Poems – Page 34 – The Kipling Society

The Masque of Plenty


Argument—The Indian Government being minded
to discover the economic condition of their lands, sent
a Committee to inquire into it; and saw that it was good.

Scene—The wooded heights of Simla.
The Incarnation of the Government of India in the raiment
of the Angel of Plenty sings, to pianoforte accompaniment: —

1.
“How sweet is the shepherd’s sweet life!
From the dawn to the even he strays —
He shall follow his sheep all the day
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
(adagio dim.)
Filled with praise!”

2. (largendo con sp.)
Now this is the position,
Go make an inquisition
Into their real condition
As swiftly as ye may.
(p)
Ay, paint our swarthy billions
The richest of vermillions
Ere two well-led cotillions
Have danced themselves away.

3. TURKISH PATROL, as able and intelligent Investigators –
wind down the Himalayas:—
What is the state of the Nation?
What is its occupation?
Hi! get along, get along, get along—lend us the information!
(dim.)
Census the byle and the yabu—capture a first-class Babu,
Set him to file Gazetteers—Gazetteers
(ff)
What is the state of the Nation, etc., etc.

INTERLUDE, from Nowhere in Particular, to stringed and Oriental instruments.

4.
Our cattle reel beneath the yoke they bear—
The earth is iron and the skies are brass—
And faint with fervour of the flaming air
The languid hours pass.

5.
The well is dry beneath the village tree—
The young wheat withers ere it reach a span,
And belts of blinding sand show cruelly
Where once the river ran.

6.
Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King—
Lift up your hands above the blighted grain,
Look westward—if they please, the Gods shall bring
Their mercy with the rain.

7.
Look westward—bears the blue no brown cloud-bank?
Nay, it is written—wherefore should we fly?
On our own field and by our cattle’s flank
Lie down, lie down to die!

SEMI-CHORUS

8.
By the plumed heads of Kings
Waving high,
Where the tall corn springs
O’er the dead.
If they rust or rot we die,
If they ripen we are fed.
Very mighty is the power of our Kings!

9. Triumphal return to Simla of the Investigators, attired after
the manner of Dionysus, leading a pet tiger-cub in wreaths
of rhubarb-leaves, symbolical of India under medical treatment.
They sing:—

10.
We have seen, we have written—behold it, the proof of our manifold toil!
In their hosts they assembled and told it—the tale of the Sons of the Soil.
We have said of the Sickness—“Where is it?”—and of Death—“It is far from our ken,”—
We have paid a particular visit to the affluent children of men.
We have trodden the mart and the well-curb—we have stooped to the bield and the byre;
And the King may the forces of Hell curb, for the People have all they desire!

Castanets and step-dance:—

11.
Oh, the dom and the mag and the thakur and the thag,
And the nat and the brinjaree,
And the bunnia and the ryot are as happy and as quiet
And as plump as they can be!
Yes, the jain and the jat in his stucco-fronted hut,
And the bounding bazuga,
By the favour of the King, are as fat as anything,
They are—they are—they are!

Recitative— Government of India, with white satin wings
and electro-plated harp:—

12.
How beautiful upon the Mountains—in peace reclining,
Thus to be assured that our people are unanimously dining.
And though there are places not so blessed as others in natural
advantages, which, after all, was only to be expected,
Proud and glad are we to congratulate you upon the work
you have thus ably effected.
(Cres.)
How be-ewtiful upon the Mountains!

13. Hired Band, brasses only, full chorus:—
God bless the Squire
And all his rich relations
Who teach us poor people
We eat our proper rations—
We eat our proper rations,
In spite of inundations,
Malarial exhalations,
And casual starvations,

14.
We have, we have, they say we have—
We have our proper rations!

CHORUS OF THE CRYSTALLISED FACTS

15.
Before the beginning of years
There came to the rule of the State
Men with a pair of shears,
Men with an Estimate—
Strachey with Muir for leaven,
Lytton with locks that fell,
Ripon fooling with Heaven,
And Temple riding like H–ll!
And the bigots took in hand
Cess and the falling of rain,
And the measure of sifted sand
The dealer puts in the grain—
Imports by land and sea,
To uttermost decimal worth,
And registration—free—
In the houses of death and of birth.
And fashioned with pens and paper,
And fashioned in black and white,
With Life for a flickering taper
And Death for a blazing light—
With the Armed and the Civil Power,
That his strength might endure for a span—
From Adam’s Bridge to Peshawur,
The Much Administered Man.

