Archives: Poems

1 
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
  An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not:
The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese;
  But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot.
We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im:
  'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses,
'E cut our sentries up at Suakim,
  An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces. 
    
So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan;
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man;
We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed
We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined. 

2 
We took our chanst among the Khyber 'ills,
  The Boers knocked us silly at a mile,
The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills,
  An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style:
But all we ever got from such as they
  Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;
We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say,
  But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller. 

Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid;
Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went an' did.
We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair;
But for all the odds agin' you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the square. 

3 
'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own,
  'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards,
So we must certify the skill 'e's shown
  In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords:
When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush
  With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear,
An 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush
  Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year. 
    
So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which are no more,
If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore;
But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair,
For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square! 

4 
'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive,
  An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead;
'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive,
  An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead.
'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb!
  'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree,
'E's the on'y thing that doesn't give a damn
  For a Regiment o' British Infantree! 
    
So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan;
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man;
An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air - 
You big black boundin' beggar - for you broke a British square!

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'Lord Dufferin's staff don't kiss'; Pioneer, Sept 23.

'And don't they really kiss you?' No!
They'd blush if you asked them—ever so!
At the slightest mention of social slips
They turn clear pink to the finger-tips.
Why, anything verging on innocent chaff
Would shock the whole of Lord Dufferin's Staff;
That Solemn and Serious Staff.

'And pray, and what do the Gentlemen drink?'
From Whiskey they fly and from 'Simkin' shrink;
But toast and water they merrily quaff,
For this is the way of Lord Dufferin's Staff;
His rigidly temperate Staff.

'And don't they dance?' They think it wrong,
And wholly unfitting an aid-de-cong;
'Tis all you can do to raise a laugh,
Much less a waltz from Lord Dufferin's Staff,
That Solemn and Serious Staff.

From six in the morning till ten at night,
The study of tongues is their sole delight;
And the Munshi drones over gain and kaf
To that ocean of learning, Lord Dufferin's Staff;
His crushingly erudite Staff.

They seldom dine and they never sup.
They wear their jack-spurs wrong side up.
They always walk with their eyes on the ground,
They call P–l–ti's the 'Devil's pound',
And frequently speak of Balls and dinners
As traps for the Souls of benighted sinners.
'The lusts of the flesh are dross and draff',
Say the whole of this verily Christian Staff,
This painfully Virtuous Staff.

They are never seen on the Annandale course,
They take no stocks in the legs of a horse.
And the smoky din of a lottery night
Is rank perdition in their sight.
In fact, they are all too good by half
For this frivolous world are Lord Dufferin's Staff;
This rigidly temperate, Solemn and Serious,
                     prudish and passionless Staff.

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Not with an outcry to Allah nor any complaining
He answered his name at the muster and stood to the chaining.
When the twin anklets were nipped on the leg-bars that held them,
He brotherly greeted the armourers stooping to weld them.
Ere the sad dust of the marshalled feet of the chain-gang swallowed him,
Observing him nobly at ease, I alighted and followed him.
Thus we had speech by the way, but not touching his sorrow—
Rather his red Yesterday and his regal To-morrow,
Wherein he statelily moved to the clink of his chains unregarded,
Nowise abashed but contented to drink of the potion awarded.
Saluting aloofly his Fate, he made haste with his story,
And the words of his mouth were as slaves spreading carpets of glory
Embroidered with names of the Djinns—a miraculous weaving—
But the cool and perspicuous eye overbore unbelieving.
So I submitted myself to the limits of rapture—
Bound by this man we had bound, amid captives his capture—
Till he returned me to earth and the visions departed.
But on him be the Peace and the Blessing; for he was greathearted!

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           ORION GOLIGHTLY B.C.S. sings:
 
1
Skin may be scorching, and brain may be batter;
   Head may be swimming, and tongue may be white;
Liver uneasy—but what does it matter?
   The mail brings Her into the station tonight!
2
Sadly the heat from July to September
   Has soddened and shaken a fever-racked frame:
Complexions may change but She will remember
   That, even in India, the Heart is the same.
3
Scant time indeed have I had to be merry,
   Little of leave and less of delight,
Stewing all day in that frowsy Kutcherry; 
   What do I care?—She is coming tonight!
4
Tennis be hanged! I am off to the Station,
   'Tum-tum men tattu hamara  rukho!'
Ages it seems since in deep tribulation
   I watched Her departure, just five months ago.
5
Back from Olympus to damp-laden, steamy
   Plains and her lover who longs for the sight,
My Darling returns; and Creation may see me
   The happiest man in the Province tonight.
6
My bearer's a drunkard; my sais cribs the gram;  
   My one polo-pony's as lame as a post:
I know I shall mull my next Persian exam;
   My pay is a scanty five-fifty at most.
7
I'm only a Stunt-sahib employed in the 'Revenue';
   But yet I am dearer in Somebody's sight
Than all the big bosses at Simla She ever knew;
   And I'm off to the Station to meet Her tonight.

