Selected Poems Read Online

‘Farewell, Romance!’ the Soldier spoke;

‘By sleight of sword we may not win,

15

But scuffle ’mid uncleanly smoke

Of arquebus and culverin.

Honour is lost, and none may tell

Who paid good blows. Romance, farewell!’

‘Farewell, Romance!’ the Traders cried;

20

‘Our keels have 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 sails. Romance, farewell!’

25

‘Goodbye, 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

30

’Twixt port and port. Romance, good-bye!’

‘Romance!’ the season-tickets mourn,

‘He never ran to catch his train,

But passed with coach and guard and horn –

And left the agent – Late again!

35

Confound Romance!’ … And all unseen

Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.

His hand was on the lever laid,

His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,

His whistle waked the snowbound grade,

40

His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks;

By dock and deep and mine and mill

The Boy-god reckless laboured still!

Robed, crowned and throned, He wove His spell,

Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled,

45

With unconsidered miracle,

Hedged in a backward-gazing world:

Then taught His chosen bard to say:

‘Our King was with us – yesterday!’

The Derelict

‘And reports the derelict Margaret Pollock still at sea.’

Shipping News

I was the staunchest of our fleet

Till the sea rose beneath my feet

Unheralded, in hatred past all measure.

Into his pits he stamped my crew,

5

Buffeted, blinded, bound and threw,

Bidding me eyeless wait upon his pleasure.

Man made me, and my will

Is to my maker still,

Whom now the currents con, the rollers steer –

10

Lifting forlorn to spy

Trailed smoke along the sky,

Falling afraid lest any keel come near!

Wrenched as the lips of thirst,

Wried, dried, and split and burst,

15

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.

For life that crammed me full,

20

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.

25

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,

30

Mocking the prow that cannot hold one true.

White on my wasted path

Wave after wave in wrath

Frets ’gainst his fellow, warring where to send me.

Flung forward, heaved aside,

35

Witless and dazed I bide

The mercy of the comber that shall end me.

North where the bergs careen,

The spray of seas unseen

Smokes round my head and freezes in the falling.

40

South where the corals breed,

The footless, floating weed

Folds me and fouls me, strake on strake upcrawling.

I that was clean to run

My race against the sun –

45

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.

Man made me, and my will

50

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!

‘When ’Omer smote ’is bloomin’ lyre’

When ’Omer smote ’is bloomin’ lyre,

’E’d ’eard men sing by land an’ sea;

An’ what ’e thought ’e might require,

’E went an’ took – the same as me!

5

The market-girls an’ fishermen,

The shepherds an’ the sailors, too,

They ’eard old songs turn up again,

But kep’ it quiet – same as you!

They knew ’e stole; ’e knew they knowed.

10

They didn’t tell, nor make a fuss.

But winked at ’Omer down the road,

An’ ’e winked back – the same as us!

The Ladies

I’ve taken my fun where I’ve found it;

I’ve rogued an’ I’ve ranged in my time;

I’ve ’ad my pickin’ o’ sweethearts,

An’ four o’ the lot was prime.

5

One was an ’arf-caste widow,

One was a woman at Prome,

One was the wife of a jemadar-sais,

An’ one is a girl at ’ome.

Now I aren’t no ’and with the ladies,

10

For, takin’ ’em all along,

You never can say till you’ve tried ’em,

An’ then you are like to be wrong.

There’s times when you’ll think that you mightn’t,

There’s times when you’ll know that you might;

15

But the things you will learn from the Yellow an’ Brown

They’ll ’elp you a lot with the White!

I was a young un at ’Oogli,

Shy as a girl to begin;

Aggie de Castrer she made me,

20

An’ Aggie was clever as sin;

Older than me, but my first un –

More like a mother she were –

Showed me the way to promotion an’ pay,

An’ I learned about women from ’er!

25

Then I was ordered to Burma,

Actin’ in charge o’ Bazar,

An’ I got me a tiddy live ’eathen

Through buyin’ supplies off ’er pa.

Funny an’ yellow an’ faithful –

30

Doll in a teacup she were –

But we lived on the square, like a true-married pair,

An’ I learned about women from ’er!

Then we was shifted to Neemuch

(Or I might ha’ been keepin’ ’er now),

35

An’ I took with a shiny she-devil,

The wife of a nigger at Mhow;

Taught me the gipsy-folks’ bolee;

Kind o’ volcano she were,

For she knifed me one night ’cause I wished she was white,

40

And I learned about women from ’er!

Then I come ’ome in a trooper,

’Long of a kid o’ sixteen –

Girl from a convent at Meerut,

The straightest I ever ’ave seen.

45

Love at first sight was ’er trouble,

She didn’t know what it were;

An’ I wouldn’t do such, ’cause I liked ’er too much,

But – I learned about women from ’er!

I’ve taken my fun where I’ve found it,

50

An’ now I must pay for my fun,

For the more you ’ave known o’ the others

The less will you settle to one;

An’ the end of it’s sittin’ an’ thinkin’,

An’ dreamin’ Hell-fires to see;

55

So be warned by my lot (which I know you will not),

An’ learn about women from me!

What did the Colonel’s Lady think?

Nobody never knew.

Somebody asked the Sergeant’s Wife,

60

An’ she told ’em true!

When you get to a man in the case,

They’re like as a row of pins –

For the Colonel’s Lady an’ Judy O’Grady

Are sisters under their skins!

The Sergeant’s Weddin’

’E was warned agin ’er –

That’s what made ’im look;

She was warned agin’ ’im –

That is why she took.

5

Wouldn’t ’ear no reason,

Went an’ done it blind;

We know all about ’em,

They’ve got all to find!

Cheer for the Sergeant’s weddin’ –

10

Give ’em one cheer more!

Grey gun-’orses in the lando,

An’ a rogue is married to, etc.

What’s the use o’ tellin’

’Arf the lot she’s been?

15

’E’s a bloomin’ robber,

An’ ’e keeps canteen.

’Ow did ’e get ’is buggy?

Gawd, you needn’t ask!

Made ’is forty gallon

20

Out of every cask!

Watch ’im, with ’is ’air cut,

Count us filin’ by –

Won’t the Colonel praise ’is

Pop-u-lar-i-ty!

25

We ’ave scores to settle –

Scores for more than beer;

She’s the girl to pay ’em –

That is why we’re ’ere!

See the Chaplain thinkin’?

30

See the women smile?

Twig the married winkin’

As they take the aisle?

Keep your side-arms quiet,

Dressin’ by the Band.

35

Ho! You ’oly beggars,

Cough be’ind your ’and!

Now it’s done an’ over,

’Ear the organ squeak,

‘Voice that breathed o’er Eden’ –

40

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!

45

Escort to the kerridge,

Wish ’im luck, the brute!

Chuck the slippers after –

(Pity ’taint a boot!)

Bowin’ like a lady,

50

Blushin’ like a lad –

’Oo would say to see ’em

Both is rotten bad?

Cheer for the Sergeant’s weddin’ –

Give ’em one cheer more!

55

Grey gun-’orses in the lando’

An’ a rogue is married to, etc.

The Vampire

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)

5

But the fool he called her his lady fair –

(Even as you and I!)

Oh, the years we waste and the tears we waste

And the work of our head and hand

Belong to the woman who did not know

10

(And now we know that she never could know)

And did not understand!

A fool there was and his goods he spent

(Even as you and I!)

Honour and faith and a sure intent

15

(And it wasn’t the least what the lady meant)

But a fool must follow his natural bent

(Even as you and I!)

Oh, the toil we lost and the spoil we lost

And the excellent things we planned

20

Belong to the woman who didn’t know why

(And now we know that she never knew why)

And did not understand!

The fool was stripped to his foolish hide

(Even as you and I!)

25

Which she might have seen when she threw him aside –

(But it isn’t on record the lady tried)

So some of him lived but the most of him died –

(Even as you and I!)

And it isn’t the shame, and it isn’t the blame

30

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!