16.
In the towns of the North and the East,
They gathered as unto rule,
They bade him starve his priest
And send his children to school.
Railways and roads they wrought,
For the needs of the soil within;
A time to squabble in court,
A time to bear and to grin.
And gave him peace in his ways,
Jails—and Police to fight,
Justice—at length of days,
And Right—and Might in the Right.
His speech is of mortgaged bedding,
On his kine he borrows yet,
At his heart is his daughter’s wedding,
In his eye foreknowledged of debt.
He eats and hath indigestion,
He toils and he may not stop;
His life is a long-drawn question
Between a crop and a crop.

The Married Man

1 
 The Bachelor ’e fights for one
  As joyful as can be;
But the married man don’t call it fun,
   Because ’e fights for three—
For ’Im an’ ’Er an’ It
  (An’ Two an’ One make Three)
’E wants to finish ’is little bit,
  An’ ’e wants to go ’ome to ’is tea! 
2 
The bachelor pokes up ’is ’ead
  To see if you are gone;
But the married man lies down instead,
  An’ waits till the sights come on,
For ’Im an’ ’Er an’ a hit
   (Direct or ricochee)
’E wants to finish ’is little bit,
  An’ ’e wants to go ’ome to ’is tea. 
3 
The bachelor will miss you clear
  To fight another day;
But the married man, ’e says “No fear!”
  ’E wants you out of the way
Of ’Im an’ ’Er an’ It
   (An’ ’is road to ’is farm or the sea),
’E wants to finish ’is little bit,
  An’ ’e wants to go ’ome to ’is tea. 
4 
The bachelor ’e fights ’is fight
  An’ stretches out an’ snores;
But the married man sits up all night—
  For ’e don’t like out-o’-doors.
’E’ll strain an’ listen an’ peer
  An’ give the first alarm—
For the sake o’ the breathin’ ’e’s used to ’ear
  An’ the ’ead on the thick of ’is arm. 
5 
The bachelor may risk ’is ’ide
   To ’elp you when you’re downed;
But the married man will wait beside
  Till the ambulance comes round.
’E’ll take your ’ome address
  An’ all you’ve time to say,
Or if ’e sees there’s ’ope, ’e’ll press
  Your art’ry ’alf the day— 
6 
For ’Im an’ ’Er an’ It
  (An’ One from Three leaves Two),
For ’e knows you wanted to finish your bit,
  An’ ’e knows ’oo’s wantin’ you.
Yes, ’Im an’ ’Er an’ It
  (Our ’oly One in Three),
We’re all of us anxious, to finish our bit,
  An’ we want to get ’ome to our tea! 
7 
Yes, It an’ ’Er an’ ’Im,
  Which often makes me think
The married man must sink or swim
  An’—’e can’t afford to sink!
Oh ’Im an’ It an’ ’Er
  Since Adam an’ Eve began!
So I’d rather fight with the bacheler
   An’ be nursed by the married man!

