / " ' 
 
 Oh, there's them Injian temples to admire 
 when you see ; 
 
 There's the peacock round the corner an' the 
 monkey up the tree ; 
 
 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 o' button mushrooms when you pick 
 
 'em up at 'ome.
 
 Route Marchin' 151 
 
 But it's over in a minute, an' at six the column 
 
 starts, 
 While the women an' the kiddies sit an' shiver 
 
 in the carts. 
 
 An' 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 ; 
 An' we thinks, o' friends in England, an' we 
 
 wonders what they're at, 
 An' 'ow they would admire for to 'ear us sling 
 
 the bat} 
 
 An' it's best foot first, etc. 
 
 It's none so bad o' Sunday, v/hen you're lyin' 
 
 at your ease. 
 To watch the kites a-wheelin' round them 
 
 feather-'eaded trees — 
 For although there ain't no women, yet there 
 
 ain't no barrick-yards. 
 So the 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 
 
 Umballa to Cavvnpcre ; 
 
 1 Thomas's first and firmest conviction is that he is a 
 profound Orientalist and a fluent speaker of Hindustani. 
 Asa matter of fact, he depends largely on the sign- 
 language.
 
 152 Barrack- Room Ballads 
 
 An' 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'v^e *eard 
 
 the bugle blowed — 
 There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand 
 Trunk Road — 
 
 With its best foot first, 
 An' the road a-slidin'past, 
 An' every bloomin' campin'-ground ex- 
 actly like the last ; 
 While the big drum says, 
 With its " Rowdy-dowdy-dow ! " 
 ^ Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy 
 jow ? " ' 
 
 1 Why don't you get on ?
 
 OTHER VERSES 
 
 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-tvvo ; " 
 
 155
 
 156 other Verses 
 
 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 ray 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 ail that I can get.
 
 The Rupaiyat of Omar Kal Vin 157 
 
 Imports indeed are gone with all their Dues — 
 Lo ! Salt a Lever that 1 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 I 
 
 Indeed, indeed, Retrenchment oft before 
 I swore — but did I mean it when I swore? 
 And then, and then, We wandered to the 
 Hills, 
 And so the Little Less became Much More. 
 
 Whether 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.
 
 158 other Verses 
 
 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 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,
 
 La Nuit Blanche 159 
 
 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 \vall ; 
 Then I watched a fender walking, 
 
 And I heard gray leeches sing, 
 And a red-hot monkey talking 
 
 Did not seem the proper thing. 
 
 Then a Creature, skinned and crimson, 
 
 Ran about the floor and cried. 
 And they said I had the " jims " on, 
 
 And they dosed me with bromide, 
 And they locked me in my 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 before me, 
 
 Smooth as silver, white as snow, 
 And it took three men to throw me 
 
 When I found I could not go.
 
 i6o Other Verses 
 
 Half the night I watched the Heavens 
 
 Fizz like '8i 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. 
 
 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 found her ... in my head; 
 
 Then a face came, blind and weeping, 
 
 And It couldn't wipe Its eyes, 
 And It muttered I was keeping 
 
 Back the moonlight from the skies ; 
 So I patted It for pity, 
 
 But It whistled shrill with wrath, 
 And a huge black Devil City 
 
 Poured its peoples on my path. 
 
 So I fled with steps uncertain 
 On a thousand-year long race, 
 
 But the bellying of the curtain 
 Kept me always in one place ;
 
 My Rival i6i 
 
 While the tumult rose and maddened 
 
 To the roar of Earth on fire, 
 Ere it ebbed and sank and saddened 
 
 To a whisper tense as wire. 
 
 In intolerable stillness 
 
 Rose one little, little star, 
 And it chuckled at my illness, 
 
 And it mocked me from afar ; 
 And its brethren came and e3'ed me, 
 
 Called the Universe to aid, 
 Till I lay, with naught to hide me, 
 
 'Neath the Scorn of All Things Made. 
 
 Dun and saffron, robed and splendid, 
 
 Broke the solemn, pitying Day, 
 And I knew my pains were ended, 
 
 And I turned and tried to pray ; 
 But my speech was shattered wholly, 
 
 And I wept as children weep, 
 Till the dawn-wind, softly, slowly. 
 
 Brought to burning eyelids sleep. 
 
 I\IY 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. 
 II
 
 i62 other Verses 
 
 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. 
 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 vi^heels— 
 
 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 program-card, 
 And vainly I repine
 
 The Lovers' Litany 163 
 
 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. 
 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 gray — 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 I "
 
 164 Other Verses 
 
 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 7iever die ! " 
 
 Eyes of brown — a dusty plain 
 Spit and parched with heat of June, 
 Flying hoof and tightened rein, 
 Hearts that beat the old. old tune. 
 Side by side the horses fi}', 
 Frame we now the old reply 
 Of the Lover's Litany : — 
 " Love like ours can never die ! " 
 
 Zyes of blue — the Simla Hills 
 Silvered with the moonlight hoar; 
 Pleading of the v;altz that thrills, 
 Dies and echoes round Benmore. 
 " Mabei:' " Officers,'' " Good-hy;' 
 Glamour, wine, and witchery — 
 On my soul's sincerity, 
 *' Love like ours can never die I " 
 
 Maidens, of your charity. 
 Pity my most luckless state. 
 Four times Cupid's debtor I— 
 Bankrupt in quadruplicate.
 