      ...climbs into tum-tum and exits tumultuously.

Reading Aloud

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1 
Old Horn to All Atlantic said: 
(A-hay O! To me O!)
Now where did Frankie learn his trade? 
For he ran me down with a three-reef mains'le." 
(All round the Horn!)  
2 
Atlantic answered:– "Not from me! 
You'd better ask the cold North Sea, 
For he ran me down under all plain canvas." 
(All round the Horn!)  
3
The North Sea answered:– "He's my man,
For he came to me when he began– 
Frankie Drake in an open coaster. 
(All round the Sands!)  
4
"I caught him young and I used him sore, 
So you never shall startle Frankie more, 
Without capsizing Earth and her waters. 
(All round the Sands!)  
5
"I did not favour him at all. 
I made him pull and I made him haul
And stand his trick with the common sailors. 
(All round the Sands!)  
6
"I froze him stiff and I fogged him blind, 
And kicked him home with his road to find 
By what he could see in a three-day snow-storm. 
(All round the Sands!)  
7
"I learned him his trade o' winter nights, 
'Twixt Mardyk Fort and Dunkirk lights, 
On a five-knot tide with the forts a-firing. 
(All round the Sands!)  
8
"Before his beard began to shoot, 
I showed him the length of the Spaniard's foot–
I reckon he clapped the boot on it later. 
(All round the Sands!)  
9
"If there's a risk which you can make,
That's worse than he was used to take
Nigh every week in the way of his business; 
(All round the Sands!)  
10
"If there's a trick that you can try,
Which he hasn't met in time gone by,
Not once or twice, but ten times over. 
(All round the Sands!)  
11
"If you can teach him aught that's new,
(A-hay O! To me O!) 
I'll give you Bruges and Niewport too,
And the ten tall churches that stand between 'em!"
Storm along my gallant Captains! 
(All round the Horn!) 

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Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all
By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul;
Furious in luxury, merciless in toil,
Terrible with strength that draws from her tireless soil;
Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of man’s mind,
First to follow Truth and last to leave old Truths behind—
France, beloved of every soul that loves its fellow-kind!

Ere our birth (rememberest thou?) side by side we lay
Fretting in the womb of Rome to begin our fray.
Ere men knew our tongues apart, our one task was known—
Each to mould the other’s fate as he wrought his own.
To this end we stirred mankind till all Earth was ours,
Till our world-end strifes begat wayside Thrones and Powers—
Puppets that we made or broke to bar the other’s path—
Necessary, outpost-folk, hirelings of our wrath.
To this end we stormed the seas, tack for tack, and burst
Through the doorways of new worlds, doubtful which was first,
Hand on hilt (rememberest thou?) ready for the blow—
Sure, whatever else we met, we should meet our foe.
Spurred or balked at every stride by the other’s strength,
So we rode the ages down and every ocean’s length! 

Where did you refrain from us or we refrain from you?
Ask the wave that has not watched war between us two!
Others held us for a while, but with weaker charms,
These we quitted at the call for each other’s arms.
Eager toward the known delight, equally we strove—
Each the other’s mystery, terror, need, and love.
To each other’s open court with our proofs we came.
Where could we find honour else, or men to test our claim?
From each other’s throat we wrenched—valour’s last reward—
That extorted word of praise gasped ’twixt lunge and guard.
In each other’s cup we poured mingled blood and tears,
Brutal joys, unmeasured hopes, intolerable fears—
All that soiled or salted life for a thousand years.
Proved beyond the need of proof, matched in every clime,
O Companion, we have lived greatly through all time! 

Yoked in knowledge and remorse, now we come to rest,
Laughing at old villainies that Time has turned to jest;
Pardoning old necessities no pardon can efface—
That undying sin we shared in Rouen market-place.

Now we watch the new years shape, wondering if they hold
Fiercer lightnings in their heart than we launched of old.
Now we hear new voices rise, question, boast or gird,
As we raged (rememberest thou?) when our crowds were stirred.
Now we count new keels afloat, and new hosts on land,
Massed like ours (rememberest thou?) when our strokes were planned.
We were schooled for dear life’s sake, to know each other’s blade.
What can Blood and Iron make more than we have made?
We have learned by keenest use to know each other’s mind.
What shall Blood and Iron loose that we cannot bind?
We who swept each other’s coast, sacked each other’s home,
Since the sword of Brennus clashed on the scales at Rome
Listen, count and close again, wheeling girth to girth,
In the linked and steadfast guard set for peace on earth! 

Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all
By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul;
Furious in luxury, merciless in toil,
Terrible with strength renewed from a tireless soil;
Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of man’s mind,
First to face the Truth and last to leave old Truths behind—
France, beloved of every soul that loves or serves its kind!

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1 
When Samson set my brush afire 
    To spoil the Timnite's barley,
I made my point for Leicestershire
    And left Philistia early.
Through Gath and Rankesborough Gorse I fled,
    And took the Coplow Road, sir!
And was a gentleman in Red
    When all the Quorn wore woad, sir! 
2 
When Rome lay massed on Hadrian's Wall,
    And nothing much was doing,
Her bored Centurions heard my call
    O' nights when I went wooing.
They raised a pack - they ran it well 
    (For I was there to run 'em) 
From Aesica to Carter Fell, 
    And down North Tyne to Hunnum. 
3 
When William landed hot for blood,
    And Harold's hosts were smitten, 
I lay at earth in Battle Wood
    While Domesday Book was written.
Whatever harm he did to man,
    I owe him pure affection;
For in his righteous reign began 
    The first of Game Protection. 
4 
When Charles, my namesake, lost his mask,
    And Oliver dropped his'n,
I found those Northern Squires a task,
    To keep 'em out of prison.
In boots as big as milking-pails,
    With holsters on the pommel,
They chevied me across the Dales
    Instead of fighting Cromwell. 
5 
When thrifty Walpole took the helm,
    And hedging came in fashion,
The March of Progress gave my realm
    Enclosure and Plantation.
'Twas then, to soothe their discontent,
    I showed each pounded Master,
However fast the Commons went,
    I went a little faster! 
6 
When Pigg and Jorrocks held the stage
    And Steam had linked the Shires, 
I broke the staid Victorian age
    To posts, and rails, and wires.
Then fifty mile was none too far 
    To go by train to cover,
Till some dam' sutler pupped a car,
    And decent sport was over!  
7 
When men grew shy of hunting stag,
    For fear the Law might try 'em, 
The Car put up an average bag 
    Of twenty dead per diem.
Then every road was made a rink
    For Coroners to sit on;
And so began, in skid and stink,
    The real blood-sport of Britain!

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'SIMLA, May 11—The meeting of the 
Legislative Council, to consider the 
Bankruptcy Bill, which was fixed for 
the 13th instant, has been postponed till 
the 20th, on account of the Seepee Fair, 
which commences on Thursday. 
See yesterday's Telegram.'


The jharan–coated subalterns
Are mounted and away—
Shall we His Lordship's Councillors
Be laggards more than they?
The Matrons of the Mountain haste,
The jocund with the jeldie,
Where Rockcliff spoons Elysium,
And Lowrie's Abergeldie.

Ho! gallop up the Jakko road!
Hi! scuttle down the hill!
Let be your legislative load—
The burden of the Bill!
Come ye who rule a people's fate,
Old men with grizzled hair—
Pack up the hamper and the crate
We ride to Seepee Fair.

There let us pass the foaming glass,
In place of measures dry;
And form Select Committees on
The pate and the pie.
There let us bid the swings revolve,
And frolic on the green,
As fits the trusted Ministers
And Stewards of the Queen.

To horse, to horse, my aged ones!
Staid senators and hoar—
For life is short, and laws are long—
The steed is at the door.
And if men sneer, and if men scoff,
'Tis little we shall care.
The Council of the Empire stands
Postponed—for Seepee Fair

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Read here:
This is the story of Evarra—man—
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.
         Because the city gave him of her gold,
         Because the caravans brought turquoises,
         Because his life was sheltered by the King,
         So that no man should maim him, none should steal,
         Or break his rest with babble in the streets
         When he was weary after toil, he made
         An image of his God in gold and pearl,
         With turquoise diadem and human eyes,
         A wonder in the sunshine, known afar,
         And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with pride,
         Because the city bowed to him for God,
         He wrote above the shrine: “Thus Gods are made,
         “And whoso makes them otherwise shall die.”
         And all the city praised him.  .  .  . Then he died. 

