OF “PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS,” “THE NAULAHKA,”
EDITION, WITH ADDITIONAL POEMS
MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
Edition, with Additional Poems,
BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
up and electrotyped, October, 1893.
April, 1895; February, 1896;
July, November, 1897; March, 1898;
December, 1898; March, 1899.
J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith.
the path of the outmost sun, through utter darkness hurled,
than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled,
such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made our world.
are purged of pride because they died; they know the worth of their
sit at wine with the Maidens Nine, and the Gods of the Elder
their will to serve or be still as fitteth our Father’s praise.
theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where Azrael’s outposts
buffet a path through the Pit’s red wrath when God goes out to war,
hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a red-maned star.
take their mirth in the joy of the earth—they dare not grieve for
they know of toil and the end of toil--they know God’s Law is
they whistle the Devil to make them sport who know that sin is vain.
ofttimes cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade,
tells them tales of the Seventh Day—of Edens newly made,
they rise to their feet as He passes by gentlemen unafraid.
these who are cleansed of base Desire, Sorrow and Lust and Shame
for they knew the heart of Men—men, for they stooped to Fame
on the breath that men call Death, my brother’s spirit came.
had he need to cast his pride or slough the dross of earth.
as he trod that day to God, so walked he from his birth —
simpleness and gentleness and honour and clean mirth.
cup to lip in fellowship, they gave him welcome high
made him place at the banquet board, the Strong Men ranged thereby,
had done his work and held his peace and had no fear to die.
the loom of the last lone star through open darkness hurled,
than rebel comet dared or hiving star-swarm swirled,
he with such as praise our God for that they served his world.
greater part of the ‘Barrack-Room Ballads,’ as well as
‘Cleared,’ ‘Tomlinson,’ and ‘The English
Flag’ have appeared in the ‘National Observer.’
Messrs. Macmillan and Co. have kindly given me permission to
reproduce four ballads contributed to their Magazine, and I am
indebted to the ‘St. James Gazette’ for a like courtesy in
regard to the ballads of the ‘Clampherdown’ and
‘Bolivar,’ and the ‘Imperial-Rescript.’
‘The Rhyme of the Three Captains’ was printed first in the
‘Athenæum.’ I fancy that most of the other verses are
THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST
Oh East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.
THE LAST SUTTEE
Udai Chand lay sick to death.
THE BALLAD OF THE KING’S MERCY
Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told.
THE BALLAD OF THE KING’S JEST
When spring-time flushes the desert grass.
WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI
The wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on the neck.
THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE
This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone.
THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER CATTLE THIEF
O woe is me for the merry life.
THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS
. . . At the close of a winter day.
THE BALLAD OF THE ‘CLAMPHERDOWN’
It was our war-ship ‘Clampherdown.’
THE BALLAD OF THE ‘BOLIVAR’
Seven men from all the world, back to docks again.
THE LOST LEGION
There’s a legion that never was ‘listed.
THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB
Er-Heb beyond the hills of Ao-Safai.
THE DOVE OF DACCA
The freed dove flew to the Rajah’s tower—
Love and Death once ceased their strife.
A rose, in tatters on the garden path.
THE GIFT OF THE SEA
The dead child lay in the shroud.
EVARRA AND HIS GODS
Read here: This is the story of Evarra—man—.
THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS
When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden’s green and gold.
IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE
In the Neolithic Age savage warfare did I wage.
THE LEGEND OF EVIL
This is the sorrowful story.
THE ENGLISH FLAG
Winds of the World, give answer? They are whimpering to and fro—.
Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt.
AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT
Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed
Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square.
the bugles blowin’ for?’ said Files-on-Parade.
I went into a public-’ouse to get a pint o’ beer.
We’ve fought with many men acrost the seas.
Soldier, soldier, come from the wars.
Smokin’ my pipe on
the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool.
I’ve a head like a concertina: I’ve a tongue like a button-stick.
You may talk o’ gin and beer.
Wot makes the soldier’s ‘eart to penk, wot makes him to perspire?
If you’ve ever stole
a pheasant-egg be’ind the keeper’s back.
This ‘appened in a battle to a batt’ry of the corps.
THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR
‘Ave you ‘eard o’ the Widow at Windsor.
There was a row in Silver Street that’s near to Dublin Quay.
THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER
When the ‘arf-made recruity goes out to the East.
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ eastward to the sea.
Troupin’, troopin’, troopin’ to the sea.
THE WIDOW’S PARTY
‘Where have you been this while away.
FORD O’ KABUL RIVER
Kabul town’s by Kabul river—.
To the Legion of the Lost Ones to the Cohort of the
We’re marchin’ on relief over Injia’s sunny plains.
SHILLIN’ A DAY
My name is O’Kelly, I’ve heard the revelly.
There’s a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield.