the tales

The Kipling Society

the poems

Archives: Poems

The King and the Sea

1 
 After His Realms and States were moved
 To bare their hearts to the King they loved,
 Tendering themselves in homage and devotion,
 The Tide Wave up the Channel spoke
 To all those eager, exultant folk:—
 “Hear now what Man was given you by the Ocean! 
2 
 “There was no thought of Orb or Crown
 When the single wooden chest went down
 To the steering-flat, and the careless Gunroom haled him
 To learn by ancient and bitter use,
 How neither Favour nor Excuse,
 Nor aught save his sheer self henceforth availed him. 
3 
 “There was no talk of birth or rank
 By the slung hammock or scrubbed plank
 In the steel-grated prisons where I cast him;
 But niggard hours and a narrow space
 For rest—and the naked light on his face—
 While the ship’s traffic flowed, unceasing, past him. 
4 
 “Thus I schooled him to go and come—
 To speak at the word—at a sign be dumb;
 To stand to his task, not seeking others to aid him;
 To share in honour what praise might fall
 For the task accomplished, and—over all—
 To swallow rebuke in silence. Thus I made him.
5 
 “I loosened every mood of the deep
 On him, a child and sick for sleep,
 Through the long watches that no time can measure,
 When I drove him, deafened and choked and blind,
 At the wave-tops cut and spun by the wind;
 Lashing him, face and eyes, with my displeasure. 
6 
 “I opened him all the guile of the seas—
 Their sullen, swift-sprung treacheries,
 To be fought, or forestalled, or dared, or dismissed with laughter.
 I showed him Worth by Folly concealed,
 And the flaw in the soul that a chance revealed
 (Lessons remembered—to bear fruit thereafter). 
7 
 “I dealt him Power beneath his hand,
 For trial and proof, with his first Command—
 Himself alone, and no man to gainsay him.
 On him the End, the Means, and the Word,
 And the harsher judgment if he erred,
 And—outboard—Ocean waiting to betray him. 
8 
 “Wherefore, when he came to be crowned,
 Strength in Duty held him bound,
 So that not Power misled nor ease ensnared him
 Who had spared himself no more than his seas had spared him!” 
             
                        
                  *        *        *        *

9   
 After His Lieges, in all His Lands,
 Had laid their hands between His hands,
 And His ships thundered service and devotion,
 The Tide Wave, ranging the Planet, spoke
 On all Our foreshores as it broke:—
“Know now what Man I gave you—I, the Ocean!”

Choose another poem

The King

1
“Farewell, Romance!” the Cave-men said;
  “With bone well carved he went away,
“Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,
   “And jasper tips the spear to-day.
“Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance,
“And he with these. Farewell, Romance!” 
2
“Farewell, Romance!” the Lake-folk sighed;
  “We lift the weight of flatling years;
“The caverns of the mountain-side
  “Hold him who scorns our hutted piers.
“Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell,
“Guard ye his rest. Romance, farewell!” 
3
“Farewell, Romance!” the Soldier spoke;
  “By sleight of sword we may not win,
“But scuffle ’mid uncleanly smoke
  “Of arquebus and culverin.
“Honour is lost, and none may tell
“Who paid good blows. Romance, farewell!” 
4
“Farewell, Romance!” the Traders cried;
  “Our keels ha’ 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 sail. Romance, farewell!” 
5
“Good-bye, 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
“’Twixt port and port. Romance, good-bye!” 
6
“Romance!” the season-tickets mourn,
   “He never ran to catch his train,
“But passed with coach and guard and horn—
  “And left the local—late again!”
Confound Romance! . . . And all unseen
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen. 
7
His hand was on the lever laid,
  His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,
His whistle waked the snowbound grade,
  His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks;
By dock and deep and mine and mill
The Boy-god reckless laboured still! 
8
Robed, crowned and throned, he wove his spell,
  Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled,
With unconsidered miracle,
   Hedged in a backward-gazing world;
Then taught his chosen bard to say:
“Our King was with us—yesterday!”

