Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1019 page)

“What are the bugles blowin’ for?” said Files-on-Parade.
“To turn you out, to turn you out”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
“What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade.
“I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
    For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
    The Regiment’s in ‘ollow square — they’re hangin’ him to-day;
    They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away,
    An’ they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

“What makes the rear-rank breathe so ‘ard?” said Files-on-Parade.
“It’s bitter cold, it’s bitter cold”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
“What makes that front-rank man fall down?” said Files-on-Parade.
“A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
    They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ‘im round,
    They ‘ave ‘alted Danny Deever by ‘is coffin on the ground;
    An’ ‘e’ll swing in ‘arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound —
    O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!

“‘Is cot was right-’and cot to mine”, said Files-on-Parade.
“‘E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
“I’ve drunk ‘is beer a score o’ times”, said Files-on-Parade.
“‘E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
    They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ‘im to ‘is place,
    For ‘e shot a comrade sleepin’ — you must look ‘im in the face;
    Nine ‘undred of ‘is county an’ the Regiment’s disgrace,
    While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

“What’s that so black agin’ the sun?” said Files-on-Parade.
“It’s Danny fightin’ ‘ard for life”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
“What’s that that whimpers over’ead?” said Files-on-Parade.
“It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
    For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ‘ear the quickstep play,
    The Regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away;
    Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want their beer to-day,
    After hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

Darzee’s Chaunt

(“ ‘Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’ “ —
The Jangle Book
)
          Singer and tailor am I —
            Doubled the joys that I know —
          Proud of my lilt to the sky,
            Proud of the house that I sew —
   Over and under, so weave I my music — so weave I the house that I sew.

          Sing to your fledglings again,
            Mother, 0 lift up your head!
          Evil that plagued us is slain,
            Death in the garden lies dead.
   Terror that hid in the roses is impotent — flung on the dung-hill and dead!

          Who hath delivered us, who?
            Tell me his nest and his name.
          Rikki, the valiant, the true,
            Tikki, with eyeballs of flame,
   Rik-tikki-tikki, the ivory-fanged, the Hunter with eyeballs of flame.

          Give him the Thanks of the Birds,
            Bowing with tail-feathers spread!
          Praise him in nightingale-words —
            Nay, I will praise him instead.
   Hear! I will sing you the praise of the bottle-tailed Rikki, with eyeballs of red!
  
(Here Rkki-tikki interrupted, and the rest of the song is lost.)

The Dawn Wind

The Fifteenth Century
At two o’clock in the morning, if you open your window and listen,
  You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun.
And the trees in the shadow rustle and the trees in the moonlight glisten,
  And though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is done.        

So do the cows in the field. They graze for an hour and lie down,
  Dozing and chewing the cud; or a bird in the ivy wakes,
Chirrups one note and is still, and the restless Wind strays on,
  Fidgeting far down the road, till, softly, the darkness breaks.

Back comes the Wind full strength with a blow like an angel’s wing,
 Gentle but waking the world, as he shouts: “The Sun! The Sun!”
And the light floods over the fields and the birds begin to sing,
 And the Wind dies down in the grass. It is day and his work is done.                              

So when the world is asleep, and there seems no hope of her waking
  Out of some long, bad dream that makes her mutter and moan,
Suddenly, all men arise to the noise of fetters breaking,
  And every one smiles at his neighbour and tells him his soul is his own!

The Day’s Work

   We now, held in captivity,
      Spring to our bondage nor grieve —
   See now, how it is blesseder,
      Brothers, to give than receive!
   Keep trust, wherefore we were made,
      Paying the debt that we owe;
   For a clean thrust, and the shear of the blade,
      Will carry us where would go.
         
The Ship that Found Herself.

All the world over, nursing their scars,
Sir the old fighting-men broke in the wars —
Sit the old fighting-men, surly and grim
Mocking the lilt of the conquerors’ hymn.

Dust of the battle o’erwhelmed them and hid.
Fame never found them for aught that they did.
Wounded and spent to the lazar they drew,
Lining the road where the Legions roll through.

Sons of the Laurel who press to your meed,
Worthy God’s pity most — you who succeed!)
Ere you go triumphing, crowned, to the stars,
Pity poor fighting-men, broke in the wars!
         
Collected.

  Put forth to watch, unschooled, alone,
    ‘Twixt hostile earth and sky;
  The mottled lizard ‘neath the stone
     Is wiser here than I.

   What stir across the haze of heat?
      What omen down the wind?
   The buck that break before my feet —
      They know, but I am blind!
         