 A Ballad of Burial 165 
 
 Yet, despite this evil case, 
 An 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 Praxed^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 \vhen 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, wall care to make 
 Journeys with me any more
 
 1 66 Other Verses 
 
 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 those September rains 
 
 Yearly till the Judgment Day! 
 I should never rest in peace, 
 
 I should sweat and lie awake. 
 Rail me then, on my decease, 
 
 To the Hills for old sake's sake.
 
 Divided Destinies 167 
 
 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, 
 I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in 
 
 my life 
 Have i flirted at Peliti's with 2ino\.\\Qr Bandaf^s 
 
 wife. 
 
 *' O man of futile fopperies — unnecessary 
 wraps ; 
 
 I own no ponies in the hills, I drive no tall- 
 wheeled traps ;
 
 1 70 Other Verses 
 
 Di7ti. Census the byle and the yabu — capture 
 
 a first-class Babu, 
 Set him to cut Gazetteers — Gazetteers . . . 
 
 {ff.) What is the state of the Nation, etc., 
 etc. 
 
 Interlude, from Noivhere in particular to 
 stringed and Oriental insiriime^its. 
 
 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 trees — 
 The young wheat withers ere it reach a 
 span, 
 
 And belts of blinding sand show cruelly 
 Where once the river ran. 
 
 Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King — 
 Lift up your hands above the blighted 
 grain. 
 Look westward — if they please, the Gods shall 
 bring 
 Their mercy with the rain. 
 
 Look westward — bears the blue no brown 
 cloud-bank ? 
 
 Nay, it is written — wherefore should we fly? 
 On our own field and by our cattle's flank 
 
 Lie down, lie down to die !
 
 The Masque of Plenty 171 
 
 Semi-Chorus. 
 
 By the plumed heads of Kings 
 
 Waving high, 
 Where the tall corn springs 
 
 O'er the dead. 
 
 If they rust or rot we die, 
 
 If they ripen we are fed. 
 
 Very mighty is the power of our Kings ! 
 
 Triumphal return to Simla of the Investigators, 
 attired after the manner of Dionysius, leading 
 a pet tiger-cub in wreaths of rhubarb leaves, 
 symbolical of India under medical treatment. 
 They sing: — 
 
 We have seen, we have written — behold it, the 
 
 proof of our manifold toil ! 
 In their hosts they assembled and told it — the 
 
 tale of the sons of the soil. 
 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 stooped to the bield and the 
 
 byre : 
 And the King may the forces of Hell curb, for 
 
 the People have all they desire !
 
 174 Other Verses 
 
 And registration — free — 
 
 In the houses of dea:h and of birth : 
 
 And fashioned with pens and papei^ 
 
 And fashioned in black and white. 
 
 With Life for tiickering taper 
 
 And Death for a blazing light — 
 
 With the Armed and the Civil Power, 
 
 That his strength might endure for a span. 
 
 From Adam's Bridge to Peshawur, 
 
 The Much Administered man. 
 
 In the towns of the North and the East, 
 
 They gathered as unto rule. 
 
 They bade him starve 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 175 
 
 THE MARE'S NEST 
 
 Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse 
 Was good beyond all earthly need ; 
 
 But, on the other hand, her spouse 
 Was very, very bad indeed. 
 
 He smoked cigars, called churches slow, 
 
 And raced — but this she did not know. 
 
 For Belial Machiavelli kept 
 
 The little fact a secret, and. 
 Though o'er his minor sins she wept, 
 
 Jane Austen did not understand 
 That Lilly — thirteen-two and bay — 
 Absorbed one half her husband's pay. 
 
 She was so good, she made him worse ; 
 
 (Some women are like this, I think ;) 
 He taught her parrot how to curse. 
 
 Her Assam monkey how to drink. 
 He vexed her righteous soul until 
 She went up, and he went down hill. 
 
 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
 
 178 other Verses 
 
 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 talk, 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 river-side, each call- 
 ing 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,
 
 Christmas in India 179 
 
 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 
 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 !" 
 
 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 Hehmveh, ceaseless, aching ! 
 Oh the black dividing Sea and alien 
 Plain ! 
 Youth was cheap — wherefore we sold it, 
 Gold was good — we hoped to hold it, 
 And to-day we know the fulness of our 
 gain. 
 
 Gray dusk behind the tamarisks — the parrots 
 fly together — 
 As the sun is sinking slowly over Home ;
 
 1 82 other Verses 
 
 May set in with a dust-storm, — Pagett vent 
 
 down with the sun. 
 All the delights of the season tickled him one 
 
 by one. 
 Ii7ipri7ms — ten days' " liver " — due to his 
 
 drinking beer ; 
 Later, a dose of fever — slight, but he called 
 
 it severe. 
 
 Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the 67^^/^ 
 
 Bursat — 
 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. 
 He babbled of " Eastern exile," and mentioned 
 
 his home with tears ; 
 But I hadn't seen ;;zy 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.
 