Choose another poem

The Junk and the Dhow

Once a pair of savages found a stranded tree.
  (One-piecee stick-pidgin—two piecee man. 
Straddle-um—paddle-um—push-um off to sea.
  That way Foleign Debbil-boat began.)
But before, and before, and ever so long before
  Any shape of sailing-craft was known,
The Junk and Dhow had a stern and a bow,
  And a mast and a sail of their own—ahoy! alone!
  As they crashed across the Oceans on their own!

Once there was a pirate-ship, being blown ashore—
  (Plitty soon pilum up, s'posee no can tack..
Seven-piecee stlong man pullum sta'boa'd oar. 
  That way bling her head alound and sail-o back.)
But before, and before, an ever so long before
  Grand Commander Noah took the wheel, 
The Junk and the Dhow, though they look like anyhow,
  Had rudders reaching deep below their keel—ahoy! akeel!
  As they laid the Eastern Seas beneath their keel!

Once there was a galliot yawing in a tide.
  (Too much foolee side-slip. How can stop?
Man catchee tea-box lid—lasha longaside. 
  That way make her plenty glip and sail first-chop.)
But before and before, and ever so long before
  Any such contrivances were used,
The whole Confucian sea-board had standardized the lee-board.
  And hauled it up or dropped it as they choosed
     —or chose—or chused!
  According to the weather, when they cruised!

Once there was a caravel in a beam-sea roll—
  (Ca'go shiftee—alla dliftee—no can livee long.
S'posum' nail-o boa'd acloss—makee ploper hol'?
  That way ca'go sittum still, an' ship mo' stlong.)
But before, and before, and ever so long before
  Any square-rigged vessel hove in sight,
The Canton deep-sea craft carried bulkheads fore and aft,
  And took good care to keep 'em water-tight-atite-atite!
  From Amboyna to the Great Australian Bight! 

Once there was a sailor-man singing just this way—
   (Too muchee yowl-o, sickum best flend!
Singee all-same pullee lope—haul and belay!
   Hully up and coilum down an'— bite off end!)
But before, and before, and ever so long before
   Any sort of chanty crossed our lips,
The Junk and the Dhow, though they look like anyhow, 
   Were the Mother and the Father of all Ships—ahoy!—a'ships
   And of half the new inventions in our Ships!
   From Tarifa to Formosa in our Ships!
   From Socotra to Selankhor of the windlass and the anchor,
   And the Navigators Compass in our Ships—ahoy!—our Ships!
(O, hully up and coilum down and—bite—off—end!)

Choose another poem

The Juggler’s Song

 When the drums begin to beat
 Down the street,
 When the poles are fetched and guyed,
 When the tight-rope’s stretched and tied,
 When the dance-girls make salaam,
 When the snake-bag wakes alarm,
 When the pipes set up their drone,
 When the sharp-edged knives are thrown,
 When the redhot coals are shown,
 To be swallowed by-and-by—
 Arré, Brethren, here come I! 

 Stripped to loin-cloth in the sun,
 Search me well and watch me close!
 Tell me how my tricks are done—
 Tell me how the mango grows? 

 Give a man who is not made
 To his trade
 Swords to fling and catch again,
 Coins to ring and snatch again,
 Men to harm and cure again,
 Snakes to charm and lure again—
 He’ll be hurt by his own blade,
 By his serpents disobeyed,
 By his clumsiness bewrayed,
 By the people laughed to scorn—
 So ’tis not with juggler born! 

 Pinch of dust or withered flower,
 Chance-flung nut or borrowed staff,
 Serve his need and shore his power,
 Bind the spell or loose the laugh!

Choose another poem

The Jester

There are three degrees of bliss
At the foot of Allah’s Throne
And the highest place is his
Who saves a brother’s soul
At peril of his own.
There is the Power made known!

