AUTHOR Rudyard Kipling

TITLE
 
RHYME a a a
 
Beyond the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled --
Further than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled --
Live such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made our world.
 
RHYME a a a
 
They are purged of pride because they died, they know the worth of their bays,
They sit at wine with the Maidens Nine and the Gods of the Elder Days,
It is their will to serve or be still as fitteth our Father's praise.
 
RHYME a a a
 
'Tis theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where Azrael's outposts are,
Or buffet a path through the Pit's red wrath when God goes out to war,
Or hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a red-maned star.
 
RHYME a a a
 
          they dare not grieve for her pain --
They know of toil and the end of toil, they know God's law is plain,
So they whistle the Devil to make them sport who know that Sin is vain.
 
RHYME a a a
 
And ofttimes cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade,
And tells them tales of His daily toil, of Edens newly made;
And they rise to their feet as He passes by, gentlemen unafraid.
 
RHYME a a a
 
To these who are cleansed of base Desire, Sorrow and Lust and Shame --
Gods for they knew the hearts of men, men for they stooped to Fame,
Borne on the breath that men call Death, my brother's spirit came.
 
RHYME a a a
 
He scarce had need to doff his pride or slough the dross of Earth --
E'en as he trod that day to God so walked he from his birth,
In simpleness and gentleness and honour and clean mirth.
 
RHYME a a a
 
So cup to lip in fellowship they gave him welcome high
And made him place at the banquet board -- the Strong Men ranged thereby,
Who had done his work and held his peace and had no fear to die.
 
RHYME a a a
 
Beyond the loom of the last lone star, through open darkness hurled,
Further than rebel comet dared or hiving star-swarm swirled,
Sits he with those that praise our God for that they served His world.
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a a b c c b 
 
          I have made for you a song,
         And it may be right or wrong,
     But only you can tell me if it's true;
         I have tried for to explain
         Both your pleasure and your pain,
     And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you!
 
RHYME a a b c c b 
 
         O there'll surely come a day
         When they'll give you all your pay,
     And treat you as a Christian ought to do;
         So, until that day comes round,
         Heaven keep you safe and sound,
     And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you!
             
TITLE
 
RHYME a a a a b b b c 
 
"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade.
"To turn you out, to turn you out", the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade.
"I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch", the Colour-Sergeant said.
    For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
    The regiment's in hollow 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'.
 
RHYME a a a a b b b c 
 
"What makes the rear-rank breathe so hard?" said Files-on-Parade.
"It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold", the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What makes that front-rank man fall down?" said Files-on-Parade.
"A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun", the Colour-Sergeant said.
    They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of him round,
    They have halted Danny Deever by his coffin on the ground;
    An' he'll swing in harf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound --
    O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'!
 
RHYME a a a a b b b c 
 
"HIs cot was right-hand cot to mine", said Files-on-Parade.
"HE's sleepin' out an' far to-night", the Colour-Sergeant said.
"I've drunk his beer a score o' times", said Files-on-Parade.
"HE's drinkin' bitter beer alone", the Colour-Sergeant said.
    They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark him to his place,
    For he shot a comrade sleepin' -- you must look him in the face;
    Nine hundred of his county an' the regiment's disgrace,
    While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.
 
RHYME a a a a b b b c 
 
"What's that so black agin' the sun?" said Files-on-Parade.
"It's Danny fightin' hard for life", the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What's that that whimpers overhead?" said Files-on-Parade.
"It's Danny's soul that's passin' now", the Colour-Sergeant said.
    For they're done with Danny Deever, you can hear 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'.
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a b b c c c c  
 
I went into a public-house to get a pint o' beer,
The publican he up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls behind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
    O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
    But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
    The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
    O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
 
RHYME a a b b c c c c  
 
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but hadn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-halls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
    For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
    But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
    The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
    O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
 
RHYME a a b b c c c c  
 
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
    Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, how's yer soul?"
    But it's "Thin red line of heroes" when the drums begin to roll,
    The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
    O it's "Thin red line of heroes" when the drums begin to roll.
 
RHYME a a b b c c c c  
 
We aren't no thin red heroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
    While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall behind",
    But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
    There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
    O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
 
RHYME a a b b c c d d 

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 his 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!
 
TITLE

RHYME a b a b c d c d e e f f  
 
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
  An' some of hem 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 him:
  HE squatted in the scrub an' hocked our horses,
HE cut our sentries up at Sua~kim~,
  An' he played the cat an' banjo with our forces.
    So here's ~to~ you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your home in the Soudan;
    You're a pore benighted heathen but a first-class fightin' man;
    We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed
    We'll come an' have a romp with you whenever you're inclined.
 
RHYME a b a b c d c d e e f f  
 
We took our chanst among the Khyber hills,
  The Boers knocked us silly at a mile,
The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills,
  An' a Zulu ~impi~ dished us up in style:
But all we ever got from such as they
  Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;
We held our bloomin' own, the papers say,
  But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us holler.
    Then here'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 hardly fair;
    But for all the odds agin' you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the square.
 
RHYME a b a b c d c d e e f f  
 
HE hasn't got no papers of his own,
  HE hasn't got no medals nor rewards,
So we must certify the skill he's shown
  In usin' of his long two-handed swords:
When he's hoppin' in an' out among the bush
  With his coffin-headed shield an' shovel-spear,
An happy day with Fuzzy on the rush
  Will last an healthy Tommy for a year.
    So here's ~to~ you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which are no more,
    If we hadn't lost some messmates we would help you to deplore;
    But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair,
    For if you have lost more than us, you crumpled up the square!
 
RHYME a b a b c d c d e e f f  
 
HE rushes at the smoke when we let drive,
  An', before we know, he's hackin' at our head;
HE's all hot sand an' ginger when alive,
  An' he's generally shammin' when he's dead.
HE's a daisy, he's a ducky, he's a lamb!
  HE's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree,
HE's the on'y thing that doesn't give a damn
  For a Regiment o' British Infantree!
    So here's ~to~ you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your home in the Soudan;
    You're a pore benighted heathen but a first-class fightin' man;
    An' here's ~to~ you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your hayrick head of hair --
    You big black boundin' beggar -- for you broke a British square!
 
TITLE

RHYME a a b c c b d d e f f e 
 
You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out here,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of him that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of HEr Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
   
TITLE

RHYME a a b b c d c d  
 
Wot makes the soldier's heart to penk, wot makes him to perspire?
It isn't standin' up to charge nor lyin' down to fire;
But it's everlastin' waitin' on a everlastin' road
For the commissariat camel an' his commissariat load.
    O the oont*, O the oont, O the commissariat oont!
     With his silly neck a-bobbin' like a basket full o' snakes;
    We packs him like an idol, an' you ought to hear him grunt,
     An' when we gets him loaded up his blessed girth-rope breaks.
 
RHYME a a b b c d c d  
 
Wot makes the rear-guard swear so hard when night is drorin' in,
An' every native follower is shiverin' for his skin?
It ain't the chanst o' being rushed by Paythans from the hills,
It's the commissariat camel puttin' on his bloomin' frills!
    O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy scary oont!
     A-trippin' over tent-ropes when we've got the night alarm!
    We socks him with a stretcher-pole an' heads him off in front,
     An' when we've saved his bloomin' life he chaws our bloomin' arm.
 
RHYME a a b b c d c d  
 
The horse he knows above a bit, the bullock's but a fool,
The elephant's a gentleman, the battery-mule's a mule;
But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an' done,
HE's a devil an' a ostrich an' a orphan-child in one.
    O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont!
     The lumpy-humpy hummin'-bird a-singin' where he lies,
    HE's blocked the whole division from the rear-guard to the front,
     An' when we get him up again -- the beggar goes an' dies!
 
RHYME a a b b c d c d  
 
HE'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight -- he smells most awful vile;
HE'll lose hisself for ever if you let him stray a mile;
HE's game to graze the hole day long an' howl the hole night through,
An' when he comes to greasy ground he splits hisself in two.
    O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin', droppin' oont!
     When his long legs give from under an' his meltin' eye is dim,
    The tribes is up behind us, and the tribes is out in front --
     It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's kites an' crows for him.
 
RHYME a a b b c d c d  
 
So when the cruel march is done, an' when the roads is blind,
An' when we sees the camp in front an' hears the shots behind,
Ho! then we strips his saddle off, and all his woes is past:
HE thinks on us that used him so, and gets revenge at last.
    O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin', bloatin' oont!
     The late lamented camel in the water-cut he lies;
    We keeps a mile behind him an' we keeps a mile in front,
     But he gets into the drinkin'-casks, and then o' course we dies.
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a b b c c d d  
 
This happened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps
Which is first among the women an' amazin' first in war;
An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember now,
But Two's off-lead he answered to the name o' ~Snarleyow~.
    Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
    Down in the Cavalry, Colonel he swears;
    But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
    Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!

TITLE
 
RHYME a a *

They was movin' into action, they was needed very sore,
To learn a little schoolin' to a native army corps,
They had nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin' down the brow,
When a tricky, trundlin' roundshot give the knock to ~Snarleyow~.
 
RHYME a a *

They cut him loose an' left him -- he was almost tore in two --
But he tried to follow after as a well-trained horse should do;
HE went an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's Brother squeals:
"Pull up, pull up for ~Snarleyow~ -- his head's between his heels!"
 
RHYME a a *

The Driver humped his shoulder, for the wheels was goin' round,
An' there ain't no "Stop, conductor!" when a batt'ry's changin' ground;
Sez he:  "I broke the beggar in, an' very sad I feels,
But I couldn't pull up, not for ~you~ -- your head between your heels!"
 
RHYME a a *

HE hadn't hardly spoke the word, before a droppin' shell
A little right the batt'ry an' between the sections fell;
An' when the smoke had cleared away, before the limber wheels,
There lay the Driver's Brother with his head between his heels.
 
RHYME a a *

Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' his words was very plain,
"For Gawd's own sake get over me, an' put me out o' pain."
They saw his wounds was mortial, an' they judged that it was best,
So they took an' drove the limber straight across his back an' chest.
 
RHYME a a *

The Driver he give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' grunt,
But he swung his horses handsome when it came to "Action Front!"
An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head
'Twas juicier for the niggers when the case begun to spread.
 
RHYME a a *

The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen:
You havn't got no families when servin' of the Queen --
You havn'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 he swears;
    But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
    Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!
 
TITLE

RHYME a a *
 
There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay,
Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree;
It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark:
The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst the Park.
   
RHYME a a *
 
There was a row in Silver Street -- the regiments was out,
They called us "Delhi Rebels", an' we answered "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.
   
RHYME a a *
 
There was a row in Silver Street -- an' I was in it too;
We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts went whirraru!
I misremember what occurred, but subsequint the storm
A ~Freeman's Journal Supplemint~ was all my uniform.
   
RHYME a a *
 
There was a row in Silver Street -- they sent the Polis there,
The English were too drunk to know, the Irish didn't care;
But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous rose,
Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was tatthered clothes
   
RHYME a a *
 
There was a row in Silver Street -- it might ha' raged till now,
But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' nobody knew how;
'Twas Hogan took the point an' dropped; we saw the red blood run:
An' so we all was murderers that started out in fun.
   
RHYME a a *
 
There was a row in Silver Street -- but that put down the shine,
Wid each man whisperin' to his next:  "'Twas never work o' mine!"
We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street we bore him,
The poor dumb corpse that couldn't tell the bhoys were sorry for him.
   
RHYME a a *
 
There was a row in Silver Street -- it isn't over yet,
For half of us are under guard wid punishments to get;
'Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie:
There was a row in Silver Street -- begod, I wonder why!
   
TITLE
  
RHYME a a *
 
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"

RHYME a a *
 
HEr petticoat was yaller an' her little cap was green,
An' her name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an heathen idol's foot:

RHYME a a *
 
When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git her little banjo an' she'd sing "~Kulla-lo-lo!~"
With her arm upon my shoulder an' her cheek agin' my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the ~hathis~ pilin' teak.

RHYME a a *
 
But that's all shove behind me -- long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' here in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've heard the East a-callin', you won't never heed naught else."

RHYME a a *
 
I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty housemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?

RHYME a a *
 
Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
  
TITLE 
 
RHYME a b a b c d e d 
 
To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,
 To my brethren in their sorrow overseas,
Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, machinely crammed,
 And a trooper of the Empress, if you please.
Yea, a trooper of the forces who has run his own six horses,
 And faith he went the pace and went it blind,
And the world was more than kin while he held the ready tin,
 But to-day the Sergeant's something less than kind.
   
RHYME a b a b c d e d 
 
Oh, it's sweet to sweat through stables, sweet to empty kitchen slops,
 And it's sweet to hear the tales the troopers tell,
To dance with blowzy housemaids at the regimental hops
 And thrash the cad who says you waltz too well.
Yes, it makes you cock-a-hoop to be "Rider" to your troop,
 And branded with a blasted worsted spur,
When you envy, O how keenly, one poor Tommy being cleanly
 Who blacks your boots and sometimes calls you "Sir".
 
RHYME a b a b c d e d 
 
If the home we never write to, and the oaths we never keep,
 And all we know most distant and most dear,
Across the snoring barrack-room return to break our sleep,
 Can you blame us if we soak ourselves in beer?
When the drunken comrade mutters and the great guard-lantern gutters
 And the horror of our fall is written plain,
Every secret, self-revealing on the aching white-washed ceiling,
 Do you wonder that we drug ourselves from pain?
 
RHYME a b a b c d e d 
 
We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to Love and Truth,
 We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung,
And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth.
 God help us, for we knew the worst too young!
Our shame is clean repentance for the crime that brought the sentence,
 Our pride it is to know no spur of pride,
And the Curse of Reuben holds us till an alien turf enfolds us
 And we die, and none can tell Them where we died.
   
TITLE
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
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 behind.
   
RHYME a a b b 
 
At half-past five's Revelly, an' our tents they down must come,
Like a lot of button mushrooms when you pick 'em up at home.
But it's over in a minute, an' at six the column starts,
While the women and the kiddies sit an' shiver in the carts.
   
RHYME a a b b 
 
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' how they would admire for to hear us sling the ~bat~.*
   
RHYME a a b b 
 
It's none so bad o' Sunday, when you're lyin' at your ease,
To watch the kites a-wheelin' round them feather-headed 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.
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
So hark an' heed, you rookies, which is always grumblin' sore,
There's worser things than marchin' from Umballa to Cawnpore;
An' if your heels are blistered an' they feels to hurt like hell,
You drop some tallow in your socks an' that will make hem well.
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand,
Eight hundred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band;
Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've heard the bugle blowed,
There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road;
 
TITLE The Ballad of East and West

RHYME a a *
 
OH, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,	
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at GodÕs great Judgment Seat;	
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,	
When two strong men stand face to face, thoÕ they come from the ends of the earth!	

RHYME a a *
 
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 between 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.
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 favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai.
But if he be past 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.

RHYME a a *
 
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.
"Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said.  "Show now if ye can ride."
It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dustdevils 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.

RHYME a a *
 
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand -- small room was there to strive,
"'Twas only by favour of mine," quoth he, "ye rode so long alive:
There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row:
If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly."
Lightly answered the Colonel's son:  "Do good to bird and beast,
But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away,
Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay.
They will feed their horse on the standing crop,  their men on the garnered grain,
The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain.
But if thou thinkest the price be fair, -- thy brethren wait to sup,
The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, -- howl, dog, and call them up!
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:
Take up the mare for my father's gift -- by God, she has carried a man!"
The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled against his breast;
"We be two strong men," said Kamal then, "but she loveth the younger best.
So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise-studded rein,
My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain."

RHYME a a *
 
The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end,
"Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he;  "will ye take the mate from a friend?"
"A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a limb for the risk of a limb.
Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son to him!"
With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a mountain-crest --
He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest.
"Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who leads a troop of the Guides,
And thou must ride at his left side as shield on shoulder rides.
Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed,
Thy life is his -- thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.
So, thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes are thine,
And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the Border-line,
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."
 
RHYME a a *
 
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 Kamal's boy the dun,
And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one.
And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear --
There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer.
"Ha' done! ha' done!" said the Colonel's son. "Put up the steel at your sides!
Last night ye had struck at a Border thief -- to-night 'tis a man of the Guides!"
 
RHYME a a *

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!
 
TITLE

RHYME a b c c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

All night the barons came and went,
    The lords of the outer guard:
All night the cressets glimmered pale
On Ulwar sabre and Tonk jezail,
Mewar headstall and Marwar mail,
    That clinked in the palace yard.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

He passed at dawn -- the death-fire leaped
    From ridge to river-head,
From the Malwa plains to the Abu scars:
And wail upon wail went up to the stars
Behind the grim zenana-bars,
    When they knew that the King was dead.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

The dumb priest knelt to tie his mouth
    And robe him for the pyre.
The Boondi Queen beneath us cried:
"See, now, that we die as our mothers died
In the bridal-bed by our master's side!
    Out, women! -- to the fire!"
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

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 dovecot still.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

A face looked down in the gathering day,
    And laughing spoke from the wall:
"Oh]/e, 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.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

"For I ruled the King as ne'er did Queen, --
    To-night the Queens rule me!
Guard them safely, but let me go,
Or ever they pay the debt they owe
In scourge and torture!"  She leaped below,
    And the grim guard watched her flee.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

We bore the King to his fathers' place,
    Where the tombs of the Sun-born stand:
Where the gray apes swing, and the peacocks preen
On fretted pillar and jewelled screen,
And the wild boar couch in the house of the Queen
    On the drift of the desert sand.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

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!"
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

All night the red flame stabbed the sky
    With wavering wind-tossed spears:
And out of a shattered temple crept
A woman who veiled her head and wept,
And called on the King -- but the great King slept,
    And turned not for her tears.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

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!"
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

"But I have felt the fire's breath,
    And hard it is to die!
Yet if I may pray a Rajpoot lord
To sully the steel of a Thakur's sword
With base-born blood of a trade abhorred," --
    And the Thakur answered, "Ay."
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

He drew and struck:  the straight blade drank
    The life beneath the breast.
"I had looked for the Queen to face the flame,
But the harlot dies for the Rajpoot dame --
Sister of mine, pass, free from shame,
    Pass with thy King to rest!"
 
RHYME a b c c c b 

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!
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a a *
 
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.
 
RHYME a a *
 
There was a hound of Hindustan had struck a Euzufzai,
Wherefore they spat upon his face and led him out to die.
It chanced the King went forth that hour when throat was bared to knife;
The Kaffir grovelled under-hoof and clamoured for his life.
 
RHYME a a *
 
Then said the King:  "Have hope, O friend!  Yea, Death disgraced is hard;
Much honour shall be thine"; and called the Captain of the Guard,
Yar Khan, a bastard of the Blood, so city-babble saith,
And he was honoured of the King -- the which is salt to Death;
And he was son of Daoud Shah, the Reiver of the Plains,
And blood of old Durani Lords ran fire in his veins;
And 'twas to tame an Afghan pride nor Hell nor Heaven could bind,
The King would make him butcher to a yelping cur of Hind.
 
RHYME a a *
 
"Strike!" said the King.  "King's blood art thou --  his death shall be his pride!"
Then louder, that the crowd might catch:  "Fear not -- his arms are tied!"
Yar Khan drew clear the Khyber knife, and struck, and sheathed again.
"O man, thy will is done," quoth he; "a King this dog hath slain."
 
RHYME a a *
 
          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!
 
RHYME a a *
 
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 clamour for thy head."
 
RHYME a a *
 
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 honour white.
The children of the town had mocked beneath his horse's hoofs,
The harlots of the town had hailed him "butcher!" from their roofs.
But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon him fell,
The King behind his shoulder spake:  "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!"

RHYME a a *
 
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!
 
TITLE

RHYME a a 

They stoned him in the rubbish-field when dawn was in the sky,
According to the written word, "See that he do not die."
 
RHYME a a 

They stoned him till the stones were piled above him on the plain,
And those the labouring limbs displaced they tumbled back again.
 
RHYME a a 

One watched beside the dreary mound that veiled the battered thing,
And him the King with laughter called the Herald of the King.
 
RHYME a a 

It was upon the second night, the night of Ramazan,
The watcher leaning earthward heard the message of Yar Khan.

RHYME a a 

From shattered breast through shrivelled lips broke forth the rattling breath,
"Creature of God, deliver me from agony of Death."
 
RHYME a a 

They sought the King among his girls, and risked their lives thereby:
"Protector of the Pitiful, give orders that he die!"
 
RHYME a a 

"Bid him endure until the day," a lagging answer came;
"The night is short, and he can pray and learn to bless my name."
 
RHYME a a 

Before the dawn three times he spoke, and on the day once more:
"Creature of God, deliver me, and bless the King therefor!"
 
RHYME a a 

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.
 
RHYME a a 

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.

TITLE

RHYME a a *
 
When spring-time 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.
 
RHYME a a *
 
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 tent-peg answered to  hammer-nose;
And the picketed ponies, shag and wild,
Strained at their ropes as the feed was piled;
And the bubbling camels beside the load
Sprawled for a furlong adown the road;
And the Persian pussy-cats, brought for sale,
Spat at the dogs from the camel-bale;
And the tribesmen bellowed to hasten the food;
And the camp-fires twinkled by Fort Jumrood;
And there fled on the wings of the gathering dusk
A savour of camels and carpets and musk,
A murmur of voices, a reek of smoke,
To tell us the trade of the Khyber woke.
 
RHYME a a *
 
The lid of the flesh-pot chattered high,
The knives were whetted and -- then came I

RHYME a a a 

To Mahbub Ali the muleteer,
Patching his bridles and counting his gear,
Crammed with the gossip of half a year.

RHYME a a *

But Mahbub Ali the kindly said,
"Better is speech when the belly is fed."
So we plunged the hand to the mid-wrist deep
In a cinnamon stew of the fat-tailed sheep,
And he who never hath tasted the food,
By Allah! he knoweth not bad from good.
 
RHYME a a *
 
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.
Then Mahbub Ali lowered his eyes
In the fashion of one who is weaving lies.
Quoth he:  "Of the Russians who can say?
When the night is gathering all is 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.
 
RHYME a a *
 
"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 unstanched speech.
Therewith madness -- so that he sought
The favour of kings at the Kabul court;
And travelled, in hope of honour, far
To the line where the gray-coat squadrons are.
There have I journeyed too -- but I
Saw naught, said naught, and -- did not die!
He harked to rumour, 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.
 
RHYME a a *
 
"Hot-foot southward, forgotten of God,
Back to the city ran Wali Dad,
Even to Kabul -- in full durbar
The King held talk with his Chief in War.
Into the press of the crowd he broke,
And what he had heard of the coming spoke.
 
RHYME a a *
 
"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 clamour ran?
Surely an hour shall bring their van.
Wait and watch.  When the host is near,
Shout aloud that my men may hear.'
 
RHYME a a *
 
"Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise
To warn a King of his enemies?
A guard was set that he might not flee --
A score of bayonets ringed the tree.
The peach-bloom fell in showers of snow,
When he shook at his death as he looked below.
By the power of God, who alone is great,
Till the seventh day he fought with his fate.
Then madness took him, and men declare
He mowed in the branches as ape and bear,
And last as a sloth, ere his body failed,
And he hung as a bat in the forks, and wailed,
And sleep the cord of his hands untied,
And he fell, and was caught on the points and died.
 
RHYME a a *
 
"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!"
 
TITLE

RHYME a b a b 
 
The wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on the neck,
 Our hands and scarfs were saffron-dyed for signal of despair,
When we went forth to Paniput to battle with the ~Mlech~, --
 Ere we came back from Paniput and left a kingdom there.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Thrice thirty thousand men were we to force the Jumna fords --
 The hawk-winged horse of Damajee, mailed squadrons of the Bhao,
Stark levies of the southern hills, the Deccan's sharpest swords,
 And he the harlot's traitor son the goatherd Mulhar Rao!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Thrice thirty thousand men were we before the mists had cleared,
 The low white mists of morning heard the war-conch scream and bray;
We called upon Bhowani and we gripped them by the beard,
 We rolled upon them like a flood and washed their ranks away.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
The children of the hills of Khost before our lances ran,
 We drove the black Rohillas back as cattle to the pen;
'Twas then we needed Mulhar Rao to end what we began,
 A thousand men had saved the charge; he fled the field with ten!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
There was no room to clear a sword -- no power to strike a blow,
 For foot to foot, ay, breast to breast, the battle held us fast --
Save where the naked hill-men ran, and stabbing from below
 Brought down the horse and rider and we trampled them and passed.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
To left the roar of musketry rang like a falling flood --
 To right the sunshine rippled red from redder lance and blade --
Above the dark ~Upsaras~* flew, beneath us plashed the blood,
 And, bellying black against the dust, the Bhagwa Jhanda swayed.
  