 The Song of the Women 183 
 
 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 Diiffe7-in''s Fundjor medical aid to the Wo77ien of 
 India.) 
 
 How shall we 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 bazar ? 
 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
 
 i86 Other Verses 
 
 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 : — 
 "10-7-85, 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-vih&els ride over me ? 
 No Saint's, I swear ; and — let me see 
 
 To-night what names your program fill— 
 We drift asunder merrily. 
 
 As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill ! 
 
 L' 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 187 
 
 THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS 
 
 Too late, alas ! the song 
 To remedy the wrong ; — 
 The room are taken from us, swept and garnished foi 
 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. 
 To-night, the moon that watched our light- 
 some wiles — 
 
 That beamed upon us through the deo- 
 dars — 
 Is wan with gazing on official files. 
 
 And desecrating desks disgust the stars.
 
 iQo Other Verses 
 
 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. 
 
 And there was Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 
 
 Bull-throated, bare of arm, 
 Who carried on his hairy chest 
 
 The maid Ultruda's charm — 
 The little silver crucifix 
 
 That keeps a man from harm. 
 
 And there was Jake Without-the-Ears, 
 
 And Pamba the Malay, 
 And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook, 
 
 And Luz from Vigo Bay, 
 And Honest Jack who sold them slops 
 
 And harvested their pay. 
 
 And there was Salem Hardieker, 
 
 A lean Bostonian he — 
 Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn, 
 
 Yank, Dane, and Portugee, 
 At Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 
 
 They rested from the sea.
 
 Fisher's Boarding- House 191 
 
 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. 
 
 She held a dozen men to heel — 
 
 Rich spoil of war was hers, 
 
 In hose and gown and ring and chain, 
 
 From twenty mariners, 
 And, by Port Law, that week, men called 
 
 Her Salem Hardieker's. 
 
 But seamen learnt — what landsmen know- 
 That neither gifts nor gain 
 
 Can hold a winking Light o' Love 
 Or Fancy's flight restrain, 
 
 When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes 
 On Hans the blue-eyed Dane. 
 
 Since Life is strife, and strife means knife, 
 
 From Howrah to the Bay, 
 And he may die before the dawn 
 
 Who liquored out the day. 
 In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 
 
 We woo while yet we may. 
 
 But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 
 
 Bull-throated, bare of arm. 
 And laughter shook the chest beneath 
 
 The maid Ultruda's charm — 
 The little silver crucifix 
 
 That keeps a man from harm.
 
 194 Other Verses 
 
 " She was sweet," thought I, " last season, but 
 
 'twere surely wild unreason 
 Such tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by 
 
 my Star, 
 When she whispered, something sadly : — ' I — 
 
 we feel your going badly ! '" 
 ^^ A7id you let the chance escape you ? " rapped 
 
 the rattling tonga-bar. 
 " What a chauce ajid what an idiot I " 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 " Vou call on Her to-?norrow I " — fugue 
 with cymbals by the bar — 
 
 " You must call on Her to-morrow ! " — post- 
 horn gallop by the bar. 
 
 Yet a further stage my goal on — we were 
 
 whirling down to Solon, 
 With a double lurch and roll on, best foot 
 
 foremost, g-anz und gar — 
 ** She was 7'^rv sweet," I hinted. ^* If a kiss 
 
 had been imprinted — ? " 
 " ' Would ha^ saved a world of trouble ! " 
 
 clashed the busy tonga-bar. 
 *^^Bee?i accepted or rejected!'^ banged and 
 
 clanged the tonga-bar.
 
 " As the Bell Clinks " 195 
 
 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. 
 
 " Yoic must work the siun to prove it,^' clanked 
 the careless tonga-bar. 
 
 " Simple Rule of Ttvo will prove it" lilted back 
 the tonga-bar. 
 
 It was under Khyraghaut I mused : — " Sup- 
 pose the maid be haughty — 
 
 (There are lovers rich — and forty) — wait some 
 wealthy Avatar ? 
 
 Answer, monitor untiring, 'twixt the ponies 
 twain perspiring ! " 
 
 " Faint heart nei'er wo7i fair lady^^^ creaked 
 the straining tonga-bar. 
 
 ** Can I tell you ere you ask Her ? " pounded 
 slow the tonga-bar. 
 
 Last, the Tara Devi turning showed the lights 
 of Simla burning, 
 
 Lit my little lazy yearning to a fiercer flame 
 by far. 
 
 As below the Mall we jingled, through my 
 very heart it tingled — 
 
 Did the iterated order of the threshing tonga- 
 bar — 
 
 " Try your luck — you canU do better ./" twanged 
 the loosened tonga-bar.
 
 198 other Verses 
 
 Sleep, with the gray langur for guard, 
 Our very scornful Dead, 
 If you love me as I love you, 
 All Earth is serva?il to us two 1 
 
 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 Bills, 
 By all the life that fizzes in 
 
 The everlasting Hills, 
 
 If you love me as I love you. 
 What pair so happy as we iivo ? 
 
 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 does the 
 
 Young Man say ? 
 " Lo ! She is pleasant to look on, give Her to 
 
 me to-day ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 Yea, though a Kafir die, to him is remitted 
 
 Jehannum 
 If he borrowed in life from a native at sixty 
 
 per cent per annum.
 