Recessional

1897

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 –

5

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget – lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;

The Captains and the Kings depart:

Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,

10

An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget – lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;

On dune and headland sinks the fire:

15

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,

Lest we forget – lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

20

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!

25

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 –

30

Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!

The White Man’s Burden

1899

(THE UNITED STATES AND THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS)

Take up the White Man’s burden –

Send forth the best ye breed –

Go, bind your sons to exile

To serve your captives’ need;

5

To wait in heavy harness

On fluttered folk and wild –

Your new-caught, sullen peoples,

Half devil and half child.

Take up the White Man’s Burden –

10

In patience to abide,

To veil the threat of terror

And check the show of pride;

By open speech and simple,

An hundred times made plain,

15

To seek another’s profit,

And work another’s gain.

Take up the White Man’s burden –

The savage wars of peace –

Fill full the mouth of Famine

20

And bid the sickness cease;

And when your goal is nearest

The end for others sought,

Watch Sloth and heathen Folly

Bring all your hope to nought.

25

Take up the White Man’s burden –

No tawdry rule of Kings,

But toil of serf and sweeper –

The tale of common things.

The ports ye shall not enter,

30

The roads ye shall not tread,

Go make them with your living,

And mark them with your dead!

Take up the White Man’s burden –

And reap his old reward:

35

The blame of those ye better,

The hate of those ye guard –

The cry of hosts ye humour

(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:—

‘Why brought ye us from bondage,

40

Our loved Egyptian night?’

Take up the White Man’s burden –

Ye dare not stoop to less –

Nor call too loud on Freedom

To cloak your weariness;

45

By all ye cry or whisper,

By all ye leave or do,

The silent, sullen peoples

Shall weigh your Gods and you.

Take up the White Man’s burden –

50

Have done with childish days –

The lightly proffered laurel,

The easy, ungrudged praise.

Comes now, to search your manhood

Through all the thankless years,

55

Cold-edged with dear-bought wisdom,

The judgment of your peers!

Cruisers

As our mother the Frigate, bepainted and fine,

Made play for her bully the Ship of the Line;

So we, her bold daughters by iron and fire,

Accost and decoy to our masters’ desire.

5

Now, pray you, consider what toils we endure,

Night-walking wet sea-lanes, a guard and a lure;

Since half of our trade is that same pretty sort

As mettlesome wenches do practise in port.

For this is our office – to spy and make room,

10

As hiding yet guiding the foe to their doom;

Surrounding, confounding, we bait and betray

And tempt them to battle the sea’s width away.

The pot-bellied merchant foreboding no wrong

With headlight and sidelight he lieth along,

15

Till, lightless and lightfoot and lurking, leap we

To force him discover his business by sea.

And when we have wakened the lust of a foe,

To draw him by flight toward our bullies we go,

Till, ’ware of strange smoke stealing nearer, he flies

20

Ere our bullies close in for to make him good prize.

So, when we have spied on the path of their host,

One flieth to carry that word to the coast;

And, lest by false doublings they turn and go free,

One lieth behind them to follow and see.

25

Anon we return, being gathered again,

Across the sad valleys all drabbled with rain –

Across the grey ridges all crispèd and curled –

To join the long dance round the curve of the world.

The bitter salt spindrift, the sun-glare likewise,

30

The moon-track a-tremble, bewilders our eyes,

Where, linking and lifting, our sisters we hail

’Twixt wrench of cross-surges or plunge of head-gale.

As maidens awaiting the bride to come forth

Make play with light jestings and wit of no worth,

35

So, widdershins circling the bride-bed of death,

Each fleereth her neighbour and signeth and saith:–

‘What see ye? Their signals, or levin afar?

What hear ye? God’s thunder, or guns of our war?

What mark ye? Their smoke, or the cloud-rack outblown?

40

What chase ye? Their lights, or the Daystar low down?’

So, times past all number deceived by false shows,

Deceiving we cumber the road of our foes,

For this is our virtue: to track and betray;

Preparing great battles a sea’s width away.

45

Now peace is at end and our peoples take heart,

For the laws are clean gone that restrainèd our art;

Up and down the near headlands and against the far wind

We are loosed (Oh, be swift!) to the work of our kind!

A School Song

‘Let us now praise famous men’ –

Men of little showing –

For their work continueth,

And their work continueth,

5

Broad and deep continueth,

Greater than their knowing!

Western wind and open surge

Took us from our mothers,

Flung us on a naked shore

10

(Twelve bleak houses by the shore!

Seven summers by the shore!)

’Mid two hundred brothers.

There we met with famous men

Set in office o’er us;

15

And they beat on us with rods –

Faithfully with many rods –

Daily beat us on with rods,

For the love they bore us!

Out of Egypt unto Troy –

20

Over Himalaya –

Far and sure our bands have gone –

Hy-Brasil or Babylon,

Islands of the Southern Run,

And Cities of Cathaia!

25

And we all praise famous men –

Ancients of the College;

For they taught us common sense –

Tried to teach us common sense –

Truth and God’s Own Common Sense,

30

Which is more than knowledge!

Each degree of Latitude

Strung about Creation

Seeth one or more of us

(Of one muster each of us),

35

Diligent in that he does,

Keen in his vocation.

This we learned from famous men,

Knowing not its uses,

When they showed, in daily work,

40

Man must finish off his work –

Right or wrong, his daily work –

And without excuses.

Servants of the Staff and chain,

Mine and fuse and grapnel –

45

Some, before the face of Kings,

Stand before the face of Kings;

Bearing gifts to divers Kings –

Gifts of case and shrapnel.

This we learned from famous men

50

Teaching in our borders,

Who declarèd it was best,

Safest, easiest, and best –

Expeditious, wise, and best –

To obey your orders.

55

Some beneath the further stars

Bear the greater burden:

Set to serve the lands they rule,

(Save he serve no man may rule),

Serve and love the lands they rule;

60

Seeking praise nor guerdon.

This we learned from famous men,

Knowing not we learned it.

Only, as the years went by –

Lonely, as the years went by –

65

Far from help as years went by,

Plainer we discerned it.

Wherefore praise we famous men

From whose bays we borrow –

They that put aside To-day –

70

All the joys of their To-day –

And with toil of their To-day

Bought for us To-morrow!

Bless and praise we famous men –

Men of little showing –

75

For their work continueth,

And their work continueth,

Broad and deep continueth,

Great beyond their knowing!

The Absent-Minded Beggar

When you’ve shouted ‘Rule Britannia,’ when you’ve sung ‘God save the Queen,’

When you’ve finished killing Kruger with your mouth,

Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little tambourine

For a gentleman in khaki ordered South?

5

He’s an absent-minded beggar, and his weaknesses are great –

But we and Paul must take him as we find him –

He is out on active service, wiping something off a slate –

And he’s left a lot of little things behind him!

Duke’s son – cook’s son – son of a hundred Kings –

10

(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)

Each of ’em doing his country’s work

(and who’s to look after their things?)

Pass the hat for your credit’s sake,

and pay – pay – pay!

15

There are girls he married secret, asking no permission to,

For he knew he wouldn’t get it if he did.

There is gas and coals and vittles, and the house-rent falling due,

And it’s more than rather likely there’s a kid.

There are girls he walked with casual. They’ll be sorry now he’s gone,

20

For an absent-minded beggar they will find him,

But it ain’t the time for sermons with the winter coming on,

We must help the girl that Tommy’s left behind him!

Cook’s son – Duke’s son – son of a belted Earl –

Son of a Lambeth publican – it’s all the same to-day!

25

Each of ’em doing his country’s work

(and who’s to look after the girl?)

Pass the hat for your credit’s sake,

and pay – pay – pay!

There are families by thousands, far too proud to beg or speak,

30

And they’ll put their sticks and bedding up the spout,

And they’ll live on half o’ nothing, paid ’em punctual once a week,

’Cause the man that earns the wage is ordered out.

He’s an absent-minded beggar, but he heard his country call,

And his Reg’ment didn’t need to send to find him!

35

He chucked his job and joined it – so the job before us all

Is to help the home that Tommy’s left behind him!

