Selected Poems (Penguin Classics) (33 page)

Weighing words superfluous trouble:
cheat
to clerkly ears may seem

[120] Just the joke for friends to venture: but we are not friends, you see!

When a gentleman is joked with, – if he’s good at repartee,

He rejoins, as do I – Sirrah, on your knees, withdraw in full!

Beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through your skull

Lets in light and teaches manners to what brain it finds! Choose quick –

Have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim yon candle-wick!”

‘“Well, you cheated!”

              ‘Then outbroke a howl from all the friends around.

To his feet sprang each in fury, fists were clenched and teeth were ground.

“End it! no time like the present! Captain, yours were our disgrace!

No delay, begin and finish! Stand back, leave the pair a space!

Let civilians be instructed: henceforth simply ply the pen,

[130] Fly the sword! This clerk’s no swordsman? Suit him with a pistol, then!

Even odds! A dozen paces ’twixt the most and least expert

Make a dwarf a giant’s equal: nay, the dwarf, if he’s alert,

Likelier hits the broader target!”

                          ‘Up we stood accordingly.

As they handed me the weapon, such was my soul’s thirst to try

Then and there conclusions with this bully, tread on and stamp out

Every spark of his existence, that, – crept close to, curled about

By that toying tempting teasing fool-forefinger’s middle joint, –

Don’t you guess? – the trigger yielded. Gone my chance! and at the point

Of such prime success moreover: scarce an inch above his head

[140] Went my ball to hit the wainscot. He was living, I was dead.

‘Up he marched in flaming triumph – ’twas his right, mind! – up, within

Just an arm’s length. “Now, my clerkling,” chuckled Cocky with a grin

As the levelled piece quite touched me, “Now, Sir Counting-House, repeat

That expression which I told you proved bad manners! Did I cheat?”

‘“Cheat you did, you knew you cheated, and, this moment, know as well.

As for me, my homely breeding bids you – fire and go to Hell!”

‘Twice the muzzle touched my forehead. Heavy barrel, flurried wrist,

Either spoils a steady lifting. Thrice: then, “Laugh at Hell who list,

[150] I can’t! God’s no fable either. Did this boy’s eye wink once? No!

There’s no standing him and Hell and God all three against me, – so,

I did cheat!”

       ‘And down he threw the pistol, out rushed – by the door

Possibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof or floor,

He effected disappearance – I’ll engage no glance was sent

That way by a single starer, such a blank astonishment

Swallowed up their senses: as for speaking – mute they stood as mice.

‘Mute not long, though! Such reaction, such a hubbub in a trice!

“Rogue and rascal! Who’d have thought it? What’s to be expected next,

When His Majesty’s Commission serves a sharper as pretext

[160] For … But where’s the need of wasting time now? Naught requires delay:

Punishment the Service cries for: let disgrace be wiped away

Publicly, in good broad daylight! Resignation? No, indeed

Drum and fife must play the Rogue’s March, rank and file be free to speed

Tardy marching on the rogue’s part by appliance in the rear

– Kicks administered shall right this wronged civilian, – never fear,

Mister Clive, for – though a clerk – you bore yourself – suppose we say –

Just as would beseem a soldier!”

                    ‘“Gentlemen, attention – pray!

First, one word!”

          ‘I passed each speaker severally in review.

When I had precise their number, names and styles, and fully knew

Over whom my supervision thenceforth must extend, – why, then –

[170] “Some five minutes since, my life lay – as you all saw, gentlemen –

At the mercy of your friend there. Not a single voice was raised

In arrest of judgement, not one tongue – before my powder blazed –

Ventured ‘Can it be the youngster blundered, really seemed to mark

Some irregular proceeding? We conjecture in the dark,

Guess at random, – still, for sake of fair play – what if for a freak,

In a fit of absence, – such things have been! – if our friend proved weak

– What’s the phrase? – corrected fortune! Look into the case, at least!’

Who dared interpose between the altar’s victim and the priest?

Yet he spared me! You eleven! Whosoever, all or each,

[180] To the disadvantage of the man who spared me, utters speech

– To his face, behind his back, – that speaker has to do with me:

Me who promise, if positions change and mine the chance should be,

Not to imitate your friend and waive advantage!”

                               ‘Twenty-five

Years ago this matter happened: and ’tis certain,’ added Clive,

‘Never, to my knowledge, did Sir Cocky have a single breath

Breathed against him: lips were closed throughout his life, or since his death,

For if he be dead or living I can tell no more than you.

All I know is – Cocky had one chance more; how he used it, – grew

Out of such unlucky habits, or relapsed, and back again

[190] Brought the late-ejected devil with a score more in his train, –

That’s for you to judge. Reprieval I procured, at any rate.

Ugh – the memory of that minute’s fear makes gooseflesh rise! Why prate

Longer? You’ve my story, there’s your instance: fear I did, you see!’

‘Well’ – I hardly kept from laughing – ‘if I see it, thanks must be

Wholly to your Lordship’s candour. Not that – in a common case –

When a bully caught at cheating thrusts a pistol in one’s face,

I should underrate, believe me, such a trial to the nerve!

’Tis no joke, at one-and-twenty, for a youth to stand nor swerve.

[200] Fear I naturally look for – unless, of all men alive,

I am forced to make exception when I come to Robert Clive.

Since at Arcot, Plassy, elsewhere, he and death – the whole world knows –

Came to somewhat closer quarters.’

                         Quarters? Had we come to blows,

Clive and I, you had not wondered – up he sprang so, out he rapped

Such a round of oaths – no matter! I’ll endeavour to adapt

To our modern usage words he – well, ’twas friendly licence – flung

At me like so many fire-balls, fast as he could wag his tongue.