RHYME a b a b 
 
I saw it fall in smoke and fire, the banner of the Bhao;
 I heard a voice across the press of one who called in vain: --
"Ho! Anand Rao Nimbalkhur, ride!  Get aid of Mulhar Rao!
 Go shame his squadrons into fight -- the Bhao -- the Bhao is slain!"
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Thereat, as when a sand-bar breaks in clotted spume and spray --
 When rain of later autumn sweeps the Jumna water-head,
Before their charge from flank to flank our riven ranks gave way;
 But of the waters of that flood the Jumna fords ran red.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
I held by Scindia, my lord, as close as man might hold;
 A Soobah of the Deccan asks no aid to guard his life;
But Holkar's Horse were flying, and our chiefest chiefs were cold,
 And like a flame among us leapt the long lean Northern knife.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
I held by Scindia -- my lance from butt to tuft was dyed,
 The froth of battle bossed the shield and roped the bridle-chain --
What time beneath our horses' feet a maiden rose and cried,
 And clung to Scindia, and I turned a sword-cut from the twain.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
(He set a spell upon the maid in woodlands long ago,
 A hunter by the Tapti banks she gave him water there:
He turned her heart to water, and she followed to her woe.
 What need had he of Lalun who had twenty maids as fair?)
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Now in that hour strength left my lord; he wrenched his mare aside;
 He bound the girl behind him and we slashed and struggled free.
Across the reeling wreck of strife we rode as shadows ride
 From Paniput to Delhi town, but not alone were we.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
'Twas Lutuf-Ullah Populzai laid horse upon our track,
 A swine-fed reiver of the North that lusted for the maid;
I might have barred his path awhile, but Scindia called me back,
 And  I -- O woe for Scindia! -- I listened and obeyed.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
League after league the formless scrub took shape and glided by --
 League after league the white road swirled behind the white mare's feet --
League after league, when leagues were done, we heard the Populzai,
 Where sure as Time and swift as Death the tireless footfall beat.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Noon's eye beheld that shame of flight, the shadows fell, we fled
 Where steadfast as the wheeling kite he followed in our train;
The black wolf warred where we had warred, the jackal mocked our dead,
 And terror born of twilight-tide made mad the labouring brain.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
I gasped: -- "A kingdom waits my lord; her love is but her own.
 A day shall mar, a day shall cure for her, but what for thee?
Cut loose the girl:  he follows fast.  Cut loose and ride alone!"
 Then Scindia 'twixt his blistered lips: -- "My Queens' Queen shall she be!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
"Of all who ate my bread last night 'twas she alone that came
 To seek her love between the spears and find her crown therein!
One shame is mine to-day, what need the weight of double shame?
 If once we reach the Delhi gate, though all be lost, I win!"
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
We rode -- the white mare failed -- her trot a staggering stumble grew, --
 The cooking-smoke of even rose and weltered and hung low;
And still we heard the Populzai and still we strained anew,
 And Delhi town was very near, but nearer was the foe.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Yea, Delhi town was very near when Lalun whispered: -- "Slay!
 Lord of my life, the mare sinks fast -- stab deep and let me die!"
But Scindia would not, and the maid tore free and flung away,
 And turning as she fell we heard the clattering Populzai.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Then Scindia checked the gasping mare that rocked and groaned for breath,
 And wheeled to charge and plunged the knife a hand's-breadth in her side --
The hunter and the hunted know how that last pause is death --
 The blood had chilled about her heart, she reared and fell and died.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Our Gods were kind.  Before he heard the maiden's piteous scream
 A log upon the Delhi road, beneath the mare he lay --
Lost mistress and lost battle passed before him like a dream;
 The darkness closed about his eyes -- I bore my King away.
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a 
 
Boh Da Thone was a warrior bold:
His sword and his Snider were bossed with gold,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And the Peacock Banner his henchmen bore
Was stiff with bullion, but stiffer with gore.
 
RHYME a a 
 
He shot at the strong and he slashed at the weak
From the Salween scrub to the Chindwin teak:
 
RHYME a a 
 
He crucified noble, he sacrificed mean,
He filled old ladies with kerosene:
 
RHYME a a 
 
While over the water the papers cried,
"The patriot fights for his countryside!"
 
RHYME a a 
 
But little they cared for the Native Press,
The worn white soldiers in Khaki dress,
 
RHYME a a 
 
Who tramped through the jungle and camped in the byre,
Who died in the swamp and were tombed in the mire,
 
RHYME a a 
 
Who gave up their lives, at the Queen's Command,
For the Pride of their Race and the Peace of the Land.
 
RHYME a a 
 
Now, first of the foemen of Boh Da Thone
Was Captain O'Neil of the "Black Tyrone",
 
RHYME a a 
 
And his was a Company, seventy strong,
Who hustled that dissolute Chief along.
 
RHYME a a 
 
There were lads from Galway and Louth and Meath
Who went to their death with a joke in their teeth,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And worshipped with fluency, fervour, and zeal
The mud on the boot-heels of "Crook" O'Neil.
 
RHYME a a 
 
But ever a blight on their labours lay,
And ever their quarry would vanish away,
 
RHYME a a 
 
Till the sun-dried boys of the Black Tyrone
Took a brotherly interest in Boh Da Thone:
 
RHYME a a 
 
And, sooth, if pursuit in possession ends,
The Boh and his trackers were best of friends.
 
RHYME a a 
 
The word of a scout -- a march by night --
A rush through the mist -- a scattering fight --
 
RHYME a a 
 
A volley from cover -- a corpse in the clearing --
The glimpse of a loin-cloth and heavy jade earring --
 
RHYME a a 
 
The flare of a village -- the tally of slain --
And. . .the Boh was abroad "on the raid" again!
 
RHYME a a 
 
They cursed their luck, as the Irish will,
They gave him credit for cunning and skill,
 
RHYME a a 
 
They buried their dead, they bolted their beef,
And started anew on the track of the thief
 
RHYME a a 
 
Till, in place of the "Kalends of Greece", men said,
"When Crook and his darlings come back with the head."
 
RHYME a a 
 
They had hunted the Boh from the hills to the plain --
He doubled and broke for the hills again:
 
RHYME a a 
 
They had crippled his power for rapine and raid,
They had routed him out of his pet stockade,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And at last, they came, when the Day Star tired,
To a camp deserted -- a village fired.
 
RHYME a a 
 
A black cross blistered the Morning-gold,
And the body upon it was stark and cold.
 
RHYME a a 
 
The wind of the dawn went merrily past,
The high grass bowed her plumes to the blast.
 
RHYME a a 
 
And out of the grass, on a sudden, broke
A spirtle of fire, a whorl of smoke --
 
RHYME a a a 

And Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone
Was blessed with a slug in the ulnar-bone --
The gift of his enemy Boh Da Thone.
 
RHYME a a 

(Now a slug that is hammered from telegraph-wire
Is a thorn in the flesh and a rankling fire.)
 
RHYME a a 
 
The shot-wound festered -- as shot-wounds may
In a steaming barrack at Mandalay.
 
RHYME a a 
 
The left arm throbbed, and the Captain swore,
"I'd like to be after the Boh once more!"
 
RHYME a a 
 
The fever held him -- the Captain said,
"I'd give a hundred to look at his head!"
 
RHYME a a 
 
The Hospital punkahs creaked and whirred,
But Babu Harendra (Gomashta) heard.
 
RHYME a a 
 
He thought of the cane-brake, green and dank,
That girdled his home by the Dacca tank.
 
RHYME a a 
 
He thought of his wife and his High School son,
He thought -- but abandoned the thought -- of a gun.
 
RHYME a a 
 
His sleep was broken by visions dread
Of a shining Boh with a silver head.
 
RHYME a a 
 
He kept his counsel and went his way,
And swindled the cartmen of half their pay.
  
RHYME a a 
 
And the months went on, as the worst must do,
And the Boh returned to the raid anew.
 
RHYME a a 
 
But the Captain had quitted the long-drawn strife,
And in far Simoorie had taken a wife.
 
RHYME a a 
 
And she was a damsel of delicate mould,
With hair like the sunshine and heart of gold,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And little she knew the arms that embraced
Had cloven a man from the brow to the waist:
 
RHYME a a 
 
And little she knew that the loving lips
Had ordered a quivering life's eclipse,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And the eye that lit at her lightest breath
Had glared unawed in the Gates of Death.
 
RHYME a a 
 
(For these be matters a man would hide,
As a general rule, from an innocent Bride.)
 
RHYME a a 
 
And little the Captain thought of the past,
And, of all men, Babu Harendra last.
  
RHYME a a 
 
But slow, in the sludge of the Kathun road,
The Government Bullock Train toted its load.
 
RHYME a a 
 
Speckless and spotless and shining with ~ghee~,
In the rearmost cart sat the Babu-jee.
 
RHYME a a 
 
And ever a phantom before him fled
Of a scowling Boh with a silver head.
 
RHYME a a 
 
Then the lead-cart stuck, though the coolies slaved,
And the cartmen flogged and the escort raved;
 
RHYME a a 
 
And out of the jungle, with yells and squeals,
Pranced Boh Da Thone, and his gang at his heels!
 
RHYME a a 
 
Then belching blunderbuss answered back
The Snider's snarl and the carbine's crack,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And the blithe revolver began to sing
To the blade that twanged on the locking-ring,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And the brown flesh blued where the bay'net kissed,
As the steel shot back with a wrench and a twist,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And the great white bullocks with onyx eyes
Watched the souls of the dead arise,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And over the smoke of the fusillade
The Peacock Banner staggered and swayed.
 
RHYME a a 
 
Oh, gayest of scrimmages man may see
Is a well-worked rush on the G.B.T.!
 
RHYME a a 
 
The Babu shook at the horrible sight,
And girded his ponderous loins for flight,
 
RHYME a a 
 
But Fate had ordained that the Boh should start
On a lone-hand raid of the rearmost cart,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And out of that cart, with a bellow of woe,
The Babu fell -- flat on the top of the Boh!
 
RHYME a a 
 
For years had Harendra served the State,
To the growth of his purse and the girth of his ~p]^et~.
 
RHYME a a 
 
There were twenty stone, as the tally-man knows,
On the broad of the chest of this best of Bohs.
 
RHYME a a 
 
And twenty stone from a height discharged
Are bad for a Boh with a spleen enlarged.
 
RHYME a a 
 
Oh, short was the struggle -- severe was the shock --
He dropped like a bullock -- he lay like a block;
 
RHYME a a 
 
And the Babu above him, convulsed with fear,
Heard the labouring life-breath hissed out in his ear.
 
RHYME a a 
 
And thus in a fashion undignified
The princely pest of the Chindwin died.
 
RHYME a a 
 
Turn now to Simoorie where, lapped in his ease,
The Captain is petting the Bride on his knees,
 
RHYME a a 
 
Where the ~whit~ of the bullet, the wounded man's scream
Are mixed as the mist of some devilish dream --
 
RHYME a a 
 
Forgotten, forgotten the sweat of the shambles
Where the hill-daisy blooms and the gray monkey gambols,
 
RHYME a a 
 
From the sword-belt set free and released from the steel,
The Peace of the Lord is with Captain O'Neil.
 
RHYME a a 
 
Up the hill to Simoorie -- most patient of drudges --
The bags on his shoulder, the mail-runner trudges.
 
RHYME a a 
 
"For Captain O'Neil, ~Sahib~.  One hundred and ten
Rupees to collect on delivery."     Then
 
RHYME a a 
 
(Their breakfast was stopped while the screw-jack and hammer
Tore waxcloth, split teak-wood, and chipped out the dammer;)
 
RHYME a a 
 
Open-eyed, open-mouthed, on the napery's snow,
With a crash and a thud, rolled -- the Head of the Boh!
 
RHYME a a 
 
And gummed to the scalp was a letter which ran: --
   "IN FIELDING FORCE SERVICe    ~Encampment~, 10th Jan.
 
RHYME a a 
 
"Dear Sir, -- I have honour to send, ~as you said~,
For final approval (see under) Boh's Head;
 
RHYME a a 
 
"Was took by myself in most bloody affair.
By High Education brought pressure to bear.
 
RHYME a a 
 
"Now violate Liberty, time being bad,
To mail V.P.P. (rupees hundred)  Please add
 
RHYME a a 
 
"Whatever Your Honour can pass.  Price of Blood
Much cheap at one hundred, and children want food;
 
RHYME a a 
 
"So trusting Your Honour will somewhat retain
True love and affection for Govt. Bullock Train,
  
RHYME a a 
 
As the rabbit is drawn to the rattlesnake's power,
As the smoker's eye fills at the opium hour,
 
RHYME a a 
 
As a horse reaches up to the manger above,
As the waiting ear yearns for the whisper of love,
 
RHYME a a 
 
From the arms of the Bride, iron-visaged and slow,
The Captain bent down to the Head of the Boh.
 
RHYME a a 
 
And e'en as he looked on the Thing where It lay
'Twixt the winking new spoons and the napkins' array,
 
RHYME a a 
 
The freed mind fled back to the long-ago days --
The hand-to-hand scuffle -- the smoke and the blaze --
 
RHYME a a 
 
The forced march at night and the quick rush at dawn --
The banjo at twilight, the burial ere morn --
 
RHYME a a 
 
The stench of the marshes -- the raw, piercing smell
When the overhand stabbing-cut silenced the yell --
 
RHYME a a 
 
The oaths of his Irish that surged when they stood
Where the black crosses hung o'er the Kuttamow flood.
 
RHYME a a 
 
As a derelict ship drifts away with the tide
The Captain went out on the Past from his Bride,
 
RHYME a a 
 
Back, back, through the springs to the chill of the year,
When he hunted the Boh from Maloon to Tsaleer.
 
RHYME a a 
 
As the shape of a corpse dimmers up through deep water,
In his eye lit the passionless passion of slaughter,
 
RHYME a a 
 
And men who had fought with O'Neil for the life
Had gazed on his face with less dread than his wife.
 
RHYME a a 
 
For she who had held him so long could not hold him --
Though a four-month Eternity should have controlled him --
 
RHYME a a 
 
But watched the twin Terror -- the head turned to head --
The scowling, scarred Black, and the flushed savage Red --
 
RHYME a a 
 
The spirit that changed from her knowing and flew to
Some grim hidden Past she had never a clue to.
 
RHYME a a 
 
But It knew as It grinned, for he touched it unfearing,
And muttered aloud, "So you kept that jade earring!"
 
RHYME a a 
 
Then nodded, and kindly, as friend nods to friend,
"Old man, you fought well, but you lost in the end."
 
RHYME a a 
 
The visions departed, and Shame followed Passion: --
"He took what I said in this horrible fashion,
 
RHYME a a 
 
"~I'll~ write to Harendra!"  With language unsainted
The Captain came back to the Bride. . .who had fainted. 
 
RHYME a a 
 
And this is a fiction?  No.  Go to Simoorie
And look at their baby, a twelve-month old Houri,
 
RHYME a a 
 
A pert little, Irish-eyed Kathleen Mavournin --
She's always about on the Mall of a mornin' --
 
RHYME a a 
 
And you'll see, if her right shoulder-strap is displaced,
This:  ~Gules~ upon ~argent~, a Boh's Head, ~erased!~
  
TITLE

RHYME a b a b   
 
O woe is me for the merry life
 I led beyond the Bar,
And a treble woe for my winsome wife
 That weeps at Shalimar.
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
They have taken away my long jezail,
 My shield and sabre fine,
And heaved me into the Central jail
 For lifting of the kine.
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
The steer may low within the byre,
 The Jat may tend his grain,
But there'll be neither loot nor fire
 Till I come back again.
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
And God have mercy on the Jat
 When once my fetters fall,
And Heaven defend the farmer's hut
 When I am loosed from thrall.
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
It's woe to bend the stubborn back
 Above the grinching quern,
It's woe to hear the leg-bar clack
 And jingle when I turn!
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
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.
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
For every cow I spared before
 In charity set free,
If I may reach my hold once more
 I'll reive an honest three.
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
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!
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
Ride hard, ride hard to Abazai,
 Young ~Sahib~ with the yellow hair --
Lie close, lie close as khuttucks lie,
 Fat herds below Bonair!
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
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.
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
'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.
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
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!
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a * 
 
   . . . 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 Solway Firth to Skye,
And one was Lord of the Wessex coast and all the lands thereby,
And one was Master of the Thames from Limehouse to Blackwall,
And he was Captain of the Fleet -- the bravest of them all.
Their good guns guarded their great 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.
"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.

RHYME a a * 
 
He spoke of the Law as he crimped my crew -- he swore it was only a loan;
But when I would ask for my own again, he swore it was none of my own.
He has taken my little parrakeets that nest beneath the Line,
He has stripped my rails of the shaddock-frails and the green unripened pine;
He has taken my bale of dammer and spice I won beyond the seas,
He has taken my grinning heathen gods -- and what should he want o' these?
My foremast would not mend his boom, my deckhouse patch his boats;
He has whittled the two, this Yank Yahoo, to peddle for shoe-peg 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;

RHYME a a * 
 
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 tasselled his beard i' the mesh,
And spitted his crew on the live bamboo that grows through the gangrened flesh;
I had hove him down by the mangroves brown, where the mud-reef sucks and draws,
Moored by the heel to his own keel to wait for the land-crab's claws!
He is lazar within and lime without, ye can nose him far enow,
For he carries the taint of a musky ship -- the reek of the slaver's dhow!"

RHYME a a * 
 
The skipper looked at the tiering guns and the bulwarks tall and cold,
And the Captains Three full courteously peered down at the gutted hold,
And the Captains Three called courteously from deck to scuttle-butt: --
"Good Sir, we ha' dealt with that merchantman or ever your teeth were cut.
Your words be words of a lawless race, and the Law it standeth thus:
He comes of a race that have never a Law, and he never has boarded us.
We ha' sold him canvas and rope and spar -- we know that his price is fair,
And we know that he weeps for the lack of a Law as he rides off Finisterre.
And since he is damned for a gallows-thief by you and better than you,
We hold it meet that the English fleet should know that we hold him true."
The skipper called to the tall taffrail: -- "And what is that to me?
Did ever you hear of a Yankee brig that rifled a Seventy-three?

RHYME a a * 
 
Do I loom so large from your quarter-deck that I lift like a ship o' the Line?
He has learned to run from a shotted gun and harry such craft as mine.
There is never a Law on the Cocos Keys to hold a white man in,
But we do not steal the niggers' meal, for that is a nigger's sin.
Must he have his Law as a quid to chaw, or laid in brass on his wheel?
Does he steal with tears when he buccaneers? 'Fore Gad, then, why does he steal?"
The skipper bit on a deep-sea word, and the word it was not sweet,
For he could see the Captains Three had signalled to the Fleet.

RHYME a a * 
 
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 honour warm."
The halliards twanged against the tops, the bunting bellied broad,
The skipper spat in the empty hold and mourned for a wasted cord.

RHYME a a * 
 
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:

RHYME a a * 
 
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 dipsey-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!"
 
TITLE

RHYME a b c c b 

 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.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

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 stanchions free
 In the wash of the wind-whipped tide.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

"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."
 
RHYME a b c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

"Captain, the turret fills with steam,
 The feed-pipes burst below --
You can hear the hiss of the helpless ram,
You can hear the twisted runners jam."
 And he answered, "Turn and go!"
 
RHYME a b c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

"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."
 
RHYME a b c c b 

"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?"
 
RHYME a b c c b 

It was our war-ship ~Clampherdown~
 That carried an armour-belt;
But fifty feet at stern and bow
Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow,
 To the hail of the ~Nordenfeldt~.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

"Captain, they hack 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."
 
RHYME a b c c b 

It was our war-ship ~Clampherdown~,
 Swung round upon the tide,
Her two dumb guns glared south and north,
And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth,
 And she ground the cruiser's side.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

"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!"
 
RHYME a b c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

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.
 
RHYME a b c c b 

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.
 
TITLE

RHYME a a b b 
 
     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!
 
RHYME a b a b

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.

RHYME a a b b 
 
    Racketing her rivets loose, smoke-stack white as snow,
    All the coals adrift adeck, half the rails below,
    Leaking like a lobster-pot, steering like a dray --
    Out we took the ~Bolivar~, out across the Bay!
 
RHYME a b a b

One by one the Lights came up, winked and let us by;
 Mile by mile we waddled on, coal and fo'c'sle short;
Met a blow that laid us down, heard a bulkhead fly;
 Left the ~Wolf~ behind us with a two-foot list to port.

RHYME a a b b 

    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!
 
RHYME a b a b

'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 hud keep his thumb on the plummer-block.

RHYME a a b b 

    Banged against the iron decks, bilges choked with coal;
    Flayed and frozen foot and hand, sick of heart and soul;
    Last we prayed she'd buck herself into judgment Day --
    Hi! we cursed the ~Bolivar~ knocking round the Bay!
 
RHYME a b a b

O 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.

RHYME a a b b 

    Aching for an hour's sleep, dozing off between;
    '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.
 
RHYME a b a b

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 long hotel;
 Cheered her from the ~Bolivar~ swampin' in the sea.

RHYME a a b b 

    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!
 
RHYME a a b b 

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!

RHYME a a b b 

     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?
 
TITLE

RHYME a a *
  
Love and Death once ceased their strife
At the Tavern of Man's Life.
Called for wine, and threw -- alas! --
Each his quiver on the grass.
When the bout was o'er they found
Mingled arrows strewed the ground.
Hastily they gathered then
Each the loves and lives of men.
Ah, the fateful dawn deceived!
Mingled arrows each one sheaved;
Death's dread armoury was stored
With the shafts he most abhorred;
Love's light quiver groaned beneath
Venom-headed darts of Death.
 
RHYME a a a b b 

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?
 
TITLE

RHYME a b c b  
 
The dead child lay in the shroud,
 And the widow watched beside;
And her mother slept, and the Channel swept
 The gale in the teeth of the tide.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
But the mother laughed at all.
 "I have lost my man in the sea,
And the child is dead.  Be still," she said,
 "What more can ye do to me?"
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
The widow watched the dead,
 And the candle guttered low,
And she tried to sing the Passing Song
 That bids the poor soul go.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
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."
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
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."
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
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?"
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
"O feet I have held in my hand,
 O hands at my heart to catch,
How should they know the road to go,
 And how should they lift the latch?"
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
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.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
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.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
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."
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
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?"
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
"The terns are blown inland,
 The gray gull follows the plough.
'Twas never a bird, the voice I heard,
 O mother, I hear it now!"
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
"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."
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
She put her mother aside,
 "In Mary's name let be!
For the peace of my soul I must go," she said,
 And she went to the calling sea.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
In the heel of the wind-bit pier,
 Where the twisted weed was piled,
She came to the life she had missed by an hour,
 For she came to a little child.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
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.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
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!"
 
TITLE

RHYME a a *
 
When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but is it Art?"
 
RHYME a a *
 
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.
 
RHYME a a *
 
They fought and they talked in the North and the South,they talked and they fought in the West,
Till the waters rose on the pitiful land, and the poor Red Clay had rest --
Had rest till that 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?"
 
RHYME a a *
 
They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench the stars apart,
Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks:  "It's striking, but is it Art?"
The stone was dropped at the quarry-side and the idle derrick swung,
While each man talked of the aims of Art, and each in an alien tongue.
 
RHYME a a *
 
The tale is as old as the Eden Tree -- and new as the new-cut tooth --
For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is master of Art and Truth;
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?"
 
RHYME a a *
 
We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the shape of a surplice-peg,
We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the yelk of an addled egg,
We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is drawn by the cart;
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old:  "It's clever, but is it Art?"
 
RHYME a a *
 
When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the Club-room's green and gold,
The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mould --
They scratch with their pens in the mould of their graves, and the ink and the anguish start,
For the Devil mutters behind the leaves:  "It's pretty, but is it Art?"
 
RHYME a a *
 
Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the Four Great Rivers flow,
And the Wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left it long ago,
And if we could come when the sentry slept and softly scurry through,
By the favour of God we might know as much -- as our father Adam knew!
 
TITLE

RHYME a b c b 
 
This is the sorrowful story
 Told when the twilight fails
And the monkeys walk together
 Holding their neighbours' tails: --
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Our fathers lived in the forest,
 Foolish people were they,
They went down to the cornland
 To teach the farmers to play.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Our fathers frisked in the millet,
 Our fathers skipped in the wheat,
Our fathers hung from the branches,
 Our fathers danced in the street.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Then came the terrible farmers,
 Nothing of play they knew,
Only. . .they caught our fathers
 And set them to labour too!
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Set them to work in the cornland
 With ploughs and sickles and flails,
Put them in mud-walled prisons
 And -- cut off their beautiful tails!
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Now, we can watch our fathers,
 Sullen and bowed and old,
Stooping over the millet,
 Sharing the silly mould,
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Driving a foolish furrow,
 Mending a muddy yoke,
Sleeping in mud-walled prisons,
 Steeping their food in smoke.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"We may not speak to our fathers,
 For if the farmers knew
They would come up to the forest
 And set us to labour too."
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
This is the horrible story
 Told as the twilight fails
And the monkeys walk together
 Holding their kinsmen's tails.
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
'Twas when the rain fell steady an' the Ark was pitched an' ready,
 That Noah got his orders for to take the bastes below;
He dragged them all together by the horn an' hide an' feather,
 An' all excipt the Donkey was agreeable to go.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
Thin Noah spoke him fairly, thin talked to him sevarely,
 An' thin he cursed him squarely to the glory av the Lord: --
"Divil take the ass that bred you, and the greater ass that fed you --
 Divil go wid you, ye spalpeen!" an' the Donkey went aboard.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
But the wind was always failin', an' 'twas most onaisy sailin',
 An' the ladies in the cabin couldn't stand the stable air;
An' the bastes betwuxt the hatches, they tuk an' died in batches,
 Till Noah said: -- "There's wan av us that hasn't paid his fare!"
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
For he heard a flusteration 'mid the bastes av all creation --
 The trumpetin' av elephints an' bellowin' av whales;
An' he saw forninst the windy whin he wint to stop the shindy
 The Divil wid a stable-fork bedivillin' their tails.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
The Divil cursed outrageous, but Noah said umbrageous: --
 "To what am I indebted for this tenant-right invasion?"
An' the Divil gave for answer: -- "Evict me if you can, sir,
 For I came in wid the Donkey -- on Your Honour's invitation."
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Winds of the World, give answer!  They are whimpering to and fro --
And what should they know of England who only England know? --
The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag,
They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English Flag!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Must we borrow a clout from the Boer -- to plaster anew with dirt?
An Irish liar's bandage, or an English coward's shirt?
We may not speak of England; her Flag's to sell or share.
What is the Flag of England?  Winds of the World, declare!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
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,
And the liner splits on the ice-field or the Dogger fills with cod.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic night,
The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light:
What is the Flag of England?  Ye have but my bergs to dare,
Ye have but my drifts to conquer.  Go forth, for it is there!"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"I have wrenched it free from the halliard to hang for a wisp on the Horn;
I have chased it north to the Lizard -- ribboned and rolled and torn;
I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea;
I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"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!"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
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!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"Never the lotus closes, never the wild-fowl wake,
But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England's sake --
Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid --
Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"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!"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day,
I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away,
First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky,
Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it -- the frozen dews have kissed --
The naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the mist.
What is the Flag of England?  Ye have but my breath to dare,
Ye have but my waves to conquer.  Go forth, for it is there!"
 