 Certain Maxims of Hafiz 199 
 
 III. 
 
 Blister we not for biirsatil So when the heart 
 
 is vext, 
 The pain of one maiden's refusal is drowned 
 
 in the pain of the next. 
 
 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 } 
 
 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 
 ferash ? Does grass clothe a new-built 
 wall ? 
 
 Is she under thirty, the woman who holds a 
 boy in her thrall 1 
 
 VII. 
 
 If She grow suddenly gracious — reflect. Is it 
 
 all for thee ? 
 The black-buck is stalked through the bullock, 
 and Man through jealousy.
 
 200 Other Verses 
 
 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 son, 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 snaffle of Courtship, improving 
 
 the manners and carriage ; 
 But the colt who is wise will abstain from the 
 
 terrible thorn-bit of Marriage. 
 
 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.
 
 Certain Maxims of Hafiz 201 
 
 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. 
 
 XTV. 
 
 In public Her face turneth to thee,and pleasant 
 
 Her smile when ye meet. 
 It is ill. The cold rocks of El-Gidar smile 
 
 thus on the waves at their feet. 
 In public Her face is averted, with anger She 
 
 nameth thy name. 
 It is well. Was there ever a loser content with 
 
 the loss of a 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. 
 
 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 scufflingly 
 bid thee give o'er,
 
 202 Other Verses 
 
 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,remaineth 
 forever Remorse. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 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 ?
 
 Grave of the Hundred Head 203 
 
 THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED 
 HEAD 
 
 There's a widow in sleepy Chester, 
 
 Who weeps for her only son ; 
 There's a grave on the Pabeng River, 
 
 A grave that the Burmans shun, 
 And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri 
 
 Who tells how the work was done. 
 
 A Snider squibbed in the jungle, 
 Somebody laughed and fled, 
 
 And the men of the First Shikaris 
 Picked up their Subaltern dead. 
 
 With a big blue mark in his forehead 
 And the back blown out of his head. 
 
 Subadar Prag Tewarri, 
 
 Jemadar Hira Lai, 
 Took command of the party, 
 
 Twenty rifles in all. 
 Marched them down to the river 
 
 As the day was beginning to fall. 
 
 Then 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.
 
 204 Other Verses 
 
 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 /I'/iga/ 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 fianking-party 
 With Jemadar Hira Lai. 
 
 The men of the First Shikaris 
 Shouted and smote and slew, 
 
 Turning the grinning yV;?^^/ 
 On to the howling crew. 
 
 The Jemadar's fianking-party 
 Butchered the folk who flew. 
 
 Long was the morn of slaughterj 
 Long was the list of slain,
 
 Grave of the Hundred Head 205 
 
 Five score heads were taken, 
 
 Five score heads and twain ; 
 And the men of the First Shikaris 
 
 Went back to their grave again, 
 
 Each man bearing a basket 
 
 Red as his palms that day, 
 Red as the blazing village — 
 
 The village of Pabengmay. 
 And the '•'' drip- drip-drip'' from the baskets 
 
 Reddened the grass by the way. 
 
 They made a pile of their trophies 
 
 High as a tall man's chin, 
 Head upon head distorted, 
 
 Set in a sightless grin, 
 Anger and pain and terror 
 
 Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin. 
 
 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.
 
 2o6 Other Verses 
 
 Then a silence came to the river, 
 A hush fell fell over the shore, 
 
 And Bohs that were brave departed, 
 And Sniders squibbed no more ; 
 
 For the Burmans said that a kullaJi's head 
 Must be paid for with heads five score. 
 
 There's a widow in sleepy Chester 
 Who weeps for her only son ; 
 
 There's a grave on the Pabeng River, 
 A grave that the Burmans shun, 
 
 And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri 
 Who tells how the work was done. 
 
 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, M^as 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 .?
 
 The Overland Mail 207 
 
 But Wandle's stream is Sutlej now, 
 
 And Putney's evening haze 
 The dust that half a hundred kine 
 
 Before my window raise. 
 Unkempt, unclean, athwart the mist 
 
 The seething city looms, 
 In place of Putney's golden gorse 
 
 The sickly babul blooms. 
 
 Glare down, old Hecate, through the dust. 
 
 And bid the pie-dog yell, 
 Draw from the drain its typhoid-germ, 
 
 From each 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 !
 
 2o8 other Verses 
 
 With a jingle of bells as the dust 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, 
 Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail." 
 
 Is the torrent in spate ? He must ford it or 
 
 swim. 
 Has the rain wrecked the road ? He must 
 
 climb by the cliff. 
 Does the tempest cry " Halt " } What are 
 
 tempests to him ? 
 The Service admits not a "but " or an" if." 
 While the breath's in his mouth, he must bear 
 
 without fail, 
 In the Name of the Empress, the Overland 
 
 Mail. 
 
 From aloe to rose, 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 sandaled 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.
 
 What the People Said 209 
 
 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 — 
 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 21 St, 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 Plowman 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. 
 14
 
 210 Other Verses 
 
 *' 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." 
 