There are three degrees of bliss
In the Gardens of Paradise,
And the second place is his
Who saves his brother’s soul
By excellent advice.
For there the Glory lies!

There are three degrees of bliss
And three abodes of the Blest,
And the lowest place is his
Who has saved a soul by a jest
And a brother’s soul in sport . . .
But there do the Angels resort!

Choose another poem

The Inventor

1
Time and Space decreed his lot,
But little Man was quick to note:
When Time and Space said Man might not,
Bravely he answered, “Nay! I mote.”
2
I looked on old New England.
Time and Space stood fast.
Men built altars to Distance
At every mile they passed.
3
Yet sleek with oil, a Force was hid
Making mock of all they did,
Ready at the appointed hour
To yield up to Prometheus
The secular and well-drilled Power
The Gods secreted thus.
4
And over high Wantastiquet
Emulous my lightnings ran,
Unregarded but afret,
To fall in with my plan.
5
I beheld two ministries,
One of air and one of earth—
At a thought I married these,
And my New Age came to birth!
6
For rarely my purpose errs
Though oft it seems to pause,
And rods and cylinders
Obey my planets’ laws.
7
Oil I drew from the well,
And Franklin’s spark from its blue;
Time and Distance fell,
And Man went forth anew.
8
On the prairie and in the street
So long as my chariots roll
I bind wings to Adam’s feet,
And, presently, to his soul!

Choose another poem

The Jacket

1
Through the Plagues of Egyp’ we was chasin’ Arabi,
  Gettin’ down an’ shovin’ in the sun;
An’ you might ’ave called us dirty, an’ you might ha’ called us dry,
  An’ you might ’ave ’eard us talkin’ at the gun.
        But the Captain ’ad ’is jacket, an’ the jacket it was new—
           (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
        An’ the wettin’ of the jacket is the proper thing to do,
           Nor we didn’t keep ’im waitin’ very long. 

2
One day they gave us orders for to shell a sand redoubt,
   Loadin’ down the axle-arms with case;
But the Captain knew ’is dooty, an’ he took the crackers out
  An’ he put some proper liquor in its place.
An’ the Captain saw the shrapnel, which is six-an’-thirty clear.
   (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
“Will you draw the weight,” sez ’e, “or will you draw the beer?”
  An’ we didn’t keep ’im waitin’ very long. 
        For the Captain ’ad ’is jacket, an’ the jacket it was new—
           (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
        An’ the wettin’ of the jacket is the proper thing to do,
           Nor we didn’t keep ’im waitin’ very long. 

3
Then we trotted gentle, not to break the bloomin’ glass,
  Though the Arabites ’ad all their ranges marked;
But we dursn’t ’ardly gallop, for the most was bottled Bass,
  An’ we’d dreamed of it since we was disembarked:
So we fired economic with the shells we ’ad in ’and,
   (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
But the beggars under cover ’ad the impidence to stand,
  An’ we couldn’t keep ’em waitin’ very long. 
        And the Captain ’ad ’is jacket, an’ the jacket it was new—
           (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
        An’ the wettin’ of the jacket is the proper thing to do,
           Nor we didn’t keep ’im waitin’ very long. 

4
So we finished ’arf the liquor (an’ the Captain took champagne),
  An’ the Arabites was shootin’ all the while;
An’ we left our wounded ’appy with the empties on the plain,
  An’ we used the bloomin’ guns for pro-jec-tile!
We limbered up an’ galloped—there were nothin’ else to do—
  (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An’ the Battery came a-boundin’ like a boundin’ kangaroo,
    But they didn’t watch us comin’ very long.
        As the Captain ’ad ’is jacket, an’ the jacket it was new—
           (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
        An’ the wettin’ of the jacket is the proper thing to do,
           Nor we didn’t keep ’im waitin’ very long. 