TITLE

RHYME a a * 
 
Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,
Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt!
From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song,
The honourable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime beneath the surgeon's knife,
The honourable gentlemen 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!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Cleared in the face of all mankind beneath the winking skies,
Like ph]oenixes from Ph]oenix Park (and what lay there) they rise!
Go shout it to the emerald seas -- give word to Erin now,
Her honourable gentlemen are cleared -- and this is how: --
 
RHYME a a * 
 
They only paid the Moonlighter his cattle-hocking price,
They only helped the murderer with counsel's best advice,
But -- sure it keeps their honour white -- the learned Court believes
They never gave a piece of plate to murderers and thieves.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
They never told the ramping crowd to card a woman's hide,
They never marked a man for death -- what fault of theirs he died? --
They only said "intimidate", and talked and went away --
By God, the boys that did the work were braver men than they!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Their sin it was that fed the fire -- small blame to them that heard --
The "bhoys" get drunk on rhetoric, and madden at a 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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of jail,
They only fawned for dollars on the blood-dyed Clanna-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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"Cleared", honourable gentlemen!  Be thankful it's no more: --
The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at your door.
On you the shame of open shame, on you from North to South
The hand of every honest man flat-heeled across your mouth.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"Less black than we were painted"? -- Faith, no word of black was said;
The lightest touch was human blood, and that, you 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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Hold up those hands of innocence -- go, scare your sheep together,
The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the old bell-wether;
And if they snuff the taint and break to find another pen,
Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them yours again!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"Our friends believe"? -- Of course they do -- as sheltered women may;
But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped from the quivering clay?
They! -- If their own front door is shut,  they'll swear the whole world's warm;
What do they know of dread of death or hanging fear of harm?
 
RHYME a a * 
 
The secret half a county keeps, the whisper in the lane,
The shriek that tells the shot went home behind the broken pane,
The dry blood crisping in the sun that scares the honest bees,
And shows the "bhoys" have heard your talk -- what do they know of these?
 
RHYME a a * 
 
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!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
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.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Cleared -- you that "lost" the League accounts -- go, guard our honour still,
Go, help to make our country's laws that broke God's law at will --
One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal "strike again";
The other on your dress-shirt-front to show your heart is clane.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
If black is black or white is white, in black and white it's down,
You're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown.
If print is print or words are words, the learned Court perpends: --
We are not ruled by murderers, but only -- by their friends.
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed,
To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak in their need,
He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and pant, and sweat,
That the straw might be counted fairly and the tally of bricks be set.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
The Lords of Their Hands assembled; from the East and the West they drew --
Baltimore, Lille, and Essen, Brummagem, Clyde, and Crewe.
And some were black from the furnace, and some were brown from the soil,
And some were blue from the dye-vat; but all were wearied of toil.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
And the young King said: -- "I have found it, the road to the rest ye seek:
The strong shall wait for the weary, the hale shall halt for the weak;
With the even tramp of an army where no man breaks from the line,
Ye shall march to peace and plenty in the bond of brotherhood -- sign!"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
The paper lay on the table, the strong heads bowed thereby,
And a wail went up from the peoples: -- "Ay, sign -- give rest, for we die!"
A hand was stretched to the goose-quill, a fist was cramped to scrawl,
When -- the laugh of a blue-eyed maiden ran clear through the council-hall.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
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: --
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"There's a girl in Jersey City who works on the telephone;
We're going to hitch our horses and dig for a house of our own,
With gas and water connections, and steam-heat through to the top;
And, W. Hohenzollern, I guess I shall work till I drop."
 
RHYME a a * 
 
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 be damned if I will!"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
And over the German benches the bearded whisper ran: --
"Lager, der girls und der dollars, dey makes or dey breaks a man.
If Schmitt haf collared der dollars, he collars der girl deremit;
But if Schmitt bust in der pizness, we collars der girl from Schmitt."
 
RHYME a a * 
 
They passed one resolution: -- "Your sub-committee believe
You can lighten the curse of Adam when you've lightened the curse of Eve.
But till we are built like angels, with hammer and chisel and pen,
We will work for ourself and a woman, for ever and ever, amen."
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser held --
The day that they razored the Grindstone, the day that the Cat was belled,
The day of the Figs from Thistles, the day of the Twisted Sands,
The day that the laugh of a maiden made light of the Lords of Their Hands.
 
TITLE

RHYME a a * 
 
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.
"O I have a friend on earth," he said, "that was my priest and guide,
And well would he answer all for me if he were by my side."
-- "For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall be written fair,
But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in Berkeley Square:

RHYME a a * 
 
Though we called your friend from his bed this night,  he could not speak for you,
For the race is run by one and one and never by two and two."
Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain was there,
For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw that his soul was bare:
The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife,
And Tomlinson took up his tale and spoke of his good in life.
"This I have read in a book," he said, "and that was told to me,
And this I have thought that another man thought of a Prince in Muscovy."
The good souls flocked like homing doves and bade him clear the path,
And Peter twirled the jangling keys in weariness and wrath.

RHYME a a * 
 
"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?"
Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and little good it bore,
For the Darkness stayed at his shoulder-blade and Heaven's Gate before: --
"O 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."

RHYME a a * 
 
-- "Ye have read, ye have felt, ye have guessed, good lack! Ye have hampered Heaven's Gate;
There's little room between the stars in idleness to prate!
O none may reach by hired speech of neighbour, priest, and kin
Through borrowed deed to God's good meed that lies so fair within;
Get hence, get hence to the Lord of Wrong, for doom has yet to run,
And. . .the faith that ye share with Berkeley Square uphold you, Tomlinson!"
 
 RHYME a a * 
 
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.
The Wind that blows between the worlds, it nipped him to the bone,
And he yearned to the flare of Hell-Gate  there as the light of his own hearth-stone.

RHYME a a * 
 
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.
"O 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."

RHYME a a * 
 
-- "All that ye did in love forbid it shall be written fair,
But now ye wait at Hell-Mouth Gate and not in Berkeley Square:
Though we whistled your love from her bed to-night, I trow she would not run,
For the sin ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one!"
The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife,
And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sin in life: --
"Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice at the grip of the Grave,
And thrice I ha' patted my God on the head that men might call me brave."
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?

RHYME a a * 
 
I see no worth in the hobnailed mirth or the jolthead jest ye did
That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleeping three on a grid."
Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and there was little grace,
For Hell-Gate filled the houseless Soul with the Fear of Naked Space.
"Nay, this I ha' heard," quo'  Tomlinson, "and this was noised abroad,
And this I ha' got from a Belgian book on the word of a dead French lord."
-- "Ye ha' heard, ye ha' read, ye ha' got, good lack! and the tale begins afresh --
Have ye sinned one sin for the pride o' the eye  or the sinful lust of the flesh?"
Then Tomlinson he gripped the bars and yammered, "Let me in --
For I mind that I borrowed my neighbour's wife to sin the deadly sin."
The Devil he grinned behind the bars, and banked the fires high:
"Did ye read of that sin in a book?" said he; and Tomlinson said, "Ay!"
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,

RHYME a a * 
 
Over the coal they chased the Soul, and racked it all abroad,
As children rifle a caddis-case or the raven's foolish hoard.
And back they came with the tattered Thing, as children after play,
And they said:  "The soul that he got from God he has bartered clean away.
We have threshed a stook of print and book, and winnowed a chattering wind
And many a soul wherefrom he stole, but his we cannot find:
We have handled him, we have dandled him, we have seared him to the bone,
And sure if tooth and nail show truth he has no soul of his own."
The Devil he bowed his head on his breast and rumbled deep and low: --
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should bid him go.
Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him place,
My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to my face;

RHYME a a * 
 
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,

RHYME a a * 
 
And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord alone.
But sinful pride has rule inside -- and mightier than my own.
Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his priest and whore:
Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd torture sore.
Ye are neither spirit nor spirk," he said; "ye are neither book nor brute --
Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of Man's repute.
I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock your pain,
But look that ye win to worthier sin ere ye come back again.

RHYME a a * 
 
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!"
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
My new-cut ashlar takes the light
 Where crimson-blank the windows flare;
By my own work, before the night,
 Great Overseer I make my prayer.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
If there be good in that I wrought,
 Thy hand compelled it, Master, Thine;
Where I have failed to meet Thy thought
 I know, through Thee, the blame is mine.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
One instant's toil to Thee denied
 Stands all Eternity's offence,
Of that I did with Thee to guide
 To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
 Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain,
Godlike to muse o'er his own trade
 And Manlike stand with God again.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
The depth and dream of my desire,
 The bitter paths wherein I stray,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
 Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
One stone the more swings to her place
 In that dread Temple of Thy Worth --
It is enough that through Thy grace
 I saw naught common on Thy earth.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Take not that vision from my ken;
 Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed,
Help me to need no aid from men
 That I may help such men as need!
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a b c b *
  
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
 And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing: -- "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,
 And your English summer's done."
    You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
    And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
    You have heard the song -- how long! how long?
    Pull out on the trail again!
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
   Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
   We've seen the seasons through,
   And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
   Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun,
 Or South to the blind Horn's hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
 Or West to the Golden Gate;
    Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
    And the wildest tales are true,
    And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
    And life runs large on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
The days are sick and cold, and the skies are gray and old,
 And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;
And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll
 Of a black Bilbao tramp;
    With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,
    And a drunken Dago crew,
    And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail
    From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,
 Or the way of a man with a maid;
But the fairest way to me is a ship's upon the sea
 In the heel of the North-East Trade.
    Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass,
    And the drum of the racing screw,
    As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
    As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new?
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,
 And the fenders grind and heave,
And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,
 And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;
    It's "Gang-plank up and in," dear lass,
    It's "Hawsers warp her through!"
    And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
    We're backing down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,
 And the sirens hoot their dread!
When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless viewless deep
 To the sob of the questing lead!
    It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,
    With the Gunfleet Sands in view,
    Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail,      our own trail, the out trail,
    And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail --     the trail that is always new.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light
 That holds the hot sky tame,
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered floors
 Where the scared whale flukes in flame!
    Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
    And her ropes are taut with the dew,
    For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
    We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,
 And the shouting seas drive by,
And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,
 And the Southern Cross rides high!
    Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,
    That blaze in the velvet blue.
    They're all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
    They're God's own guides on the Long Trail --      the trail that is always new.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start --
 We're steaming all-too slow,
And it's twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle
 Where the trumpet-orchids blow!
    You have heard the call of the off-shore wind,
    And the voice of the deep-sea rain;
    You have heard the song -- how long! how long?
    Pull out on the trail again!
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
   The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,
   And The Deuce knows what we may do --
   But we're back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
   We're down, hull down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a b a b
 
     The Cities are full of pride,
      Challenging each to each --
     This from her mountain-side,
      That from her burthened beach.
 
RHYME a b a b a b 

     They count their ships full tale --
      Their corn and oil and wine,
     Derrick and loom and bale,
      And rampart's gun-flecked line;
     City by City they hail:
      "Hast aught to match with mine?"

RHYME a b a b 

     And the men that breed from them
      They traffic up and down,
     But cling to their cities' hem
      As a child to their mother's gown.
 
RHYME a b a b a b 

     When they talk with the stranger bands,
      Dazed and newly alone;
     When they walk in the stranger lands,
      By roaring streets unknown;
     Blessing her where she stands
      For strength above their own.
 
RHYME a b a b a b 

     (On high to hold her fame
      That stands all fame beyond,
     By oath to back the same,
      Most faithful-foolish-fond;
     Making her mere-breathed name
      Their bond upon their bond.)
 
RHYME a b a b a b 

     So thank I God my birth
      Fell not in isles aside --
     Waste headlands of the earth,
      Or warring tribes untried --
     But that she lent me worth
      And gave me right to pride.
 
RHYME a b a b 

     Surely in toil or fray
      Under an alien sky,
     Comfort it is to say:
      "Of no mean city am I!"
 
RHYME a b a b a b 

     (Neither by service nor fee
      Come I to mine estate --
     Mother of Cities to me,
      For I was born in her gate,
     Between the palms and the sea,
      Where the world-end steamers wait.)
 
RHYME a b a b 

     Now for this debt I owe,
      And for her far-borne cheer
     Must I make haste and go
      With tribute to her pier.
 
RHYME a b a b c d d c 

     And she shall touch and remit
      After the use of kings
     (Orderly, ancient, fit)
      My deep-sea plunderings,
     And purchase in all lands.
      And this we do for a sign
     Her power is over mine,
      And mine I hold at her hands!
 
RHYME a b c c b  
 
     Fair is our lot -- O goodly is our heritage!
     (Humble ye, my people, and be fearful in your mirth!)
      For the Lord our God Most High
      He hath made the deep as dry,
     He hath smote for us a pathway to the ends of all the Earth!
 
RHYME a b c c b 

     Yea, though we sinned -- and our rulers went from righteousness --
     Deep in all dishonour though we stained our garments' hem.
      Oh be ye not dismayed,
      Though we stumbled and we strayed,
     We were led by evil counsellors -- the Lord shall deal with them!
 
RHYME a b c c b 

     Hold ye the Faith -- the Faith our Fathers seal]\ed us;
     Whoring not with visions -- overwise and overstale.
      Except ye pay the Lord
      Single heart and single sword,
     Of your children in their bondage shall He ask them treble-tale!
 
RHYME a b c c b 

     Keep ye the Law -- be swift in all obedience --
     Clear the land of evil, drive the road and bridge the ford.
      Make ye sure to each his own
      That he reap where he hath sown;
     By the peace among Our peoples let men know we serve the Lord!
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
     Hear now a song -- a song of broken interludes --
     A song of little cunning; of a singer nothing worth.
      Through the naked words and mean
      May ye see the truth between
     As the singer knew and touched it in the ends of all the Earth!
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
Our brows are bound with spindrift and the weed is on our knees;
Our loins are battered 'neath us by the swinging, smoking seas.
From reef and rock and skerry -- over headland, ness, and voe --
The Coastwise Lights of England watch the ships of England go!
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
Through the endless summer evenings, on the lineless, level floors;
Through the yelling Channel tempest when the siren hoots and roars --
By day the dipping house-flag and by night the rocket's trail --
As the sheep that graze behind us so we know them where they hail.
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
We bridge across the dark and bid the helmsman have a care,
The flash that wheeling inland wakes his sleeping wife to prayer;
From our vexed eyries, head to gale, we bind in burning chains
The lover from the sea-rim drawn -- his love in English lanes.
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
We greet the clippers wing-and-wing that race the Southern wool;
We warn the crawling cargo-tanks of Bremen, Leith, and Hull;
To each and all our equal lamp at peril of the sea --
The white wall-sided war-ships or the whalers of Dundee!
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
Come up, come in from Eastward, from the guardports of the Morn!
Beat up, beat in from Southerly, O gipsies of the Horn!
Swift shuttles of an Empire's loom that weave us, main to main,
The Coastwise Lights of England give you welcome back again!
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
Go, get you gone up-Channel with the sea-crust on your plates;
Go, get you into London with the burden of your freights!
Haste, for they talk of Empire there, and say, if any seek,
The Lights of England sent you and by silence shall ye speak!
 
TITLE

RHYME a a b c b 
 
     Hear now the Song of the Dead -- in the North by the torn berg-edges --
     They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped sledges.
     Song of the Dead in the South -- in the sun by their skeleton horses,
     Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust
       of the sear river-courses.
 
RHYME a a *
 
We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town;
We yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange roads go down.
Came the Whisper, came the Vision, came the Power with the Need,
Till the Soul that is not man's soul was lent us to lead.
As the deer breaks -- as the steer breaks -- from the herd where they graze,
In the faith of little children we went on our ways.
Then the wood failed -- then the food failed -- then the last water dried --
In the faith of little children we lay down and died.
On the sand-drift -- on the veldt-side -- in the fern-scrub we lay,
That our sons might follow after by the bones on the way.
Follow after -- follow after!  We have watered the root,
And the bud has come to blossom that ripens for fruit!
Follow after -- we are waiting, by the trails that we lost,
For the sounds of many footsteps, for the tread of a host.
Follow after -- follow after -- for the harvest is sown:
By the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your own!
 
RHYME a b c a b 

     When Drake went down to the Horn
      And England was crowned thereby,
     'Twixt seas unsailed and shores unhailed
      Our Lodge -- our Lodge was born
      (And England was crowned thereby!)
 
RHYME a b c a b 

     Which never shall close again
      By day nor yet by night,
     While man shall take his life to stake
      At risk of shoal or main
      (By day nor yet by night).
 
RHYME a b c a b 

     But standeth even so
      As now we witness here,
     While men depart, of joyful heart,
      Adventure for to know
      (As now bear witness here!)
 
TITLE

RHYME a a b b  
 
The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar --
Down to the dark, to the utter dark, where the blind white sea-snakes are.
There is no sound, no echo of sound, in the deserts of the deep,
Or the great gray level plains of ooze where the shell-burred cables creep.
 
RHYME a b a b 

Here in the womb of the world -- here on the tie-ribs of earth
 Words, and the words of men, flicker and flutter and beat --
Warning, sorrow and gain, salutation and mirth --
 For a Power troubles the Still that has neither voice nor feet.

RHYME a b a b 

They have wakened the timeless Things; they have killed their father Time;
 Joining hands in the gloom, a league from the last of the sun.
Hush!  Men talk to-day o'er the waste of the ultimate slime,
 And a new Word runs between:  whispering, "Let us be one!"
 
 
TITLE

RHYME a a *
 
One from the ends of the earth -- gifts at an open door --
Treason has much, but we, Mother, thy sons have more!
From the whine of a dying man, from the snarl of a wolf-pack freed,
Turn, and the world is thine.  Mother, be proud of thy seed!
Count, are we feeble or few?  Hear, is our speech so rude?
Look, are we poor in the land?  Judge, are we men of The Blood?
 
RHYME a a *
 
Those that have stayed at thy knees, Mother, go call them in --
We that were bred overseas wait and would speak with our kin.
Not in the dark do we fight -- haggle and flout and gibe;
Selling our love for a price, loaning our hearts for a bribe.
Gifts have we only to-day -- Love without promise or fee --
Hear, for thy children speak, from the uttermost parts of the sea!
 
TITLE

RHYME a b a b 
 
Royal and Dower-royal, I the Queen
 Fronting thy richest sea with richer hands --
A thousand mills roar through me where I glean
 All races from all lands.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Me the Sea-captain loved, the River built,
 Wealth sought and Kings adventured life to hold.
Hail, England!  I am Asia -- Power on silt,
 Death in my hands, but Gold!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Clive kissed me on the mouth and eyes and brow,
 Wonderful kisses, so that I became
Crowned above Queens -- a withered beldame now,
 Brooding on ancient fame.
 
RHYME a b a b 
  
Hail, Mother!  Do they call me rich in trade?
 Little care I, but hear the shorn priest drone,
And watch my silk-clad lovers, man by maid,
 Laugh 'neath my Shwe Dagon.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Hail, Mother!  East and West must seek my aid
 Ere the spent gear may dare the ports afar.
The second doorway of the wide world's trade
 Is mine to loose or bar.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Hail, Mother!  Hold me fast; my Praya sleeps
  Under innumerable keels to-day.
Yet guard (and landward), or to-morrow sweeps
  Thy war-ships down the bay!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Into the mist my guardian prows put forth,
 Behind the mist my virgin ramparts lie,
The Warden of the Honour of the North,
 Sleepless and veiled am I!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Peace is our portion.  Yet a whisper rose,
 Foolish and causeless, half in jest, half hate.
Now wake we and remember mighty blows,
 And, fearing no man, wait!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
From East to West the circling word has passed,
 Till West is East beside our land-locked blue;
From East to West the tested chain holds fast,
 The well-forged link rings true!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Hail!  Snatched and bartered oft from hand to hand,
 I dream my dream, by rock and heath and pine,
Of Empire to the northward.  Ay, one land
 From Lion's Head to Line!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Greeting!  Nor fear nor favour won us place,
 Got between greed of gold and dread of drouth,
Loud-voiced and reckless as the wild tide-race
 That whips our harbour-mouth!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Greeting!  My birth-stain have I turned to good;
 Forcing strong wills perverse to steadfastness:
The first flush of the tropics in my blood,
 And at my feet Success!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
The northern stirp beneath the southern skies --
 I build a Nation for an Empire's need,
Suffer a little, and my land shall rise,
 Queen over lands indeed!
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Man's love first found me; man's hate made me Hell;
 For my babes' sake I cleansed those infamies.
Earnest for leave to live and labour well,
 God flung me peace and ease.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart --
 On us, on us the unswerving season smiles,
Who wonder 'mid our fern why men depart
 To seek the Happy Isles!

TITLE
 
RHYME a a *
  
Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban;
Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man.
Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare;
Stark as your sons shall be -- stern as your fathers were.
Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether,
But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together.
My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by;
Sons, I have borne many sons, but my dugs are not dry.
Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors,
That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors --
Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas,
Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees! --

RHYME a a *
  
That ye may talk together, brother to brother's face --
Thus for the good of your peoples -- thus for the Pride of the Race.
Also, we will make promise.  So long as The Blood endures,
I shall know that your good is mine:  ye shall feel that my strength is yours:
In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all,
That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall.
Draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands,
And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.
This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom,
This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom.

RHYME a a *
  
The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will,
Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still.
Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you,
After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few.
Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways,
Balking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise.
Stand to your work and be wise -- certain of sword and pen,
Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of men!
 
TITLE

RHYME a a b b  
 
Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found 
Haling her dumb from the camp, took her and bound 
Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved 
Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved 
 
RHYME a a b b  
 
Swift through the forest we ran; none stood to guard 
Few were my people and far; then the flood barred 
Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen.
Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen.
 
RHYME a a b b  
 
Yet ere they came to my lance laid for the slaughter,
Lightly she leaped to a log lapped in the water;
Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed 
Called she the God of the Wind that He should aid 
 
RHYME a a b b  
 
Life had the tree at that word (Praise we the Giver!)
Otter-like left he the bank for the full river.
Far fell their axes behind, flashing and ringing,
Wonder was on me and fear -- yet she was singing!
 
RHYME a a b b  
 
Low lay the land we had left.  Now the blue bound us,
Even the Floor of the Gods level around us.
Whisper there was not, nor word, shadow nor showing,
Till the light stirred on the deep, glowing and growing.
 
RHYME a a b b  
 
Then did He leap to His place flaring from under,
He the Compeller, the Sun, bared to our wonder.
Nay, not a league from our eyes blinded with gazing,
Cleared He the gate of the world, huge and amazing!
 
RHYME a a b b  
 
This we beheld (and we live) -- the Pit of the Burning!
Then the God spoke to the tree for our returning;
Back to the beach of our flight, fearless and slowly,
Back to our slayers went he:  but we were holy.
 
RHYME a a b b  
 
Men that were hot in that hunt, women that followed,
Babes that were promised our bones, trembled and wallowed:
Over the necks of the Tribe crouching and fawning --
Prophet and priestess we came back from the dawning!
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Thus said The Lord in the Vault above the Cherubim
 Calling to the Angels and the Souls in their degree:
  "Lo!  Earth has passed away
  On the smoke of Judgment Day.
 That Our word may be established shall We gather up the sea?"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners:
 "Plague upon the hurricane that made us furl and flee!
  But the war is done between us,
  In the deep the Lord hath seen us --
 Our bones we'll leave the barracout', and God may sink the sea!"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Then said the soul of Judas that betray]\ed Him:
 "Lord, hast Thou forgotten Thy covenant with me?
  How once a year I go
  To cool me on the floe?
 And Ye take my day of mercy if Ye take away the sea!"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Then said the soul of the Angel of the Off-shore Wind:
 (He that bits the thunder when the bull-mouthed breakers flee):
  "I have watch and ward to keep
  O'er Thy wonders on the deep,
 And Ye take mine honour from me if Ye take away the sea!"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners:
 "Nay, but we were angry, and a hasty folk are we!
  If we worked the ship together
  Till she foundered in foul weather,
 Are we babes that we should clamour for a vengeance on the sea?"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Then said the souls of the slaves that men threw overboard:
 "Kennelled in the picaroon a weary band were we;
  But Thy arm was strong to save,
  And it touched us on the wave,
 And we drowsed the long tides idle till Thy Trumpets tore the sea."
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Then cried the soul of the stout Apostle Paul to God:
 "Once we frapped a ship, and she laboured woundily.
  There were fourteen score of these,
  And they blessed Thee on their knees,
 When they learned Thy Grace and Glory under Malta by the sea!"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners,
 Plucking at their harps, and they plucked unhandily:
  "Our thumbs are rough and tarred,
  And the tune is something hard --
 May we lift a Deep-sea Chantey such as seamen use at sea?"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Then said the souls of the gentlemen-adventurers --
 Fettered wrist to bar all for red iniquity:
  "Ho, we revel in our chains
  O'er the sorrow that was Spain's;
 Heave or sink it, leave or drink it, we were masters of the sea!"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Up spake the soul of a gray Gothavn 'speckshioner --
 (He that led the flinching in the fleets of fair Dundee):
  "Oh, the ice-blink white and near,
  And the bowhead breaching clear!
 Will Ye whelm them all for wantonness that wallow in the sea?"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners,
 Crying:  "Under Heaven, here is neither lead nor lee!
  Must we sing for evermore
  On the windless, glassy floor?
 Take back your golden fiddles and we'll beat to open sea!"
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Then stooped the Lord, and He called the good sea up to Him,
 And 'stablished his borders unto all eternity,
  That such as have no pleasure
  For to praise the Lord by measure,
 They may enter into galleons and serve Him on the sea.
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
Sun, wind, and cloud shall fail not from the face of it,
      Stinging, ringing spindrift, nor the fulmar flying free;
       And the ships shall go abroad
       To the Glory of the Lord
      Who heard the silly sailor-folk and gave them back their sea!
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a b c b *  
 
King Solomon drew merchantmen,
 Because of his desire
For peacocks, apes, and ivory,
 From Tarshish unto Tyre:
With cedars out of Lebanon
 Which Hiram rafted down,
But we be only sailormen
 That use in London Town.
 
RHYME a b a b 

     Coastwise -- cross-seas -- round the world and back again --
      Where the flaw shall head us or the full Trade suits --
     Plain-sail -- storm-sail -- lay your board and tack again --
      And that's the way we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots!
 
RHYME a b c b *

We bring no store of ingots,
 Of spice or precious stones,
But that we have we gathered
 With sweat and aching bones:
In flame beneath the tropics,
 In frost upon the floe,
And jeopardy of every wind
 That does between them go.
 