 Then, far and near, as the twilight drew, 
 
 Hissed up to the scornful dark 
 Great serpents, blazing, of red and blue. 
 That rose and faded, and rose anew. 
 
 That the Land might wonder and mark. 
 *' To-day is a day of days," they said, 
 " Make merry, O People, all ! " 
 And the Plowman listened and bowed his 
 
 head : — 
 "To-day and to-morrow God's will," he said, 
 As he trimmed the lamps on the wall. 
 
 " He sendeth us years that are good, 
 
 As He sendeth the dearth. 
 
 He giveth to each man his food, 
 
 Or Her food to the Earth. 
 
 Our Kings and our Queens are afar — 
 
 On their peoples be peace — 
 
 God bringeth the rain to the Bar, 
 
 That our cattle increase. " 
 
 And the Plowman settled the share 
 More deep in the sun-dried clod : —
 
 The Undertaker's Horse 211 
 
 *' 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 plowshare fiies 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 dsath. How 
 can he drink tea with the Executioner ? " — Japanese 
 
 Proverb. 
 
 The eldest son bestrides him, 
 
 And the pretty daughter rides him, 
 
 And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course % 
 
 And there wakens in my bosom 
 
 An emotion chill and gruesome 
 
 As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse, 
 
 Neither shies he nor is restive, 
 But a hideously suggestive 
 Trot, professional and placid, he affects; 
 And the cadence of his hoof-beats 
 To my mind, this grim reproof beats : — 
 " Mend your pace, my friend, I'm coming. 
 Who's the next ? " 
 
 Ah ! stud-bred of ill-omen, 
 
 I have watched the strongest go — men
 
 212 Other Verses 
 
 Of pith and might and muscle — at your heels, 
 Down the plantain-bordered highway, 
 (Heaven send it ne'er be my way!) 
 In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels. 
 
 Answer, somber beast and dreary, 
 Where is Brown, the young, the cheery, 
 Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the 
 
 Force ? 
 You were at that last dread dak 
 We must cover at a walk. 
 Bring them back to me, 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 !
 
 The Fall of Jock Gillespie 213 
 
 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 ? " 
 
 THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE 
 
 This fell when dinner-time was done — 
 'Twixt the first an' the second rub — 
 
 That oor mon Jock cam' hame again 
 To his rooms ahint the Club. 
 
 An' syne he laughed, an' syne he sang, 
 
 An' syne we thocht him 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."
 
 214 Other Verses 
 
 ** There's whusky brewed in Galashiels, 
 
 An' L. L. L. forbye ; 
 But never liquor lit the low 
 
 That keeks fra' oot your eye. 
 
 ** There's a thrid o' hair on your dress-coat 
 breast, 
 
 Aboon the heart a wee ?" 
 " Oh ! that is fra' the lang-haired Skye 
 
 That slobbers ower me." 
 
 "Oh! lang-haired Skyes are lovin' beasts, 
 
 An' terrier dogs are fair, 
 But never yet was terrier born 
 
 Wi' ell-lang gowden hair ! 
 
 "There's a smirch o' pouther on your breast, 
 
 Below the left lappel ? " 
 "Oh ! that is fra' my auld cigar, 
 
 Whenas the stump-end fell." 
 
 '* Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse, 
 
 For ye are short o' cash, 
 An' best 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 ! 
 
 " 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 ! "
 
 Arithmetic on the Frontier 215 
 
 An' it fell when sirris-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 lit 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 saltpeter!" 
 
 And after — ask the Yusufzaies 
 
 What comes of all our 'ologies. 
 
 A scrimmage in a Border Station — - 
 A canter down some dark defile — 
 
 Two thousand pounds of education 
 Drops to a ten-rupee jeza// — 
 
 The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride, 
 
 Shot like a rabbit in a ride ! 
 
 No proposition Euclid wrote. 
 
 No formulae the text-books know, 
 
 Will turn the bullet from your coat, 
 Or ward the tulwar's downward blow.
 
 2i6 Other Verses 
 
 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 hill sides teem, 
 The troop-ships bring us one by one, 
 
 At vast expense of time and steam, 
 To slay Afridis where they run. 
 
 The " captives of our bow and spear " 
 
 Are cheap — alas ! as we are dear. 
 
 ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 
 
 [Lord Dtiffe7'in to Lord Lansdowfie^ 
 
 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.) 
 O Youth, Youth, Youth ! Forgive me, you're 
 
 so young.
 
 One Viceroy Resigns 217 
 
 Forty from sixty — twenty years of work 
 And power to back the working. Ajy de mil 
 You want to know, you want to see, to touch, 
 And, by your lights, to act. It's natural. 
 I wonder can 1 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 ! 
 That ghost has haunted me for twenty years, 
 j\Iy 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 ray 
 
 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
 
 2i8 other Verses 
 
 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 
 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 
 
 I pledged my Name on both — they're yours 
 
 to-night. 
 Hold to them — they hold fame enough for tw^o. 
 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 1 
 He's gone to England. R-p-n knew his grip 
 And kicked. A Council always has its H-pes. 
 They look for nothing from the West but 
 
 Death 
 Or Bath or Bournemouth. Here's their ground 
 
 They fight 
 Until the middle classes take them back,
 
 One Viceroy Resigns 219 
 
 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, 
 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
 
 220 Other Verses 
 
 Than drowning. Well, a galled Mashobra 
 
 nnule 
 (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. 
 You're younger. You'll dream dreams before 
 
 you've done. 
 You've youth, that's one — good workman — 
 
 that means two 
 Fair chances in your favor. Fate's the third. 
 I know what 1 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 comm.end you to Fate's 
 
 hand 
 (Here at the top one loses sight o' God),
 
 One Viceroy Resigns 221 
 
 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 ! 
 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. 
 