5
We was goin’ most extended—we was drivin’ very fine,
   An’ the Arabites were loosin’ ’igh an’ wide,
Till the Captain took the glassy with a rattlin’ right incline,
  An’ we dropped upon their ’eads the other side.
Then we give ’em quarter—such as ’adn’t up and cut,
   (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An’ the Captain stood a limberful of fizzy somethin’ Brutt,
   But we didn’t leave it fizzing very long. 
        For the Captain ’ad ’is jacket, an’ the jacket it was new—
           (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
        An’ the wettin’ of the jacket is the proper thing to do,
           Nor we didn’t keep ’im waitin’ very long. 

6
We might ha’ been court-martialled, but it all come out all right
  When they signalled us to join the main command.
There was every round expended, there was every gunner tight,
  An’ the Captain waved a corkscrew in ’is ’and. 
        But the Captain ’ad ’is jacket, an’ the jacket it was new—
           (’Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
        An’ the wettin’ of the jacket is the proper thing to do,
           Nor we didn’t keep ’im waitin’ very long.

Choose another poem

The Irish Guards

1
We’re not so old in the Army List,
But we’re not so young at our trade.
For we had the honour at Fontenoy
Of meeting the Guards’ Brigade.
‘Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare,
And Lee that led us then,
And after a hundred and seventy years
We’re fighting for France again!

Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there’s bound to be fighting,
And when there’s no fighting, it’s Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!

2
The fashion’s all for khaki now,
But once through France we went
Full-dressed in scarlet Army cloth,
The English – left at Ghent.
They’re fighting on our side today
But, before they changed their clothes,
The half of Europe knew our fame,
As all of Ireland knows!

Old Days! The wild geese are flying,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there’s memory undying.
And when we forget, it is Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!

3
From Barry Wood to Gouzeaucourt,
From Boyne to Pilkem Ridge,
The ancient days come back no more
Than water under the bridge.
But the bridge it stands and the water runs
As red as yesterday,
And the Irish move to the sound of the guns
Like salmon to the sea.

Old Days! The wild geese are ranging,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish their hearts are unchanging,
And when they are changed, it is Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!

4
We’re not so old in the Army List,
But we’re not so new in the ring,
For we carried our packs with Marshal Saxe
When Louis was our King.
But Douglas Haig’s our Marshal now
And we’re King George’s men,
And after one hundred and seventy years
We’re fighting for France again!

Ah, France! And did we stand by you,
When life was made splendid with gifts and rewards?
Ah, France! And will we deny you
In the hour of your agony, Mother of Swords?

Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there’s loving and fighting,
And when we stop either, it’s Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!

Choose another poem

The Irish Conspiracy


The Maharajah Dhulip Singh has issued a manifesto 
addressed to the Princes and peoples of India.
In it he declares that there are supporters in Europe
and America who are ready to form an army for
the overthrow of British rule in India; but a fund
of four million pounds is necessary for the purchase
of munitions in order to carry out that object.
Besides the Punjabis, the Irish soldiers serving 
in British regiments in India would assist in the 
movement. 
(Vide Reuter's telegram in Pioneer of 15th instant) 