RHYME a b c b *

And some we got by purchase,
 And some we had by trade,
And some we found by courtesy
 Of pike and carronade --
At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings,
 For charity to keep,
And light the rolling homeward-bound
 That rode a foot too deep.
 
RHYME a b c b *

By sport of bitter weather
 We're walty, strained, and scarred
From the kentledge on the kelson
 To the slings upon the yard.
Six oceans had their will of us
 To carry all away --
Our galley's in the Baltic,
 And our boom's in Mossel Bay!
 
RHYME a b c b *

We've floundered off the Texel,
 Awash with sodden deals,
We've slipped from Valparaiso
 With the Norther at our heels:
We've ratched beyond the Crossets
 That tusk the Southern Pole,
And dipped our gunnels under
 To the dread Agulhas roll.
 
RHYME a b c b *

Beyond all outer charting
 We sailed where none have sailed,
And saw the land-lights burning
 On islands none have hailed;
Our hair stood up for wonder,
 But, when the night was done,
There danced the deep to windward
 Blue-empty 'neath the sun!
 
RHYME a b c b *

Strange consorts rode beside us
 And brought us evil luck;
The witch-fire climbed our channels,
 And flared on vane and truck:
Till, through the red tornado,
 That lashed us nigh to blind,
We saw The Dutchman plunging,
 Full canvas, head to wind!
 
RHYME a b c b *

We've heard the Midnight Leadsman
 That calls the black deep down --
Ay, thrice we've heard The Swimmer,
 The Thing that may not drown.
On frozen bunt and gasket
 The sleet-cloud drave her hosts,
When, manned by more than signed with us,
 We passed the Isle o' Ghosts!
 
RHYME a b c b *

And north, amid the hummocks,
 A biscuit-toss below,
We met the silent shallop
 That frighted whalers know;
For, down a cruel ice-lane,
 That opened as he sped,
We saw dead Henry Hudson
 Steer, North by West, his dead.
 
RHYME a b c b *

So dealt God's waters with us
 Beneath the roaring skies,
So walked His signs and marvels
 All naked to our eyes:
But we were heading homeward
 With trade to lose or make --
Good Lord, they slipped behind us
 In the tailing of our wake!
 
RHYME a b c b *

Let go, let go the anchors;
 Now shamed at heart are we
To bring so poor a cargo home
 That had for gift the sea!
Let go the great bow-anchors --
 Ah, fools were we and blind --
The worst we stored with utter toil,
 The best we left behind!
 
RHYME a b a b 

     Coastwise -- cross-seas -- round the world and back again,
      Whither flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down:
     Plain-sail -- storm-sail -- lay your board and tack again --
      And all to bring a cargo up to London Town!
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a b a b  
 
I sent a message to my dear --
 A thousand leagues and more to Her --
The dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear,
 And Lost Atlantis bore to Her.
 
RHYME a b a b  
 
Behind my message hard I came,
 And nigh had found a grave for me;
But that I launched of steel and flame
 Did war against the wave for me.
 
RHYME a b a b  
 
Uprose the deep, by gale on gale,
 To bid me change my mind again --
He broke his teeth along my rail,
 And, roaring, swung behind again.
 
RHYME a b a b  
 
I stayed the sun at noon to tell
 My way across the waste of it;
I read the storm before it fell
 And made the better haste of it.
 
RHYME a b a b  
 
Afar, I hailed the land at night --
 The towers I built had heard of me --
And, ere my rocket reached its height,
 Had flashed my Love the word of me.
 
RHYME a b a b  
 
Earth sold her chosen men of strength
 (They lived and strove and died for me)
To drive my road a nation's length,
 And toss the miles aside for me.
 
RHYME a b a b  
 
I snatched their toil to serve my needs --
 Too slow their fleetest flew for me --
I tired twenty smoking steeds,
 And bade them bait a new for me.
 
RHYME a b a b  
 
I sent the lightnings forth to see
 Where hour by hour She waited me.
Among ten million one was She,
 And surely all men hated me!
 
RHYME a b a b  
 
Dawn ran to meet me at my goal --
 Ah, day no tongue shall tell again!
And little folk of little soul
 Rose up to buy and sell again!

TITLE 
 
RHYME a b c b *

     We've drunk to the Queen -- God bless her! --
      We've drunk to our mothers' land;
     We've drunk to our English brother
      (But he does not understand);
     We've drunk to the wide creation,
      And the Cross swings low for the morn;
     Last toast, and of obligation,
      A health to the Native-born!
 
RHYME a b c b *

     They change their skies above them,
      But not their hearts that roam!
     We learned from our wistful mothers
      To call old England "home";
     We read of the English skylark,
      Of the spring in the English lanes,
     But we screamed with the painted lories
      As we rode on the dusty plains!
 
RHYME a b c b *

     They passed with their old-world legends --
      Their tales of wrong and dearth --
     Our fathers held by purchase,
      But we by the right of birth;
     Our heart's where they rocked our cradle,
      Our love where we spent our toil,
     And our faith and our hope and our honour
      We pledge to our native soil!
 
RHYME a b c b *

     I charge you charge your glasses --
      I charge you drink with me
     To the men of the Four New Nations,
      And the Islands of the Sea --
     To the last least lump of coral
      That none may stand outside,
     And our own good pride shall teach us
      To praise our comrade's pride!
 
RHYME a b c b *

To the hush of the breathless morning
 On the thin, tin, crackling roofs,
To the haze of the burned back-ranges
 And the dust of the shoeless hoofs --
To the risk of a death by drowning,
 To the risk of a death by drouth --
To the men of a million acres,
 To the Sons of the Golden South!

RHYME a b c c b 
 
     To the Sons of the Golden South (Stand up!),
      And the life we live and know,
     Let a fellow sing o' the little things he cares about,
     If a fellow fights for the little things he cares about
      With the weight of a single blow!
 
RHYME a b c b *

To the smoke of a hundred coasters,
 To the sheep on a thousand hills,
To the sun that never blisters,
 To the rain that never chills --
To the land of the waiting spring-time,
 To our five-meal, meat-fed men,
To the tall, deep-bosomed women,
 And the children nine and ten!

RHYME a b c c b 

     And the children nine and ten (Stand up!),
      And the life we live and know,
     Let a fellow sing o' the little things he cares about,
     If a fellow fights for the little things he cares about
      With the weight of a two-fold blow!
 
RHYME a b c b *

To the far-flung fenceless prairie
 Where the quick cloud-shadows trail,
To our neighbour's barn in the offing
 And the line of the new-cut rail;
To the plough in her league-long furrow
 With the gray Lake gulls behind --
To the weight of a half-year's winter
 And the warm wet western wind!
 
RHYME a b c b *

To the home of the floods and thunder,
 To her pale dry healing blue --
To the lift of the great Cape combers,
 And the smell of the baked Karroo.
To the growl of the sluicing stamp-head --
 To the reef and the water-gold,
To the last and the largest Empire,
 To the map that is half unrolled!
 
RHYME a b c b *

To our dear dark foster-mothers,
 To the heathen songs they sung --
To the heathen speech we babbled
 Ere we came to the white man's tongue.
To the cool of our deep verandas --
 To the blaze of our jewelled main,
To the night, to the palms in the moonlight,
 And the fire-fly in the cane!
 
RHYME a b c b *

To the hearth of our people's people --
 To her well-ploughed windy sea,
To the hush of our dread high-altar
 Where The Abbey makes us We;
To the grist of the slow-ground ages,
 To the gain that is yours and mine --
To the Bank of the Open Credit,
 To the Power-house of the Line!
 
RHYME a b c b *

We've drunk to the Queen -- God bless her! --
 We've drunk to our mothers' land;
We've drunk to our English brother
 (And we hope he'll understand).
We've drunk as much as we're able,
 And the Cross swings low for the morn;
Last toast -- and your foot on the table! --
 A health to the Native-born!

RHYME a b c c b b a d e a

A health to the Nativeborn,
  We're six white men arow,
All bound to sing o' the Little things we care about,
All bound to fight for the Little things we care about
  With the weight of a six-fold blow!
By the might of our Cable-tow,
  From the Orkneys to the Horn
All round the world (and a Little loop to pull it by),
All round the world (and a Little strap to buckle it).
  A health to the Native-born!
 
TITLE

RHYME a b a b c c 
 
"Farewell, Romance!" the Cave-men said;
 "With bone well carved he went away,
Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,
 And jasper tips the spear to-day.
Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance,
And he with these.  Farewell, Romance!"
 
RHYME a b a b c c 
 
"Farewell, Romance!" the Lake-folk sighed;
 "We lift the weight of flatling years;
The caverns of the mountain-side
 Hold him who scorns our hutted piers.
Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell,
Guard ye his rest.  Romance, farewell!"
 
RHYME a b a b c c 
 
"Farewell, Romance!" the Soldier spoke;
 "By sleight of sword we may not win,
But scuffle 'mid uncleanly smoke
 Of arquebus and culverin.
Honour is lost, and none may tell
Who paid good blows.  Romance, farewell!"
 
RHYME a b a b c c 
 
"Farewell, Romance!" the Traders cried;
 Our keels ha' lain with every sea;
The dull-returning wind and tide
 Heave up the wharf where we would be;
The known and noted breezes swell
Our trudging sail.  Romance, farewell!"
 
RHYME a b a b c c 
 
"Good-bye, Romance!" the Skipper said;
 "He vanished with the coal we burn;
Our dial marks full steam ahead,
 Our speed is timed to half a turn.
Sure as the ferried barge we ply
'Twixt port and port.  Romance, good-bye!"
 
RHYME a b a b c c 
 
"Romance!" the season-tickets mourn,
 "~He~ never ran to catch his train,
But passed with coach and guard and horn --
 And left the local -- late again!"
Confound Romance! . . .  And all unseen
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.
 
RHYME a b a b c c 
 
His hand was on the lever laid,
 His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,
His whistle waked the snowbound grade,
 His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks;
By dock and deep and mine and mill
The Boy-god reckless laboured still!
 
RHYME a b a b c c 
 
Robed, crowned and throned, he wove his spell,
 Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled,
With unconsidered miracle,
 Hedged in a backward-gazing world;
Then taught his chosen bard to say:
"Our King was with us -- yesterday!"
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a *
 
Now this is the Law of the Muscovite, that he proves with shot and steel,
When ye come by his isles in the Smoky Sea ye must not take the seal,
Where the gray sea goes nakedly between the weed-hung shelves,
And the little blue fox he is bred for his skin and the seal they breed for themselves;
For when the ~matkas~ seek the shore to drop their pups aland,
The great man-seal haul out of the sea, a-roaring, band by band;
And when the first September gales have slaked their rutting-wrath,
The great man-seal haul back to the sea and no man knows their path.
Then dark they lie and stark they lie -- rookery, dune, and floe,
And the Northern Lights come down o' nights to dance with the houseless snow;
And God Who clears the grounding berg and steers the grinding floe,
He hears the cry of the little kit-fox and the wind along the snow.
But since our women must walk gay and money buys their gear,
The sealing-boats they filch that way at hazard year by year.
English they be and Japanee that hang on the Brown Bear's flank,
And some be Scot, but the worst of the lot, and the boldest thieves, be Yank!
 
RHYME a a *

It was the sealer ~Northern Light~, to the Smoky Seas she bore,
With a stovepipe stuck from a starboard port and the Russian flag at her fore.
(~Baltic~, ~Stralsund~, and ~Northern Light~ -- oh! they were birds of a feather --
Slipping away to the Smoky Seas, three seal-thieves together!)
And at last she came to a sandy cove and the Baltic lay therein,
But her men were up with the herding seal to drive and club and skin.
There were fifteen hundred skins abeach, cool pelt and proper fur,
When the ~Northern Light~ drove into the bight  and the sea-mist drove with her.
The ~Baltic~ called her men and weighed -- she could not choose but run --
For a stovepipe seen through the closing mist, it shows like a four-inch gun.

RHYME a a *
 
(And loss it is that is sad as death to lose both trip and ship
And lie for a rotting contraband on Vladivostock slip.)
She turned and dived in the sea-smother as a rabbit dives in the whins,
And the ~Northern Light~ sent up her boats to steal the stolen skins.
They had not brought a load to side or slid their hatches clear,
When they were aware of a sloop-of-war, ghost-white and very near.
Her flag she showed, and her guns she showed -- three of them, black, abeam,
And a funnel white with the crusted salt, but never a show of steam.
 
RHYME a a *
 
There was no time to man the brakes, they knocked the shackle free,
And the ~Northern Light~ stood out again, goose-winged to open sea.
(For life it is that is worse than death, by force of Russian law
To work in the mines of mercury that loose the teeth in your jaw.)
They had not run a mile from shore -- they heard no shots behind --
When the skipper smote his hand on his thigh and threw her up in the wind:
"Bluffed -- raised out on a bluff," said he, "for if my name's Tom Hall,
You must set a thief to catch a thief -- and a thief has caught us all!
By every butt in Oregon and every spar in Maine,
The hand that spilled the wind from her sail was the hand of Reuben Paine!
He has rigged and trigged her with paint and spar,  and, faith, he has faked her well --
But I'd know the ~Stralsund~'s deckhouse yet from here to the booms o' Hell.

RHYME a a *
 
Oh, once we ha' met at Baltimore, and twice on Boston pier,
But the sickest day for you, Reuben Paine, was the day that you came here --
The day that you came here, my lad, to scare us from our seal
With your funnel made o' your painted cloth, and your guns o' rotten deal!
Ring and blow for the ~Baltic~ now, and head her back to the bay,
And we'll come into the game again -- with a double deck to play!"
 
RHYME a a *
 
They rang and blew the sealers' call -- the poaching cry of the sea --
And they raised the ~Baltic~ out of the mist, and an angry ship was she:
And blind they groped through the whirling white and blind to the bay again,
Till they heard the creak of the ~Stralsund~'s boom  and the clank of her mooring chain.
They laid them down by bitt and boat, their pistols in their belts,
And:  "Will you fight for it, Reuben Paine, or will you share the pelts?"
 
RHYME a a *
 
A dog-toothed laugh laughed Reuben Paine, and bared his flenching-knife.
"Yea, skin for skin, and all that he hath a man will give for his life;
But I've six thousand skins below, and Yeddo Port to see,
And there's never a law of God or man runs north of Fifty-Three:
So go in peace to the naked seas with empty holds to fill,
And I'll be good to your seal this catch, as many as I shall kill!"
 
RHYME a a *
 
Answered the snap of a closing lock and the jar of a gun-butt slid,
But the tender fog shut fold on fold to hide the wrong they did.
The weeping fog rolled fold on fold the wrath of man to cloak,
And the flame-spurts pale ran down the rail as the sealing-rifles spoke.
The bullets bit on bend and butt, the splinter slivered free
(Little they trust to sparrow-dust that stop the seal in his sea!),
The thick smoke hung and would not shift, leaden it lay and blue,
But three were down on the ~Baltic~'s deck and two of the ~Stralsund~'s crew.
An arm's-length out and overside the banked fog held them bound,
But, as they heard or groan or word, they fired at the sound.

RHYME a a *
 
For one cried out on the Name of God, and one to have him cease,
And the questing volley found them both and bade them hold their peace;
And one called out on a heathen joss and one on the Virgin's Name,
And the schooling bullet leaped across and showed them whence they came.
And in the waiting silences the rudder whined beneath,
And each man drew his watchful breath slow taken 'tween the teeth --
Trigger and ear and eye acock, knit brow and hard-drawn lips --
Bracing his feet by chock and cleat for the rolling of the ships.
Till they heard the cough of a wounded man that fought in the fog for breath,
Till they heard the torment of Reuben Paine that wailed upon his death:
 
RHYME a a *
 
"The tides they'll go through Fundy Race but I'll go nevermore
And see the hogs from ebb-tide mark turn scampering back to shore.
No more I'll see the trawlers drift below the Bass Rock ground,
Or watch the tall Fall steamer lights tear blazing up the Sound.
Sorrow is me, in a lonely sea and a sinful fight I fall,
But if there's law o' God or man you'll swing for it yet, Tom Hall!"
Tom Hall stood up by the quarter-rail.  "Your words in your teeth," said he.
"There's never a law of God or man runs north of Fifty-Three.
So go in grace with Him to face, and an ill-spent life behind,
And I'll be good to your widows, Rube, as many as I shall find."
 
RHYME a a *
 
A ~Stralsund~ man shot blind and large, and a war-lock Finn was he,
And he hit Tom Hall with a bursting ball a hand's-breadth over the knee.
Tom Hall caught hold by the topping-lift, and sat him down with an oath,
"You'll wait a little, Rube," he said, "the Devil has called for both.
The Devil is driving both this tide, and the killing-grounds are close,
And we'll go up to the Wrath of God as the holluschickie goes.
O men, put back your guns again and lay your rifles by,
We've fought our fight, and the best are down.  Let up and let us die!

RHYME a a *
 
Quit firing, by the bow there -- quit!  Call off the ~Baltic~'s crew!
You're sure of Hell as me or Rube -- but wait till we get through."
There went no word between the ships, but thick and quick and loud
The life-blood drummed on the dripping decks,  with the fog-dew from the shroud,
The sea-pull drew them side by side, gunnel to gunnel laid,
And they felt the sheerstrakes pound and clear, but never a word was said.
 
RHYME a a *
 
Then Reuben Paine cried out again before his spirit passed:
"Have I followed the sea for thirty years to die in the dark at last?
Curse on her work that has nipped me here with a shifty trick unkind --
I have gotten my death where I got my bread, but I dare not face it blind.
Curse on the fog!  Is there never a wind of all the winds I knew
To clear the smother from off my chest, and let me look at the blue?"
The good fog heard -- like a splitten sail, to left and right she tore,
And they saw the sun-dogs in the haze and the seal upon the shore.

RHYME a a *
 
Silver and gray ran spit and bay to meet the steel-backed tide,
And pinched and white in the clearing light the crews stared overside.
O rainbow-gay the red pools lay that swilled and spilled and spread,
And gold, raw gold, the spent shell rolled between the careless dead --
The dead that rocked so drunkenwise to weather and to lee,
And they saw the work their hands had done as God had bade them see.
 
RHYME a a *
 
And a little breeze blew over the rail that made the headsails lift,
But no man stood by wheel or sheet, and they let the schooners drift.
And the rattle rose in Reuben's throat and he cast his soul with a cry,
And "Gone already?" Tom Hall he said.  "Then it's time for me to die."
His eyes were heavy with great sleep and yearning for the land,
And he spoke as a man that talks in dreams, his wound beneath his hand.
"Oh, there comes no good o' the westering wind that backs against the sun;
Wash down the decks -- they're all too red -- and share the skins and run,
~Baltic~, ~Stralsund~, and ~Northern Light~ -- clean share and share for all,
You'll find the fleets off Tolstoi Mees, but you will not find Tom Hall.
Evil he did in shoal-water and blacker sin on the deep,
But now he's sick of watch and trick and now he'll turn and sleep.

RHYME a a *
 
He'll have no more of the crawling sea that made him suffer so,
But he'll lie down on the killing-grounds where the holluschickie go.
And west you'll sail and south again, beyond the sea-fog's rim,
And tell the Yoshiwara girls to burn a stick for him.
And you'll not weight him by the heels and dump him overside,
But carry him up to the sand-hollows to die as Bering died,
And make a place for Reuben Paine that knows the fight was fair,
And leave the two that did the wrong to talk it over there!"
 
RHYME a a *
 
     Half-steam ahead by guess and lead, for the sun is mostly veiled --
     Through fog to fog, by luck and log, sail ye as Bering sailed;
     And if the light shall lift aright to give your landfall plain,
     North and by west, from Zapne Crest, ye raise the Crosses Twain.
     Fair marks are they to the inner bay, the reckless poacher knows
     What time the scarred see-catchie lead their sleek seraglios.

RHYME a a *
 
     Ever they hear the floe-pack clear, and the blast of the old bull-whale,
     And the deep seal-roar that beats off-shore above the loudest gale.
     Ever they wait the winter's hate as the thundering ~boorga~ calls,
     Where northward look they to St. George, and westward to St. Paul's.
     Ever they greet the hunted fleet -- lone keels off headlands drear --
     When the sealing-schooners flit that way at hazard year by year.

RHYME a b b a 

     Ever in Yokohama port men tell the tale anew
      Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight,
      When the ~Baltic~ ran from the ~Northern Light~
     And the ~Stralsund~ fought the two.
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a b c c b  
 
        I was the staunchest of our fleet
        Till the sea rose beneath our feet
     Unheralded, in hatred past all measure.
        Into his pits he stamped my crew,
        Buffeted, blinded, bound and threw,
     Bidding me eyeless wait upon his pleasure.
 
RHYME a a b c c b  
 
   Man made me, and my will
   Is to my maker still,
Whom now the currents con, the rollers steer --
   Lifting forlorn to spy
   Trailed smoke along the sky,
Falling afraid lest any keel come near!
 
RHYME a a b c c b  
 
   Wrenched as the lips of thirst,
   Wried, dried, and split and burst,
Bone-bleached my decks, wind-scoured to the graining;
   And jarred at every roll
   The gear that was my soul
Answers the anguish of my beams' complaining.
 
RHYME a a b c c b  
 
   For life that crammed me full,
   Gangs of the prying gull
That shriek and scrabble on the riven hatches!
   For roar that dumbed the gale,
   My hawse-pipes guttering wail,
Sobbing my heart out through the uncounted watches!
 
RHYME a a b c c b  
 
   Blind in the hot blue ring
   Through all my points I swing --
Swing and return to shift the sun anew.
   Blind in my well-known sky
   I hear the stars go by,
Mocking the prow that cannot hold one true!
 
RHYME a a b c c b  
 
   White on my wasted path
   Wave after wave in wrath
Frets 'gainst his fellow, warring where to send me.
   Flung forward, heaved aside,
   Witless and dazed I bide
The mercy of the comber that shall end me.
 
RHYME a a b c c b  
 
   North where the bergs careen,
   The spray of seas unseen
Smokes round my head and freezes in the falling;
   South where the corals breed,
   The footless, floating weed
Folds me and fouls me, strake on strake upcrawling.
 
RHYME a a b c c b  
 
   I that was clean to run
   My race against the sun --
Strength on the deep, am bawd to all disaster --
   Whipped forth by night to meet
   My sister's careless feet,
And with a kiss betray her to my master!
 
RHYME a a b c c b  
 
   Man made me, and my will
   Is to my maker still --
To him and his, our peoples at their pier:
   Lifting in hope to spy
   Trailed smoke along the sky,
Falling afraid lest any keel come near!
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a *  
 
A Rose, in tatters on the garden path,
Cried out to God and murmured 'gainst His Wrath,
Because a sudden wind at twilight's hush
Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush.
And God, Who hears both sun-dried dust and sun,
Had pity, whispering to that luckless one,
"Sister, in that thou sayest We did not well --
What voices heardst thou when thy petals fell?"
And the Rose answered, "In that evil hour
A voice said, `Father, wherefore falls the flower?
For lo, the very gossamers are still.'
And a voice answered, `Son, by Allah's will!'"
 
RHYME a a *  
 
Then softly as a rain-mist on the sward,
Came to the Rose the Answer of the Lord:
"Sister, before We smote the dark in twain,
Ere yet the stars saw one another plain,
Time, Tide, and Space, We bound unto the task
That thou shouldst fall, and such an one should ask."
Whereat the withered flower, all content,
Died as they die whose days are innocent;
While he who questioned why the flower fell
Caught hold of God and saved his soul from Hell.
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a b a b *  
 
You couldn't pack a Broadwood half a mile --
 You mustn't leave a fiddle in the damp --
You couldn't raft an organ up the Nile,
 And play it in an Equatorial swamp.
~I~ travel with the cooking-pots and pails --
 ~I'm~ sandwiched 'tween the coffee and the pork --
And when the dusty column checks and tails,
 You should hear me spur the rear-guard to a walk!
    With my "~Pilly-willy-winky-winky popp!~"
     [Oh, it's any tune that comes into my head!]
    So I keep 'em moving forward till they drop;
     So I play 'em up to water and to bed.
 
RHYME a b a b *  
 
In the silence of the camp before the fight,
 When it's good to make your will and say your prayer,
You can hear my ~strumpty-tumpty~ overnight
 Explaining ten to one was always fair.
I'm the Prophet of the Utterly Absurd,
 Of the Patently Impossible and Vain --
And when the Thing that Couldn't has occurred,
 Give me time to change my leg and go again.
    With my "~Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tum-pa tump!~"
     In the desert where the dung-fed camp-smoke curled
    There was never voice before us till I led our lonely chorus,
     I -- the war-drum of the White Man round the world!
 
RHYME a b a b *  
 
By the bitter road the Younger Son must tread,
 Ere he win to hearth and saddle of his own, --
'Mid the riot of the shearers at the shed,
 In the silence of the herder's hut alone --
In the twilight, on a bucket upside down,
 Hear me babble what the weakest won't confess --
I am Memory and Torment -- I am Town!
 I am all that ever went with evening dress!
    With my "~Tunk-a tunka-tunka-tunka-tunk!~"
     [So the lights -- the London Lights -- grow near and plain!]
    So I rowel 'em afresh towards the Devil and the Flesh,
     Till I bring my broken rankers home again.
 
RHYME a b a b *  
 
In desire of many marvels over sea,
 Where the new-raised tropic city sweats and roars,
I have sailed with Young Ulysses from the quay
 Till the anchor rumbled down on stranger shores.
He is blooded to the open and the sky,
 He is taken in a snare that shall not fail,
He shall hear me singing strongly, till he die,
 Like the shouting of a backstay in a gale.
    With my "~Hya!  Heeya!  Heeya!  Hullah!  Haul!~"
     [O the green that thunders aft along the deck!]
    Are you sick o' towns and men?  You must sign and sail again,
     For it's "Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit and trek!"
 
RHYME a b a b *  
 
Through the gorge that gives the stars at noon-day clear --
 Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our wheel --
Round the bluff that sinks her thousand fathom sheer --
 Down the valley with our guttering brakes asqueal:
Where the trestle groans and quivers in the snow,
 Where the many-shedded levels loop and twine,
So I lead my reckless children from below
 Till we sing the Song of Roland to the pine.
    With my "~Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!~"
     [And the axe has cleared the mountain, croup and crest!]
    So we ride the iron stallions down to drink,
     Through the ca]~nons to the waters of the West!
 