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The Man and the Shadow

1 
If it were mine to choose
        A single gift from Fate,
I would not ask for Rank or Fame, 
I would not seek a knighted name—
  Give me, for office use,
        One good subordinate.
2 
Up the steep Official Stair 
  With rapidity amazing 
  Clomb, his seniors bedazing, 
  Into Heights of Glory blazing, 
With the Stars that mortals wear
  On their dress-coat breasts at Levees, 
  Hastings Clive Macaulay Bevys.
3 
And they stood below and cursed—
  All the juniors of his calling— 
  With a fluency appalling,  
  Betting on his chance of falling;  
Prayed to see the bubble burst  
  Of the reputation first-class  
  Of this Idler of the worst class.  
4 
In his office, scorned of all,  
  Saddle-hued, grotesque of feature,  
  Worked a weird, bi-racial creature,  
  Far too humble-souled to meet your 
Eye—Concepcion Gabral;  
  Santu Ribiera Paul 
  Luz Concepcion Gabral.  
5 
[What he did I cannot say. 
  Did he give or take instruction,  
  Break the eggs for Bevys' suction,  
  Work that highly paid deduction  
Which—while sparing Bevys' pay— 
  Cut in graduated stages  
  Everybody's else's wages?]  
6 
This I know, and this is all: 
  For his labours unremitting  
  Came a recompense befitting  
  Bevys, plus a well-paid flitting  
Into Burmahorbengal; 
  But Concepcion, the able,  
  Stirred not from the office-table.  
7 
This I know, and this is all: 
  There were hints unfit for hinting,  
  There was speech unfit for printing,  
  There were protests without stinting,  
Heard in Burmahorbengal— 
  Crudely, nudely, rudely, rawly,  
  Saying, 'Take back this Macaulay'.  
8 
In the brutal, bitter wit 
  Much affected east of Suez,  
  Where the Englishman so few is,  
  And a man must work or rue his  
Incapacity and quit, 
  Fell innumerable bastings  
  Upon Clive Macaulay Hastings.  
9 
With the Hand of Common Sense 
  On the Waistband of Despair, they  
  Raised that ruler high in air, they  
  Stripped him miserably bare, they 
On the soft flesh of Pretence 
  In the face of India, smacked him, 
  Then, as shop-boys say, they 'sacked' him.  
10 
You may find him still to-day  
  'Twixt Peshawur and Colaba,  
  Derelict without a harbour, 
  A civilian Micawber  
(Spare the rhyme who read the lay!)  
  In 'officiating' fetters, 
  Doing duty for his betters.  
11 
And—oh, irony supreme! 
  All the Gods who rule the Nation  
  Have withheld the explanation  
  Of his open degradation 
From the man they justly deem  
  An administrative novice  
  Trusting blindly to his office. 
12 
This I know, and this is all  
  (He is ignorant as ever) 
  And if Fate decrees he never  
  Meet again the humble, clever,  
Quick-to-grasp-ideas Gabral,  
  Sure am I his end, alas! 
  Will be madness or—Madras.

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The Lowestoft Boat

1 
In Lowestoft a boat was laid 
   Mark well what I do say
And she was built for the herring trade 
   But she has gone a-rovin’, a-rovin’, a-rovin’, 
   The Lord knows where!  
2 
They gave her Government coal to burn,
   And a Q.F. gun at bow and stern, 
And sent her out a-rovin’, a-rovin’, a-rovin’, 
   The Lord knows where!  
3 
Her skipper was mate of a bucko ship 
   Which always killed one man per trip, 
So he is used to rovin’, a-rovin’, a-rovin’, 
   The Lord knows where!  
4 
Her mate was skipper of a chapel in Wales, 
   And so he fights in topper and tails– 
Religious tho’ rovin’, a-rovin’, a-rovin’, 
   The Lord knows where!  
5 
Her engineer is fifty-eight, 
   So he’s prepared to meet his fate, 
Which ain’t unlikely rovin’, a-rovin’, a-rovin’, 
   The Lord knows where!  
6 
Her leading stoker’s seventeen, 
   So he don’t know what the Judgements mean, 
Unless he cops them rovin’, a-rovin’, a-rovin’, 
   The Lord knows where!  
7 
Her chef was cook in the Lost Dogs’ Home, 
   Mark well what I do say
And I’m sorry for Fritz when they all come 
   A-rovin’, a-rovin’, a-roarin’ and a-rovin’, 
   Round the North Sea rovin’, 
   The Lord knows where!

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The Love-song of Har Dyal

Alone upon the housetops to the North
I turn and watch the lightning in the sky—
The glamour of thy footsteps in the North.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die. 

Below my feet the still bazar is laid—
Far, far below the weary camels lie—
The camels and the captives of thy raid.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die. 

My father’s wife is old and harsh with years
And drudge of all my father’s house am I—
My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die. 

          *                    *               *
                    
(These three stanzas  are as quoted by Kipling in
 "Beyond the Pale" (p. 174), and collected in Definitive
Verse. and in the Sussex and Burwash editions.  
Earlier in the story (p.172) there are two 
other stanzas whispered by Bisesa when 
Trejago first encounters her.)


Can a man stand upright in the face of the naked Sun;
  or a Lover in the Presence of his Beloved?
If my feet fail me, O Heart of my Heart, am I to blame, 
  being blinded by the glimpse of your beauty?  

Alas! alas! Can the Moon tell the Lotus of her love 
  when the Gate of Heaven is shut 
  and the clouds gather for the rains?
They have taken my Beloved, and driven her 
  with the pack-horses to the North.
There are iron chains on the feet 
  that were set on my heart.
Call to the bowmen to make ready—

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The Liner, She’s a Lady

1
The Liner she’s a lady, an’ she never looks nor ’eeds—
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, an’ ’e gives ’er all she needs;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun’,
They’re just the same as you an’ me a-plyin’ up an’ down!