1 
I went to ould Mulvaney wid the Friday's Pioneer,
I grup him by the shoulther-strap–sez I to him:—'Look here,
There's rumours av conspiracy an' fire an' rape an' ruin,
Expaytiate upon ut, man—fwhat are the Oirish doin'?
2 
You break your Colonels' hearts out here, you turn your Captains grey,
You're breakin' heads in Doblin for O'Brien and Tay Pay,
You're only safe in action or Kilmainham or the Clink,
But fwhat's this latest devilment av Mister Julup Sink?'
3 
Mulvaney tuk the paper, an' he hild ut to his eyes,
An' read about battalions all languishin' to rise,
He shuk the black dudeen out on the armpit av his fist,
'The naygur-man is right', sez he. 'By God, we wud assist!
4 
If only Mister Julup, wid his di'monds in his hat,
Wud pass the time av day forninst the "rebils" at Cherat,
There's rookies from Blackwaterton, an' toughs from Cullyhanna,
Wud trate His Royal Highnuss in a most amazin' manner.
5 
An av there come an accident by reason av their fun,
An' av his head and joolry was both pulled off in one,
The bhoys wud steal a baggage-thrain, an' bribe a gyard to take
The corpse on to Jullundur for the Connaughts there to wake.
6 
But av they didn't waste him, an' the Connaughts let him be,
The Leinsters at Calcutta are conshumin' for a shpree,
They'd wet him in the Hugli an' they'd dhry him in the Strand.
For they'd run him wid their terriers through his patrimonial land.
7 
But fwhat's the good av bukhin'? Av he wants to see us rise
Let him write to Bobbs Bahadur for a fortnight's field–supplies,
An' ship a handy army av tin thousand to Bombay—
Thin call the Oirish rigiments—there's six av us—his way.
8 
Wud we come? Ay, Jumpin' Moses, we wud so an' niver fear ut—
The Doblins an' the Munsters, an' the Kickin' Harse' from Meerut—
The Aigle an' the Elephint,' the Harrp an' Maple leaves
Wud start a Noah's Arrk among his Continintal thieves.
9 
We'd work the job wid illigance, an' sentimint an' taste,
For the di'monds on his hat-band an' the im'ralds round his waist.
l've seen his father's porthrait—av the son is dhressed to suit,
Bcgad, he's simply dhrippin' wid onmitigated loot!
10 
Rise! Faith, we'd rise to Hiven an' we'd smash the guard-gate in
For the half av fwhat he carries on his Russia-leather skin!
Four million pounds in sov'reigns—it wud strike a woman dumb—
Betune six Oirish Regiments! Pershuade the man to come!'
 
              
                      *        *        *        *        *
 
11 
Mulvaney dhropped the paper an' he dhropped the laughin' too,
An' black as rain on Malin Head the features av him grew;
The bugles in the barrick-square were blowin' for parade,
He slipt into his 'coutrements an', swearin' cold, he said:
12 
'l take no thought for Julup, I cud mash him in my fist,
But I'd like to catch the renegade who said that we'd assist;
Av I met the two tomorrow, I wud put the naygur by,
But I'd rip the livin' hide off from the swine that tould that lie!'

Choose another poem

The Indian Delegates

'A farcical comedietta now running with enormous success in London' 

 
Scene, a spacious public hall in England.
Trio of Indian Delegates discovered singing softly
 to music of vina and sitar. Great British Public in foreground.

 TRIO. DELEGATES   


Delegates we
From over the sea
From the teeming millions of down-trod Ind;
With an education
The British nation
Supplies for the use of the Indian mind.

  

RECITATIVE. DELEGATES 
(Con molt. exp. to obligato accompaniment of their own trumpets)
 

We have mastered in decades five or six
The whole of your system of politics ;
Assimilated  the centuries
As we took your trousers, your boots and ties.
We have learnt to print the folly we write,
We worship Kaye and Blunt and Bright.
By the knowledge we've gained in the schools they built,
We accuse our rulers of crime and guilt;
By right of the learning we've swallowed raw
We are fit to administer rule and law;
By virtue of what you have taught us, we
At the end of one century claim to be free;
And appeal in Equality's sacred name
For the land misgoverned from whence we came.
  
 
They speak, from divers platforms on many subjects.
G. B. P. generalizes hastily after its fashion:

CHORUS. G.B.P.  

The facts which we deduce
From the language that they use
And the excellent impressions they convey,
Is that natives, all and each,
Are as fluent in their speech
As the gentlemen we've listened to today;
(Crescendo)  That the millions of lnd
Are enlightened and refined,
That they study Mill and Kant (without the C)
And in every single way
The nation 'neath our sway
Is rather more intelligent than we .
(Crescendissimo Impetuoso) And these things being so
We should greatly like to know
Why a bureaucratic, autocratic crew
(Civilians and such)
Oppress our friends so much
As these gentlemen of colour say they do.
  