RHYME a b a b *  
 
And the tunes that mean so much to you alone --
 Common tunes that make you choke and blow your nose,
Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the groan --
 I can rip your very heartstrings out with those;
With the feasting, and the folly, and the fun --
 And the lying, and the lusting, and the drink,
And the merry play that drops you, when you're done,
 To the thoughts that burn like irons if you think.
    With my "~Plunka-lunka-lunka-lunka-lunk!~"
     Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past,
    Ere the wit that made you win gives you eyes to see your sin
     And the heavier repentance at the last!
 
RHYME a b a b *  
 
Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof --
 I have told the naked stars the Grief of Man!
Let the trumpets snare the foeman to the proof --
 I have known Defeat, and mocked it as we ran!
My bray ye may not alter nor mistake
 When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things,
But the Song of Lost Endeavour that I make,
 Is it hidden in the twanging of the strings?
    With my "~Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp!~"
     [Is it naught to you that hear and pass me by?]
    But the word -- the word is mine, when the order moves the line
     And the lean, locked ranks go roaring down to die.
 
RHYME a b a b *  
 
Of the driven dust of speech I make a flame
 And a scourge of broken withes that men let fall:
For the words that had no honour till I came --
 Lo! I raise them into honour over all!
By the wisdom of the centuries I speak --
 To the tune of yestermorn I set the truth --
I, the joy of life unquestioned -- I, the Greek --
 I, the everlasting Wonder Song of Youth!
    With my "~Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!~"
     [What d'ye lack, my noble masters?  What d'ye lack?]
    So I draw the world together link by link:
     Yea, from Delos up to Limerick and back!
 
TITLE

RHYME a a *
 
The Liner she's a lady, an' she never looks nor heeds --
The Man-o'-War's her husband, an' he gives her all she needs;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun',
They're just the same as you an' me a-plyin' up an' down!
 
RHYME a a *
 
     Plyin' up an' down, Jenny, hangin' round the Yard,
     All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth HArd;
     Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' old --
     Plyin' up an' down, Jenny, waitin' in the cold!
 
RHYME a a *
 
The Liner she's a lady by the paint upon her face,
An' if she meets an accident they count it sore disgrace:
The Man-o'-War's her husband, and he's always handy by,
But, oh, the little cargo-boats! they've got to load or die.
 
RHYME a a *
 
The Liner she's a lady, and her route is cut an' dried;
The Man-o'-War's her husband, an' he always keeps beside;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that haven't any man,
They've got to do their business first, and make the most they can!
 
RHYME a a *
 
The Liner she's a lady, and if a war should come,
The Man-o'-War's her husband, and he'd bid her stay at home;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that fill with every tide!
HE'd have to up an' fight for them, for they are England's pride.
 
RHYME a a *
 
The Liner she's a lady, but if she wasn't made,
There still would be the cargo-boats for home an' foreign trade.
The Man-o'-War's her husband, but if we wasn't here,
HE wouldn't have to fight at all for home an' friends so dear.
 
RHYME a a *
 
     HOme an' friends so dear, Jenny, hangin' round the Yard,
     All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth HArd;
     Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' old --
     HOme an' friends so dear, Jenny, waitin' in the cold!
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a a 
 
The fear was on the cattle, for the gale was on the sea,
An' the pens broke up on the lower deck an' let the creatures free --
An' the lights went out on the lower deck, an' no one near but me.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
I had been singin' to them to keep 'em quiet there,
For the lower deck is the dangerousest, requirin' constant care,
An' give to me as the strongest man, though used to drink and swear.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
I see my chance was certain of bein' horned or trod,
For the lower deck was packed with steers thicker'n peas in a pod,
An' more pens broke at every roll -- so I made a Contract with God.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
An' by the terms of the Contract, as I have read the same,
If He got me to port alive I would exalt His Name,
An' praise His Holy Majesty till further orders came.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
He saved me from the cattle an' He saved me from the sea,
For they found me 'tween two drownded ones where the roll had landed me --
An' a four-inch crack on top of my head, as crazy as could be.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
But that were done by a stanchion, an' not by a bullock at all,
An' I lay still for seven weeks convalessing of the fall,
An' readin' the shiny Scripture texts in the Seaman's Hospital.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
An' I spoke to God of our Contract, an' He says to my prayer:
"I never puts on My ministers no more than they can bear.
So back you go to the cattle-boats an' preach My Gospel there.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
"For human life is chancy at any kind of trade,
But most of all, as well you know, when the steers are mad-afraid;
So you go back to the cattle-boats an' preach 'em as I've said.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
"They must quit drinkin' an' swearin', they mustn't knife on a blow,
They must quit gamblin' their wages, and you must preach it so;
For now those boats are more like Hell than anything else I know."
 
RHYME a a a 
 
I didn't want to do it, for I knew what I should get,
An' I wanted to preach Religion, handsome an' out of the wet,
But the Word of the Lord were lain on me, an' I done what I was set.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
I have been smit an' bruised, as warned would be the case,
An' turned my cheek to the smiter exactly as Scripture says;
But following that, I knocked him down an' led him up to Grace.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
An' we have preaching on Sundays whenever the sea is calm,
An' I use no knife or pistol an' I never take no harm,
For the Lord abideth back of me to guide my fighting arm.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
An' I sign for four-pound-ten a month and save the money clear,
An' I am in charge of the lower deck, an' I never lose a steer;
An' I believe in Almighty God an' preach His Gospel here.
 
RHYME a a a 
 
The skippers say I'm crazy, but I can prove 'em wrong,
For I am in charge of the lower deck with all that doth belong --
~Which they would not give to a lunatic, and the competition so strong!~
  
TITLE
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
There dwells a wife by the Northern Gate,
 And a wealthy wife is she;
She breeds a breed o' rovin' men
 And casts them over sea.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
And some are drowned in deep water,
 And some in sight o' shore,
And word goes back to the weary wife
 And ever she sends more.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
For since that wife had gate or gear,
 Or hearth or garth or bield,
She willed her sons to the white harvest,
 And that is a bitter yield.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
She wills her sons to the wet ploughing,
 To ride the horse of tree,
And syne her sons come back again
 Far-spent from out the sea.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
The good wife's sons come home again
 With little into their hands,
But the lore of men that ha' dealt with men
 In the new and naked lands;
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
But the faith of men that ha' brothered men
 By more than easy breath,
And the eyes o' men that ha' read wi' men
 In the open books of death.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
Rich are they, rich in wonders seen,
 But poor in the goods o' men;
So what they ha' got by the skin o' their teeth
 They sell for their teeth again.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
For whether they lose to the naked life
 Or win to their hearts' desire,
They tell it all to the weary wife
 That nods beside the fire.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
Her hearth is wide to every wind
 That makes the white ash spin;
And tide and tide and 'tween the tides
 Her sons go out and in;
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
(Out with great mirth that do desire
 Hazard of trackless ways,
In with content to wait their watch
 And warm before the blaze);
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
And some return by failing light,
 And some in waking dream,
For she hears the heels of the dripping ghosts
 That ride the rough roof-beam.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
Home, they come home from all the ports,
 The living and the dead;
The good wife's sons come home again
 For her blessing on their head!
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a b c b *  
 
The earth is full of anger,
 The seas are dark with wrath,
The Nations in their harness
 Go up against our path:
Ere yet we loose the legions --
 Ere yet we draw the blade,
Jehovah of the Thunders,
 Lord God of Battles, aid!
 
RHYME a b c b *  
 
High lust and froward bearing,
 Proud heart, rebellious brow --
Deaf ear and soul uncaring,
 We seek Thy mercy now!
The sinner that forswore Thee,
 The fool that passed Thee by,
Our times are known before Thee --
 Lord, grant us strength to die!
 
RHYME a b c b *  
 
For those who kneel beside us
 At altars not Thine own,
Who lack the lights that guide us,
 Lord, let their faith atone.
If wrong we did to call them,
 By honour bound they came;
Let not Thy Wrath befall them,
 But deal to us the blame.
 
RHYME a b c b *  
 
From panic, pride, and terror,
 Revenge that knows no rein,
Light haste and lawless error,
 Protect us yet again.
Cloak Thou our undeserving,
 Make firm the shuddering breath,
In silence and unswerving
 To taste Thy lesser death!
 
RHYME a b c b *  
 
Ah, Mary pierced with sorrow,
 Remember, reach and save
The soul that comes to-morrow
 Before the God that gave!
Since each was born of woman,
 For each at utter need --
True comrade and true foeman --
 Madonna, intercede!
 
RHYME a b c b *  
 
E'en now their vanguard gathers,
 E'en now we face the fray --
As Thou didst help our fathers,
 Help Thou our host to-day!
Fulfilled of signs and wonders,
 In life, in death made clear --
Jehovah of the Thunders,
 Lord God of Battles, hear!
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
     Thy face is far from this our war,
      Our call and counter-cry,
     I shall not find Thee quick and kind,
      Nor know Thee till I die,
     Enough for me in dreams to see
      And touch Thy garments' hem:
     Thy feet have trod so near to God
      I may not follow them.
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
Through wantonness if men profess
 They weary of Thy parts,
E'en let them die at blasphemy
 And perish with their arts;
But we that love, but we that prove
 Thine excellence august,
While we adore discover more
 Thee perfect, wise, and just.
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
Since spoken word Man's Spirit stirred
 Beyond his belly-need,
What is is Thine of fair design
 In thought and craft and deed;
Each stroke aright of toil and fight,
 That was and that shall be,
And hope too high, wherefore we die,
 Has birth and worth in Thee.
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
Who holds by Thee hath Heaven in fee
 To gild his dross thereby,
And knowledge sure that he endure
 A child until he die --
For to make plain that man's disdain
 Is but new Beauty's birth --
For to possess in loneliness
 The joy of all the earth.
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
As Thou didst teach all lovers speech
 And Life all mystery,
So shalt Thou rule by every school
 Till love and longing die,
Who wast or yet the Lights were set,
 A whisper in the Void,
Who shalt be sung through planets young
 When this is clean destroyed.
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
Beyond the bounds our staring rounds,
 Across the pressing dark,
The children wise of outer skies
 Look hitherward and mark
A light that shifts, a glare that drifts,
 Rekindling thus and thus,
Not all forlorn, for Thou hast borne
 Strange tales to them of us.
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
Time hath no tide but must abide
 The servant of Thy will;
Tide hath no time, for to Thy rhyme
 The ranging stars stand still --
Regent of spheres that lock our fears,
 Our hopes invisible,
Oh 'twas certes at Thy decrees
 We fashioned Heaven and Hell!
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
Pure Wisdom hath no certain path
 That lacks thy morning-eyne,
And captains bold by Thee controlled
 Most like to Gods design;
Thou art the Voice to kingly boys
 To lift them through the fight,
And Comfortress of Unsuccess,
 To give the dead good-night --
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
A veil to draw 'twixt God His Law
 And Man's infirmity,
A shadow kind to dumb and blind
 The shambles where we die;
A rule to trick th' arithmetic
 Too base of leaguing odds --
The spur of trust, the curb of lust,
 Thou handmaid of the Gods!
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
O Charity, all patiently
 Abiding wrack and scaith!
O Faith, that meets ten thousand cheats
 Yet drops no jot of faith!
Devil and brute Thou dost transmute
 To higher, lordlier show,
Who art in sooth that lovely Truth
 The careless angels know!
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
     Thy face is far from this our war,
      Our call and counter-cry,
     I may not find Thee quick and kind,
      Nor know Thee till I die.
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
     Yet may I look with heart unshook
      On blow brought home or missed --
     Yet may I hear with equal ear
      The clarions down the List;
     Yet set my lance above mischance
      And ride the barriere --
     Oh, hit or miss, how little 'tis,
      My Lady is not there!
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
          Buy my English posies!
           Kent and Surrey may --
          Violets of the Undercliff
           Wet with Channel spray;
          Cowslips from a Devon combe --
           Midland furze afire --
          Buy my English posies
           And I'll sell your heart's desire!
 
RHYME a b c b * 
 
    Buy my English posies!
     You that scorn the May,
    Won't you greet a friend from home
     Half the world away?
    Green against the draggled drift,
     Faint and frail and first --
    Buy my Northern blood-root
     And I'll know where you were nursed:

TITLE
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
The King has called for priest and cup,
 The King has taken spur and blade
To dub True Thomas a belted knight,
 And all for the sake o' the songs he made.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
They have sought him high, they have sought him low,
 They have sought him over down and lea;
They have found him by the milk-white thorn
 That guards the gates o' Faerie.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
     'Twas bent beneath and blue above,
      Their eyes were held that they might not see
     The kine that grazed beneath the knowes,
      Oh, they were the Queens o' Faerie!
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Now cease your song," the King he said,
 "Oh, cease your song and get you dight
To vow your vow and watch your arms,
 For I will dub you a belted knight.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"For I will give you a horse o' pride,
 Wi' blazon and spur and page and squire;
Wi' keep and tail and seizin and law,
 And land to hold at your desire."
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
True Thomas smiled above his harp,
 And turned his face to the naked sky,
Where, blown before the wastrel wind,
 The thistle-down she floated by.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"I ha' vowed my vow in another place,
 And bitter oath it was on me,
I ha' watched my arms the lee-long night,
 Where five-score fighting men would flee.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"My lance is tipped o' the hammered flame,
 My shield is beat o' the moonlight cold;
And I won my spurs in the Middle World,
 A thousand fathom beneath the mould.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"And what should I make wi' a horse o' pride,
 And what should I make wi' a sword so brown,
But spill the rings o' the Gentle Folk
 And flyte my kin in the Fairy Town?
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"And what should I make wi' blazon and belt,
 Wi' keep and tail and seizin and fee,
And what should I do wi' page and squire
 That am a king in my own countrie?
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"For I send east and I send west,
 And I send far as my will may flee,
By dawn and dusk and the drinking rain,
 And syne my Sendings return to me.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"They come wi' news of the groanin' earth,
 They come wi' news o' the roarin' sea,
Wi' word of Spirit and Ghost and Flesh,
 And man, that's mazed among the three."
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
The King he bit his nether lip,
 And smote his hand upon his knee:
"By the faith o' my soul, True Thomas," he said,
 "Ye waste no wit in courtesie!
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"As I desire, unto my pride,
 Can I make Earls by three and three,
To run before and ride behind
 And serve the sons o' my body."
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"And what care I for your row-foot earls,
 Or all the sons o' your body?
Before they win to the Pride o' Name,
 I trow they all ask leave o' me.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"For I make Honour wi' muckle mouth,
 As I make Shame wi' mincin' feet,
To sing wi' the priests at the market-cross,
 Or run wi' the dogs in the naked street.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"And some they give me the good red gold,
 And some they give me the white money,
And some they give me a clout o' meal,
 For they be people o' low degree.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"And the song I sing for the counted gold
 The same I sing for the white money,
But best I sing for the clout o' meal
 That simple people given me."
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
The King cast down a silver groat,
 A silver groat o' Scots money,
"If I come wi' a poor man's dole," he said,
 "True Thomas, will ye harp to me?"
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Whenas I harp to the children small,
 They press me close on either hand.
And who are you," True Thomas said,
 "That you should ride while they must stand?
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Light down, light down from your horse o' pride,
 I trow ye talk too loud and hie,
And I will make you a triple word,
 And syne, if ye dare, ye shall 'noble me."
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
He has lighted down from his horse o' pride,
 And set his back against the stone.
"Now guard you well," True Thomas said,
 "Ere I rax your heart from your breast-bone!"
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
True Thomas played upon his harp,
 The fairy harp that couldna lee,
And the first least word the proud King heard,
 It harpit the salt tear out o' his ee.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Oh, I see the love that I lost long syne,
 I touch the hope that I may not see,
And all that I did o' hidden shame,
 Like little snakes they hiss at me.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"The sun is lost at noon -- at noon!
 The dread o' doom has grippit me.
True Thomas, hide me under your cloak,
 God wot, I'm little fit to dee!"
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
     'Twas bent beneath and blue above --
      'Twas open field and running flood --
     Where, hot on heath and dike and wall,
      The high sun warmed the adder's brood.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Lie down, lie down," True Thomas said.
 "The God shall judge when all is done.
But I will bring you a better word
 And lift the cloud that I laid on."
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
True Thomas played upon his harp,
 That birled and brattled to his hand,
And the next least word True Thomas made,
 It garred the King take horse and brand.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Oh, I hear the tread o' the fighting men,
 I see the sun on splent and spear.
I mark the arrow outen the fern
 That flies so low and sings so clear!
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Advance my standards to that war,
 And bid my good knights prick and ride;
The gled shall watch as fierce a fight
 As e'er was fought on the Border side!"
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
     'Twas bent beneath and blue above,
      'Twas nodding grass and naked sky,
     Where, ringing up the wastrel wind,
      The eyas stooped upon the pie.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
True Thomas sighed above his harp,
 And turned the song on the midmost string;
And the last least word True Thomas made,
 He harpit his dead youth back to the King.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Now I am prince, and I do well
 To love my love withouten fear;
To walk wi' man in fellowship,
 And breathe my horse behind the deer.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"My hounds they bay unto the death,
 The buck has couched beyond the burn,
My love she waits at her window
 To wash my hands when I return.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"For that I live am I content
 (Oh! I have seen my true love's eyes)
To stand wi' Adam in Eden-glade,
 And run in the woods o' Paradise!"
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
     'Twas naked sky and nodding grass,
      'Twas running flood and wastrel wind,
     Where, checked against the open pass,
      The red deer belled to call the hind.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
True Thomas laid his harp away,
 And louted low at the saddle-side;
He has taken stirrup and hauden rein,
 And set the King on his horse o' pride.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"Sleep ye or wake," True Thomas said,
 "That sit so still, that muse so long;
Sleep ye or wake? -- till the latter sleep
 I trow ye'll not forget my song.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"I ha' harpit a shadow out o' the sun
 To stand before your face and cry;
I ha' armed the earth beneath your heel,
 And over your head I ha' dusked the sky.
 
RHYME a b c b 
 
"I ha' harpit ye up to the throne o' God,
 I ha' harpit your midmost soul in three;
I ha' harpit ye down to the Hinges o' Hell,
 And -- ye -- would -- make -- a Knight o' me!"
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
In the Neolithic Age savage warfare did I wage
 For food and fame and woolly horses' pelt;
I was singer to my clan in that dim, red Dawn of Man,
 And I sang of all we fought and feared and felt.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
Yea, I sang as now I sing, when the Prehistoric spring
 Made the piled Biscayan ice-pack split and shove;
And the troll and gnome and dwerg, and the Gods of Cliff and Berg
 Were about me and beneath me and above.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
But a rival, of Solutr]/e, told the tribe my style was ~outr]/e~ --
 'Neath a tomahawk of diorite he fell.
And I left my views on Art, barbed and tanged, below the heart
 Of a mammothistic etcher at Grenelle.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
Then I stripped them, scalp from skull, and my hunting dogs fed full,
 And their teeth I threaded neatly on a thong;
And I wiped my mouth and said, "It is well that they are dead,
 For I know my work is right and theirs was wrong."
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
But my Totem saw the shame; from his ridgepole shrine he came,
 And he told me in a vision of the night: --
"There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays,
 And every single one of them is right!"
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
Then the silence closed upon me till They put new clothing on me
 Of whiter, weaker flesh and bone more frail;
And I stepped beneath Time's finger, once again a tribal singer
 [And a minor poet certified by Tr--ll].
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
Still they skirmish to and fro, men my messmates on the snow,
 When we headed off the aurochs turn for turn;
When the rich Allobrogenses never kept amanuenses,
 And our only plots were piled in lakes at Berne.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
Still a cultured Christian age sees us scuffle, squeak, and rage,
 Still we pinch and slap and jabber, scratch and dirk;
Still we let our business slide -- as we dropped the half-dressed hide --
 To show a fellow-savage how to work.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
Still the world is wondrous large, -- seven seas from marge to marge, --
 And it holds a vast of various kinds of man;
And the wildest dreams of Kew are the facts of Khatmandhu,
 And the crimes of Clapham chaste in Martaban.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
Here's my wisdom for your use, as I learned it when the moose
 And the reindeer roared where Paris roars to-night: --
There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays,
 And -- every -- single -- one -- of -- them -- is -- right!
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Once, on a glittering ice-field, ages and ages ago,
Ung, a maker of pictures, fashioned an image of snow.
Fashioned the form of a tribesman -- gaily he whistled and sung,
Working the snow with his fingers.  ~Read ye the Story of Ung!~
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Pleased was his tribe with that image -- came in their hundreds to scan --
Handled it, smelt it, and grunted:  "Verily, this is a man!
Thus do we carry our lances -- thus is a war-belt slung.
Lo! it is even as we are.  Glory and honour to Ung!"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Later he pictured an aurochs -- later he pictured a bear --
Pictured the sabre-tooth tiger dragging a man to his lair --
Pictured the mountainous mammoth, hairy, abhorrent, alone --
Out of the love that he bore them, scribing them clearly on bone.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Swift came the tribe to behold them, peering and pushing and still --
Men of the berg-battered beaches, men of the boulder-hatched hill --
Hunters and fishers and trappers, presently whispering low:
"Yea, they are like -- and it may be --  But how does the Picture-man know?"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"Ung -- hath he slept with the Aurochs -- watched where the Mastodon roam?
Spoke on the ice with the Bow-head -- followed the Sabre-tooth home?
Nay!  These are toys of his fancy!  If he have cheated us so,
How is there truth in his image -- the man that he fashioned of snow?"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Wroth was that maker of pictures -- hotly he answered the call:
"Hunters and fishers and trappers, children and fools are ye all!
Look at the beasts when ye hunt them!"  Swift from the tumult he broke,
Ran to the cave of his father and told him the shame that they spoke.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
And the father of Ung gave answer, that was old and wise in the craft,
Maker of pictures aforetime, he leaned on his lance and laughed:
"If they could see as thou seest they would do what thou hast done,
And each man would make him a picture, and -- what would become of my son?
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"There would be no pelts of the reindeer, flung down at thy cave for a gift,
Nor dole of the oily timber that comes on the Baltic drift;
No store of well-drilled needles, nor ouches of amber pale;
No new-cut tongues of the bison, nor meat of the stranded whale.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"~Thou~ hast not toiled at the fishing when the sodden trammels freeze,
Nor worked the war-boats outward through the rush of the rock-staked seas,
Yet they bring thee fish and plunder -- full meal and an easy bed --
And all for the sake of thy pictures."  And Ung held down his head.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"~Thou~ hast not stood to the Aurochs when the red snow reeks of the fight;
Men have no time at the houghing to count his curls aright.
And the heart of the hairy Mammoth, thou sayest, they do not see,
Yet they save it whole from the beaches and broil the best for thee.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
"And now do they press to thy pictures, with opened mouth and eye,
And a little gift in the doorway, and the praise no gift can buy:
But -- sure they have doubted thy pictures, and that is a grievous stain --
Son that can see so clearly, return them their gifts again!"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
And Ung looked down at his deerskins -- their broad shell-tasselled bands --
And Ung drew downward his mitten and looked at his naked hands;
And he gloved himself and departed, and he heard his father, behind:
"Son that can see so clearly, rejoice that thy tribe is blind!"
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Straight on the glittering ice-field, by the caves of the lost Dordogne,
Ung, a maker of pictures, fell to his scribing on bone
Even to mammoth editions.  Gaily he whistled and sung,
Blessing his tribe for their blindness.  ~Heed ye the Story of Ung!~
 
TITLE

RHYME a a * 
  
Full thirty foot she towered from waterline to rail.
It cost a watch to steer her, and a week to shorten sail;
But, spite all modern notions, I found her first and best --
The only certain packet for the Islands of the Blest.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Fair held the breeze behind us -- 'twas warm with lovers' prayers.
We'd stolen wills for ballast and a crew of missing heirs.
They shipped as Able Bastards till the Wicked Nurse confessed,
And they worked the old three-decker to the Islands of the Blest.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
By ways no gaze could follow, a course unspoiled of Cook,
Per Fancy, fleetest in man, our titled berths we took
With maids of matchless beauty and parentage unguessed,
And a Church of England parson for the Islands of the Blest.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
We asked no social questions -- we pumped no hidden shame --
We never talked obstetrics when the Little Stranger came:
We left the Lord in Heaven, we left the fiends in Hell.
We weren't exactly Yussufs, but -- Zuleika didn't tell.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
No moral doubt assailed us, so when the port we neared,
The villain had his flogging at the gangway, and we cheered.
'Twas fiddle in the forc's'le -- 'twas garlands on the mast,
For every one got married, and I went ashore at last.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
I left 'em all in couples a-kissing on the decks.
I left the lovers loving and the parents signing cheques.
In endless English comfort by county-folk caressed,
I left the old three-decker at the Islands of the Blest!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
That route is barred to steamers:  you'll never lift again
Our purple-painted headlands or the lordly keeps of Spain.
They're just beyond your skyline, howe'er so far you cruise
In a ram-you-damn-you liner with a brace of bucking screws.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Swing round your aching search-light -- 'twill show no haven's peace.
Ay, blow your shrieking sirens to the deaf, gray-bearded seas!
Boom out the dripping oil-bags to skin the deep's unrest --
And you aren't one knot the nearer to the Islands of the Blest!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
But when you're threshing, crippled, with broken bridge and rail,
At a drogue of dead convictions to hold you head to gale,
Calm as the Flying Dutchman, from truck to taffrail dressed,
You'll see the old three-decker for the Islands of the Blest.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
You'll see her tiering canvas in sheeted silver spread;
You'll hear the long-drawn thunder 'neath her leaping figure-head;
While far, so far above you, her tall poop-lanterns shine
Unvexed by wind or weather like the candles round a shrine!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Hull down -- hull down and under -- she dwindles to a speck,
With noise of pleasant music and dancing on her deck.
All's well -- all's well aboard her -- she's left you far behind,
With a scent of old-world roses through the fog that ties you blind.
 
RHYME a a * 
 
Her crew are babes or madmen?  Her port is all to make?
You're manned by Truth and Science, and you steam for steaming's sake?
Well, tinker up your engines -- you know your business best --
~She~'s taking tired people to the Islands of the Blest!
 