Duke’s job – cook’s job – gardener, baronet, groom,

Mews or palace or paper-shop, there’s someone gone away!

Each of ’em doing his country’s work

40

(and who’s to look after the room?)

Pass the hat for your credit’s sake,

and pay – pay – pay!

Let us manage so as, later, we can look him in the face,

And tell him – what he’d very much prefer –

45

That, while he saved the Empire, his employer saved his place,

And his mates (that’s you and me) looked out for her.

He’s an absent-minded beggar and he may forget it all,

But we do not want his kiddies to remind him

That we sent ’em to the workhouse while their daddy hammered Paul,

50

So we’ll help the homes that Tommy left behind him!

Cook’s home – Duke’s home – home of a millionaire,

(Fifty-thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)

Each of ’em doing his country’s work

(and what have you got to spare?)

55

Pass the hat for your credit’s sake,

and pay – pay – pay!

The Two-Sided Man

Much I owe to the Lands that grew –

More to the Lives that fed –

But most to Allah Who gave me two

Separate sides to my head.

5

Much I reflect on the Good and the True

In the Faiths beneath the sun,

But most upon Allah Who gave me two

Sides to my head, not one.

Wesley’s following, Calvin’s flock,

10

White or yellow or bronze,

Shaman, Ju-ju or Angekok,

Minister, Mukamuk, Bonze –

Here is a health, my brothers, to you,

However your prayers are said,

15

And praised be Allah Who gave me two

Separate sides to my head!

I would go without shirt or shoe,

Friend, tobacco or bread,

Sooner than lose for a minute the two

20

Separate sides of my head!

Bridge-Guard in the Karroo

‘… and will supply details to guard the Blood River Bridge.’

District Orders: Lines of Communication – South African War

Sudden the desert changes,

The raw glare softens and clings,

Till the aching Oudtshoorn ranges

Stand up like the thrones of Kings –

5

Ramparts of slaughter and peril –

Blazing, amazing, aglow –

’Twixt the sky-line’s belting beryl

And the wine-dark flats below.

Royal the pageant closes,

10

Lit by the last of the sun –

Opal and ash-of-roses,

Cinnamon, umber, and dun.

The twilight swallows the thicket,

The starlight reveals the ridge.

15

The whistle shrills to the picket –

We are changing guard on the bridge.

(Few, forgotten and lonely,

Where the empty metals shine –

No, not combatants – only

20

Details guarding the line.)

We slip through the broken panel

Of fence by the ganger’s shed;

We drop to the waterless channel

And the lean track overhead;

25

We stumble on refuse of rations,

The beef and the biscuit-tins;

We take our appointed stations,

And the endless night begins.

We hear the Hottentot herders

30

As the sheep click past to the fold –

And the click of the restless girders

As the steel contracts in the cold –

Voices of jackals calling

And, loud in the hush between,

35

A morsel of dry earth falling

From the flanks of the scarred ravine.

And the solemn firmament marches,

And the hosts of heaven rise

Framed through the iron arches –

40

Banded and barred by the ties,

Till we feel the far track humming,

And we see her headlight plain,

And we gather and wait her coming –

The wonderful north-bound train.

45

(Few, forgotten and lonely,

Where the white car-windows shine –

No, not combatants – only

Details guarding the line.)

Quick, ere the gift escape us!

50

Out of the darkness we reach

For a handful of week-old papers

And a mouthful of human speech.

And the monstrous heaven rejoices,

And the earth allows again

55

Meetings, greetings, and voices

Of women talking with men.

So we return to our places,

As out on the bridge she rolls;

And the darkness covers our faces,

60

And the darkness re-enters our souls.

More than a little lonely

Where the lessening tail-lights shine.

No – not combatants – only

Details guarding the line!

The Lesson

(SOUTH AFRICAN WAR, 1899–1902)

Let us admit it fairly, as a business people should,

We have had no end of a lesson: it will do us no end of good.

Not on a single issue, or in one direction or twain,

But conclusively, comprehensively, and several times and again,

5

Were all our most holy illusions knocked higher than Gilderoy’s kite.

We have had a jolly good lesson, and it serves us jolly well right!

This was not bestowèd us under the trees, nor yet in the shade of a tent,

But swingingly, over eleven degrees of a bare brown continent.

From Lamberts to Dalagoa Bay, and from Pietersburg to Sutherland,

10

Fell the phenomenal lesson we learned – with a fulness accorded no other land.

It was our fault, and our very great fault, and not the judgment of Heaven.

We made an Army in our image, on an island nine by seven,

Which faithfully mirrored its makers’ ideals, equipment, and mental attitude –

And so we got our lesson: and we ought to accept it with gratitude.

15

We have spent two hundred million pounds to prove the fact once more,

That horses are quicker than men afoot, since two and two make four;

And horses have four legs, and men have two legs, and two into four goes twice,

And nothing over except our lesson – and very cheap at the price.

For remember (this our children shall know: we are too near for that knowledge)

20

Not our mere astonied camps, but Council and Creed and College –

All the obese, unchallenged old things that stifle and overlie us –

Have felt the effects of the lesson we got – an advantage no money could buy us!

Then let us develop this marvellous asset which we alone command,

And which, it may subsequently transpire, will be worth as much as the Rand.

25

Let us approach this pivotal fact in a humble yet hopeful mood –

We have had no end of a lesson. It will do us no end of good!

It was our fault, and our very great fault – and now we must turn it to use:

We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse.

So the more we work and the less we talk the better results we shall get.

30

We have had an Imperial lesson. It may make us an Empire yet!

The Islanders

No doubt but ye are the People – your throne is above the King’s.

Whoso speaks in your presence must say acceptable things:

Bowing the head in worship, bending the knee in fear –

Bringing the word well smoothen – such as a King should hear.

5

Fenced by your careful fathers, ringed by your leaden seas,

Long did ye wake in quiet and long lie down at ease;

Till ye said of Strife, ‘What is it?’; of the Sword, ‘It is far from our ken’;

Till ye made a sport of your shrunken hosts and a toy of your armed men.

Ye stopped your ears to the warning – ye would neither look nor heed –

10

Ye set your leisure before their toil and your lusts above their need.

Because of your witless learning and your beasts of warren and chase,

Ye grudged your sons to their service and your fields for their camping-place.

Ye forced them glean in the highways the straw for the bricks they brought;

Ye forced them follow in byways the craft that ye never taught.

15

Ye hindered and hampered and crippled; ye thrust out of sight and away

Those that would serve you for honour and those that served you for pay.

Then were the judgments loosened; then was your shame revealed,

At the hands of a little people, few but apt in the field.

Yet ye were saved by a remnant (and your land’s longsuffering star),

20

When your strong men cheered in their millions while your striplings went to the war.

Sons of the sheltered city – unmade, unhandled, unmeet –

Ye pushed them raw to the battle as ye picked them raw from the street.

And what did ye look they should compass? Warcraft learned in a breath?

Knowledge unto occasion at the first far view of Death?

25

So! And ye train your horses and the dogs ye feed and prize?

How are the beasts more worthy than the souls, your sacrifice?

But ye said, ‘Their valour shall show them’; but ye said, ‘The end is close.’

And ye sent them comfits and pictures to help them harry your foes:

And ye vaunted your fathomless power, and ye flaunted your iron pride,

30

Ere – ye fawned on the Younger Nations for the men who could shoot and ride!

Then ye returned to your trinkets; then ye contented your souls

With the flannelled fools at the wicket or the muddied oafs at the goals.

Given to strong delusion, wholly believing a lie,

Ye saw that the land lay fenceless, and ye let the months go by

35

Waiting some easy wonder, hoping some saving sign –

Idle – openly idle – in the lee of the forespent Line.

Idle – except for your boasting – and what is your boasting worth

If ye grudge a year of service to the lordliest life on earth?

40

Ancient, effortless, ordered, cycle on cycle set,

40 Life so long untroubled, that ye who inherit forget

It was not made with the mountains, it is not one with the deep.