Read here the story of Evarra—man—
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.
         Because the city had no wealth to give,
         Because the caravans were spoiled afar,
         Because his life was threatened by the King,
         So that all men despised him in the streets,
         He hewed the living rock, with sweat and tears,
         And reared a God against the morning-gold,
         A terror in the sunshine, seen afar,
         And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with pride,
         Because the city fawned to bring him back,
         He carved upon the plinth: “Thus Gods are made,
         “And whoso makes them otherwise shall die.”
         And all the people praised him.  .  .  . Then he died. 

Read here the story of Evarra—man—
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.
         Because he lived among a simple folk,
         Because his village was between the hills,
         Because he smeared his cheeks with blood of ewes,
         He cut an idol from a fallen pine,
         Smeared blood upon its cheeks, and wedged a shell
         Above its brows for eyes, and gave it hair
         Of trailing moss, and plaited straw for crown.
         And all the village praised him for this craft,
         And brought him butter, honey, milk, and curds.
         Wherefore, because the shoutings drove him mad,
         He scratched upon that log: “Thus Gods are made,
         “And whoso makes them otherwise shall die.”
         And all the people praised him.  .  .  . Then he died. 

Read here the story of Evarra—man—
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.
         Because his God decreed one clot of blood
         Should swerve one hair’s-breadth from the pulse’s path,
         And chafe his brain, Evarra mowed alone,
         Rag-wrapped, among the cattle in the fields,
         Counting his fingers, jesting with the trees,
         And mocking at the mist, until his God
         Drove him to labour. Out of dung and horns
         Dropped in the mire he made a monstrous God,
         Abhorrent, shapeless, crowned with plantain tufts,
         And when the cattle lowed at twilight-time,
         He dreamed it was the clamour of lost crowds,
         And howled among the beasts: “Thus Gods are made,
         “And whoso makes them otherwise shall die.”
         Thereat the cattle bellowed.  .  .  . Then he died. 
         
         Yet at the last he came to Paradise,
         And found his own four Gods, and that he wrote;
         And marvelled, being very near to God,
         What oaf on earth had made his toil God’s law,
         Till God said mocking: ‘Mock not. These be thine.’
         Then cried Evarra: “I have sinned!”—“Not so.
         “If thou hadst written otherwise, thy Gods
         “Had rested in the mountain and the mine,
         “And I were poorer by four wondrous Gods,
         “And thy more wondrous law, Evarra. Thine,
         “Servant of shouting crowds and lowing kine.”
         Thereat, with laughing mouth, but tear-wet eyes,
         Evarra cast his Gods from Paradise. 

This is the story of Evarra—man—
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.

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ARGUMENT: Showing how a man of England, hearing from certain
Easterlings of the glories of their land, sets sail to rule it.

And so unto the End of Graves came he, 
Where nigh the staging, ready for the sea, 
Oarless and sailless lay the galley's bulk, 
Albeit smoke did issue from the hulk
And fell away, across the marshes dun, 
Into the visage of the wan-white sun.
And seaward ran the river, cold and grey, 
Bearing the brown-sailed Eastland boats away
'Twixt the low shore and shallow sandy spit. 
Yet he, being sad, took little heed of it,
But straightly fled toward the misty beach,
And hailed in choked and swiftly spoken speech 
A shallop, that for men's conveyance lay
Hard by the margin of that watery way. 
Then many that were in like evil plight—
Sad folk, with drawn, dumb lips and faces white, 
That writhed themselves into a hopeless smile— 
Crowded the shallop, making feint the while
Of merriment and pleasure at that tide, 
Though oft upon the laughers' lips there died 
The jest, and in its place there came a sigh, 
So that men gat but little good thereby,
And shivering, clad themselves about with furs. 
Strange faces of the swarthy outlanders
Looked down upon the shallop as she threw 
The sullen waters backward from her screw 
And, running forward for some little space, 
Stayed featly at the galley's mounting-place, 
Where slowly these sad-faced landsmen went 
Crab-wise and evil-mouthed with discontent, 
Holding to sodden rope and rusty chain
And bulwark that was wetted with the rain:
For 'neath their feet the black bows rose and fell, 
Nor might a man walk steadfastly or well
Who had not hand upon a rail or rope;
And Estunt turned him landward, and wanhope
Grew on his spirit as an evil mist, 
Thinking of loving lips his lips had kissed
An hour since, and how those lips were sweet 
An hour since, far off in Fenchurch Street.
Then, with a deep-drawn breath most like a sigh, 
He watched the empty shallop shoreward hie; 
Then turned him round the driving rain to face, 
And saw men heave the anchor from its place, 
Whereat, when by the river-mouth, the ship 
Began, amid the waters' strife, to dip.
His soul was heaved between his jaws that day,
And to the East the good ship took her way.

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