TITLE 
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
"If the Led Striker call it a strike,
 Or the papers call it a war,
They know not much what I am like,
 Nor what he is, my Avatar."
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Through many roads, by me possessed,
 He shambles forth in cosmic guise;
He is the Jester and the Jest,
 And he the Text himself applies.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
The Celt is in his heart and hand,
 The Gaul is in his brain and nerve;
Where, cosmopolitanly planned,
 He guards the Redskin's dry reserve.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
His easy unswept hearth he lends
 From Labrador to Guadeloupe;
Till, elbowed out by sloven friends,
 He camps, at sufferance, on the stoop.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Calm-eyed he scoffs at sword and crown,
 Or panic-blinded stabs and slays:
Blatant he bids the world bow down,
 Or cringing begs a crust of praise;
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Or, sombre-drunk, at mine and mart,
 He dubs his dreary brethren Kings.
His hands are black with blood -- his heart
 Leaps, as a babe's, at little things.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
But, through the shift of mood and mood,
 Mine ancient humour saves him whole --
The cynic devil in his blood
 That bids him mock his hurrying soul;
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
That bids him flout the Law he makes,
 That bids him make the Law he flouts,
Till, dazed by many doubts, he wakes
 The drumming guns that -- have no doubts;
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
That checks him foolish -- hot and fond,
 That chuckles through his deepest ire,
That gilds the slough of his despond
 But dims the goal of his desire;
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Inopportune, shrill-accented,
 The acrid Asiatic mirth
That leaves him, careless 'mid his dead,
 The scandal of the elder earth.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
How shall he clear himself, how reach
 Your bar or weighed defence prefer?
A brother hedged with alien speech
 And lacking all interpreter.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Which knowledge vexes him a space;
 But while Reproof around him rings,
He turns a keen untroubled face
 Home, to the instant need of things.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Enslaved, illogical, elate,
 He greets th' embarrassed Gods, nor fears
To shake the iron hand of Fate
 Or match with Destiny for beers.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
Lo, imperturbable he rules,
 Unkempt, disreputable, vast --
And, in the teeth of all the schools,
 I -- I shall save him at the last!
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a a *
 
I've paid for your sickest fancies; I've humoured your crackedest whim --
Dick, it's your daddy, dying; you've got to listen to him!
Good for a fortnight, am I?  The doctor told you?  He lied.
I shall go under by morning, and --  Put that nurse outside.
'Never seen death yet, Dickie?  Well, now is your time to learn,
And you'll wish you held my record before it comes to your turn.
Not counting the Line and the Foundry, the yards and the village, too,
I've made myself and a million; but I'm damned if I made you.
Master at two-and-twenty, and married at twenty-three --
Ten thousand men on the pay-roll, and forty freighters at sea!
Fifty years between 'em, and every year of it fight,
And now I'm Sir Anthony Gloster, dying, a baronite:
For I lunched with his Royal HIghness -- what was it the papers a-had?
"Not least of our merchant-princes."  Dickie, that's me, your dad!
~I~ didn't begin with askings.  ~I~ took my job and I stuck;
And I took the chances they wouldn't, an' now they're calling it luck.
Lord, what boats I've handled -- rotten and leaky and old!
Ran 'em, or -- opened the bilge-cock, precisely as I was told.

RHYME a a *
 
Grub that hud bind you crazy, and crews that hud turn you grey,
And a big fat lump of insurance to cover the risk on the way.
The others they dursn't do it; they said they valued their life
(They've served me since as skippers).  ~I~ went, and I took my wife.
Over the world I drove 'em, married at twenty-three,
And your mother saving the money and making a man of me.
~I~ was content to be master, but she said there was better behind;
She took the chances I wouldn't, and I followed your mother blind.
She egged me to borrow the money, an' she helped me to clear the loan,
When we bought half shares in a cheap hun and hoisted a flag of our own.
Patching and coaling on credit, and living the Lord knew how,
We started the Red Ox freighters -- we've eight-and-thirty now.

RHYME a a *
 
And those were the days of clippers, and the freights were clipper-freights,
And we knew we were making our fortune, but she died in Macassar Straits --
By the Little Paternosters, as you come to the Union Bank --
And we dropped her in fourteen fathom; I pricked it off where she sank.
Owners we were, full owners, and the boat was christened for her,
And she died in the ~Mary Gloster~.  My heart, how young we were!
So I went on a spree round Java and well-nigh ran her ashore,
But your mother came and warned me and I wouldn't liquor no more:
Strict I stuck to my business, afraid to stop or I'd think,
Saving the money (she warned me), and letting the other men drink.
And I met M'Cullough in London (I'd turned five hundred then),
And 'tween us we started the Foundry -- three forges and twenty men:
Cheap repairs for the cheap huns.  It paid, and the business grew,
For I bought me a steam-lathe patent, and that was a gold mine too.
"Cheaper to build 'em than buy 'em," ~I~ said, but M'Cullough he shied,
And we wasted a year in talking before we moved to the Clyde.

RHYME a a *
 
And the Lines were all beginning, and we all of us started fair,
Building our engines like houses and staying the boilers square.
But M'Cullough he wanted cabins with marble and maple and all,
And Brussels an' Utrecht velvet, and baths and a Social Hall,
And pipes for closets all over, and cutting the frames too light,
But M'Cullough he died in the Sixties, and --  Well, I'm dying to-night. . . .
I knew -- ~I~ knew what was coming, when we bid on the ~Byfleet~'s keel --
They piddled and piffled with iron:  I'd given my orders for steel!
Steel and the first expansions.  It paid, I tell you, it paid,
When we came with our nine-knot freighters and collared the long-run trade!
And they asked me how I did it, and I gave 'em the Scripture text,
"You keep your light so shining a little in front o' the next!"
They copied all they could follow, but they couldn't copy my mind,
And I left 'em sweating and stealing a year and a half behind.

RHYME a a *
 
Then came the armour-contracts, but that was M'Cullough's side;
He was always best in the Foundry, but better, perhaps, he died.
I went through his private papers; the notes was plainer than print;
And I'm no fool to finish if a man'll give me a hint.
(I remember his widow was angry.)  So I saw what the drawings meant,
And I started the six-inch rollers, and it paid me sixty per cent --
Sixty per cent ~with~ failures, and more than twice we could do,
And a quarter-million to credit, and I saved it all for you!
I thought -- it doesn't matter -- you seemed to favour your ma,
But you're nearer forty than thirty, and I know the kind you are.

RHYME a a *
 
Harrer an' Trinity College!  I ought to ha' sent you to sea --
But I stood you an education, an' what have you done for me?
The things I knew was proper you wouldn't thank me to give,
And the things I knew was rotten you said was the way to live.
For you muddled with books and pictures, an' china an' etchin's an' fans,
And your rooms at college was beastly -- more like a whore's than a man's --
Till you married that thin-flanked woman, as white and as stale as a bone,
An' she gave you your social nonsense; but where's that kid o' your own?
I've seen your carriages blocking the half o' the Cromwell Road,
But never the doctor's brougham to help the missus unload.

RHYME a a *
 
(So there isn't even a grandchild, an' the Gloster family's done.)
Not like your mother, she isn't.  ~She~ carried her freight each run.
But they died, the pore little beggars!  At sea she had 'em -- they died.
Only you, an' you stood it; you haven't stood much beside.
Weak, a liar, and idle, and mean as a collier's whelp
Nosing for scraps in the galley.  No help -- my son was no help!
So he gets three hundred thousand, in trust and the interest paid.
I wouldn't give it you, Dickie -- you see, I made it in trade.
You're saved from soiling your fingers, and if you have no child,
It all comes back to the business.  Gad, won't your wife be wild!
'Calls and calls in her carriage, her handkerchief up to her eye:
"Daddy! dear daddy's dyin'!" and doing her best to cry.
Grateful?  Oh, yes, I'm grateful, but keep her away from here.
Your mother hud never ha' stood 'er, and, anyhow, women are queer. . . .

RHYME a a *
 
There's women will say I've married a second time.Not quite!  
But give pore Aggie a hundred, and tell her your lawyers'll fight.
She was the best o' the boiling -- you'll meet her before it ends;
I'm in for a row with the mother -- I'll leave you settle my friends:
For a man he must go with a woman, which women don't understand --
Or the sort that say they can see it they aren't the marrying brand.
But I wanted to speak o' your mother that's Lady Gloster still --
I'm going to up and see her, without it's hurting the will.
Here!  Take your hand off the bell-pull.  Five thousand's waiting for you,
If you'll only listen a minute, and do as I bid you do.
They'll try to prove me crazy, and, if you bungle, they can;
And I've only you to trust to!  (O God, why ain't he a man?)

RHYME a a *
 
There's some waste money on marbles, the same as M'Cullough tried --
Marbles and mausoleums -- but I call that sinful pride.
There's some ship bodies for burial -- we've carried 'em, soldered and packed;
Down in their wills they wrote it, and nobody called ~them~ cracked.
But me -- I've too much money, and people might. . . .  All my fault:
It come o' hoping for grandsons and buying that Wokin' vault.
I'm sick o' the whole dam' business; I'm going back where I came.
Dick, you're the son o' my body, and you'll take charge o' the same!
I want to lie by your mother, ten thousand mile away,
And they'll want to send me to Woking; and that's where you'll earn your pay.
I've thought it out on the quiet, the same as it ought to be done --
Quiet, and decent, and proper -- an' here's your orders, my son.

RHYME a a *
 
You know the Line?  You don't, though.  You write to the Board, and tell
Your father's death has upset you an' you're goin' to cruise for a spell,
An' you'd like the ~Mary Gloster~ -- I've held her ready for this --
They'll put her in working order and you'll take her out as she is.
Yes, it was money idle when I patched her and put her aside
(Thank God, I can pay for my fancies!) -- the boat where your mother died,
By the Little Paternosters, as you come to the Union Bank,
We dropped her -- I think I told you -- and I pricked it off where she sank --
['Tiny she looked on the grating -- that oily, treacly sea --]
'Hundred and eighteen East, remember, and South just three.

RHYME a a *
 
Easy bearings to carry -- three South -- three to the dot;
But I gave MHAndrew a copy in case of dying -- or not.
And so you'll write to MHAndrew, he's Chief of the Maori Line;
They'll give him leave, if you ask 'em and say it's business o' mine.
I built three boats for the Maoris, an' very well pleased they were,
An' I've known Mac since the Fifties, and Mac knew me -- and her.
After the first stroke warned me I sent him the money to keep
Against the time you'd claim it, committin' your dad to the deep;

RHYME a a *
 
For you are the son o' my body, and Mac was my oldest friend,
I've never asked him to dinner, but he'll see it out to the end.
Stiff-necked Glasgow beggar, I've heard he's prayed for my soul,
But he couldn't lie if you paid him, and he'd starve before he stole!
He'll take the ~Mary~ in ballast -- you'll find her a lively ship;
And you'll take Sir Anthony Gloster, that goes on his wedding-trip,
Lashed in our old deck-cabin with all three port-holes wide,
The kick o' the screw beneath him and the round blue seas outside!
Sir Anthony Gloster's carriage -- our house-flag flyin' free --
Ten thousand men on the pay-roll and forty freighters at sea!

RHYME a a *
 
He made himself and a million, but this world is a fleetin' show,
And he'll go to the wife of his bosom the same as he ought to go --
By the heel of the Paternosters -- there isn't a chance to mistake --
And Mac'll pay you the money as soon as the bubbles break!
Five thousand for six weeks' cruising, the staunchest freighter afloat,
And Mac he'll give you your bonus the minute I'm out o' the boat!
He'll take you round to Macassar, and you'll come back alone;
He knows what I want o' the ~Mary~. . . .  I'll do what I please with my own.
Your mother hud call it wasteful, but I've seven-and-thirty more;
I'll come in my private carriage and bid it wait at the door. . . .
For my son he was never a credit:  he muddled with books and art,
And he lived on Sir Anthony's money and he broke Sir Anthony's heart.
There isn't even a grandchild, and the Gloster family's done --
The only one you left me, O mother, the only one!

RHYME a a *
 
Harrer and Trinity College -- me slavin' early an' late --
An' he thinks I'm dying crazy, and you're in Macassar Strait!
Flesh o' my flesh, my dearie, for ever an' ever amen,
That first stroke come for a warning; I ought to ha' gone to you then,
But -- cheap repairs for a cheap hun -- the doctors said I'd do:
Mary, why didn't ~you~ warn me?  I've allus heeded to you,
Excep' -- I know -- about women; but you are a spirit now;
An', wife, they was only women, and I was a man.  That's how.
An' a man he must go with a woman, as you could not understand;
But I never talked 'em secrets.  I paid 'em out o' hand.

RHYME a a *
 
Thank Gawd, I can pay for my fancies!  Now what's five thousand to me,
For a berth off the Paternosters in the haven where I would be?
~I~ believe in the Resurrection, if I read my Bible plain,
But I wouldn't trust 'em at Wokin'; we're safer at sea again.
For the heart it shall go with the treasure -- go down to the sea in ships.
I'm sick of the hired women -- I'll kiss my girl on her lips!
I'll be content with my fountain, I'll drink from my own well,
And the wife of my youth shall charm me -- an' the rest can go to Hell!
(Dickie, ~he~ will, that's certain.)  I'll lie in our standin'-bed,
An' Mac'll take her in ballast -- an' she trims best by the head. . . .
Down by the head an' sinkin', her fires are drawn and cold,
And the water's splashin' hollow on the skin of the empty hold --
Churning an' choking and chuckling, quiet and scummy and dark --
Full to her lower hatches and risin' steady.  Hark!
That was the after-bulkhead. . . .  She's flooded from stem to stern. . . .
Never seen death yet, Dickie? . . .  Well, now is your time to learn!
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
     When HOmer smote his bloomin' lyre,
      He'd heard men sing by land an' sea;
     An' what he thought he might require,
      HE went an' took -- the same as me!
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
     The market-girls an' fishermen,
      The shepherds an' the sailors, too,
     They heard old songs turn up again,
       But kep' it quiet -- same as you!
 
RHYME a b a b   
 
     They knew he stole; he knew they knowed.
      They didn't tell, nor make a fuss,
     But winked at HOmer down the road,
      An' he winked back -- the same as us!
 
TITLE
 
RHYME a b c c b 
 
When the Waters were dried an' the Earth did appear,
 ("It's all one," says the Sapper),
The Lord He created the Engineer,
 Her Majesty's Royal Engineer,
 With the rank and pay of a Sapper!

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM a a b
 
When the Flood come along for an extra monsoon,
'Twas Noah constructed the first pontoon
    To the plans of Her Majesty's, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM c c b
 
But after fatigue in the wet an' the sun,
Old Noah got drunk, which he wouldn't ha' done
    If he'd trained with, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM d d b
 
When the Tower o' Babel had mixed up men's bat,
Some clever civilian was managing that,
    An' none of, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM e e b
 
When the Jews had a fight at the foot of a hill,
Young Joshua ordered the sun to stand still,
    For he was a Captain of Engineers, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM f f b
 
When the Children of Israel made bricks without straw,
They were learnin' the regular work of our Corps,
    The work of, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM g g b
 
For ever since then, if a war they would wage,
Behold us a-shinin' on history's page Ñ
    First page for, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM h h b
 
We lay down their sidings an' help 'em entrain,
An' we sweep up their mess through the bloomin' campaign,
    In the style of, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM i i b
 
They send us in front with a fuse an' a mine
To blow up the gates that are rushed by the Line,
    But bent by, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM j j b
 
They send us behind with a pick an' a spade,
To dig for the guns of a bullock-brigade
    Which has asked for, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM k k b
 
We work under escort in trousers and shirt,
An' the heathen they plug us tail-up in the dirt,
    Annoying, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM l l b
 
We blast out the rock an' we shovel the mud,
We make 'em good roads an' Ñ they roll down the khud,
    Reporting, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM m m b
 
We make 'em their bridges, their wells, an' their huts,
An' the telegraph-wire the enemy cuts,
    An' it's blamed on, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM n n b
 
An' when we return, an' from war we would cease,
They grudge us adornin' the billets of peace,
    Which are kept for, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM o o b
 
We build 'em nice barracks Ñ they swear they are bad,
That our Colonels are Methodist, married or mad,
    Insultin', etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM p p b
 
They haven't no manners nor gratitude too,
For the more that we help 'em, the less will they do,
    But mock at, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM q q b
 
Now the Line's but a man with a gun in his hand,
An' Cavalry's only what horses can stand,
    When helped by, etc.

RHYME a a b
RHYME-POEM r r b
 
Artillery moves by the leave o' the ground,
But we are the men that do something all round,
    For we are, etc.

RHYME a b a b b b

I have stated it plain, an' my argument's thus
    ("It's all one," says the Sapper),
There's only one Corps which is perfect Ñ that's us;
    An' they call us Her Majesty's Engineers,
    Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
    With the rank and pay of a Sapper!

TITLE

RHYME a b c b 
  
It got beyond all orders an' it got beyond all hope;
 It got to shammin' wounded an' retirin' from the halt.
whole companies was lookin' for the nearest road to slope;
 It were just a bloomin' knock-out -- an' our fault!
 
RHYME a b c b 
  
     Now there ain't no chorus here to give,
      Nor there ain't no band to play;
     An' I wish I was dead 'fore I done what I did,
      Or seen what I seed that day!
 
RHYME a b c b 
  
We was sick o' bein' punished, an' we let 'em know it, too;
 An' a company-commander up an' hit us with a sword,
An' some one shouted "HOok it!" an' it come to ~sove-ki-poo~,
 An' we chucked our rifles from us -- O my Gawd!
 
RHYME a b c b 
  
There was thirty dead an' wounded on the ground we wouldn't keep --
 No, there wasn't more than twenty when the front begun to go;
But, Christ! along the line o' flight they cut us up like sheep,
 An' that was all we gained by doin' so.
 
RHYME a b c b 
  
I heard the knives behind me, but I dursn't face my man,
 Nor I don't know where I went to, 'cause I didn't halt to see,
Till I heard a beggar squealin' out for quarter as he ran,
 An' I thought I knew the voice an' -- it was me!

RHYME a b c b  
 
The men that fought at Minden, they was rookies in their time --
 So was them that fought at Waterloo!
All the whole command, yuss, from Minden to Maiwand,
 They was once dam' sweeps like you!
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
     Then do not be discouraged, HEaven is your helper,
      We'll learn you not to forget;
     An' you mustn't swear an' curse, or you'll only catch it worse,
      For we'll make you soldiers yet!
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
The men that fought at Minden, they had stocks beneath their chins,
 Six inch high an' more;
But fatigue it was their pride, and they ~would~ not be denied
 To clean the cook-house floor.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
The men that fought at Minden, they had anarchistic bombs
 Served to 'em by name of hand-grenades;
But they got it in the eye (same as you will by-an'-by)
 When they clubbed their field-parades.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
The men that fought at Minden, they had buttons up an' down,
 Two-an'-twenty dozen of 'em told;
But they didn't grouse an' shirk at an hour's extry work,
 They kept 'em bright as gold.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
The men that fought at Minden, they was armed with musketoons,
 Also, they was drilled by halberdiers;
I don't know what they were, but the sergeants took good care
 They washed behind their ears.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
The men that fought at Minden, they had ever cash in hand
 Which they did not bank nor save,
But spent it gay an' free on their betters -- such as me --
 For the good advice I gave.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
The men that fought at Minden, they was civil -- yuss, they was --
 Never didn't talk o' rights an' wrongs,
But they got it with the toe (same as you will get it -- so!) --
 For interrupting songs.
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
The men that fought at Minden, they was several other things
 Which I don't remember clear;
But ~that's~ the reason why, now the six-year men are dry,
 The rooks will stand the beer!
 
RHYME a b c b  
 
     Then do not be discouraged, HEaven is your helper,
      We'll learn you not to forget;
     An' you mustn't swear an' curse, or you'll only catch it worse,
      For we'll make you soldiers yet!
 
TITLE

RHYME a a b b 
 
We've got the cholerer in camp -- it's worse than forty fights;
 We're dyin' in the wilderness the same as Isrulites;
It's before us, an' behind us, an' we cannot get away,
 An' the doctor's just reported we've ten more to-day!
 
RHYME a a b c c c b 

     Oh, strike your camp an' go, the Bugle's callin',
        The Rains are fallin' --
     The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below;
     The Band's a-doin' all she knows to cheer us;
     The Chaplain's gone and prayed to Gawd to hear us --
        To hear us --
     O Lord, for it's a-killin' of us so!
 
RHYME a a b b 

Since August, when it started, it's been stickin' to our tail,
Though they've had us out by marches an' they've had us back by rail;
But it runs as fast as troop-trains, and we cannot get away;
An' the sick-list to the Colonel makes ten more to-day.
 
RHYME a a b b 

There ain't no fun in women nor there ain't no bite to drink;
It's much too wet for shootin', we can only march and think;
An' at evenin', down the ~nullahs~, we can hear the jackals say,
"Get up, you rotten beggars, you've ten more to-day!"
 
RHYME a a b b 

'Twould make a monkey cough to see our way o' doin' things --
Lieutenants takin' companies an' captains takin' wings,
An' Lances actin' Sergeants -- eight file to obey --
For we've lots o' quick promotion on ten deaths a day!
 
RHYME a a b b 

Our Colonel's white an' twitterly -- he gets no sleep nor food,
But mucks about in 'orspital where nothing does no good.
HE sends us heaps o' comforts, all bought from his pay --
But there aren't much comfort handy on ten deaths a day.
 
RHYME a a b b 

Our Chaplain's got a banjo, an' a skinny mule he rides,
An' the stuff he says an' sings us, Lord, it makes us split our sides!
With his black coat-tails a-bobbin' to ~Ta-ra-ra Boomderay!~
he's the proper kind o' ~padre~ for ten deaths a day.
 
RHYME a a b b 

An' Father Victor helps him with our Roman Catholicks --
He knows an heap of Irish songs an' rummy conjurin' tricks;
An' the two they works together when it comes to play or pray;
So we keep the ball a-rollin' on ten deaths a day.
 
RHYME a a b b 

We've got the cholerer in camp -- we've got it hot an' sweet;
It ain't no Christmas dinner, but it's helped an' we must eat.
We've gone beyond the funkin', 'cause we've found it doesn't pay,
An' we're rockin' round the Districk on ten deaths a day!
 
RHYME a a b c c d d b b b b e

Then strike your camp an' go, the Rains are fallin',
            The Bugle's callin'!
    The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below!
    An' them that do not like it they can lump it,
    An' them that cannot stand it they can jump it;
    We've got to die somewhere Ñ some way Ñ some'ow Ñ
    We might as well begin to do it now!
    Then, Number One, let down the tent-pole slow,
    Knock out the pegs an' 'old the corners Ñ so!
    Fold in the flies, furl up the ropes, an' stow!
    Oh, strike Ñ oh, strike your camp an' go!
            (Gawd 'elp us!)

TITLE

RHYME a b c b * 
 
There was Rundle, Station Master,
 An' Beazeley of the Rail,
An' HAckman, Commissariat,
 An' Donkin' o' the Jail;
An' Blake, Conductor-Sargent,
 Our Master twice was he,
With him that kept the Europe-shop,
 Old Framjee Eduljee.
 
RHYME a a b b 

     Outside -- "Sergeant!  Sir!  Salute!  Salaam!"
     Inside -- "Brother", an' it doesn't do no harm.
     We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,
     An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!
 
RHYME a b c b *

We'd Bola Nath, Accountant,
 An' Saul the Aden Jew,
An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman
 Of the Survey Office too;
There was Babu Chuckerbutty,
 An' Amir Singh the Sikh,
An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds,
 The Roman Catholick!
 
RHYME a b c b *

We hadn't good regalia,
 An' our Lodge was old an' bare,
But we knew the Ancient Landmarks,
 An' we kep' 'em to a hair;
An' lookin' on it backwards
 It often strikes me thus,
There ain't such things as infidels,
 Excep', perhaps, it's us.
 
RHYME a b c b *

For monthly, after Labour,
 We'd all sit down and smoke
(We dursn't give no banquits,
 Lest a Brother's caste were broke),
An' man on man got talkin'
 Religion an' the rest,
An' every man comparin'
 Of the God he knew the best.
 
RHYME a b c b *

So man on man got talkin',
 An' not a Brother stirred
Till mornin' waked the parrots
 An' that dam' brain-fever-bird;
We'd say 'twas highly curious,
 An' we'd all ride home to bed,
With Mohammed, God, an' Shiva
 Changin' pickets in our head.
 
RHYME a b c b *

Full oft on Guv'ment service
 This rovin' foot hath pressed,
An' bore fraternal greetin's
 To the Lodges east an' west,
Accordin' as commanded
 From Kohat to Singapore,
But I wish that I might see them
 In my Mother-Lodge once more!
 
RHYME a b c b *

I wish that I might see them,
 My Brethren black an' brown,
With the trichies smellin' pleasant
 An' the ~hog-darn~ passin' down;                          
An' the old khansamah snorin'                              
 On the bottle-khana floor,                                
Like a Master in good standing
 With my Mother-Lodge once more!
 
RHYME a a b b 

     Outside -- "Sergeant!  Sir!  Salute!  Salaam!"
     Inside -- "Brother", an' it doesn't do no harm.
     We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,
     An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!

TITLE

RHYME a b c b   
 
   There was no one like him, horse or Foot,
    Nor any o' the Guns I knew;
An' because it was so, why, o' course he went an' died,
    Which is just what the best men do.
 
RHYME a b c b   
 
   HIs mare she neighs the whole day long,
    She paws the whole night through,
An' she won't take her feed 'cause o' waitin' for his step,
    Which is just what a beast would do.
 
RHYME a b c b   
 
   HIs girl she goes with a bombardier
    Before her month is through;
An' the banns are up in church, for she's got the beggar hooked,
    Which is just what a girl would do.
 
RHYME a b c b   
 
   We fought 'bout a dog -- last week it were --
    No more than a round or two;
But I strook him cruel hard, an' I wish I hadn't now,
    Which is just what a man can't do.
 
RHYME a b c b   
 
   HE was all that I had in the way of a friend,
    An' I've had to find one new;
But I'd give my pay an' stripe for to get the beggar back,
    Which it's just too late to do.
 
