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Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг
Songs from Books
CHAPTER HEADINGS
THE NAULAHKA
We meet in an evil land
That is near to the gates of hell.
I wait for thy command
To serve, to speed or withstand.
And thou sayest, I do not well?
Oh Love, the flowers so red
Are only tongues of flame,
The earth is full of the dead,
The new-killed, restless dead.
There is danger beneath and o'erhead,
And I guard thy gates in fear
Of peril and jeopardy,
Of words thou canst not hear,
Of signs thou canst not see —
And thou sayest 'tis ill that I came?
This I saw when the rites were done,
And the lamps were dead and the Gods alone,
And the grey snake coiled on the altar stone —
Ere I fled from a Fear that I could not see,
And the Gods of the East made mouths at me.
* * * * *
Now it is not good for the Christian's health to hustle the Aryan brown,
For the Christian riles, and the Aryan smiles and he weareth the Christian down;
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white with the name of the late deceased,
And the epitaph drear: 'A fool lies here who tried to hustle the East.'
* * * * *
Beat off in our last fight were we?
The greater need to seek the sea.
For Fortune changeth as the moon
To caravel and picaroon.
Then Eastward Ho! or Westward Ho!
Whichever wind may meetest blow.
Our quarry sails on either sea,
Fat prey for such bold lads as we.
And every sun-dried buccaneer
Must hand and reef and watch and steer.
And bear great wrath of sea and sky
Before the plate-ships wallow by.
Now, as our tall bows take the foam,
Let no man turn his heart to home,
Save to desire treasure more,
And larger warehouse for his store,
When treasure won from Santos Bay
Shall make our sea-washed village gay.
* * * * *
Because I sought it far from men,
In deserts and alone,
I found it burning overhead,
The jewel of a Throne.
Because I sought – I sought it so
And spent my days to find —
It blazed one moment ere it left
The blacker night behind.
* * * * *
When a lover hies abroad.
Looking for his love,
Azrael smiling sheathes his sword,
Heaven smiles above.
Earth and sea
His servants be,
And to lesser compass round,
That his love be sooner found.
* * * * *
There was a strife 'twixt man and maid —
Oh that was at the birth of time!
But what befell 'twixt man and maid,
Oh that's beyond the grip of rhyme.
'Twas, 'Sweet, I must not bide with you,'
And 'Love, I cannot bide alone';
For both were young and both were true,
And both were hard as the nether stone.
* * * * *
There is pleasure in the wet, wet clay,
When the artist's hand is potting it;
There is pleasure in the wet, wet lay,
When the poet's pad is blotting it;
There is pleasure in the shine of your picture on the line
At the Royal Acade-my;
But the pleasure felt in these is as chalk to Cheddar cheese
When it comes to a well-made Lie:
To a quite unwreckable Lie,
To a most impeccable Lie!
To a water-tight, fire-proof, angle-iron, sunk-hinge, time-lock, steel-face Lie!
Not a private hansom Lie,
But a pair-and-brougham Lie,
Not a little-place-at-Tooting, but a country-house-with-shooting
And a ring-fence-deer-park Lie.
* * * * *
We be the Gods of the East —
Older than all —
Masters of Mourning and Feast
How shall we fall?
Will they gape for the husks that ye proffer
Or yearn to your song?
And we – have we nothing to offer
Who ruled them so long —
In the fume of the incense, the clash of the cymbal, the blare of the conch and the gong?
Over the strife of the schools
Low the day burns —
Back with the kine from the pools
Each one returns
To the life that he knows where the altar-flame glows and the tulsi is trimmed in the urns.
* * * * *
THE LIGHT THAT FAILED
So we settled it all when the storm was done
As comfy as comfy could be;
And I was to wait in the barn, my dears,
Because I was only three,
And Teddy would run to the rainbow's foot
Because he was five and a man;
And that's how it all began, my dears,
And that's how it all began.
* * * * *
'If I have taken the common clay
And wrought it cunningly
In the shape of a God that was digged a clod,
The greater honour to me.'
'If thou hast taken the common clay,
And thy hands be not free
From the taint of the soil, thou hast made thy spoil
The greater shame to thee.'
* * * * *
The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn,
Where the smoke of the cooking hung grey:
He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn,
And he looked to his strength for his prey.
But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away,
And he turned from his meal in the villager's close,
And he bayed to the moon as she rose.
