Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1055 page)

The ‘orse ‘e knows above a bit, the bullock’s but a fool,
The elephant’s a gentleman, the battery-mule’s a mule;
But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an’ done,
‘E’s a devil an’ a ostrich an’ a orphan-child in one.
    O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont!
     The lumpy-’umpy ‘ummin’-bird a-singin’ where ‘e lies,
    ‘E’s blocked the whole division from the rear-guard to the front,
     An’ when we get him up again — the beggar goes an’ dies!

‘E’ll gall an’ chafe an’ lame an’ fight — ‘e smells most awful vile;
‘E’ll lose ‘isself for ever if you let ‘im stray a mile;
‘E’s game to graze the ‘ole day long an’ ‘owl the ‘ole night through,
An’ when ‘e comes to greasy ground ‘e splits ‘isself in two.
    O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin’, droppin’ oont!
     When ‘is long legs give from under an’ ‘is meltin’ eye is dim,
    The tribes is up be’ind us, and the tribes is out in front —
     It ain’t no jam for Tommy, but it’s kites an’ crows for ‘im.

So when the cruel march is done, an’ when the roads is blind,
An’ when we sees the camp in front an’ ‘ears the shots be’ind,
Ho! then we strips ‘is saddle off, and all ‘is woes is past:
‘E thinks on us that used ‘im so, and gets revenge at last.
    O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin’, bloatin’ oont!
     The late lamented camel in the water-cut ‘e lies;
    We keeps a mile be’ind ‘im an’ we keeps a mile in front,
     But ‘e gets into the drinkin’-casks, and then o’ course we dies.

* Camel: —
oo
is pronounced like
u
in “bull”, but by Mr. Atkins to rhyme with “front”.

The Open Door

ENGLAND is a cosy little country,
  Excepting for the draughts along the floor.
And that is why you’re told,
When the passages are cold:
  “Darling, you’ve forgot to shut the Door!”

The Awful East Wind blows it-
Pussy on the Hearthrug shows it,
Aunty at the Writing-table knows it-
  “Darling, you’ve forgot to shut the Door!”

Shut-shut-shut the Door, my darling!
  Always shut the Door behind you, but
You can go when you are old
Where there isn’t any cold-
  So there isn’t any Door that need be shut!
                       And-
The deep Verandah shows it-
The pale Magnolia knows it-
And the bold, white Trumpet-flower blows it:-
  There isn’t any Door that need be shut!

The piping Tree-toad knows it-
The midnight Firefly shows it
And the Beams of the Moon disclose it:-
  There isn’t any Door that need be shut!

The milky Beaches know it-
The silky Breezes blow it-
And the Shafts of the Sunrise show it:-
  There isn’t any Door that need be shut!

Our Fathers Also

“Below the Mill Dam” — Traffics and Discoveries

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!

Our Fathers of Old

        “A Doctor of Medicine” — Rewards and Fairies

         Excellent herbs had our fathers of old —
           Excellent herbs to ease their pain —
         Alexanders and Marigold,
          Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane —
         Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue,
           ( Almost singing themselves they run)
        Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you —
            Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun.
            Anything green that grew out of the mould
            Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old.

          Wonderful tales had our fathers of old,
            Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars-
         The Sun was Lord of the Marigold,
           Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars.
        Pat as a sum in division it goes —
           (Every herb had a planet bespoke) —
       Who but Venus should govern the Rose?
          Who but Jupiter own the Oak?
              Simply and gravely the facts are told
              In the wonderful books of our fathers of old.

   Wonderful little, when all is said,
     Wonderful little our fathers knew.
   Half their remedies cured you dead —
     Most of their teaching was quite untrue —
   “Look at the stars when  a patient is  ill.
      (Dirt has nothing to do with disease),
   Bleed and blister as much as you will,
     Bister and bleed him as oft as you please.”
      Whence enormous and manifold
       Errors were made by our fathers of old.

  Yet when the sickness was sore in the land,
     And neither planets nor herbs assuaged,
  They took their lives in their lancet-hand
    And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged!
  Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door-
     (Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled! )
  Excellent courage our fathers bore —
     None too learned, but nobly bold
     Into the fight went our fathers of old.

If it be certain, as Galen says —
  And sage Hippocrates holds as much —
“That those afflicted by doubts and dismays
  Are mightily helped by a dead man’s touch,”
Then, be good to us, stars above!
  Then, be good to us, herbs below!
We are afflicted by what we can prove,
  We are distracted by what we know.
             So-ah, so!
   Down from your heaven or up from your mould
   Send us the hearts of our Fathers of old!

Our Lady of the Sackcloth

Ethiopic Verson Founded on Brit. Mus. M.S.
Orient No 652, Folio 9
There was a Priest at Philae,
   Tongue-tied, feeble, and old;
And the daily prayer to the Virgin
   Was all the Office he could.