RHYME a a b b 
 
          Take him away!  he's gone where the best men go.
          Take him away!  An' the gun-wheels turnin' slow.
          Take him away!  There's more from the place he come.
          Take him away, with the limber an' the drum.

TITLE

RHYME  a b c b *
 
HE was warned agin' her --
 That's what made him look;
She was warned agin' him --
 That is why she took.
'Wouldn't hear no reason,
 'Went an' done it blind;
We know all about 'em,
 They've got all to find!
  
RHYME  a b c b *
 
What's the use o' tellin'
 HArf the lot she's been?
he's a bloomin' robber,
 ~An'~ he keeps canteen.
HOw did he get his buggy?
 Gawd, you needn't ask!
'Made his forty gallon
 Out of every cask!
 
RHYME  a b c b *
 
Watch him, with his hair cut,
 Count us filin' by --
Won't the Colonel praise his
 Pop -- u -- lar -- i -- ty!
We have scores to settle --
 Scores for more than beer;
She's the girl to pay 'em --
 That is why we're here!
 
RHYME  a b c b *
 
See the chaplain thinkin'?
 See the women smile?
Twig the married winkin'
 As they take the aisle?
Keep your side-arms quiet,
 Dressin' by the Band.
Ho!  You holy beggars,
 Cough behind your hand!
 
RHYME  a b c b *
 
Now it's done an' over,
 HEar the organ squeak,
"~'Voice that breathed o'er Eden~" --
 Ain't she got the cheek!
White an' laylock ribbons,
 Think yourself so fine!
I'd pray Gawd to take yer
 'Fore I made yer mine!
 
RHYME  a b c b *
 
Escort to the kerridge,
 Wish him luck, the brute!
Chuck the slippers after --
 [Pity 'tain't a boot!]
Bowin' like a lady,
 Blushin' like a lad --
'Oo would say to see 'em
 Both is rotten bad?

TITLE
 
RHYME a b a b * 
 
Through the Plagues of Egyp' we was chasin' Arabi,
 Gettin' down an' shovin' in the sun;
An' you might have called us dirty, an' you might ha' called us dry,
 An' you might have heard us talkin' at the gun.
But the Captain had his jacket, an' the jacket it was new --
 (horse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An' the wettin' of the jacket is the proper thing to do,
 Nor we didn't keep him waitin' very long.
 
RHYME a b a b * 
 
One day they gave us orders for to shell a sand redoubt,
 Loadin' down the axle-arms with case;
But the Captain knew his dooty, an' he took the crackers out
 An' he put some proper liquor in its place.
An' the Captain saw the shrapnel, which is six-an'-thirty clear.
 (horse Gunners, listen to my song!)
"Will you draw the weight," sez he, "or will you draw the beer?"
 An' we didn't keep him waitin' very long.
 
RHYME a b a b * 
 
Then we trotted gentle, not to break the bloomin' glass,
 Though the Arabites had all their ranges marked;
But we dursn't hardly gallop, for the most was bottled Bass,
 An' we'd dreamed of it since we was disembarked:
So we fired economic with the shells we had in hand,
 (horse Gunners, listen to my song!)
But the beggars under cover had the impidence to stand,
 An' we couldn't keep 'em waitin' very long.
 
RHYME a b a b * 
 
So we finished harf the liquor (an' the Captain took champagne),
 An' the Arabites was shootin' all the while;
An' we left our wounded happy with the empties on the plain,
 An' we used the bloomin' guns for pro-jec-tile!
We limbered up an' galloped -- there were nothin' else to do --
 (horse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An' the Battery came a-boundin' like a boundin' kangaroo,
 But they didn't watch us comin' very long.
 
RHYME a b a b * 
 
We was goin' most extended -- we was drivin' very fine,
 An' the Arabites were loosin' high an' wide,
Till the Captain took the glassy with a rattlin' right incline,
 An' we dropped upon their heads the other side.
Then we give 'em quarter -- such as hadn't up and cut,
 (horse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An' the Captain stood a limberful of fizzy -- somethin' Brutt,
 But we didn't leave it fizzing very long.
 
RHYME a b a b 
 
We might ha' been court-martialled, but it all come out all right
 When they signalled us to join the main command.
There was every round expended, there was every gunner tight,
 An' the Captain waved a corkscrew in his hand.
 
TITLE

RHYME a a *
 
The heathen in his blindness bows down to wood an' stone;
HE don't obey no orders unless they is his own;
HE keeps his side-arms awful:  he leaves 'em all about,
An' then comes up the regiment an' pokes the heathen out.
 
RHYME a a *
 
     All along o' dirtiness, all along o' mess,
     All along o' doin' things rather-more-or-less,
     All along of abby-nay, kul, an' hazar-ho, *
     Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!
 
RHYME a a *
 
The young recruit is haughty -- he draf's from Gawd knows where;
They bid him show his stockin's an' lay his mattress square;
HE calls it bloomin' nonsense -- he doesn't know no more --
An' then up comes his Company an' kicks him round the floor!
 
RHYME a a *
 
The young recruit is hammered -- he takes it very hard;
HE hangs his head an' mutters -- he sulks about the yard;
HE talks o' "cruel tyrants" he'll swing for by-an'-by,
An' the others hears an' mocks him, an' the boy goes orf to cry.
 
RHYME a a *
 
The young recruit is silly -- he thinks o' suicide;
he's lost his gutter-devil; he hasn't got his pride;
But day by day they kicks him, which helps him on a bit,
Till he finds hisself one mornin' with a full an' proper kit.
 
RHYME a a *
 
     Gettin' clear o' dirtiness, gettin' done with mess,
     Gettin' shut o' doin' things rather-more-or-less;
     Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho,
     Learns to keep his rifle an' hisself jus' so!
 
RHYME a a *
 
The young recruit is happy -- he throws a chest to suit;
You see him grow mustaches; you hear him slap his boot;
HE learns to drop the "bloodies" from every word he slings,
An' he shows an healthy brisket when he strips for bars an' rings.
 
RHYME a a *
 
The cruel-tyrant-sergeants they watch him harf a year;
They watch him with his comrades, they watch him with his beer;
They watch him with the women at the regimental dance,
And the cruel-tyrant-sergeants send his name along for "Lance".
 
RHYME a a *
 
An' now he's harf o' nothin', an' all a private yet,
HIs room they up an' rags him to see what they will get;
They rags him low an' cunnin', each dirty trick they can,
But he learns to sweat his temper an' he learns to sweat his man.
 
RHYME a a *
 
An', last, a Colour-Sergeant, as such to be obeyed,
HE schools his men at cricket, he tells 'em on parade;
They sees 'em quick an' handy, uncommon set an' smart,
An' so he talks to orficers which have the Core at heart.
 
RHYME a a *
 
HE learns to do his watchin' without it showin' plain;
HE learns to save a dummy, an' shove him straight again;
HE learns to check a ranker that's buyin' leave to shirk;
An' he learns to make men like him so they'll learn to like their work.
 
RHYME a a *
 
An' when it comes to marchin' he'll see their socks are right,
An' when it comes to action he shows 'em how to sight;
HE knows their ways of thinkin' and just what's in their mind;
HE knows when they are takin' on an' when they've fell behind.
 
RHYME a a *
 
HE knows each talkin' corpril that leads a squad astray;
HE feels his innards heavin', his bowels givin' way;
HE sees the blue-white faces all tryin' hard to grin,
An' he stands an' waits an' suffers till it's time to cap 'em in.
 
RHYME a a *
 
An' now the hugly bullets come peckin' through the dust,
An' no one wants to face 'em, but every beggar must;
So, like a man in irons which isn't glad to go,
They moves 'em off by companies uncommon stiff an' slow.
 
RHYME a a *
 
Of all his five years' schoolin' they don't remember much
Excep' the not retreatin', the step an' keepin' touch.
It looks like teachin' wasted when they duck an' spread an' hop,
But if he hadn't learned 'em they'd be all about the shop!
 
RHYME a a *
 
An' now it's "'Oo goes backward?" an' now it's "'Oo comes on?"
And now it's "Get the doolies," an' now the captain's gone;
An' now it's bloody murder, but all the while they hear
HIs voice, the same as barrick drill, a-shepherdin' the rear.
 
RHYME a a *
 
he's just as sick as they are, his heart is like to split,
But he works 'em, works 'em, works 'em till he feels 'em take the bit;
The rest is holdin' steady till the watchful bugles play,
An' he lifts 'em, lifts 'em, lifts 'em through the charge that wins the day!
 
RHYME a a *
 
     The heathen in his blindness bows down to wood an' stone;
     HE don't obey no orders unless they is his own;
     The heathen in his blindness must end where he began,
     But the backbone of the Army is the non-commissioned man!
 
RHYME a a *
 
     Keep away from dirtiness -- keep away from mess.
     Don't get into doin' things rather-more-or-less!
     Let's ha' done with abby-nay, kul, an' hazar-ho;
     Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!
 
TITLE

RHYME a b c b *
 
Sez the Junior Orderly Sergeant
 To the Senior Orderly Man:
"Our Orderly Orf'cer's ~hokee-mut~,
 You help him all you can.
For the wine was old and the night is cold,
 An' the best we may go wrong,
So, 'fore he gits to the sentry-box,
 You pass the word along."
 
RHYME a b a b
 
     So it was "Rounds!  What Rounds?" at two of a frosty night,
      he's holdin' on by the sergeant's sash, but, sentry, shut your eye.
     An' it was "Pass!  All's well!"  Oh, ain't he drippin' tight!
      HE'll need an affidavit pretty badly by-an'-by.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
The moon was white on the barricks,
 The road was white an' wide,
An' the Orderly Orf'cer took it all,
 An' the ten-foot ditch beside.
An' the corporal pulled an' the sergeant pushed,
 An' the three they danced along,
But I'd shut my eyes in the sentry-box,
 So I didn't see nothin' wrong.
  
RHYME a b c b *
 
'Twas after four in the mornin';
 We had to stop the fun,
An' we sent him home on a bullock-cart,
 With his belt an' stock undone;
But we sluiced him down an' we washed him out,
 An' a first-class job we made,
When we saved him, smart as a bombardier,
 For six-o'clock parade.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
The drill was long an' heavy,
 The sky was hot an' blue,
An' his eye was wild an' his hair was wet,
 But his sergeant pulled him through.
Our men was good old trusties --
 They'd done it on their head;
But you ought to have heard 'em markin' time
 To hide the things he said!
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
There was two-an'-thirty sergeants,
 There was corp'rals forty-one,
There was just nine hundred rank an' file
 To swear to a touch o' sun.
There was me he'd kissed in the sentry-box,
 As I have not told in my song,
But I took my oath, which were Bible truth,
 I hadn't seen nothin' wrong.
 
RHYME a b c b *
 
There's them that's hot an' haughty,
 There's them that's cold an' hard,
But there comes a night when the best gets tight,
 And then turns out the Guard.
I've seen them hide their liquor
 In every kind o' way,
But most depends on makin' friends
 With Privit Thomas A.!
 
TITLE

RHYME a b a b b c b c

You call yourself a man,
 For all you used to swear,
An' leave me, as you can,
 My certain shame to bear?
 I hear!  You do not care --
You done the worst you know.
 I hate you, grinnin' there. . . .
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
 
RHYME a a b b

     Nice while it lasted, an' now it is over --
     Tear out your heart an' good-bye to your lover!
     What's the use o' grievin', when the mother that bore you
     (Mary, pity women!) knew it all before you?
 
RHYME a b a b b c b c

It aren't no false alarm,
 The finish to your fun;
You -- you have brung the harm,
 An' I'm the ruined one;
 An' now you'll off an' run
With some new fool in tow.
 Your heart?  You haven't none. . . .
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
 
RHYME a a b b

     When a man is tired there is naught will bind him;
     All he solemn promised he will shove behind him.
     What's the good o' prayin' for The Wrath to strike him
     (Mary, pity women!), when the rest are like him?
 
RHYME a b a b b c b c 

What hope for me or -- it?
 What's left for us to do?
I've walked with men a bit,
 But this -- but this is you.
So help me Christ, it's true!
 Where can I hide or go?
You coward through and through! . . .
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!

RHYME a a b b

      All the more you give 'em the less are they for givin' --
     Love lies dead, an' you cannot kiss him livin'.
     Down the road he led you there is no returnin'
     (Mary, pity women!), but you're late in learnin'!
 
RHYME a b a b b c b c 

You'd like to treat me fair?
 You can't, because we're pore?
We'd starve?  What do I care!
 We might, but ~this~ is shore!
 I want the name -- no more --
The name, an' lines to show,
 An' not to be an whore. . . .
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!

RHYME a a b b

      What's the good o' pleadin', when the mother that bore you
     (Mary, pity women!) knew it all before you?
     Sleep on his promises an' wake to your sorrow
     (Mary, pity women!), for we sail to-morrow!
  
TITLE

RHYME a b a b *
 
The Injian Ocean sets an' smiles
 So sof', so bright, so bloomin' blue;
There aren't a wave for miles an' miles
 Excep' the jiggle from the screw.
The ship is swep', the day is done,
 The bugle's gone for smoke and play;
An' black agin' the settin' sun
 The Lascar sings, "~Hum deckty hai!~"
 
RHYME a b a b 

     For to admire an' for to see,
      For to behold this world so wide --
     It never done no good to me,
      But I can't drop it if I tried!
 
RHYME a b c b *

I see the sergeants pitchin' quoits,
 I hear the women laugh an' talk,
I spy upon the quarter-deck
 The orficers an' lydies walk.
I thinks about the things that was,
 An' leans an' looks acrost the sea,
Till spite of all the crowded ship
 There's no one lef' alive but me.
 
RHYME a b c b *

The things that was which I have seen,
 In barrick, camp, an' action too,
I tells them over by myself,
 An' sometimes wonders if they're true;
For they was odd -- most awful odd --
 But all the same now they are o'er,
There must be heaps o' plenty such,
 An' if I wait I'll see some more.
 
RHYME a b c b *

Oh, I have come upon the books,
 An' frequent broke a barrick rule,
An' stood beside an' watched myself
 Behavin' like a bloomin' fool.
I paid my price for findin' out,
 Nor never grutched the price I paid,
But sat in Clink without my boots,
 Admirin' how the world was made.
 
RHYME a b c b *

Behold a crowd upon the beam,
 An' humped above the sea appears
Old Aden, like a barrick-stove
 That no one's lit for years an' years!
I passed by that when I began,
 An' I go home the road I came,
A time-expired soldier-man
 With six years' service to his name.
 
RHYME a b c b *

My girl she said, "Oh, stay with me!"
 My mother held me to her breast.
They've never written none, an' so
 They must have gone with all the rest --
With all the rest which I have seen
 An' found an' known an' met along.
I cannot say the things I feel,
 And so I sing my evenin' song:
 
TITLE

RHYME a a * 
 
When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it -- lie down for an ]aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
And those that were good shall be happy:  they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair;
They shall find real saints to draw from -- Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!
 
RHYME a a * 
 
And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are!
 
TITLE Recessional

RHYME a b a b c c

God of our fathers, known of old--
  Lord of our far-flung battle line--
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
  Dominion over palm and pine--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!

RHYME a b a b c c

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!

RHYME a b a b c c

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!
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!

RHYME a b a b c c

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
  Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe--
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
  Or lesser breeds without the Law--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!

RHYME a b a b c c

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!

TITLE

RHYME a b a a a b 

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!)

RHYME a b c c b 

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.

RHYME a b a a a b 

A fool there was and his goods he spent
  (Even as you and I!)
Honor and faith and a sure intent
But a fool must follow his natural bent
(And it wasn't the least what the lady meant),
  (Even as you and I!)

RHYME a b c c b 

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.

RHYME a b a a a b 

The fool we 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!)

RHYME a b c c b 

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.

TITLE

RHYME a a

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?

RHYME a a

Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, unthinking and blind?
Shall I meet you next session at Simla, O sweetest and best of your kind?

RHYME a a

Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in short frocks in the West,
Are you growing the charms that shall capture and torture the heart in my breast?

RHYME a a

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?

RHYME a a

When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the mean lesser lights I pursue,
And the charm of your presence shall lure me from love of the gay "thirteen-two";

RHYME a a

When the peg and the pig-skin shall please not; when I buy me Calcutta-build clothes;
When I quit the Delight of Wild Asses; forswearing the swearing of oaths ;

RHYME a a

As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn 'mid the gibes of my friends;
When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the life of the bachelor ends.

RHYME a a

Ah, Goddess! child, spinster, or widow--as of old on Mars Hill whey they raised
To the God that they knew not an altar--so I, a young Pagan, have praised

RHYME a a

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.

TITLE

RHYME a a b a 

Now the New Year, reviving last Year's Debt,
The Thoughtful Fisher casteth wide his Net;
  So I with begging Dish and ready Tongue
Assail all Men for all that I can get.

RHYME a a b a 

Imports indeed are gone with all their Dues--
Lo! Salt a Lever that I dare not use,
  Nor may I ask the Tillers in Bengal--
Surely my Kith and Kin will not refuse!

RHYME a a b a 

Pay--and I promise by the Dust of Spring,
Retrenchment.  If my promises can bring
  Comfort, Ye have Them now a thousandfold--
By Allah! I will promise Anything!

RHYME a a b a 

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.

RHYME a a b a 

Whether a Boileaugunge or Babylon,
I know not how the wretched Thing is done,
  The Items of Receipt grow surely small;
The Items of Expense mount one by one.

RHYME a a b a 

I cannot help it. What have I to do
With One and Five, or Four, or Three, or Two?
  Let Scribes spit Blood and Sulphur as they please,
Or Statesmen call me foolish--Heed not you.

RHYME a a b a 

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.

RHYME a a b a 

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?

RHYME a a b a 

"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?

RHYME a a b a 

Accursed is She of Eve's daughters--She
Hath cast off Prudence, and Her End shall be
  Destruction . . . Brethren, of your Bounty
Some portion of your daily Bread to Me.

TITLE

RHYME a b b a 

  A much-discerning Public hold
    The Singer generally sings
Of personal and private things,
  And prints and sells his past for gold.

RHYME a b b a 

  Whatever I may here disclaim,
    The very clever folk I sing to
    Will most indubitably cling to
  Their pet delusion, just the same.

RHYME a b a b *

I had seen, as the dawn was breaking
  And I staggered to my rest,
Tari Devi softly shaking
  From the Cart Road to the crest.
I had seen the spurs of Jakko
  Heave and quiver, swell and sink.
Was it Earthquake or tobacco,
  Day of Doom, or Night of Drink?

RHYME a b a b *

In the full, fresh fragrant morning
  I observed a camel crawl,
Laws of gravitation scorning,
  On the ceiling and the wall;
Then I watched a fender walking,
  And I heard grey leeches sing,
And a red-hot monkey talking
  Did not seem the proper thing.

RHYME a b a b *

Then a Creature, skinned and crimson,
  Ran about the floor and cried,
And they said that 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."

RHYME a b a b *

But my words were all unheeded,
  Though I told the grave M.D.
That the treatment really needed
  Was a dip in open sea
That was lapping just below me,
  Smooth as silver, white as snow,
And it took three men to throw me
  When I found I could not go.

RHYME a b a b *

Half the night I watched the Heavens
  Fizz like 'h a  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.

RHYME a b a b *

After frenzied hours of waiting,
  When the Earth and Skies were dumb,
Pealed an awful voice dictating
  An interminable sum,
Changing to a tangle story--
  "What she said you said I said"--
Till the Moon arose in glory,
  And I found her . . . in my head;

RHYME a b a b *

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.

RHYME a b a b *

So I fled with steps uncertain
  On a thousand-year long race,
But the bellying of the curtain
  Kept me always in one place;
While the tumult rose and maddened
  To the roar of Earth on fire,
Ere it ebbed and sank and saddened
  To a whisper tense as wire.

RHYME a b a b *

In tolerable stillness
  Rose one little, little star,
And it chuckled at my illness,
  And it mocked me from afar;
And its brethren came and eyed me,
  Called the Universe to aid,
Till I lay, with naught to hide me,
  'Neath the Scorn of All Things Made.

RHYME a b a b *

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.

TITLE

RHYME a b c b 

I go to concert, party, ball--
  What profit is in these?
I sit alone against the wall
  And strive to look at ease.

RHYME a b c b 

The incense that is mine by right
  They burn before her shrine;
And that's because I'm seventeen
  And She is forty-nine.

RHYME a b c b 

I cannot check my girlish blush,
  My color comes and goes;
I redden to my finger-tips,
  And sometimes to my nose.

RHYME a b c b 

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.

RHYME a b c b 

I wish I had Her constant cheek;
  I wish that I could sing
All sorts of funny little songs,
  Not quite the proper thing.

RHYME a b c b 

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.

RHYME a b c b 

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.

RHYME a b c b 

They walk beside Her 'rickshaw wheels--
  None ever walk by mine;
And that's because I'm seventeen
  And She is forty-nine.

TITLE

RHYME a b c b *

She rides with half a dozen men,
  (She calls them "boys" and "mashers")
I trot along the Mall alone;
  My prettiest frocks and sashes
Don't help to fill my programme-card,
  And vainly I repine
From ten to two A.M. Ah me!
  Would I were forty-nine!

RHYME a b c b

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.

RHYME a b c b

She introduces me to men,
  "Cast" lovers, I opine,
For sixty takes to seventeen,
  Nineteen to forty-nine.

RHYME a b c b

But even She must older grow
  And end Her dancing days,
She can't go on forever so
  At concerts, balls and plays.

RHYME a b c b

One ray of priceless hope I see
  Before my footsteps shine;
Just think, that She'll be eighty-one
  When I am forty-nine.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b 

Eyes of grey--a sodden quay,
Driving rain and falling tears,
As the steamer wears to sea
In a parting storm of cheers.

RHYME a a b a

  Sing, for Faith and Hope are high--
  None so true as you and I--
  Sing the Lovers' Litany:
  "Love like ours can never die!"

RHYME a b a b

Eyes of black--a throbbing keel,
Milky foam to left and right;
Whispered converse near the wheel
In the brilliant tropic night.

RHYME a a b a

  Cross that rules the Southern Sky!
  Stars that sweep and wheel and fly,
  Hear the Lovers' Litany:
  Love like ours can never die!"

RHYME a b a b

Eyes of brown--a dusty plain
Split and parched with heat of June,
Flying hoof and tightened rein,
Hearts that beat the old, old tune.

RHYME a a b a

  Side by side the horses fly,
  Frame we now the old reply
  Of the Lovers' Litany:
  "Love like ours can never die!"

RHYME a b a b

Eyes of blue--the Simla Hills
Silvered with the moonlight hoar;
Pleading of the waltz that thrills,
Dies and echoes round Benmore.

RHYME a a b a

  "Mabel," "Officers," "Goodbye,"
  Glamour, wine, and witchery--
  On my soul's sincerity,
  "Love like ours can never die!"

RHYME a b a b

Maidens of your charity,
Pity my most luckless state.
Four times Cupid's debtor I--
Bankrupt in quadruplicate.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b a b a b
RHYME-POEM a b a b a b a b

If down here I chance to die,
  Solemnly I beg you take
All that is left of "I"
  To the Hills for old sake's sake,
Pack me very thoroughly
  In the ice that used to slake
Pegs I drank when I was dry--
  This observe for old sake's sake.

RHYME a b a b a b a b
RHYME-POEM a b a b a b a b

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.

RHYME a b a b b a b a 
RHYME-POEM b c b c c b c b

Next the sleepy Babu wake,
  Book a Kalka van "for four."
Few, I think, will care to make
  Journeys with me any more
As they used to do of yore.
  I shall need a "special" break--
Thing I never took before--
  Get me one for old sake's sake.

RHYME a b a b b a b a 
RHYME-POEM b d b d d b d b

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.

RHYME a b a b b c b c
RHYME-POEM e f e f f b f b

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.

RHYME a b a b c d c d 
RHYME-POEM g h g h i b i b

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.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a *

He said: "O man of many clothes! Sad crawler on the Hills!
Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ranken's monthly bills;
I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you call dress;
Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks at Mess.

RHYME a a *

"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 another Bandar's wife.

RHYME a a *

"O man of futile fopperies--unnecessary wraps;
I own no ponies in the hills, I drive no tall-wheeled traps;
I buy me not twelve-button gloves, 'short-sixes' eke, or rings,
Nor do I waste at Hamilton's my wealth on 'pretty things.'

RHYME a a *

"I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight abroad;
But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only lord.
I never heard of fever--dumps nor debts depress my soul;
And I pity and despise you!" Here he poached my breakfast-roll.

RHYME a a *

His hide was very mangy, and his face was very red,
And ever and anon he scratched with energy his head.
His manners were not always nice, but how my spirit cried
To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountain side!

RHYME a a *

So I answered: "Gentle Bandar, an inscrutable Decree
Makes thee a gleesome fleasome Thou, and me a wretched Me.
Go! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home amid the pine;
Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change his lot for thine."

TITLE

RHYME a b a b *

        Before the beginning of years
        There came to the rule of the State
        Men with a pair of shears,
        Men with an Estimate--
        Strachey with Muir for leaven,
        Lytton with locks that fell,
        Ripon fooling with Heaven,
        And Temple riding like Hell!
        And the bigots took in hand
        Cess and the falling of rain,
        And the measure of sifted sand
        The dealer puts in the grain--
        Imports by land and sea,
        To uttermost decimal worth,
        And registration--free--
        In the houses of death and of birth.

RHYME a b a b *

        And fashioned with pens and paper,
        And fashioned in black and white,
        With Life for a flickering taper
        And Death for a blazing light--
        With the Armed and the Civil Power,
        That his strength might endure for a span--
        From Adam's Bridge to Peshawur,
        The Much Administered Man.

RHYME a b a b 

        In the towns of the North and the East,
        They gathered as unto rule,
        They bade him starve his priest
        And send his children to school.

RHYME a b a b 

        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.

RHYME a b a b 

        And gave him peace in his ways,
        Jails--and Police to fight,
        Justice--at length of days,
        And Right--and Might in the Right.

RHYME a b a b 

        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.

RHYME a b a b 

        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.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c c

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.

RHYME a b a b c c 

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.

RHYME a b a b c c 

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.

RHYME a b a b c c 

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.