Men, not gods, devised it. Men, not gods, must keep.

Men, not children, servants, nor kinsfolk called from afar,

But each man born in the Island broke to the matter of war.

45

Soberly and by custom taken and trained for the same,

Each man born in the Island entered at youth to the game –

As it were almost cricket, not to be mastered in haste,

But after trial and labour, by temperance, living chaste.

As it were almost cricket – as it were even your play,

50

Weighed and pondered and worshipped, and practised day and day.

So ye shall bide sure-guarded when the restless lightnings wake

In the womb of the blotting war-cloud, and the pallid nations quake.

So, at the haggard trumpets, instant your soul shall leap

Forthright, accoutred, accepting – alert from the wells of sleep.

55

So at the threat ye shall summon – so at the need ye shall send

Men, not children or servants, tempered and taught to the end;

Cleansed of servile panic, slow to dread or despise,

Humble because of knowledge, mighty by sacrifice …

But ye say, ‘It will mar our comfort.’ Ye say, ‘It will minish our trade.’

60

Do ye wait for the spattered shrapnel ere ye learn how a gun is laid?

For the low, red glare to southward when the raided coast-towns burn?

(Light, ye shall have on that lesson, but little time to learn.)

Will ye pitch some white pavilion, and lustily even the odds,

With nets and hoops and mallets, with rackets and bats and rods?

65

Will the rabbit war with your foemen – the red deer horn them for hire?

Your kept cock-pheasant keep you? – he is master of many a shire.

Arid, aloof, incurious, unthinking, unthanking, gelt,

Will ye loose your schools to flout them till their brow-beat columns melt?

Will ye pray them, or preach them, or print them, or ballot them back from your shore?

70

Will your workmen issue a mandate to bid them strike no more?

Will ye rise and dethrone your rulers? (Because ye were idle both?

Pride by Insolence chastened? Indolence purged by Sloth?)

No doubt but ye are the People; who shall make you afraid?

Also your gods are many. No doubt but your gods shall aid.

75

Idols of greasy altars built for the body’s ease;

Proud little brazen Baals and talking fetishes;

Teraphs of sept and party and wise wood – pavement gods –

These shall come down to the battle and snatch you from under the rods?

From the gusty, flickering gun-roll with viewless salvoes rent,

80

And the pitted hail of the bullets that tell not whence they were sent?

When ye are ringed as with iron, when ye are scourged as with whips,

When the meat is yet in your belly, and the boast is yet on your lips;

When ye go forth at morning and the noon beholds you broke,

Ere ye lie down at even, your remnant, under the yoke?

85

No doubt but ye are the People – absolute, strong, and wise;

Whatever your heart has desired ye have not withheld from your eyes.

On your own heads, in your own hands, the sin and the saving lies!

‘The Camel’s hump is an ugly lump’

The Camel’s hump is an ugly lump

Which well you may see at the Zoo;

But uglier yet is the Hump we get

From having too little to do.

5

Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,

If we haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,

We get the Hump –

Cameelious Hump –

The Hump that is black and blue!

10

We climb out of bed with frouzly head,

And a snarly-yarly voice.

We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl

At our bath and our boots and our toys;

And there ought to be a corner for me

15

(And I know there is one for you)

When we get the Hump –

Cameelious Hump –

The Hump that is black and blue!

The cure for this ill is not to sit still,

20

Or frowst with a book by the fire;

But to take a large hoe and a shovel also,

And dig till you gently perspire;

And then you will find that the sun and the wind,

And the Djinn of the Garden too,

25

Have lifted the Hump –

The horrible Hump –

The Hump that is black and blue!

I get it as well as you-oo-oo –

If I haven’t enough to do-oo-oo!

30

We all get Hump –

Cameelious Hump –

Kiddies and grown-ups too!

‘I keep six honest serving-men’

I keep six honest serving-men

(They taught me all I knew),

Their names are What and Why and When

And How and Where and Who.

5

I send them over land and sea,

I send them east and west;

But after they have worked for me,

I give them all a rest.

I let them rest from nine till five,

10

For I am busy then,

As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,

For they are hungry men.

But different folk have different views.

I know a person small –

15

She keeps ten million serving-men

Who get no rest at all!

She sends ’em abroad on her own affairs,

From the second she opens her eyes –

One million Hows, two million Wheres,

20

And seven million Whys!

‘I’ve never sailed the Amazon’

I’ve never sailed the Amazon,

I’ve never reached Brazil;

But the Don and Magdalena,

They can go there when they will!

5

Yes, weekly from Southampton,

Great steamers, white and gold,

Go rolling down to Rio

(Roll down – roll down to Rio!)

And I’d like to roll to Rio

10

Some day before I’m old!

I’ve never seen a Jaguar,

Nor yet an Armadill –

o dilloing in his armour,

And I s’pose I never will,

15

Unless I go to Rio

These wonders to behold –

Roll down – roll down to Rio –

Roll really down to Rio!

Oh, I’d love to roll to Rio

20

Some day before I’m old!

‘Pussy can sit by the fire and sing’

Pussy can sit by the fire and sing,

Pussy can climb a tree,

Or play with a silly old cork and string

To ’muse herself, not me.

5

But I like Binkie my dog, because

He knows how to behave;

So, Binkie’s the same as the First Friend was,

And I am the Man in the Cave!

Pussy will play Man Friday till

10

It’s time to wet her paw

And make her walk on the window-sill

(For the footprint Crusoe saw);

Then she fluffles her tail and mews,

And scratches and won’t attend.

15

But Binkie will play whatever I choose,

And he is my true First Friend!

Pussy will rub my knees with her head

Pretending she loves me hard;

But the very minute I go to my bed

20

Pussy runs out in the yard,

And there she stays till the morning-light;

So I know it is only pretend.

But Binkie, he snores at my feet all night,

And he is my Firstest Friend!

The Settler

(SOUTH AFRICAN WAR ENDED, MAY 1902)

Here, where my fresh-turned furrows run,

And the deep soil glistens red,

I will repair the wrong that was done

To the living and the dead.

5

Here, where the senseless bullet fell,

And the barren shrapnel burst,

I will plant a tree, I will dig a well,

Against the heat and the thirst.

Here, in a large and sunlit land,

10

Where no wrong bites to the bone,

I will lay my hand in my neighbour’s hand,

And together we will atone

For the set folly and the red breach

And the black waste of it all;

15

Giving and taking counsel each

Over the cattle-kraal.

Here will we join against our foes –

The hailstroke and the storm,

And the red and rustling cloud that blows

20

The locust’s mile-deep swarm.

Frost and murrain and floods let loose

Shall launch us side by side

In the holy wars that have no truce

’Twixt seed and harvest tide.

25

Earth, where we rode to slay or be slain,

Our love shall redeem unto life.

We will gather and lead to her lips again

The waters of ancient strife,

From the far and the fiercely guarded streams

30

And the pools where we lay in wait,

Till the corn cover our evil dreams

And the young corn our hate.

And when we bring old fights to mind,

We will not remember the sin –

35

If there be blood on his head of my kind,

Or blood on my head of his kin –

For the ungrazed upland, the untilled lea

Cry, and the fields forlorn:

‘The dead must bury their dead, but ye –

40

Ye serve an host unborn.’

Bless then, Our God, the new-yoked plough

And the good beasts that draw,

And the bread we eat in the sweat of our brow

According to Thy Law.

45

After us cometh a multitude –

Prosper the work of our hands,

That we may feed with our land’s food

The folk of all our lands!

Here, in the waves and the troughs of the plains,

50

Where the healing stillness lies,

And the vast, benignant sky restrains

And the long days make wise –

Bless to our use the rain and the sun

And the blind seed in its bed,

55

That we may repair the wrong that was done

To the living and the dead!

‘Before a midnight breaks in storm’

Before a midnight breaks in storm,

Or herded sea in wrath,

Ye know what wavering gusts inform

The greater tempest’s path;

5

Till the loosed wind

Drive all from mind,

Except Distress, which, so will prophets cry,

O’ercame them, houseless, from the unhinting sky.