* * * * *
The lark will make her hymn to God,
The partridge call her brood,
While I forget the heath I trod,
The fields wherein I stood.
Tis dule to know not night from morn,
But greater dule to know
I can but hear the hunter's horn
That once I used to blow.
* * * * *
There were three friends that buried the fourth,
The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes,
And they went south and east and north —
The strong man fights but the sick man dies.
There were three friends that spoke of the dead —
The strong man fights but the sick man dies —
'And would he were here with us now,' they said,
'The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.'
* * * * *
Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him,
Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save,
Yet at the last, with his masters around him,
He spoke of the Faith as a master to slave.
Yet at the last, though the Kafirs had maimed him,
Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,
Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him,
He called upon Allah, and died a Believer!
GALLIO'S SONG
(And Gallio cared for none of these things. – ACTS xviii. 17)
All day long to the judgment-seat
The crazed Provincials drew —
All day long at their ruler's feet
Howled for the blood of the Jew.
Insurrection with one accord
Banded itself and woke,
And Paul was about to open his mouth
When Achaia's Deputy spoke —
'Whether the God descend from above
Or the Man ascend upon high,
Whether this maker of tents be Jove
Or a younger deity —
I will be no judge between your gods
And your godless bickerings.
Lictor, drive them hence with rods —
I care for none of these things!
'Were it a question of lawful due
Or Cæsar's rule denied,
Reason would I should bear with you
And order it well to be tried;
But this is a question of words and names.
I know the strife it brings.
I will not pass upon any your claims.
I care for none of these things.
'One thing only I see most clear,
As I pray you also see.
Claudius Cæsar hath set me here
Rome's Deputy to be.
It is Her peace that ye go to break —
Not mine, nor any king's.
But, touching your clamour of "Conscience sake,"
I care for none of these things.
'Whether ye rise for the sake of a creed,
Or riot in hope of spoil,
Equally will I punish the deed,
Equally check the broil;
Nowise permitting injustice at all
From whatever doctrine it springs —
But – whether ye follow Priapus or Paul,
I care for none of these things.'
THE BEES AND THE FLIES
A farmer of the Augustan Age
Perused in Virgil's golden page,
The story of the secret won
From Proteus by Cyrene's son —
How the dank sea-god showed the swain
Means to restore his hives again.
More briefly, how a slaughtered bull
Breeds honey by the bellyful.
The egregious rustic put to death
A bull by stopping of its breath,
Disposed the carcass in a shed
With fragrant herbs and branches spread,
And, having thus performed the charm,
Sat down to wait the promised swarm.
Nor waited long. The God of Day
Impartial, quickening with his ray
Evil and good alike, beheld
The carcass – and the carcass swelled.
Big with new birth the belly heaves
Beneath its screen of scented leaves.
Past any doubt, the bull conceives!
The farmer bids men bring more hives
To house the profit that arrives;
Prepares on pan, and key and kettle,
Sweet music that shall make 'em settle;
But when to crown the work he goes,
Gods! what a stink salutes his nose!
Where are the honest toilers? Where
The gravid mistress of their care?
A busy scene, indeed, he sees,
But not a sign or sound of bees.
Worms of the riper grave unhid
By any kindly coffin lid,
Obscene and shameless to the light,
Seethe in insatiate appetite,
Through putrid offal, while above
The hissing blow-fly seeks his love,
Whose offspring, supping where they supt,
Consume corruption twice corrupt.
ROAD-SONG OF THE BANDAR-LOG
Here we go in a flung festoon,
Half-way up to the jealous moon!
Don't you envy our pranceful bands?
Don't you wish you had extra hands?
Wouldn't you like if your tails were —so—
Curved in the shape of a Cupid's bow?
Now you're angry, but – never mind,
Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
Here we sit in a branchy row,
Thinking of beautiful things we know;
Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do,
All complete, in a minute or two —
Something noble and grand and good,
Won by merely wishing we could.
Now we're going to – never mind,
Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
All the talk we ever have heard
Uttered by bat or beast or bird —
Hide or fin or scale or feather —
Jabber it quickly and all together!
Excellent! Wonderful! Once again!
Now we are talking just like men.
Let's pretend we are … never mind,
Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
This is the way of the Monkey-kind!
Then join our leaping lines that scumfish through the pines,
That rocket by where, light and high, the wild-grape swings.
