Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
Chapter Headings, III
T
In earth’s young penitence,
And I have bled in that Babe’s stead
Because of innocence.
That have no sin of my own,
They drive me forth to Heaven’s wrath
Unpastured and alone.
The ransom of man’s guilt,
For they give my life to the altar-knife
Wherever shrine is built.
Up from the river as the twilight falls,
Across the dust-beclouded plain they pass
On to the village walls.
But over all the labouring ploughman’s blade—
For on its oxen and its husbandmen
An Empire’s strength is laid.
The saplings reeling in the path he trod,
Declare his might—our lord the Elephant,
Chief of the ways of God.
The bowed head toiling where the guns careen,
Declare our might—our slave the Elephant
And servant of the Queen.
Wallow and waste and lea,
Outcaste they wait at the village gate
With folk of low degree.
Their food the cattle’s scorn,
Their rest is mire and their desire
The thicket and the thorn.
And woe to those that dare
To rouse the herd-bull from his keep,
The wild boar from his lair!
Their mouths are clean of lies,
They talk one to the other,
Bullock to bullock’s brother
Resting after their labours,
Each in stall with his neighbours.
But man with goad and whip,
Breaks up their fellowship,
Shouts in their silky ears
Filling their soul with fears.
When he has ploughed the land,
He says: “They understand.”
But the beasts in stall together,
Freed from the yoke and tether,
Say as the torn flanks smoke:
“Nay, ’twas the whip that spoke.”
T
Out of the night came the patient wraith.
He might not speak, and he could not stir
A hair of the Baron’s minniver.
Speechless and strengthless, a shadow thin,
He roved the castle to find his kin.
And oh! ’twas a piteous sight to see
The dumb ghost follow his enemy!
Out of her time my field was white with grain,
The year gave up her secrets, to my woe.
Forced and deflowered each sick season lay
In mystery of increase and decay;
I saw the sunset ere men see the day,
Who am too wise in all I should not know.
U
With idiot moons and stars retracting stars?
Creep thou between—thy coming’s all unnoised.
Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars.
Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray
(By Adam’s, fathers’, own, sin bound alway);
Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say
Which planet mends thy threadbare fate, or mars.
T
Behind the old mud wall;
There’s a lifter less on the Border trail,
And the Queen’s Peace over all,
Dear boys,
The Queen’s Peace over all!
On us the shame will fall,
If we lift our hand from a fettered land
And the Queen’s Peace over all,
Dear boys,
The Queen’s Peace over all!
For the bullocks are walking two by two,
The byles are walking two by two,
And the elephants bring the guns.
Ho! Yuss!
Great—big—long—black—forty-pounder guns.
Jiggery-jolty to and fro,
Each as big as a launch in tow—
Blind—dumb—broad-breeched—beggars o’ battering-guns.
Sit the old fighting-men broke in the wars—
Sit the old fighting men, surly and grim
Mocking the lilt of the conquerors’ hymn.
Fame never found them for aught that they did.
Wounded and spent to the lazar they drew,
Lining the road where the Legions roll through.
(Worthy God’s pity most—ye who succeed!)
Ere you go triumphing, crowned, to the stars,
Pity poor fighting men, broke in the wars!
’Twixt hostile earth and sky;
The mottled lizard ’neath the stone
Is wiser here than I.
What omen down the wind?
The buck that break before my feet—
They know, but I am blind!
F
Farewell and adieu to you, ladies ashore!
For we’ve received orders to work to the eastward
Where we hope in a short time to strafe ’em some more.
We’ll duck and we’ll dive underneath the North Seas,
Until we strike something that doesn’t expect us,
From here to Cuxhaven it’s go as you please!
Which isn’t a place where repairs should be done;
And there we lay doggo in twelve-fathom water
With tri-nitro-toluol hogging our run.
With his shiny big belly half blocking the sky.
But what in the—Heavens can you do with six-pounders?
So we fired what we had and we bade him good-bye.
Farewell and adieu, &c.