Ere rivers league against the land

10

In piratry of flood,

Ye know what waters steal and stand

Where seldom water stood.

Yet who will note,

Till fields afloat,

15

And washen carcass and the returning well,

Trumpet what these poor heralds strove to tell?

Ye know who use the Crystal Ball

(To peer by stealth on Doom),

The Shade that, shaping first of all,

20

Prepares an empty room.

Then doth It pass

Like breath from glass,

But, on the extorted Vision bowed intent,

No man considers why It came or went.

25

Before the years reborn behold

Themselves with stranger eye,

And the sport-making Gods of old,

Like Samson slaying, die,

Many shall hear

30

The all-pregnant sphere,

Bow to the birth and sweat, but – speech denied –

Sit dumb or – dealt in part – fall weak and wide.

Yet instant to fore-shadowed need

The eternal balance swings;

35

That wingèd men the Fates may breed

So soon as Fate hath wings.

These shall possess

Our littleness,

And in the imperial task (as worthy) lay

40

Up our lives’ all to piece one giant Day.

The Second Voyage

We’ve sent our little Cupids all ashore –

They were frightened, they were tired, they were cold.

Our sails of silk and purple go to store,

And we’ve cut away our mast of beaten gold.

5

(Foul weather!)

Oh, ’tis hemp and singing pine for to stand against the brine,

But Love he is our master as of old!

The sea has shorn our galleries away,

The salt has soiled our gilding past remede;

10

Our paint is flaked and blistered by the spray,

Our sides are half a fathom furred in weed.

(Foul weather!)

And the Doves of Venus fled and the petrels came instead,

But Love he was our master at our need!

15

’Was Youth would keep no vigil at the bow,

’Was Pleasure at the helm too drunk to steer –

We’ve shipped three able quartermasters now.

Men call them Custom, Reverence, and Fear.

(Foul weather!)

20

They are old and scarred and plain, but we’ll run no risk again

From any Port o’ Paphos mutineer!

We seek no more the tempest for delight,

We skirt no more the indraught and the shoal –

We ask no more of any day or night

25

Than to come with least adventure to our goal.

(Foul weather!)

What we find we needs must brook, but we do not go to look

Nor tempt the Lord our God that saved us whole.

Yet, caring so, not overmuch we care

30

To brace and trim for every foolish blast –

If the squall be pleased to sweep us unaware,

He may bellow off to leeward like the last.

(Foul weather!)

We will blame it on the deep (for the watch must have their sleep),

35

And Love can come and wake us when ’tis past.

Oh, launch them down with music from the beach,

Oh, warp them out with garlands from the quays –

Most resolute – a damsel unto each –

New prows that seek the old Hesperides!

40

(Foul weather!)

Though we know their voyage is vain, yet we see our path again

In the saffroned bridesails scenting all the seas!

(Foul weather!)

The Broken Men

For things we never mention,

For Art misunderstood –

For excellent intention

That did not turn to good;

5

From ancient tales’ renewing,

From clouds we would not clear –

Beyond the Law’s pursuing

We fled, and settled here.

We took no tearful leaving,

10

We bade no long good-byes.

Men talked of crime and thieving,

Men wrote of fraud and lies.

To save our injured feelings

’Twas time and time to go –

15

Behind was dock and Dartmoor,

Ahead lay Callao!

The widow and the orphan

That pray for ten per cent,

They clapped their trailers on us

20

To spy the road we went.

They watched the foreign sailings

(They scan the shipping still),

And that’s your Christian people

Returning good for ill!

25

God bless the thoughtful islands

Where never warrants come;

God bless the just Republics

That give a man a home,

That ask no foolish questions,

30

But set him on his feet;

And save his wife and daughters

From the workhouse and the street!

On church and square and market

The noonday silence falls;

35

You’ll hear the drowsy mutter

Of the fountain in our halls.

Asleep amid the yuccas

The city takes her ease –

Till twilight brings the land-wind

40

To the clicking jalousies.

Day-long the diamond weather,

The high, unaltered blue –

The smell of goats and incense

And the mule-bells tinkling through.

45

Day-long the warder ocean

That keeps us from our kin,

And once a month our levee

When the English mail comes in.

You’ll find us up and waiting

50

To treat you at the bar;

You’ll find us less exclusive

Than the average English are.

We’ll meet you with a carriage,

Too glad to show you round,

55

But – we do not lunch on steamers,

For they are English ground.

We sail o’ nights to England

And join our smiling Boards –

Our wives go in with Viscounts

60

And our daughters dance with Lords,

But behind our princely doings,

And behind each coup we make,

We feel there’s Something Waiting,

And – we meet It when we wake.

65

Ah, God! One sniff of England –

To greet our flesh and blood –

To hear the traffic slurring

Once more through London mud!

Our towns of wasted honour –

70

Our streets of lost delight!

How stands the old ‘Lord Warden?’

Are Dover’s cliffs still white?

Sussex

God gave all men all earth to love,

But, since our hearts are small,

Ordained for each one spot should prove

Belovèd over all;

5

That, as He watched Creation’s birth

So we, in godlike mood,

May of our love create our earth

And see that it is good.

So one shall Baltic pines content,

10

As one some Surrey glade,

Or one the palm-grove’s droned lament

Before Levuka’s Trade.

Each to his choice, and I rejoice

The lot has fallen to me

15

In a fair ground – in a fair ground –

Yea, Sussex by the sea!

No tender-hearted garden crowns,

No bosomed woods adorn

Our blunt, bow-headed, whale-backed Downs,

20

But gnarled and writhen thorn –

Bare slopes where chasing shadows skim,

And, through the gaps revealed,

Belt upon belt, the wooded, dim,

Blue goodness of the Weald.

25

Clean of officious fence or hedge,

Half-wild and wholly tame,

The wise turf cloaks the white cliff-edge

As when the Romans came.

What sign of those that fought and died

30

At shift of sword and sword?

The barrow and the camp abide,

The sunlight and the sward.

Here leaps ashore the full Sou’west

All heavy-winged with brine,

35

Here lies above the folded crest

The channel’s leaden line;

And here the sea-fogs lap and cling,

And here, each warning each,

The sheep-bells and the ship-bells ring

40

Along the hidden beach.

We have no waters to delight

Our broad and brookless vales –

Only the dewpond on the height

Unfed, that never fails –

45

Whereby no tattered herbage tells

Which way the season flies –

Only our close-bit thyme that smells

Like dawn in Paradise.

Here through the strong and shadeless days

50

The tinkling silence thrills;

Or little, lost, Down churches praise

The Lord who made the hills:

But here the Old Gods guard their round,

And, in her secret heart,

55

The heathen kingdom Wilfrid found

Dreams, as she dwells, apart.

Though all the rest were all my share,

With equal soul I’d see

Her nine-and-thirty sisters fair,

60

Yet none more fair than she.

Choose ye your need from Thames to Tweed,

And I will choose instead

Such lands as lie ’twixt Rake and Rye,

Black Down and Beachy Head.

65

I will go out against the sun

Where the rolled scarp retires,

And the Long Man of Wilmington

Looks naked towards the shires;

And east till doubling Rother crawls

70

To find the fickle tide,

By dry and sea-forgotten walls,

Our ports of stranded pride.

I will go north about the shaws

And the deep ghylls that breed

75

Huge oaks and old, the which we hold

No more than ‘Sussex weed’;

Or south where windy Piddinghoe’s

Begilded dolphin veers,

And red beside wide-bankèd Ouse

80

Lie down our Sussex steers.

So to the land our hearts we give

Till the sure magic strike,

And Memory, Use, and Love make live

Us and our fields alike –

85

That deeper than our speech and thought,

Beyond our reason’s sway,

Clay of the pit whence we were wrought

Yearns to its fellow-clay.

God gives all men all earth to love,

90

But, since man’s heart is small,

Ordains for each one spot shall prove

Belovèd over all.

Each to his choice, and I rejoice

The lot has fallen to me

95

In a fair ground – in a fair ground –

Yea, Sussex by the sea!