By the rubbish in our wake, and the noble noise we make,
Be sure, be sure, we're going to do some splendid things.
'OUR FATHERS ALSO'
Thrones, Powers, Dominions, Peoples, Kings,
Are changing 'neath our hand;
Our fathers also see these things
But they do not understand.
By – they are by with mirth and tears,
Wit or the works of Desire —
Cushioned about on the kindly years
Between the wall and the fire.
The grapes are pressed, the corn is shocked —
Standeth no more to glean;
For the Gates of Love and Learning locked
When they went out between.
All lore our Lady Venus bares,
Signalled it was or told
By the dear lips long given to theirs
And longer to the mould.
All Profit, all Device, all Truth
Written it was or said
By the mighty men of their mighty youth,
Which is mighty being dead.
The film that floats before their eyes
The Temple's Veil they call;
And the dust that on the Shewbread lies
Is holy over all.
Warn them of seas that slip our yoke
Of slow-conspiring stars —
The ancient Front of Things unbroke
But heavy with new wars?
By – they are by with mirth and tears,
Wit or the waste of Desire —
Cushioned about on the kindly years
Between the wall and the fire.
A BRITISH-ROMAN SONG
(A.D. 406)
My father's father saw it not,
And I, belike, shall never come,
To look on that so-holy spot —
The very Rome —
Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might,
The equal work of Gods and Man,
City beneath whose oldest height —
The Race began!
Soon to send forth again a brood,
Unshakeable, we pray, that clings,
To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood —
In arduous things.
Strong heart with triple armour bound,
Beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs,
Age after Age, the Empire round —
In us thy Sons.
Who, distant from the Seven Hills,
Loving and serving much, require
Thee —thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills,
The Imperial Fire!
A PICT SONG
Rome never looks where she treads.
Always her heavy hooves fall,
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
Her sentries pass on – that is all,
And we gather behind them in hordes,
And plot to reconquer the Wall,
With only our tongues for our swords.
We are the Little Folk – we!
Too little to love or to hate.
Leave us alone and you'll see
How we can drag down the State!
We are the worm in the wood!
We are the rot at the root!
We are the germ in the blood!
We are the thorn in the foot!
Mistletoe killing an oak —
Rats gnawing cables in two —
Moths making holes in a cloak —
How they must love what they do!
Yes – and we Little Folk too,
We are busy as they —
Working our works out of view —
Watch, and you'll see it some day!
No indeed! We are not strong,
But we know Peoples that are.
Yes, and we'll guide them along,
To smash and destroy you in War!
We shall be slaves just the same?
Yes, we have always been slaves,
But you – you will die of the shame,
And then we shall dance on your graves!
We are the Little Folk, we, etc.
THE STRANGER
The Stranger within my gate,
He may be true or kind.
But he does not talk my talk —
I cannot feel his mind.
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
But not the soul behind.
The men of my own stock
They may do ill or well,
But they tell the lies I am wonted to,
They are used to the lies I tell.
We do not need interpreters
When we go to buy and sell.
The Stranger within my gates,
He may be evil or good,
But I cannot tell what powers control —
What reasons sway his mood;
Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
May repossess his blood.
The men of my own stock,
Bitter bad they may be,
But, at least, they hear the things I hear,
And see the things I see;
And whatever I think of them and their likes
They think of the likes of me.
This was my father's belief
And this is also mine:
Let the corn be all one sheaf —
And the grapes be all one vine,
Ere our children's teeth are set on edge
By bitter bread and wine.
'RIMINI'
(Marching Song of a Roman Legion of the Later Empire)
When I left home 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 —
(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!)
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,
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,
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
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 Cæsar,
And he rose to be master of all!
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.
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.
'POOR HONEST MEN'
(A.D. 1800)
Your jar of Virginny
Will cost you a guinea
Which you reckon too much by five shillings or ten;
But light your churchwarden
And judge it according,
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,
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)
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
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.
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,
They try for to steal it from poor honest men!
With no heart for fight,
We take refuge in flight
But fire as we run, our retreat to defend,
Until our stern-chasers
Cut up her fore-braces,
And she flies up the wind from us poor honest men!
Twix' the Forties and Fifties,
South-eastward the drift is,
And so, when we think we are making Land's End,
Alas! it is Ushant
With half the King's Navy,
Blockading French ports against poor honest men!