 Oht 
 I told you what the Congress meant or 
 
 thought ?
 
 222 Other Verses 
 
 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, 
 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 ; 
 A Strand abellow through the fog : " Defeat ! '*
 
 One Viceroy Resigns 223 
 
 " 'Orrible slaughter ! " While you lie awake 
 And wonder. Oh, you'll wonder ere you^re 
 
 free ! 
 I wonder now. The four years slide away 
 So fast, so fast, and leave me here alone. 
 R_y, C-lv-n, L— 1, R-b-rts, B-ck, the rest, 
 Princes and Powers of Darkness, troops and 
 
 trains, 
 (I aumot sleep in trains), land piled on land, 
 Whitewash and weariness, red rockets, dust. 
 White snows that mocked me, palaces — with 
 
 draughts, 
 And W-stl-nd with the drafts he couldn't pay, 
 Poor W-ls-n reading his obituary 
 Before he died, and H-pe, the man with boners, 
 And A-tc-hs-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.
 
 224 Other Verses 
 
 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 youVe 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 Maggie 
 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.
 
 The Betrothed 225 
 
 Maggie is pretty to look at — Maggie's a loving 
 
 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 — 
 
 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 — gray and dour and 
 
 old— 
 With never another Maggie to purchase for 
 
 love or gold ! 
 
 And the light of Days that have Been the dark 
 
 of the Days that Are, 
 And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the 
 
 butt of a dead cigar — 
 
 The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to 
 
 keep in your pocket — 
 With never a new one to light tho' it's charred 
 
 and black to the socket. 
 
 Open the old cigar-box — let me consider a 
 
 while — 
 Here is a mild Manilla — there is a wifely 
 
 smile. 
 
 IS
 
 226 Other Verses 
 
 Which is tbe better portion — bondage bought 
 
 with a ring, 
 Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a 
 
 string ? 
 
 Counselors 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.
 
 The Betrothed 227 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Open the old cigar-box — let me consider 
 
 anew — 
 Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should 
 
 abandon you ?
 
 228 Other Verses 
 
 A million surplus Maggies are willing to beat 
 
 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, 1^11 have no 
 Maggie for spouse ! 
 
 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 
 
 Where the sober-colored cultivator smiles 
 
 On his hyles ; 
 Where the cholera, the cyclone, and the crow 
 
 Come and go ; 
 Where the merchant deals in indigo and tea, 
 
 Hides and^/^// 
 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, -s we see, 
 
 Don't agree. 
 Once, two hundred years ago, the trader came 
 
 Meek and tame.
 
 A Tale of Two Cities 229 
 
 Where his timid foot first hahed, there he 
 stayed, 
 
 Till mere trade 
 Grew to Empire, and he sent his armies forth 
 
 South and North 
 Till the country from Peshawar to Ceylon 
 
 Was his own. 
 Thus the midday halt of Charnock — more's 
 the pity ! 
 
 Grew a City. 
 As the fungus spouts 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 Peshawar to Ceylon 
 Was their own.
 
 230 other Verses 
 
 But the Merchant risked the perils of the 
 Plain 
 
 For his gain. 
 
 Now the resting-place of Charnock, 'neath 
 the palms, 
 
 Asks an alms. 
 And the burden of its lamentation is, 
 
 Briefly, this : — 
 *' Because, for certain months, we boil and 
 stew, 
 
 So should you. 
 Cast the Viceroy and his Council, to perspire 
 
 In our fire ! " 
 And for answer to the argument, in vain 
 
 We explain 
 That an amateur Saint Lawrence cannot 
 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 ;
 
 Griff en's Debt 231 
 
 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 — 
 Stilly 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 sahil) 
 Had come among them. Thus he spent his 
 
 time, 
 Deeply indebted to the village shrof, 
 (Who never asked for payment) always drunk, 
 Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels ; 
 Forgetting that he was an Englishman.
 
 232 Other Verses 
 
 You know they dammed the Gauri with a 
 
 dam, 
 And all the good contractors scamped their 
 
 work, 
 And all the bad material at hand 
 Was used to dam the Gauri — which was 
 
 cheap, 
 And, therefore, proper. Then the Gauri 
 
 burst, 
 And several hundred thousand cubic tons 
 Of water dropped into the valley, y7^, 
 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,
 
 Griffen's Debt 233 
 
 And flourishing a flail-like whip, came down, 
 
 Breathing ambrosia, to the villages, 
 
 And fell upon the simple villagers 
 
 With yells beyond the power of mortal throat, 
 
 And blows beyond the power of mortal hand, 
 
 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 those 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. 
 