Dirge of Dead Sisters

(FOR THE NURSES WHO DIED IN THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR)

Who recalls the twilight and the rangèd tents in order

(Violet peaks uplifted through the crystal evening air)

And the clink of iron teacups and the piteous, noble laughter,

And the faces of the sisters with the dust upon their hair?

5

(Now and not hereafter, while the breath is in our nostrils,

Now and not hereafter, ere the meaner years go by –

Let us now remember many honourable women,

Such as bade us turn again when we were like to die.)

Who recalls the morning and the thunder through the foothills

10

(Tufts of fleecy shrapnel strung along the empty plains)

And the sun-scarred Red-Cross coaches creeping guarded to the culvert,

And the faces of the sisters looking gravely from the trains?

(When the days were torment and the nights were clouded terror,

When the Powers of Darkness had dominion on our soul –

15

When we fled consuming through the Seven Hells of Fever,

These put out their hands to us and healed and made us whole.)

Who recalls the midnight by the bridge’s wrecked abutment

(Autumn rain that rattled like a Maxim on the tin)

And the lightning-dazzled levels and the streaming, straining wagons,

20

And the faces of the Sisters as they bore the wounded in?

(Till the pain was merciful and stunned us into silence –

When each nerve cried out on God that made the misused clay;

When the Body triumphed and the last poor shame departed –

These abode our agonies and wiped the sweat away.)

25

Who recalls the noontide and the funerals through the market

(Blanket-hidden bodies, flagless, followed by the flies)

And the footsore firing-party, and the dust and stench and staleness,

And the faces of the Sisters and the glory in their eyes?

(Bold behind the battle, in the open camp all-hallowed,

30

Patient, wise, and mirthful in the ringed and reeking town,

These endured unresting till they rested from their labours –

Little wasted bodies, ah, so light to lower down!)

Yet their graves are scattered and their names are clean forgotten,

Earth shall not remember, but the Waiting Angel knows

35

Them that died at Uitvlugt when the plague was on the city –

Her that fell at Simon’s Town in service on our foes.

Wherefore we they ransomed, while the breath is in our nostrils,

Now and not hereafter – ere the meaner years go by –

Praise with love and worship many honourable women,

40

Those that gave their lives for us when we were like to die!

Chant-Pagan

(ENGLISH IRREGULAR, DISCHARGED)

Me that ’ave been what I’ve been –

Me that ’ave gone where I’ve gone –

Me that ’ave seen what I’ve seen –

’Ow can I ever take on

5

With awful old England again,

An’ ’ouses both sides of the street,

An’ ’edges two sides of the lane,

An’ the parson an’ gentry between,

An’ touchin’ my ’at when we meet –

10

Me that ’ave been what I’ve been?

Me that ’ave watched ’arf a world

’Eave up all shiny with dew,

Kopje on kop to the sun,

An’ as soon as the mist let ’em through

15

Our ’elios winkin’ like fun –

Three sides of a ninety-mile square,

Over valleys as big as a shire –

‘Are ye there? Are ye there? Are ye there?’

An’ then the blind drum of our fire …

20

An’ I’m rollin’ ’is lawns for the Squire,

Me!

Me that ’ave rode through the dark

Forty miles, often, on end,

Along the Ma’ollisberg Range,

25

With only the stars for my mark

An’ only the night for my friend,

An’ things runnin’ off as you pass,

An’ things jumpin’ up in the grass,

An’ the silence, the shine an’ the size

30

Of the ’igh, unexpressible skies –

I am takin’ some letters almost

As much as a mile to the post,

An’ ‘mind you come back with the change!’

Me!

35

Me that saw Barberton took

When we dropped through the clouds on their ’ead,

An’ they ’ove the guns over and fled –

Me that was through Di’mond ’Ill,

An’ Pieters an’ Springs an’ Belfast –

40

From Dundee to Vereeniging all –

Me that stuck out to the last

(An’ five bloomin’ bars on my chest) –

I am doin’ my Sunday-school best,

By the ’elp of the Squire an’ ’is wife

45

(Not to mention the ’ousemaid an’ cook),

To come in an’ ’ands up an’ be still,

An’ honestly work for my bread,

My livin’ in that state of life

To which it shall please Gawd to call

50

Me!

Me that ’ave followed my trade

In the place where the Lightnin’s are made;

’Twixt the Rains an’ the Sun an’ the Moon –

Me that lay down an’ got up

55

Three years with the sky for my roof –

That ’ave ridden my ’unger an’ thirst

Six thousand raw mile on the hoof,

With the Vaal an’ the Orange for cup,

An’ the Brandwater Basin for dish, –

60

Oh! it’s ’ard to be’ave as they wish

(Too ’ard, an’ a little too soon),

I’ll ’ave to think over it first –

Me!

I will arise an’ get ’ence –

65

I will trek South an’ make sure

If it’s only my fancy or not

That the sunshine of England is pale,

An’ the breezes of England are stale,

An’ there’s somethin’ gone small with the lot.

70

For I know of a sun an’ a wind,

An’ some plains an’ a mountain be’ind,

An’ some graves by a barb-wire fence,

An’ a Dutchman I’ve fought ’oo might give

Me a job were I ever inclined

75

To look in an’ offsaddle an’ live

Where there’s neither a road nor a tree –

But only my Maker an’ me,

An’ I think it will kill me or cure,

So I think I will go there an’ see.

80

Me!

Lichtenberg

(NEW SOUTH WALES CONTINGENT)

Smells are surer than sounds or sights

To make your heart-strings crack –

They start those awful voices o’ nights

That whisper, ‘Old man, come back!’

5

That must be why the big things pass

And the little things remain,

Like the smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg,

Riding in, in the rain.

There was some silly fire on the flank

10

And the small wet drizzling down –

There were the sold-out shops and the bank

And the wet, wide-open town;

And we were doing escort-duty

To somebody’s baggage-train,

15

And I smelt wattle by Lichtenberg –

Riding in, in the rain.

It was all Australia to me –

All I had found or missed:

Every face I was crazy to see,

20

And every woman I’d kissed;

All that I shouldn’t ha’ done, God knows!

(As He knows I’ll do it again),

That smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg,

Riding in, in the rain!

25

And I saw Sydney the same as ever,

The picnics and brass bands;

And my little homestead on Hunter River

And my new vines joining hands.

It all came over me in one act

30

Quick as a shot through the brain –

With the smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg,

Riding in, in the rain.

I have forgotten a hundred fights,

But one I shall not forget –

35

With the raindrops bunging up my sights

And my eyes bunged up with wet;

And through the crack and the stink of the cordite,

(Ah, Christ! My country again!)

The smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg,

40

Riding in, in the rain!

Stellenbosch

(COMPOSITE COLUMNS)

The General ’eard the firin’ on the flank,

An’ ’e sent a mounted man to bring ’im back

The silly, pushin’ person’s name an’ rank

’Oo’d dared to answer Brother Boer’s attack:

5

For there might ’ave been a serious engagement,

An’ ’e might ’ave wasted ’alf a dozen men;

So ’e ordered ’im to stop ’is operations round the kopjes,

An’ ’e told ’im off before the Staff at ten!

An’ it all goes into the laundry,

10

But it never comes out in the wash,

’Ow we’re sugared about by the old men

(’Eavy-sterned amateur old men!)

That ’amper an’ ’inder an’ scold men

For fear o’ Stellenbosch!

15

The General ’ad ‘produced a great effect,’

The General ’ad the country cleared – almost;

The General ‘’ad no reason to expect,’

An’ the Boers ’ad us bloomin’ well on toast!

For we might ’ave crossed the drift before the twilight,

20

Instead o’ sittin’ down an’ takin’ root;

But we was not allowed, so the Boojers scooped the crowd,

To the last survivin’ bandolier an’ boot.

The General saw the farm’ouse in ’is rear,

With its stoep so nicely shaded from the sun;

25

Sez ’e, ‘I’ll pitch my tabernacle ’ere,’

An’ ’e kept us muckin’ round till ’e ’ad done.