Plyin’ up an’ down, Jenny, ’angin’ round the Yard,
All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth ’Ard;
Anythin’ for business, an’ we’re growin’ old—
Plyin’ up an’ down, Jenny, waitin’ in the cold!
2
The Liner she’s a lady by the paint upon ’er face,
An’ if she meets an accident they count it sore disgrace:
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, and ’e’s always ’andy by,
But, oh, the little cargo-boats! they’ve got to load or die.
3
The Liner she’s a lady, and ’er route is cut an’ dried;
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, an’ ’e always keeps beside;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that ’aven’t any man,
They’ve got to do their business first, and make the most they can!
4
The Liner she’s a lady, and if a war should come,
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, and ’e’d bid ’er stay at ’ome;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that fill with every tide!
’E’d ’ave to up an’ fight for them, for they are England’s pride.
5
The Liner she’s a lady, but if she wasn’t made,
There still would be the cargo-boats for ’ome an’ foreign trade.
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, but if we wasn’t ’ere,
’E wouldn’t have to fight at all for ’ome an’ friends so dear.

’Ome an’ friends so dear, Jenny, ’angin’ round the Yard,
All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth ’Ard;
Anythin’ for business, an’ we’re growin’ old—
’Ome an’ friends so dear, Jenny, waitin’ in the cold!

SINGING KIPLING

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The Letter Written in the Attic

I bear a mark from your hand my Love,
  Set red between my brows,
And the mark is more lasting a mark my Love, 
  Than Love allows
More lasting a trace it leaves my Love 
  Than all our vows.

The mark of that gusty night my Love
  Scarcely a week ago,
When you came; mad with your passion my love
  And dealt the blow
Struck freely—how  could  I stop you—my  Love 
  Who loved you so!

For the lie was stirring your heart my Love,
  When you struck the blow at me.
The lie was hot in your brain my love 
  With jealousy
And I knew of the lie and the liar my love
  O, let you be.

And I thought I will try the love of my love,
  Whether her heart be true—
And the end of the trial came my love
  And Love's end too.
For the mark between my brows my love
  Cuts me from you.

For I have been shamed by a woman my love
  Struck down by a woman's blow,
Though my soul was sold for you my love
  Years past—you know—
I have too much pride of the body my Love
  To let this go.

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The Lesson

We two learned the lesson together, 
    The oldest of all, yet so new
To myself, and I'm wondering whether
    It was utterly novel to you?

The pages—you seemed to have known them. 
    The pictures that changed 'neath our eyes;
Alas! by what hand were you shown them, 
    That I find you so womanly wise?

Is it strange that my hand on your shoulder 
    In the dusk of the day should be placed?
Did you say to yourself, 'Were he older 
    His arm had encircled my waist'?

If it be so, so be it, fair teacher; 
    I sit at your feet and am wise,
For each page of the book is a feature, 
    And the light of the reading, your eyes.

We have met, and the meeting is over; 
    We must part, and the parting is now;
We have played out the game—I, boy-lover, 
    In earnest, and you, dearest, how?

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The Lesson

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. 

1 
Not on a single issue, or in one direction or twain,
But conclusively, comprehensively, and several times and again,
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! 
2 
This was not bestowed 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 Delagoa Bay, and from Pietersburg to Sutherland,
Fell the phenomenal lesson we learned—with a fulness accorded no other land. 
3 
It was our fault, and our very great fault, and not the judgment of Heaven.
We made an Army in our own 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. 
4 
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. 
5 
For remember (this our children shall know: we are too near for that knowledge)
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! 
6 
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.
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! 
7 
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—
We have had an Imperial lesson; it may make us an Empire yet!

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The Law of the Jungle

Now this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky;
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die. 
As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back —
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep.
The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown,
Remember the Wolf is a Hunter — go forth and get food of thine own.
Keep peace with the Lords of the Jungle — the Tiger, the Panther, and Bear.
And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair.
When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail,
Lie down till the leaders have spoken — it may be fair words shall prevail.
When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar,
Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war.
The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home,
Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come.
The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain,
The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.
If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay,
Lest ye frighten the deer from the crop, and your brothers go empty away.
Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can;
But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill Man!
If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride;
Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.
The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies;
And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies.
The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will;
But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill.
Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim
Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.
Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim
One haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same.
Cave-Right is the right of the Father — to hunt by himself for his own:
He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone.
Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,
In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of your Head Wolf is Law.
Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they;
But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is — Obey!

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