‘You – a soldier? You – at Plassy? Yours the faculty to nick

Instantaneously occasion when your foe, if lightning-quick,

[210] – At his mercy, at his malice, – has you, through some stupid inch

Undefended in your bulwark? Thus laid open, – not to flinch

– That needs courage, you’ll concede me. Then, look here! Suppose the man,

Checking his advance, his weapon still extended, not a span

Distant from my temple, – curse him! – quietly had bade me “There!

Keep your life, calumniator! – worthless life I freely spare:

Mine you freely would have taken – murdered me and my good fame

Both at once – and all the better! Go, and thank your own bad aim

Which permits me to forgive you!” What if, with such words as these,

He had cast away his weapon? How should I have borne me, please?

Nay, I’ll spare you pains and tell you. This, and only this, remained –

[220] Pick his weapon up and use it on myself. I so had gained

Sleep the earlier, leaving England probably to pay on still

Rent and taxes for half India, tenant at the Frenchman’s will.’

‘Such the turn,’ said I, ‘the matter takes with you? Then I abate

– No, by not one jot nor tittle, – of your act my estimate.

Fear – I wish I could detect there: courage fronts me, plain enough –

Call it desperation, madness – never mind! for here’s in rough

Why, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome disgrace.

True, disgrace were hard to bear: but such a rush against God’s face

– None of that for me, Lord Plassy, since I go to church at times,

[230] Say the creed my mother taught me! Many years in foreign climes

Rub some marks away – not all, though! We poor sinners reach life’s brink,

Overlook what rolls beneath it, recklessly enough, but think

There’s advantage in what’s left us – ground to stand on, time to call

“Lord, have mercy!” ere we topple over – do not leap, that’s all!’

Oh, he made no answer, – re-absorbed into his cloud. I caught

Something like ‘Yes – courage: only fools will call it fear.’

                                             If aught

Comfort you, my great unhappy hero Clive, in that I heard,

Next week, how your own hand dealt you doom, and uttered just the word

[240] ‘Fearfully courageous!’ – this, be sure, and nothing else I groaned.

I’m no Clive, nor parson either: Clive’s worst deed – we’ll hope condoned.

[Wanting is – what?]

Wanting is – what?

Summer redundant,

Blueness abundant,

– Where is the blot?

Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same,

– Framework which waits for a picture to frame:

What of the leafage, what of the flower?

Roses embowering with naught they embower!

Come then, complete incompletion, O comer,

[10] Pant through the blueness, perfect the summer!

Breathe but one breath

Rose-beauty above,

And all that was death

Grows life, grows love,

    Grows love!

Donald

‘Will you hear my story also,

– Huge Sport, brave adventure in plenty?’

The boys were a band from Oxford,

The oldest of whom was twenty.

The bothy we held carouse in

Was bright with fire and candle;

Tale followed tale like a merry-go-round

Whereof Sport turned the handle.

In our eyes and noses – turf-smoke:

[10] In our ears a tune from the trivet,

Whence ‘Boiling, boiling,’ the kettle sang,

‘And ready for fresh Glenlivet.’

So, feat capped feat, with a vengeance:

Truths, though, – the lads were loyal:

‘Grouse, five score brace to the bag!

Deer, ten hours’ stalk of the Royal!’

Of boasting, not one bit, boys!

Only there seemed to settle

Somehow above your curly heads,

[20] – Plain through the singing kettle,

Palpable through the cloud,

As each new-puffed Havana

Rewarded the teller’s well-told tale, –

This vaunt ‘To Sport – Hosanna!

‘Hunt, fish, shoot,

Would a man fulfil life’s duty!

Not to the bodily frame alone

Does Sport give strength and beauty,

‘But character gains in – courage?

[30] Ay, Sir, and much beside it!

You don’t sport, more’s the pity:

You soon would find, if you tried it,

‘Good sportsman means good fellow,

Sound-hearted he, to the centre;

Your mealy-mouthed mild milksops

– There’s where the rot can enter!

‘There’s where the dirt will breed,

The shabbiness Sport would banish!

Oh no, Sir, no! In your honoured case

[40] All such objections vanish.

‘’Tis known how hard you studied:

A Double-First – what, the jigger!

Give me but half your Latin and Greek,

I’ll never again touch trigger!

‘Still, tastes are tastes, allow me!

Allow, too, where there’s keenness

For Sport, there’s little likelihood

Of a man’s displaying meanness!’

So, put on my mettle, I interposed.

[50] ‘Will you hear my story?’ quoth I.

‘Never mind how long since it happed,

I sat, as we sit, in a bothy;

‘With as merry a band of mates, too,

Undergrads all on a level:

(One’s a Bishop, one’s gone to the Bench,

And one’s gone – well, to the Devil.)

‘When, lo, a scratching and tapping!

In hobbled a ghastly visitor.

Listen to just what he told us himself

[60] – No need of our playing inquisitor!’

Do you happen to know in Ross-shire

Mount … Ben … but the name scarce matters:

Of the naked fact I am sure enough,

Though I clothe it in rags and tatters.

You may recognize Ben by description;

Behind him – a moor’s immenseness:

Up goes the middle mount of a range,

Fringed with its firs in denseness.

Rimming the edge, its fir-fringe, mind!

[70] For an edge there is, though narrow;

From end to end of the range, a stripe

Of path runs straight as an arrow.

And the mountaineer who takes that path

Saves himself miles of journey

He has to plod if he crosses the moor

Through heather, peat and burnie.

But a mountaineer he needs must be,