They proceed to make enquiries at the British Museum
and elsewhere. Interval of twenty minutes allowed for enquiries.
 Re-enter G.B.P. with books of reference in their hands,
and wet towels round their foreheads . They generalise hastily:


CHORUS. G.B.P.  
  

The facts are simply thus,
They are not homogenus;
And Babus and Pathans will never mix;
And the ryots when they rest,
Do not study with a zest
The course of Indo-British politics,
(Cres. Queruloso) Which we thought, From our friends' oration,
Was their principal occupation.

Gurmukhi and Tamil!
Bullock cart and camel!
Bhils and Ghonds! Punjabi and Marattha!
Indo-Mussulmanic  shindies!
Parsees, Assamese, and Sindees!
Our notion  of United  India  shatter!

  
(Crescendo as above. With trombone accompaniment.)  

And we thought at the very least,
These gentlemen of the East,
Stood man by man as ally and as brother;
But we find it is not the case,
And one half of that civilized race
Objects to eating dinner with the other.

Wedlocks precocious! Customs atrocious!
Think of our girls in the grip of the purdah!
Babe-widowed wives
Leading such lives
As drive them perforce to abortion and murder.
  

(Crescendo as above)— 

And we fancied these excellent men
Did not marry wives of ten;
But they do, and we think it very beastly!
The 'pressing reforms' that they want
Are not in our power to grant;
But wholly in their houses in the East lie!
  

They continue to make enquiries; and sing
pianissimo to one another:  

We are a simple public we
And blind;
But this much we can plainly see—
The kind	
Of gentlemen we've met to-day
Do not
Stand for, in any single way,
That lot
Of ill-conditioned peoples who
Would fight
At once like wolves if we withdrew
Our right
Of interference; and we find,
If these
Were really gentlemen of Ind.
Deep peace
(Marred maybe by sedition cheap)
Would fall,
Upon the Empire that we keep ...
That's all!
  


CHORUS  OF A  BORED  AND  BRUTAL  PROLETARIAT 
  
Hi! You! Bring forward if yer can
A 'orny 'anded workin' man!
A Hinjian workin' man!
  

TRIO.  DELEGATES—(Largendo imperioso) 

We wholly fail to understand
How our requirements are affected
By low-caste brutes with horny hand;
Or how a link can be detected
Between ourselves, who really are
High caste, and mistri or chumar.
Extended  life  political—
  

Alarms and interruptions. G. B. P. generalizes afresh
from information received:

CHORUS. G.B.P.  

The Indian artizan
Lies not within your plan,
Nor for trader, nor for tiller do you care!
That you fight for your own hand
We can fully understand,
But to pose as British  India isn't fair!

Oh eloquent orators, swarthy and sweet!
Have you heard of the Tailors of Tooley Street?'
Too-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ooo-ley   Street  (Da capo ad lib)
  

Two thousand strong at most
Is the 'nation' that you boast
(A 'nation' of M.A.'s and LL.D's)
And, in every single point,
Its ideas are out of joint
With the peoples' of our Empire overseas.
Oh! silver-tongued Trio, again we repeat,
Have you heard of the Tailors of Tooley Street?


RECITATIVE. G.B.P . 

Urgent reforms you need—See that you get 'em.
Make women of your wives; don't cuff and pet 'em.
Doctor them when they're ill—they die like flies.
Reform corrupt Municipalities.
We worked our freedom out through thirty reigns—
Show your own power to manage your own drains.
Don't howl for Government when things look black.
Grow moral backbone in your moral back.
Try to speak truth—you've years before you plenty—
And marry on the other side of twenty!


GRAND FINALE. FULL ORCHESTRA 

When you and yours shall eat with us—
your wives as equals meet with us—
Then comes the time to treat with us—
Not now oh fluent Three!
When sterner-knit your morals are—
When sunk sectarian quarrels are—
For you our brightest laurels are,
To wear them worthily—
   
Bass-viol solo on the lower D—And when shall these things be?
  
CURTAIN

Choose another poem