Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
The Song of Diego Valdez
T
Hath prospered here my hand—
The cargoes of my lading,
And the keels of my command.
For out of many ventures
That sailed with hope as high,
My own have made the better trade,
And Admiral am I.
To me my people’s love—
To me the pride of Princes
And power all pride above;
To me the shouting cities,
To me the mob’s refrain:—
“Who knows not noble Valdez,
“Hath never heard of Spain.”
Old playmates on new seas—
Whenas we traded orpiment
Among the savages—
A thousand leagues to south’ard
And thirty years removed—
They knew not noble Valdez,
But me they knew and loved.
They drank it not alone,
And they that found fair plunder,
They told us every one,
About our chosen islands
Or secret shoals between,
When, weary from far voyage,
We gathered to careen.
All pale along the shore:
There rose our worn pavilions—
A sail above an oar:
As flashed each yearning anchor
Through mellow seas afire,
So swift our careless captains
Rowed each to his desire.
Where turned our naked feet?
Whose tavern ’mid the palm-trees?
What quenchings of what heat?
Oh fountain in the desert!
Oh cistern in the waste!
Oh bread we ate in secret!
Oh cup we spilled in haste!
The widow curbed and wan,
The goodwife proud at season,
And the maid aware of man—
All souls unslaked, consuming
Defrauded in delays,
Desire not more their quittance
Than I those forfeit days!
Unchanged my spring would bide:
Wherefore, to wait my pleasure,
I put my spring aside
Till, first in face of Fortune,
And last in mazed disdain,
I made Diego Valdez
High Admiral of Spain.
Nor surge that did not aid—
I dared extreme occasion,
Nor ever one betrayed.
They wrought a deeper treason—
(Led seas that served my needs!)
They sold Diego Valdez
To bondage of great deeds.
And pinned and bade me hold
The course I might not alter—
And men esteemed me bold!
The calms embayed my quarry,
The fog-wreath sealed his eyes;
The dawn-wind brought my topsails—
And men esteemed me wise!
Bewildered, dispossessed—
My dream held I before me—
My vision of my rest;
But, crowned by Fleet and People,
And bound by King and Pope—
Stands here Diego Valdez
To rob me of my hope.
No word of his set free
The Lord of Sixty Pennants
And the Steward of the Sea.
His will can loose ten thousand
To seek their loves again—
But not Diego Valdez,
High Admiral of Spain.
Nor wave that shall restore
The old careening riot
And the clamorous, crowded shore—
The fountain in the desert,
The cistern in the waste,
The bread we ate in secret,
The cup we spilled in haste.
For council fly the sign,
Now leap their zealous galleys,
Twelve-oared, across the brine.
To me the straiter prison,
To me the heavier chain—
To me Diego Valdez,
High Admiral of Spain!