The others were ill-remembered,
   Mumbled and hard to hear;
But to Mary, the two-fold Virgin,
   Always his voice rang clear.

And the congregation mocked him,
   And the weight of the years he bore,
And they sent word to the Bishop
   That he should not serve them more.

(Never again at the Offering
   When the Bread and the Body are one:
Oh, never the picture of Mary
   Watching him serve her Son!)

Kindly and wise was the Bishop.
   Unto the Priest said he: -
“Patience till thou art stronger,
   And keep meantime with me.

“Patience a little; it may be
   The Lord shall loosen thy tongue
And then thou shalt serve at the Offering
   As it was when we were young.”

And the Priest obeyed and was silent,
   And the Bishop gave him leave
To walk alone in the desert
   Where none should see him grieve.

(Never again at the Offering
   When the Wine and the Blood are one!
Oh, never the picture of Mary
   Watching him honour her Son!)

Saintly and clean was the Bishop,
   Ruling himself aright
With prayer and fast in the daytime
   And scourge and vigil at night.

Out of his zeal he was minded
   To add one penance the more –
A garment of harshest sackcloth
   Under the robes he wore.

He gathered the cloth in secret
   Lest any should know and praise –
The shears, the palm and the packthread –
   And laboured it many ways.

But he had no skill in the making,
   And failed and fretted the while;
Till the stood a Woman before him,
   Smiling as Mothers smile.

Her feet were burned by the desert –
   Like a desert-dweller she trod –
Even the two-fold Virgin,
   Spouse and Bearer of God!

She took the shears and the sacking,
   The needle and stubborn thread,
She cut, she shaped, and she sewed them,
   And, “This shall be blessed,” she said.

She passed in the white hot noontide,
   On a wave of the quivering air;
And the Bishop’s eyes were opened,
   And he fell on his face in prayer.

But –
far from the smouldering censers –
   Far from the chanted praise –
Oh, far from the pictures of Mary
   That had watched him all his days –

Far in the desert by Philae
   The old Priest walked forlorn,
Till he saw in the head of her Riders
   A Queen of the Desert-born.

High she swayed on her camel,
   Beautiful to behold:
And her beast was belled with silver,
   And her veils were spotted with gold!

Low she leaned from her litter –
   Soft she spoke in his ear: -
“Nay, I have watched thy sorrow!
   Nay, but the end is near!

“For again thou shalt serve at the Offering
   And thy tongue shall be loosed in praise,
And again thou shalt sing unto Mary
   Who has watched thee all thy days.

“Go in peace to the Bishop,
   Carry him word from me –
That the Woman who sewed the sackcloth
   Would have him set thee free!”

The Outlaws

1914
Through learned and laborious years
  They set themselves to find
Fresh terrors and undreamed-of fears
  To heap upon mankind.

ALl that they drew from Heaven above
  Or digged from earth beneath,
They laid into their treasure-trove
  And arsenals of death:

While, for well-weighed advantage sake,
  Ruler and ruled alike
Built up the faith they meant to break
  When the fit hour should strike.

They traded with the careless earth,
  And good return it gave:
They plotted by their neighbour’s hearth
  The means to make him slave.

When all was ready to their hand
  They loosed their hidden sword,
And utterly laid waste a land
  Their oath was pledged to guard.

Coldly they went about to raise
  To life and make more dread
Abominations of old days,
  That men believed were dead.

They paid the price to reach their goal
  Across a world in flame;
But their own hate slew their own soul
  Before that victory came.

Outsong in the Jungle

Baloo

For the sake of him who showed
One wise Frog the Jungle-Road,
Keep the Law the Man-Pack make
For thy blind old Baloo’s sake!
Clean or tainted, hot or stale,
Hold it as it were the Trail,
Through the day and through the night,
Questing neither left nor right.
For the sake of him who loves
Thee beyond all else that moves,
When thy Pack would make thee pain,
Say: “ Tabaqui sings again.”
When thy Pack would work thee ill,
Say:  “Shere Khan is yet to kill.”
When the knife is drawn to slay,
Keep the Law and go thy way.
(Root and honey, palm and spathe,
Guard a cub from harm and scathe!)
Wood and Water, Wind and Tree,
Jungle-Favour go with thee!

             
Kaa

Anger is the egg of Fear —
Only lidless eyes see clear.
Cobra-poison none may leech —
Even so with Cobra-speech.
Open talk shall call to thee
Strength, whose mate is Courtesy.
Send no lunge beyond thy length.
Lend no rotten bough thy strength.
Gauge thy gape with buck or goat,
Lest thine eye should choke thy throat.
After gorging, wouldst thou sleep ?
Look thy den be hid and deep,
Lest a wrong, by thee forgot,
Draw thy killer to the spot.
East and West and North and South,
Wash thy hide and close thy mouth.
(Pit and rift and blue pool-brim,
Middle-Jungle follow him!)
Wood and Water, Wind and Tree,
Jungle-Favour go with thee!