 So he the whiskified Objectionable, 
 Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels,
 
 234 Other Verses 
 
 Became the tutelary Diety 
 
 Of all the Guari valley villages ; 
 
 And may in time become a Solar Myth. 
 
 IN SPRINGTIME 
 
 My garden blazes brightly with the rosebush 
 and the peach, 
 And the k'dil sings above it, in the sij-is by 
 the well, 
 From the creeper-covered trellis comes the 
 squirrel's chattering speech, 
 And the blue-jay screams and flutters 
 w^here the cheery sat-bhai^\^€[\. 
 But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the 
 koiVs 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 blooming, 
 o'er the brown fields blowing chill, 
 From the furrow of the plowshare 
 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. 
 But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of 
 . rose and peach is ;
 
 Two Months 235 
 
 Ah ! koil, little kbil^ singing on the siris 
 
 bough, 
 In my ears the knell of exile your ceasless 
 
 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 
 
 lightnings fly 
 In vain. No help the heaped-up clouds afford, 
 But wearier weight of burdened, burning air. 
 What Truce with Dawn 1 Look, from the 
 
 aching sky, 
 Day stalks, a tyrant with a flaming sword !
 
 236 Other Verses 
 
 IN SEPTEMBER. 
 
 At dawn there was a murmur in the trees, 
 A ripple on the tank, and in the air 
 Presage of coming cooliiess — everywhere 
 
 A voice of prophecy upon the breeze. 
 
 Up leapt the sun and smote the dust to gold, 
 And strove to parch anew the heedless 
 land, 
 
 All impotently, as a King grow^n old 
 
 Wars for the Empire crumbling 'neath his 
 hand. 
 
 One after one, the lotos-petals fell, 
 
 Beneath the onslaught of the rebel year 
 
 In mutiny against a furious sky ; 
 
 And far-off Winter whispered : " It is well ! 
 
 Hot Summer dies. Behold, your help is 
 
 near, 
 For when men's need is sorest, then come I." 
 
 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 w^ater with our galley 
 
 could compare !
 
 The Galley-Slave 237 
 
 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 reveled 
 
 now and then — 
 If they wore us down like cattle, faith, we 
 
 fought and loved like men ! 
 As we snatched her through the water, so we 
 
 snatched a minute's bliss, 
 And the mutter of the dying never spoiled the 
 
 lover's kiss. 
 
 Our women and our children toiled beside us 
 
 in the dark — 
 They died, we filed their fetters, and we 
 
 heaved them to the shark — 
 We heaved them to the fishes, but so fast the 
 
 galley sped, 
 We had only time to envy, for we could not 
 
 mourn our dead. 
 
 Bear witness, once my comrades, what a hard, 
 bit gang were we — 
 
 The servants of the sweep-head, but the mas- 
 ters of the sea !
 
 238 other Verses 
 
 By the hands that drove her forward as she 
 plunged and yawed and sheered, 
 
 Woman, Man, or God or Devil, was there any- 
 thing 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. 
 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 serv- 
 ice still were mine !
 
 The Galley-Slave 239 
 
 Yet they talk of times and seasons and of woe 
 the years bring forth, 
 
 Of our galley swamped and shattered in the 
 rollers of the North. 
 
 When the niggers break the hatches, and the 
 decks are gay with gore, 
 
 And a craven-hearted pilot crams her crash- 
 ing 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 fighting as I 
 
 take awhile his oar.
 
 240 Other Verses 
 
 But to-day I leave the galley. Shall I curse 
 
 her service then ? 
 God be thanked — whate'er comes after, I have 
 
 live and toiled with Men 1 
 
 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."
 
 Conundrum of the Work-Shops 241 
 
 THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORK- 
 SHOPS 
 
 When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on 
 
 Eden's green and gold, 
 Our father Adam sat under the Tree and 
 
 scratched with a stick in the mold ; 
 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. 
 16
 
 242 Other Verses 
 
 They fought and they talked in the north and 
 
 the south, they talked and then fought in 
 
 the west, 
 Till the water 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 master of art and truth ; 
 And each man hears as the twilight nears, to 
 
 the beat of his dying heart, 
 The Devil drum on the darkened pane : 
 
 " You did it, but was it art ? " 
 
 We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to 
 
 the shape of a surplice-peg, 
 We have learned to bottle our parents twain 
 
 in the yolk of an addled egg, 
 We know that the tail must wag the dog, as 
 
 the horse is drawn by the cart ; 
 Sut the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: 
 
 " It's clever, but is it art ? " 
 
 When the flicker of London sun falls faint on 
 the club-room's green and gold. 
 
 The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch 
 with their pens in the mold —
 
 The Explanation 243 
 
 They scratch with their pens in the mold 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 sheaved: 
 
 Death's dread armory was stored 
 
 With the shafts he most abhorred : 
 
 Love's light quiver groaned benea^ 
 
 Veiiora-headed darts of Death.
 
 244 Other Verses 
 
 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? 
 
 THE GIFT OF THE SEA 
 
 The dead child lay in the shroud, 
 
 And the vvddow 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."
 