For ’e might ’ave caught the confluent pneumonia

From sleepin’ in his gaiters in the dew;

So ’e took a book an’ dozed while the other columns closed,

30

An’ De Wet’s commando out an’ trickled through!

The General saw the mountain-range ahead,

With their ’elios showin’ saucy on the ’eight,

So ’e ’eld us to the level ground instead,

An’ telegraphed the Boojers wouldn’t fight.

35

For ’e might ’ave gone an’ sprayed ’em with a pompom,

Or ’e might ’ave slung a squadron out to see –

But ’e wasn’t takin’ chances in them ’igh and ’ostile kranzes –

He was markin’ time to earn a K.C.B.

The General got ’is decorations thick

40

(The men that backed ’is lies could not complain),

The Staff ’ad D.S.O.’s till we was sick,

An’ the soldier – ’ad the work to do again!

For ’e might ’ave known the District was an ’otbed,

Instead of ’andin’ over, upside-down,

45

To a man ’oo ’ad to fight ’alf a year to put it right,

While the General sat an’ slandered ’im in town!

An’ it all went into the laundry,

But it never came out in the wash.

We were sugared about by the old men

50

(Panicky, perishin’ old men)

That ’amper an’ ’inder an’ scold men

For fear o’ Stellenbosch!

Harp Song of the Dane Women

What is a woman that you forsake her,

And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,

To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in –

5

But one chill bed for all to rest in,

That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,

But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you –

Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

10

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,

And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,

Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken –

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters, –

And steal away to the lapping waters,

15

And look at your ship in her winter-quarters.

You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,

The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables –

To pitch her sides and go over her cables.

Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow,

20

And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow,

Is all we have left through the months to follow.

Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,

And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,

To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

‘Rimini’

(MARCHING SONG OF A ROMAN LEGION OF THE LATER EMPIRE)

When I left Rome for Lalage’s sake,

By the Legions’ Road to Rimini,

She vowed her heart was mine to take

With me and my shield to Rimini –

5

(Till the Eagles flew from Rimini –)

And I’ve tramped Britain, and I’ve tramped Gaul,

And the Pontic shore where the snow-flakes fall

As white as the neck of Lalage –

(As cold as the heart of Lalage!)

10

And I’ve lost Britain, and I’ve lost Gaul,

And I’ve lost Rome and, worst of all,

I’ve lost Lalage!

When you go by the Via Aurelia,

As thousands have travelled before,

15

Remember the Luck of the Soldier

Who never saw Rome any more!

Oh, dear was the sweetheart that kissed him,

And dear was the mother that bore;

But his shield was picked up in the heather,

20

And he never saw Rome any more!

And he left Rome, etc.

When you go by the Via Aurelia

That runs from the City to Gaul,

Remember the Luck of the Soldier

25

Who rose to be master of all!

He carried the sword and the buckler,

He mounted his guard on the Wall,

Till the Legions elected him Caesar,

And he rose to be master of all!

30

And he left Rome, etc.

It’s twenty-five marches to Narbo,

It’s forty-five more up the Rhone,

And the end may be death in the heather

Or life on an Emperor’s throne.

35

But whether the Eagles obey us,

Or we go to the Ravens – alone,

I’d sooner be Lalage’s lover

Than sit on an Emperor’s throne!

We’ve all left Rome for Lalage’s sake, etc.

Prophets at Home

Prophets have honour all over the Earth,

Except in the village where they were born,

Where such as knew them boys from birth

Nature-ally hold ’em in scorn.

5

When Prophets are naughty and young and vain,

They make a won’erful grievance of it;

(You can see by their writings how they complain),

But Oh, ’tis won’erful good for the Prophet!

There’s nothing Nineveh Town can give

10

(Nor being swallowed by whales between),

Makes up for the place where a man’s folk live,

Which don’t care nothing what he has been.

He might ha’ been that, or he might ha’ been this,

But they love and they hate him for what he is.

A Smuggler’s Song

If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,

Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street,

Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie.

Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

5

Five-and-twenty ponies

Trotting through the dark –

Brandy for the parson,

’Baccy for the Clerk;

Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,

10

And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

Running round the woodlump if you chance to find

Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,

Don’t you shout to come and look, nor use ’em for your play.

Put the brishwood back again – and they’ll be gone next day!

15

If you see the stable-door setting open wide;

If you see a tired horse lying down inside;

If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;

If the lining’s wet and warm – don’t you ask no more!

If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red,

20

You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.

If they call you ‘pretty maid,’ and chuck you ’neath the chin,

Don’t tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been!

Knocks and footsteps round the house – whistles after dark –

You’ve no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.

25

Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie –

They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!

If you do as you’ve been told, ’likely there’s a chance,

You’ll be give a dainty doll, all the way from France,

With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood –

30

A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good!

Five-and-twenty ponies

Trotting through the dark –

Brandy for the Parson,

’Baccy for the Clerk.

35

Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie –

Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

The Sons of Martha

The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;

But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.

And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,

Her Sons must wait upon Mary’s Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.

5

It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.

It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.

It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,

Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.

They say to mountains, ‘Be ye removèd.’ They say to the lesser floods, ‘Be dry.’

10

Under their rods are the rocks reprovèd – they are not afraid of that which is high.

Then do the hill-tops shake to the summit – then is the bed of the deep laid bare,

That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware.

They finger Death at their gloves’ end where they piece and repiece the living wires.

He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry behind their fires.

15

Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his terrible stall,

And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn him till evenfall.

To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is Relief afar.

They are concerned with matters hidden – under the earth-line their altars are –

The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth,

20

And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city’s drouth.

They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose.

They do not teach that His Pity allows them to drop their job when they dam’-well choose.

As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand,

Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren’s days may be long in the land.

25

Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat –

Lo, it is black already with blood some Son of Martha spilled for that!

Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any creed,

But simple service simply given to his own kind in their common need.

And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed – they know the Angels are on their side.

30

They know in them is the Grace confessed, and for them are the Mercies multiplied.

They sit at the Feet – they hear the Word – they see how truly the Promise runs.

They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and – the Lord He lays it on Martha’s Sons!

A Song of Travel

Where’s the lamp that Hero lit

Once to call Leander home?

Equal Time hath shovelled it

’Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome.

5

Neither wait we any more

That worn sail which Argo bore.

Dust and dust of ashes close

All the Vestal Virgins’ care;

And the oldest altar shows

10

But an older darkness there.

Age-encamped Oblivion

Tenteth every light that shone.

Yet shall we, for Suns that die,

Wall our wanderings from desire?

15

Or, because the Moon is high,

Scorn to use a nearer fire?

Lest some envious Pharaoh stir,

Make our lives our sepulchre?

Nay! Though Time with petty Fate

20

Prison us and Emperors,

By our Arts do we create

That which Time himself devours –

Such machines as well may run

’Gainst the Horses of the Sun.

25

When we would a new abode,

Space, our tyrant King no more,

Lays the long lance of the road

At our feet and flees before,

Breathless, ere we overwhelm,

30

To submit a further realm!

‘The Power of the Dog’

There is sorrow enough in the natural way

From men and women to fill our day;

And when we are certain of sorrow in store,

Why do we always arrange for more?

5

Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware

Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy

Love unflinching that cannot lie –

Perfect passion and worship fed

10

By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.

Nevertheless it is hardly fair

To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits

Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,

15

And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs

To lethal chambers or loaded guns,

Then you will find – it’s your own affair –

But … you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,

20

With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)

When the spirit that answered your every mood

Is gone – wherever it goes – for good,

You will discover how much you care,

And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

25

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,

When it comes to burying Christian clay.

Our loves are not given, but only lent,

At compound interest of cent per cent.

Though it is not always the case, I believe,

30

That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:

For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,

A short-time loan is as bad as a long –

So why in–Heaven (before we are there)

Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

The Puzzler

The Celt in all his variants from Builth to Ballyhoo,

His mental processes are plain – one knows what he will do,

And can logically predicate his finish by his start;

But the English – ah, the English! – they are quite a race apart.