But they may not quit station
(Which is our salvation),
So swiftly we stand to the Nor'ard again;
And finding the tail of
A homeward-bound convoy,
We slip past the Scillies like poor honest men.
Twix' the Lizard and Dover,
We hand our stuff over,
Though I may not inform how we do it, nor when.
But a light on each quarter
Low down on the water
Is well understanded by poor honest men!
Even then we have dangers,
From meddlesome strangers,
Who spy on our business and are not content
To take a smooth answer,
Except with a handspike …
And they say they are murdered by poor honest men!
To be drowned or be shot
Is our natural lot,
Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end —
After all our great pains
For to dangle in chains
As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men?
'WHEN THE GREAT ARK'
When the Great Ark, in Vigo Bay,
Rode stately through the half-manned fleet,
From every ship about her way
She heard the mariners entreat —
'Before we take the seas again,
Let down your boats and send us men!
'We have no lack of victual here
With work – God knows! – enough for all,
To hand and reef and watch and steer,
Because our present strength is small.
While your three decks are crowded so
Your crews can scarcely stand or go.
'In war, your numbers do but raise
Confusion and divided will;
In storm, the mindless deep obeys
Not multitudes but single skill;
In calm, your numbers, closely pressed.
Do breed a mutiny or pest.
'We, even on unchallenged seas,
Dare not adventure where we would,
But forfeit brave advantages
For lack of men to make 'em good;
Whereby, to England's double cost.
Honour and profit both are lost!'
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.
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 O, 'tis won'erful good for the Prophet!
There's nothing Nineveh Town can give
(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.
JUBAL AND TUBAL CAIN
Jubal sang of the Wrath of God
And the curse of thistle and thorn —
But Tubal got him a pointed rod,
And scrabbled the earth for corn.
Old – old as that early mould,
Young as the sprouting grain —
Yearly green is the strife between
Jubal and Tubal Cain!
Jubal sang of the new-found sea,
And the love that its waves divide —
But Tubal hollowed a fallen tree
And passed to the further side.
Black – black as the hurricane-wrack,
Salt as the under-main —
Bitter and cold is the hate they hold —
Jubal and Tubal Cain!
Jubal sang of the golden years
When wars and wounds shall cease —
But Tubal fashioned the hand-flung spears
And showèd his neighbours peace.
New – new as the Nine point Two,
Older than Lamech's slain —
Roaring and loud is the feud avowed
Twix' Jubal and Tubal Cain!
Jubal sang of the cliffs that bar
And the peaks that none may crown —
But Tubal clambered by jut and scar
And there he builded a town.
High – high as the snowsheds lie,
Low as the culverts drain —
Wherever they be they can never agree —
Jubal and Tubal Cain!
THE VOORTREKKER
The gull shall whistle in his wake, the blind wave break in fire.
He shall fulfil God's utmost will, unknowing his desire.
And he shall see old planets change and alien stars arise,
And give the gale his seaworn sail in shadow of new skies.
Strong lust of gear shall drive him forth and hunger arm his hand,
To win his food from the desert rude, his pittance from the sand.
His neighbours' smoke shall vex his eyes, their voices break his rest,
He shall go forth till south is north sullen and dispossessed.
He shall desire loneliness and his desire shall bring,
Hard on his heels, a thousand wheels, a People and a King.
He shall come back on his own track, and by his scarce-cooled camp
There shall he meet the roaring street, the derrick and the stamp:
There he shall blaze a nation's ways with hatchet and with brand,
Till on his last-won wilderness an Empire's outposts stand.
A SCHOOL SONG
'Let us now praise famous men' –
Men of little showing —
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continueth,
Greater than their knowing!
Western wind and open surge
Took us from our mothers.
Flung us on a naked shore
(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;
And they beat on us with rods —
Faithfully with many rods —
Daily beat on us with rods,
For the love they bore us!
Out of Egypt unto Troy —
Over Himalaya —
Far and sure our bands have gone —
Hy-Brasil or Babylon,
Islands of the Southern Run,
And Cities of Cathaia!
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,
Which is more than knowledge!
Each degree of Latitude
Strung about Creation
Seeth one or more of us
(Of one muster each of us),
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,
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 —
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
Teaching in our borders,
Who declarèd it was best,
Safest, easiest, and best —
Expeditious, wise, and best —
To obey your orders.
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;
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 —
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 —
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 —
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continueth,
Great beyond their knowing!