 The Gift of The Sea 245 
 
 Then came a cry from the sea, 
 
 But the sea-rime blinded the glass, 
 
 And " Heard ye nothing, mother ? " she said ; 
 " 'Tis the child that waits to pass." 
 
 And the nodding mother sighed. 
 
 *' 'Tis a lambing ewe in the whin. 
 For why should the christened soul cry out, 
 
 That never knew of sin ? " 
 
 " 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 ; 
 Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern, 
 
 Or the wail of the wind-blown gull ? "
 
 246 other Verses 
 
 "The terns are blown inland, 
 The gray gull follows the plow. 
 
 '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, 
 
 So came to the life she had missed by an hour, 
 For she came to a little child. 
 
 She laid it into her breast. 
 
 And back to her mother she came, 
 
 But it would not feed, and it would not heed, 
 Though she gave it her own child's name. 
 
 And the dead child dripped on her breast, 
 And her own in the shroud lay stark ; 
 
 And, " God forgive us, mother," she said, 
 "We let it die in the dark !"
 
 Evarra and His Gods 247 
 
 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 worshiped by the King ; but, drunk 
 
 with pride. 
 Because the city bowed to him for God, 
 He wrote above the shrine ; *' Thus Gods 
 
 are made, 
 And whoso makes them otherwise shall die ^ 
 And all the city praised him. . . . Then he 
 
 died. 
 
 Read here the stoiy 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,
 
 248 Other Verses 
 
 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 worshiped 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 dieJ^ 
 And all the people praised him. . . . Then 
 
 he died. 
 
 Read here the story of Evarra — man — 
 Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
 Because he lived among a simple folk, 
 Because his village was between the hills. 
 Because he smeared his cheeks with blood 
 
 of ewes, 
 He cut an idol from a fallen pine. 
 Smeared blood upon its cheeks, and wedged 
 
 a shell 
 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,
 
 Evarra and His Gods 249 
 
 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 
 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 snakes 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,
 
 250 Other Verses 
 
 What oaf on earth had made his toil God's 
 
 law, 
 Till God said, mocking : " Mock not. 
 
 These be thine." 
 Then cried Evarra : " I have sinned ! " — 
 
 " Not so. 
 If thou hadst written otherwise, thy Gods 
 Had rested in the mountain and the mine, 
 And I were poorer by four wondrous 
 
 Gods, 
 And thy more wondrous law, Evarra. 
 
 Thine, 
 Servant of shouting crowds and lowing 
 
 kine." 
 Thereat with laughing mouth, but tear- 
 wet eyes, 
 Evarra cast his Gods from Paradise. 
 This is the story of Evarra — maji — 
 Maker of Gods in laiids beyond the sea.
 
 The Vampire 251 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 (As suggested by the Painting by Philip Burne-fones.) 
 
 A FOOL there was and he made his prayer 
 
 (Even as you and I !) 
 To a rag and a bone 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 waste 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 !) 
 
 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.
 
 252 Other Verses 
 
 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 isn'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. 
 
 OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS 
 
 A NATION spoke to a nation, 
 
 A Queen sent word to a throne : 
 Daughter am I in my mother's house, 
 
 But mistress in my own. 
 The gates are mine to open 
 
 As the gates are mine to close, 
 And I set my house in order, 
 
 Said the Lady of the Snows. 
 
 Neither with laughter nor weeping, 
 
 Fear or the child's amaze, 
 Soberly under the white man's law 
 
 My white men go their ways. 
 Not for the Gentile's clamor, 
 
 Insult or threat of blows, 
 Bow we the knee of Baal, 
 
 Said our Lady of the Snows.
 
 Our Lady of the Snows 253 
 
 Mv speech is clear and single, 
 
 I talk of common things, 
 Words of the wharf or market-place 
 
 And the ware the merchant brings. 
 Favor to those I favor, 
 
 But a stumbling-block for my foes, 
 Many there be that hate us, 
 
 Said our Lady of the Snows. 
 
 I called my chiefs to council, 
 
 In the din of a- troubled year, 
 For the sake of a sign ye would not see 
 
 And a word ye would not hear. 
 This is our message and answer 
 
 This is the path we chose, 
 For we be also a people, 
 
 Said our Lady of the Snows. 
 
 Carry the word to my Sisters, 
 
 To the Queens of the East and South, 
 I have proved faith in the heritage 
 
 By more than a word of mouth. 
 They that are wise may follow, 
 
 Ere the world's war-trumpet blows, 
 But I, I am first m the battle, 
 
 Said our Lady of the Snows. 
 
 A nation spoke to a nation. 
 
 A Queen sent word to a throne : 
 Daughter am I in my mother's house, 
 
 But mistress in my own. 
 The gates are mine to open 
 
 As the gates are mine to close, 
 And I abide in my mother's house, 
 
 Said our Lady of the Snows.
 
 I 
 
 254 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 tind pine — 
 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
 
 Lest we forget — lest 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 ! 
 
 If, drunk with sight of power, we loose 
 
 Wild tongues that have not thee in awe- 
 Such boasting as the Gentiles use. 
 
 Or lesser breeds without the Law — 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
 Lest we forget — lest we forget !
 
 Recessional 255 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Amen,
 
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