5

Their psychology is bovine, their outlook crude and raw.

They abandon vital matters to be tickled with a straw;

But the straw that they were tickled with – the chaff that they were fed with –

They convert into a weaver’s beam to break their foeman’s head with.

For undemocratic reasons and for motives not of State,

10

They arrive at their conclusion – largely inarticulate.

Being void of self-expression they confide their views to none;

But sometimes in a smoking-room, one learns why things were done.

Yes, sometimes in a smoking-room, through clouds of ‘Ers’ and ‘Ums,’

Obliquely and by inference, illumination comes,

15

On some step that they have taken, or some action they approve –

Embellished with the argot of the Upper Fourth Remove.

In telegraphic sentences, half nodded to their friends,

They hint a matter’s inwardness – and there the matter ends.

And while the Celt is talking from Valencia to Kirkwall,

20

The English – ah, the English! – don’t say anything at all.

The Rabbi’s Song

II SAMUEL 14:14

If Thought can reach to Heaven,

On Heaven let it dwell,

For fear thy Thought be given

Like power to reach to Hell;

5

For fear the desolation

And darkness of thy mind

Perplex an habitation

Which thou hast left behind.

Let nothing linger after –

10

No whimpering ghost remain,

In wall, or beam, or rafter,

Of any hate or pain.

Cleanse and call home thy spirit,

Deny her leave to cast,

15

On aught thy heirs inherit,

The shadow of her past.

For think, in all thy sadness,

What road our griefs may take;

Whose brain reflect our madness,

20

Or whom our terrors shake:

For think, lest any languish

By cause of thy distress –

The arrows of our anguish

Fly farther than we guess.

25

Our lives, our tears, as water,

Are spilled upon the ground:

God giveth no man quarter,

Yet God a means hath found –

Though Faith and Hope have vanished,

30

And even Love grows dim –

A means whereby His banished

Be not expelled from Him!

A Charm

Take of English earth as much

As either hand may rightly clutch.

In the taking of it breathe

Prayer for all who lie beneath.

5

Not the great nor well-bespoke,

But the mere uncounted folk

Of whose life and death is none

Report or lamentation.

Lay that earth upon thy heart,

10

And thy sickness shall depart!

It shall sweeten and make whole

Fevered breath and festered soul.

It shall mightily restrain

Over-busied hand and brain.

15

It shall ease thy mortal strife

’Gainst the immortal woe of life,

Till thyself, restored, shall prove

By what grace the Heavens do move.

Take of English flowers these –

20

Spring’s full-facèd primroses,

Summer’s wild wide-hearted rose,

Autumn’s wall-flower of the close,

And, thy darkness to illume,

Winter’s bee-thronged ivy-bloom.

25

Seek and serve them where they bide

From Candlemas to Christmas-tide,

For these simples, used aright,

Can restore a failing sight.

These shall cleanse and purify

30

Webbed and inward-turning eye;

These shall show thee treasure hid,

Thy familiar fields amid;

At thy threshold, on thy hearth,

Or about thy daily path;

35

And reveal (which is thy need)

Every man a King indeed!

Cold Iron

Gold is for the mistress – silver for the maid –

Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.

‘Good!’ said the Baron, sitting in his hall,

‘But Iron – Cold Iron – is master of them all.’

5

So he made rebellion ’gainst the King his liege,

Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege.

‘Nay!’ said the cannoneer on the castle wall,

‘But Iron – Cold Iron – shall be master of you all!’

Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong,

10

When the cruel cannon-balls laid ’em all along;

He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall,

And Iron – Cold Iron – was master of it all!

Yet his King spake kindly (ah, how kind a Lord!)

‘What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?’

15

‘Nay!’ said the Baron, ‘mock not at my fall,

For Iron – Cold Iron – is master of men all.’

Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown –

Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.

‘As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small,

20

For Iron – Cold Iron – must be master of men all!’

Yet his King made answer (few such Kings there be!)

‘Here is Bread and here is Wine – sit and sup with me.

Eat and drink in Mary’s Name, the whiles I do recall

How Iron – Cold Iron – can be master of men all!’

25

He took the Wine and blessed it. He blessed and brake the Bread.

With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said:

‘See! These Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city wall,

Show Iron – Cold Iron – to be master of men all!

Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong –

30

Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.

I forgive thy treason – I redeem thy fall –

For Iron – Cold Iron – must be master of men all!’

Crowns are for the valiant – sceptres for the bold!

Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold!

35

‘Nay!’ said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,

‘But Iron – Cold Iron – is master of men all!

Iron out of Calvary is master of men all!’

The Looking-Glass

(A COUNTRY DANCE)

Queen Bess was Harry’s daughter. (Stand forward partners all!)

In ruff and stomacher and gown

She danced King Philip down-a-down,

And left her shoe to show ’twas true –

5

(The very tune I’m playing you)

In Norgem at Brickwall!

The Queen was in her chamber, and she was middling old.

Her petticoat was satin, and her stomacher was gold.

Backwards and forwards and sideways did she pass,

10

Making up her mind to face the cruel looking-glass.

The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass

As comely or as kindly or as young as what she was!

Queen Bess was Harry’s daughter. (Now hand your partners all!)

The Queen was in her chamber, a-combing of her hair.

15

There came Queen Mary’s spirit and It stood behind her chair,

Singing, ‘Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pass,

But I will stand behind you till you face the looking-glass.

The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass

As lovely or unlucky or as lonely as I was!’

20

Queen Bess was Harry’s daughter. (Now turn your partners all!)

The Queen was in her chamber, a-weeping very sore.

There came Lord Leicester’s spirit and It scratched upon the door,

Singing, ‘Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pass,

But I will walk beside you till you face the looking-glass.

25

The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass,

As hard and unforgiving or as wicked as you was!’

Queen Bess was Harry’s daughter. (Now kiss your partners all!)

The Queen was in her chamber, her sins were on her head.

She looked the spirits up and down and statelily she said: –

30

‘Backwards and forwards and sideways though I’ve been,

Yet I am Harry’s daughter and I am England’s Queen!’

And she faced the looking-glass (and whatever else there was)

And she saw her day was over and she saw her beauty pass

In the cruel looking-glass, that can always hurt a lass

35

More hard than any ghost there is or any man there was!

The Way through the Woods

They shut the road through the woods

Seventy years ago.

Weather and rain have undone it again,

And now you would never know

5

There was once a road through the woods

Before they planted the trees.

It is underneath the coppice and heath

And the thin anemones.

Only the keeper sees

10

That, where the ring-dove broods,

And the badgers roll at ease,

There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods

Of a summer evening late,

15

When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools

Where the otter whistles his mate,

(They fear not men in the woods,

Because they see so few.)

You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet,

20

And the swish of a skirt in the dew,

Steadily cantering through

The misty solitudes,

As though they perfectly knew

The old lost road through the woods …

25

But there is no road through the woods!

If –

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

5

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;

10

If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

15

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

20

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

25

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

30

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

‘Poor Honest Men’

Your jar of Virginny

Will cost you a guinea,

Which you reckon too much by five shilling or ten;

But light your churchwarden

5

And judge it accordin’,

When I’ve told you the troubles of poor honest men.

From the Capes of the Delaware,

As you are well aware,

We sail with tobacco for England – but then,

10

Our own British cruisers,

They watch us come through, sirs,

And they press half a score of us poor honest men!

Or if by quick sailing

(Thick weather prevailing)

15

We leave them behind (as we do now and then)

We are sure of a gun from

Each frigate we run from,

Which is often destruction to poor honest men!

Broadsides the Atlantic

20

We tumble short-handed,

With shot-holes to plug and new canvas to bend;

And off the Azores,

Dutch, Dons and Monsieurs

Are waiting to terrify poor honest men.

25

Napoleon’s embargo

Is laid on all cargo

Which comfort or aid to King George may intend;

And since roll, twist and leaf,

Of all comforts is chief,

30

They try for to steal it from poor honest men!