RHYME a b a b c c 

But 'twas a telegram instead,
  Marked "urgent," and her duty plain
To open it. Jane Austen read:
  "Your Lilly's got a cough again.
Can't understand why she is kept
At your expense." Jane Austen wept.

RHYME a b a b c c 

It was a misdirected wire.
  Her husband was at Shaitanpore.
She spread her anger, hot as fire,
  Through six thin foreign sheets or more.
Sent off that letter, wrote another
To her solicitor--and mother.

RHYME a b a b c c 

Then Belial Machiavelli saw
  Her error and, I trust, his own,
Wired to the minion of the Law,
  And traveled wifeward--not alone.
For Lilly--thirteen-two and bay--
Came in a horse-box all the way.

RHYME a b a b c c 

There was a scene--a weep or two--
  With many kisses. Austen Jane
Rode Lilly all the season through,
  And never opened wires again.
She races now with Belial. This
Is very sad, but so it is.

TITLE

RHYME a b b a 

Ay, lay him 'neath the Simla pine--
  A fortnight fully to be missed,
  Behold, we lose our fourth at whist,
A chair is vacant where we dine.

RHYME a b b a 

His place forgets him; other men
  Have bought his ponies, guns, and traps.
  His fortune is the Great Perhaps
And that cool rest-house down the glen,

RHYME a b b a 

Whence he shall hear, as spirits may,
  Our mundane revel on the height,
  Shall watch each flashing 'rickshaw-light
Sweep on to dinner, dance, and play.

RHYME a b b a 

Benmore shall woo him to the ball
  With lighted rooms and braying band;
  And he shall hear and understand
"Dream Faces" better than us all.

RHYME a b b a 

For, think you, as the vapours flee
  Across Sanjaolie after rain,
  His soul may climb the hill again
To each field of victory.

RHYME a b b a 

Unseen, who women held so dear,
  The strong man's yearning to his kind
  Shall shake at most the window-blind,
Or dull awhile the card-room's cheer.

RHYME a b b a 

In his own place of power unknown,
  His Light o' Love another's flame,
His dearest pony galloped lame,
And he an alien and alone!

RHYME a b b a 

Yet may he meet with many a friend--
  Shrewd shadows, lingering long unseen
  Among us when "God save the Queen"
Shows even "extras" have an end.

RHYME a b b a 

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;

RHYME a b b a 

Talk as we talked, and they ere death--
  Flirt wanly, dance in ghostly-wise,
  With ghosts of tunes for melodies,
And vanish at the morning's breath.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b 

Dim dawn behind the tamarisks--the sky is saffron-yellow--
  As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow
  That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born.

RHYME a b a b 

    Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the stenches in the byway!
      Oh the clammy fog that hovers o'er the earth;
    And at Home they're making merry 'neath the white and scarlet berry--
      What part have India's exiles in their mirth?

RHYME a b a b 

Full day behind the tamarisks--the sky is blue and staring--
  As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke,
And they bear One o'er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring,
  To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke.

RHYME a b a b 

    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 today we bid "good Christian men rejoice!"

RHYME a b a b 

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!

RHYME a b c c b 

    Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless, aching!
      Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain!
    Youth was cheap--wherefore we sold it.
      Gold was good--we hoped to hold it,
    And today we know the fulness of our gain.

RHYME a b a b 

Grey dusk behind the tamarisks--the parrots fly together--
  As the sun is sinking slowly over Home;
And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether.
  That drags us back howe'er so far we roam.

RHYME a b c b 

    Hard her service, poor her payment--she is ancient, tattered raiment--
      India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind.
    If a year of life be lent her, if her temple's shrine we enter,
      The door is shut--we may not look behind.

RHYME a b a b 

Black night behind the tamarisks--the owls begin their chorus--
  As the conches from the temple scream and bray.
With the fruitless years behind us, and the hopeless years before us,
  Let us honor, O my brother, Christmas Day!

RHYME a b c b 

    Call a truce, then, to our labors--let us feast with friends and neighbors,
      And be merry as the custom of our caste;
    For if "faint and forced the laughter," and if sadness follow after,
      We are richer by one mocking Christmas past.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

The toad beneath the harrow knows
Exactly where each tooth-point goes.
The butterfly upon the road
Preaches contentment to that toad.

RHYME a a *

Pagett, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith--
He spoke of the heat of India as the "Asian Solar Myth";
Came on a four months' visit, to "study the East," in November,
And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to stay till September.

RHYME a a *

March came in with the koil. Pagett was cool and gay,
Called me a "bloated Brahmin," talked of my "princely pay."
March went out with the roses. "Where is your heat?" said he.
"Coming," said I to Pagett, "Skittles!" said Pagett, M.P.

RHYME a a *

April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat,--
Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat.
He grew speckled and mumpy--hammered, I grieve to say,
Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal way.

RHYME a a *

May set in with a dust-storm,--Pagett went down with the sun.
All the delights of the season tickled him one by one.
Imprimis--ten day's "liver"--due to his drinking beer;
Later, a dose of fever--slight, but he called it severe.

RHYME a a *

Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the Chota 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.

RHYME a a *

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 haven't seen my children for close upon seven years.

RHYME a a *

We reached a hundred and twenty once in the Court at noon,
(I've mentioned Pagett was portly) Pagett, went off in a swoon.
That was an end to the business; Pagett, the perjured, fled
With a practical, working knowledge of "Solar Myths" in his head.

RHYME a a *

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.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c c 

How shall she know the worship we would do her?
  The walls are high, and she is very far.
How shall the woman's message reach unto her
  Above the tumult of the packed bazaar?
    Free wind of March, against the lattice blowing,
    Bear thou our thanks, lest she depart unknowing.

RHYME a b a b c c 

Go forth across the fields we may not roam in,
  Go forth beyond the trees that rim the city,
To whatsoe'er fair place she hath her home in,
  Who dowered us with wealth of love and pity.
    Out of our shadow pass, and seek her singing--
    "I have no gifts but Love alone for bringing."

RHYME a b a b c c 

Say that we be a feeble folk who greet her,
  But old in grief, and very wise in tears;
Say that we, being desolate, entreat her
  That she forget us not in after years;
    For we have seen the light, and it were grievous
    To dim that dawning if our lady leave us.

RHYME a b a b c c 

By life that ebbed with none to stanch the failing
  By Love's sad harvest garnered in the spring,
When Love in ignorance wept unavailing
  O'er young buds dead before their blossoming;
    By all the grey owl watched, the pale moon viewed,
    In past grim years, declare our gratitude!

RHYME a b a b c c 

By hands uplifted to the Gods that heard not,
  By fits that found no favor in their sight,
By faces bent above the babe that stirred not,
  By nameless horrors of the stifling night;
    By ills foredone, by peace her toils discover,
    Bid Earth be good beneath and Heaven above her!

RHYME a b a b c c 

If she have sent her servants in our pain
  If she have fought with Death and dulled his sword;
If she have given back our sick again.
  And to the breast the waking lips restored,
    Is it a little thing that she has wrought?
    Then Life and Death and Motherhood be nought.

RHYME a b a b c c 

Go forth, O wind, our message on thy wings,
  And they shall hear thee pass and bid thee speed,
In reed-roofed hut, or white-walled home of kings,
  Who have been helpen by her in their need.
    All spring shall give thee fragrance, and the wheat
    Shall be a tasselled floorcloth to thy feet.

RHYME a b a b c c 

Haste, for our hearts are with thee, take no rest!
  Loud-voiced ambassador, from sea to sea
Proclaim the blessing, manifold, confessed.
  Of those in darkness by her hand set free.
    Then very softly to her presence move,
    And whisper: "Lady, lo, they know and love!"

TITLE

RHYME a b a b *

One moment bid the horses wait,
  Since tiffin is not laid till three,
Below the upward path and straight
  You climbed a year ago with me.
Love came upon us suddenly
  And loosed--an idle hour to kill--
A headless, armless armory
  That smote us both on Jakko Hill.

RHYME a b a b *

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 of Jakko Hill.

RHYME a b a b *

What came of high resolve and great,
  And until Death fidelity!
Whose horse is waiting at your gate?
  Whose 'rickshaw-wheels ride over me?
No Saint's, I swear; and--let me see
  Tonight what names your programme fill--
We drift asunder merrily,
  As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill.

RHYME a b a b *

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!

TITLE

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Too late, alas! the song
    To remedy the wrong;--
The rooms are taken from us, swept and  garnished for their fate.
    But these tear-besprinkled pages
    Shall attest to future ages
That we cried against the crime of it--    too late, alas! too late!

RHYME a b a b c d c d 

"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.

RHYME a b a b c d c d 

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.
Tonight, the moon that watched our lightsome wiles--
  That beamed upon us through the deodars--
Is wan with gazing on official files,
  And desecrating desks disgust the stars.

RHYME a b a b c d c d 

Nay! by the memory of tuneful nights--
  Nay! by the witchery of flying feet--
Nay! by the glamour of foredone delights--
  By all things merry, musical, and meet--
By wine that sparkled, and by sparkling eyes--
  By wailing waltz--by reckless galop's strain--
By dim verandas and by soft replies,
  Give us our ravished ball-room back again!

RHYME a b a b c d c d 

Or--hearken to the curse we lay on you!
  The ghosts of waltzes shall perplex your brain,
And murmurs of past merriment pursue
  Your 'wildered clerks that they indite in vain;
And when you count your poor Provincial millions,
  The only figures that your pen shall frame
Shall be the figures of dear, dear cotillions
  Danced out in tumult long before you came.

RHYME a b a b c d c d 

Yea! "See Saw" shall upset your estimates,
  "Dream Faces" shall your heavy heads bemuse,
Because your hand, unheeding, desecrates
  Our temple; fit for higher, worthier use.
And all the long verandas, eloquent
  With echoes of a score of Simla years,
Shall plague you with unbidden sentiment--
  Babbling of kisses, laughter, love, and tears.

RHYME a b a b c d c d 

So shall you mazed amid old memories stand,
  So shall you toil, and shall accomplish nought,
And ever in your ears a phantom Band
  Shall blare away the staid official thought.
Wherefore--and ere this awful curse he spoken,
  Cast out your swarthy sacrilegious train,
And give--ere dancing cease and hearts be broken--
  Give us our ravished ball-room back again!

TITLE

RHYME a b c b d b 

        That night, when through the mooring-chains
            The wide-eyed corpse rolled free,
          To blunder down by Garden Reach
            And rot at Kedgeree,
          The tale the Hughli told the shoal
            The lean shoal told to me.

RHYME a b c b d b 

'T was Fultah Fisher's boarding-house,
  Where sailor-men reside,
And there were men of all the ports
  From Mississip to Clyde,
And regally they spat and smoked,
  And fearsomely they lied.

RHYME a b c b d b 

They lied about the purple Sea
  That gave them scanty bread,
They lied about the Earth beneath,
  The Heavens overhead,
For they had looked too often on
  Black rum when that was red.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

And there was Salem Hardieker,
  A lean Bostonian he--
Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn,
  Yank, Dane, and Portuguee,
At Fultah Fisher's boarding-house
  They rested from the sea.

RHYME a b c b d b 

Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks,
  Collinga knew her fame,
From Tarnau in Galicia
  To Juan Bazaar she came,
To eat the bread of infamy
  And take the wage of shame.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

"You speak to Salem Hardieker;
  "You was his girl, I know.
"I ship mineselfs tomorrow, see,
  "Und round the Skaw we go,
"South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm,
  "To Besser in Saro."

RHYME a b c b d b 

When love rejected turns to hate,
  All ill betide the man.
"You speak to Salem Hardieker"--
  She spoke as woman can.
A scream--a sob--"He called me--names!"
  And then the fray began.

RHYME a b c b d b 

An oath from Salem Hardieker,
  A shriek upon the stairs,
A dance of shadows on the wall,
  A knife-thrust unawares--
And Hans came down, as cattle drop,
  Across the broken chairs.

RHYME a b c b d b 

In Anne of Austria's trembling hands
  The weary head fell low:--
"I ship mineselfs tomorrow, straight
  "For Besser in Saro;
"Und there Ultruda comes to me
  "At Easter, und I go--

RHYME a b c b d b 

"South, down the Cattegat--What's here?
  "There--are--no--lights--to guide!"
The mutter ceased, the spirit passed,
  And Anne of Austria cried
In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house
  When Hans the mighty died.

RHYME a b c b d b 

Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
  Bull-throated, bare of arm,
But Anne of Austria looted first
  The maid Ultruda's charm--
The little silver crucifix
  That keeps a man from harm.

TITLE

RHYME a b c b d e f e g g 

So long as 'neath the Kalka hills
  The tonga-horn shall ring,
So long as down the Solon dip
  The hard-held ponies swing,
So long as Tara Devi sees
  The lights of Simla town,
So long as Pleasure calls us up,
  Or Duty drives us down,
    If you love me as I love you
    What pair so happy as we two?

RHYME a b c b d e f e g g 

So long as Aces take the King,
  Or backers take the bet,
So long as debt leads men to wed,
  Or marriage leads to debt,
So long as little luncheons, Love,
  And scandal hold their vogue,
While there is sport at Annandale
  Or whisky at Jutogh,
    If you love me as I love you
    What knife can cut our love in two?

RHYME a b c b d e f e g g 

So long as down the rocking floor
  The raving polka spins,
So long as Kitchen Lancers spur
  The maddened violins,
So long as through the whirling smoke
  We hear the oft-told tale--
"Twelve hundred in the Lotteries,"
  And Whatshername for sale?
    If you love me as I love you
    We'll play the game and win it too.

RHYME a b c b d e f e g g 

So long as Lust or Lucre tempt
  Straight riders from the course,
So long as with each drink we pour
  Black brewage of Remorse,
So long as those unloaded guns
  We keep beside the bed,
Blow off, by obvious accident,
  The lucky owner's head,
    If you love me as I love you
    What can Life kill or Death undo?

RHYME a b c b d e f e g g 

So long as Death 'twixt dance and dance
  Chills best and bravest blood,
And drops the reckless rider down
  The rotten, rain-soaked khud,
So long as rumours from the North
  Make loving wives afraid,
So long as Burma takes the boy
  Or typhoid kills the maid,
    If you love me as I love you
    What knife can cut our love in two?

RHYME a b c b d e f e g g 

By all that lights our daily life
  Or works our lifelong woe,
From Boileaugunge to Simla Downs
  And those grim glades below,
Where, heedless of the flying hoof
  And clamour overhead,
Sleep, with the grey langur for guard
  Our very scornful Dead,
    If you love me as I love you
    All Earth is servant to us two!

RHYME a b c b d e f e g g 

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 two?

TITLE

RHYME a a *

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 today!"

RHYME a a *

Yea, though a Kafir die, to him is remitted Jehannum
If he borrowed in life from a native at sixty per cent. per annum.

RHYME a a *

Blister we not for bursati? So when the heart is vexed,
The pain of one maiden's refusal is drowned in the pain of the next.

RHYME a a *

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?

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a *

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?

RHYME a a *

If She grow suddenly gracious--reflect. Is it all for thee?
The black-buck is stalked through the bullock, and Man through jealousy.

RHYME a a *

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?

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a *

The ways of man with a maid be strange, yet simple and tame
To the ways of a man with a horse, when selling or racing that same.

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a *

In public Her face is averted, with anger. She nameth thy name.
It is well. Was there ever a loser content with the loss of the game?

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a *

If She have written a letter, delay not an instant, but burn it.
Tear it to pieces, O Fool, and the wind to her mate shall return it!

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a a 

My Son, if a maiden deny thee and scufflingly bid thee give o'er,
Yet lip meets with lip at the last word--get out! She has been there before.
They are pecked on the ear and the chin and the nose who are lacking in lore.

RHYME a a 

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.

RHYME a a a 

"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.

RHYME a a a 

My son, if I, Hafiz, the 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?

TITLE

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

Subadar Prag Tewarri,
  Jemadar Hira Lal,
Took command of the party,
  Twenty rifles in all,
Marched them down to the river
  As the day was beginning to fall.

RHYME a b c b d b 

They buried the boy by the river,
  A blanket over his face--
They wept for their dead Lieutenant,
  The men of an alien race--
They made a samadh in his honor,
  A mark for his resting-place.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

The men of the First Shikaris
  Marched till the break of day,
Till they came to the rebel village,
  The village of Pabengmay--
A jingal covered the clearing,
  Calthrops hampered the way.

RHYME a b c b d b 

Subadar Prag Tewarri,
  Bidding them load with ball,
Halted a dozen rifles
  Under the village wall;
Sent out a flanking-party
  With Jemadar Hira Lal.

RHYME a b c b d b 

The men of the First Shikaris
  Shouted and smote and slew,
Turning the grinning jingal
  On to the howling crew.
The Jemadar's flanking-party
  Butchered the folk who flew.

RHYME a b c b d b 

Long was the morn of slaughter,
  Long was the list of slain,
Five score heads were taken,
  Five score heads and twain;
And the men of the First Shikaris
  Went back to their grave again,

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

RHYME a b c b d b 

Thus the samadh 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.

RHYME a b c b d d b 

Then a silence came to the river,
  A hush fell over the shore,
And Bohs that were brave departed,
  And Sniders squibbed no more;
    For the Burmans said
    That a kullah's head
Must be paid for with heads five score.

RHYME a b c b d b 

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.

TITLE

RHYME a b c b *

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?

RHYME a b c b *

Ah! shade of little Kitty Smith,
  Sweet Saint of Kensington!
Say, was it ever thus at Home
  The Moon of August shone,
When arm in arm we wandered long
  Through Putney's evening haze,
And Hammersmith was Heaven beneath
  The Moon of Other Days?

RHYME a b c b *

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.

RHYME a b c b *

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!

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c c 

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!

RHYME a b a b c c 

With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in,
  He turns to the foot-path that heads up the hill--
The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin,
  And, tucked in his waist-belt, the Post Office bill:
"Despatched on this date, as received by the rail,
Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail."

RHYME a b a b c c 

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 and "if."
While the breath's in his mouth, he must bear without fail,
In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail.

RHYME a b a b c c 

From aloe to rose-oak, from rose-oak to fir,
  From level to upland, from upland to crest,
From rice-field to rock-ridge, from rock-ridge to spur,
  Fly the soft sandalled feet, strains the brawny brown chest.
From rail to ravine--to the peak from the vale--
Up, up through the night goes the Overland Mail.

RHYME a b a b c c 

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!"

TITLE

RHYME a a b b 

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,

RHYME a b c a b c 

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."

RHYME a b a b 

And the ploughman settles the share
More deep in the grudging clod;
For he saith: "The wheat is my care,
And the rest is the will of God.

RHYME a b a b 

He sent the Mahratta spear
As He sendeth the rain,
And the Mlech, in the fated year,
Broke the spear in twain.

RHYME a b a b 

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."

RHYME a b a a b 

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

RHYME a b a a b 

"Today is a day of days," they said,
"Make merry, O People, all!"
And the Ploughman listened and bowed his head:
"Today and tomorrow God's will," he said,
As he trimmed the lamps on the wall.

RHYME a b a b 

"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.

RHYME a b a b 

Our Kings and our Queens are afar--
On their peoples be peace--
God bringeth the rain to the Bar,
That our cattle increase."

RHYME a b c d c d a b 

And the Ploughman settled the share
More deep in the sun-dried clod:
"Mogul Mahratta, and Mlech from the North,
And White Queen over the Seas--
God raiseth them up and driveth them forth
As the dust of the ploughshare flies in the breeze;
But the wheat and the cattle are all my care,
And the rest is the will of God."

RHYME a a b c c b 

The eldest son bestrides him,
And the pretty daughter rides him,
And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course;
And there kindles in my bosom
An emotion chill and gruesome
As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse.

RHYME a a b c c b 

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?"

RHYME a a b c c b 

Ah! stud-bred of ill-omen,
I have watched the strongest go--men
Of pith and might and muscle--at your heels,
Down the plantain-bordered highway,
(Heaven send it ne'er be my way!)
In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels.

RHYME a a b c c b 

Answer, sombre 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!

RHYME a a b c c b 

With your mane unhogged and flowing,
And your curious way of going,
And that businesslike 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?

RHYME a a b c c b 

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.

RHYME a a b c c b 

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!

RHYME a a b c c b 

But to insult, jibe, and quest, I've
Still the hideously suggestive
Trot that hammers out the unrelenting text,
And I hear it hard behind me
In what place soe'er I find me:--
"'Sure to catch you sooner or later. Who's the next?"

TITLE

RHYME a b c b 

This fell when dinner-time was done--
  'Twixt the first an' the second rub--
That oor mon Jock cam' hame again
  To his rooms ahist the Club.

RHYME a b c b 

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.

RHYME a b c b 

Then up and spake an elder mon,
  That held the Spade its Ace--
"God save the lad! Whence comes the licht
  "That wimples on his face?"

RHYME a b c b 

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."

RHYME a b c b 

"There's whusky brewed in Galashils
  "An' L. L. L. forbye;
"But never liquor lit the lowe
  "That keeks fra' oot your eye.

RHYME a b c b 

"There's a third o' hair on your dress-coat breast,
  "Aboon the heart a wee?"
"Oh! that is fra' the lang-haired Skye
  "That slobbers ower me."

RHYME a b c b 

"Oh! lang-haired Skyes are lovin' beasts,
  "An' terrier dogs are fair,
"But never yet was terrier born,
  "Wi' ell-lang gowden hair!

RHYME a b c b 

"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."

RHYME a b c b 

"Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse,
  "For ye are short o' cash,
"An' best Havanas couldna leave
  "Sae white an' pure an ash.

RHYME a b c b 

"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!

RHYME a b c b 

"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!"

RHYME a b c b 

An' it fell when sirris-shaws were sere,
  An' the nichts were lang and mirk,
In braw new breeks, wi' a gowden ring,
  Oor Jock gaed to the Kirk!

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c c 

A great and glorious thing it is
  To learn, for seven years or so,
The Lord knows what of that and this,
  Ere reckoned fit to face the foe--
The flying bullet down the Pass,
That whistles clear: "All flesh is grass."

RHYME a b a b c c 

Three hundred pounds per annum spent
  On making brain and body meeter
For all the murderous intent
  Comprised in "villainous saltpetre!"
And after--ask the Yusufzaies
What comes of all our 'ologies.

RHYME a b a b c c 

A scrimmage in a Border Station--
  A canter down some dark defile--
Two thousand pounds of education
  Drops to a ten-rupee jezail--
The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride,
Shot like a rabbit in a ride!

RHYME a b a b c c 

No proposition Euclid wrote,
  No formulae the text-books know,
Will turn the bullet from your coat,
  Or ward the tulwar's downward blow
Strike hard who cares--shoot straight who can--
The odds are on the cheaper man.

RHYME a b a b c c 

One sword-knot stolen from the camp
  Will pay for all the school expenses
Of any Kurrum Valley scamp
  Who knows no word of moods and tenses,
But, being blessed with perfect sight,
Picks off our messmates left and right.

RHYME a b a b c c 

With home-bred hordes the hillsides 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.

TITLE

RHYME a a 

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

RHYME a a 

We quarrelled about Havanas--we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

RHYME a a 

Open the old cigar-box--let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.

RHYME a a 

Maggie is pretty to look at--Maggie's a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.

RHYME a a 

There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay;
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away--

RHYME a a 

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!

RHYME a a 

Maggie, my wife at fifty--grey and dour and old--
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

RHYME a a 

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--

RHYME a a 

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!

RHYME a a 

Open the old cigar-box--let me consider a while.
Here is a mild Manila--there is a wifely smile.

RHYME a a 

Which is the better portion--bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?

RHYME a a 

Counsellors cunning and silent--comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

RHYME a a 

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,

RHYME a a 

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
With only a Suttee's passion--to do their duty and burn.

RHYME a a 

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.

RHYME a a 

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.

RHYME a a 

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.

RHYME a a 

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.

RHYME a a 

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.

RHYME a a 

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,
But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;

RHYME a a 

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.

RHYME a a 

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.

RHYME a a 

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?

RHYME a a 

Open the old cigar-box--let me consider anew--
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?

RHYME a a 

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.

RHYME a a 

Light me another Cuba--I hold to my first-sworn vows.
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse!

TITLE

RHYME a a *

Where the sober-colored cultivator smiles
    On his byles;
Where the cholera, the cyclone, and the crow
    Come and go;
Where the merchant deals in indigo and tea,
    Hides and ghi;
Where the Babu drops inflammatory hints
    In his prints;
Stands a City--Charnock chose it--packed away
    Near a Bay--
By the Sewage rendered fetid, by the sewer
    Made impure,
By the Sunderbunds unwholesome, by the swamp
    Moist and damp;
And the City and the Viceroy, as we see,
    Don't agree.

RHYME a a *

Once, two hundred years ago, the trader came
    Meek and tame.

RHYME a a *

Where his timid foot first halted, there he stayed,
    Till mere trade
Grew to Empire, and he sent his armies forth
    South and North
Till the country from Peshawur to Ceylon
    Was his own.

RHYME a a *

Thus the midday halt of Charnock--more's the pity!
    Grew a City.

RHYME a a *

As the fungus sprouts chaotic from its bed,
    So it spread--
Chance-directed, chance-erected, laid and built
    On the silt--
Palace, byre, hovel--poverty and pride--
    Side by side;
And, above the packed and pestilential town,
    Death looked down.

RHYME a a *

But the Rulers in that City by the Sea
    Turned to flee--
Fled, with each returning spring-tide from its ills
    To the Hills.

RHYME a a *

From the clammy fogs of morning, from the blaze
    Of old days,
From the sickness of the noontide, from the heat,
    Beat retreat;
For the country from Peshawur to Ceylon
    Was their own.

RHYME a a *

But the Merchant risked the perils of the Plain
    For his gain.

RHYME a a *

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.

RHYME a a *

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 gain.

RHYME a a *

Nor can Rulers rule a house that men grow rich in,
    From its kitchen.

RHYME a a *

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;
Let the City Charnock pitched on--evil day!
    Go Her way.

RHYME a a *

Though the argosies of Asia at Her doors
    Heap their stores,
Though Her enterprise and energy secure
    Income sure,
Though "out-station orders punctually obeyed"
    Swell Her trade--
Still, for rule, administration, and the rest,
    Simla's best.