Collected.

The Dead King

(EDWARD VII.)
1910
Who in the Realm to-day lays down dear life for the sake of a land more dear?
And, unconcerned for his own estate, toils till the last grudged sands have run?
Let him approach. It is proven here
Our King asks nothing of any man more than Our King himself has done.

For to him, above all, was Life good, above all he commanded
Her abundance full-handed.
The peculiar treasure of Kings was his for the taking:
All that men come to in dreams he inherited waking: —

His  marvel  of world-gathered armies — one heart and all races;
His seas ‘neath his keels when his war-castles foamed to their places;
The thundering foreshores that answered his heralded landing;
The huge lighted cities adoring, the assemblies upstanding;
The Councils of Kings called in haste to learn how he was minded —
The Kingdoms, the Powers, and the Glories he dealt with unblinded.

To him came all captains of men, all achievers of glory,
Hot from the press of their battles they told him their story.
They revealed him their lives in an hour and, saluting, departed,
Joyful to labour afresh — he had made them new-hearted.
And, since he weighed men from his youth, and no lie long deceived him,
He spoke and exacted the truth, and the basest believed him.

And God poured him an exquisite wine that was daily renewed to him,
In the clear-welling love of his peoples that daily accrued to him.
Honour and service we gave him, rejoicingly fearless;
Faith absolute, trust beyond speech and a friendship as peerless,
And since he was Master and Servant in all that we asked him,
We leaned hard on his wisdom in all things, knowing not how we tasked him.
For on him each new day laid command, every tyrannous hour,
To confront, or confirm, or make smooth some dread issue of power;
To deliver true judgment aright at the instant, unaided,
In the strict, level, ultimate phrase that allowed or dissuaded;
To foresee, to allay, to avert from us perils unnumbered,
To stand guard on our gates when he guessed that the watchmen had slumbered;
To win time, to turn hate, to woo folly to service and, mightily schooling
His strength to the use of his Nations, to rule as not ruling.

These were the works of our King; Earth’s peace was the proof of them.
God gave him great works to fulfil, and to us the behoof of them.
We accepted his toil as our right — none spared, none excused him.
When he was bowed by his burden his rest was refused him.
We troubled his age with our weakness — the blacker our shame to us!
Hearing his People had need of him, straightway he came to us.

As he received so he gave — nothing grudged, naught denying;
Not even the last gasp of his breath when he strove for us, dying.
For our sakes, without question, he put from him all that he cherished.
Simply as any that serve him he served and he perished.
All that Kings covet was his, and he flung it aside for us.
Simply as any that die in his service he died for us!

Who in the Realm to-day has choice of the easy road or the hard to tread?
And, much concerned for his own estate, would sell his soul to remain in the sun?
Let him depart nor look on Our dead.
Our King asks nothing of any man more than Our King himself has done.

A Death-Bed

1918

This is the State above the Law. The State exists for the State alone.” [This is a gland at the back of the jaw, And an answering lump by the collar-bone.], Some die shouting in gas or fire; Some die silent, by shell and shot. Some die desperate, caught on the wire; Some die suddenly. This will not. “Regis suprema voluntas Lex” [It will follow the regular course of — throats.] Some die pinned by the broken decks, Some die sobbing between the boats. Some die eloquent, pressed to death By the sliding trench, as their friends can hear. Some die wholly in half a breath. Some — give trouble for half a year. “There is neither Evil nor Good in life Except as the needs of the State ordain.” [Since it is rather too late for the knife, All we can do is to mask the pain.] Some die saintly in faith and hope — One died thus in a prison-yard — Some die broken by rape or the rope; Some die easily. This dies hard. “I will dash to pieces who bar my way. Woe to the traitor! Woe to the weak!” [Let him write what he wishes to say. It tires him out if he tries to speak.] Some die quietly. Some abound In loud self-pity. Others spread Bad morale through the cots around... This is a type that is better dead. “The war was forced on me by my foes. All that I sought was the right to live.” [Don’t be afraid of a triple dose; The pain will neutralize all we give. Here are the needles. See that he dies While the effects of the drug endure.... What is the question he asks with his eyes? — Yes, All-Highest, to God, be sure.] The Declaration of London
June 29, 1911

On the reassembling of Parliament after
the Coronation, the Government have no
intention of allowing their followers to vote
according to their convictions on the Dec -
laration of London, but insist on a strictly
party vote. — Daily Papers

  We were all one heart and one race
    When the Abbey trumpets blew.
  For a moment’s breathing-space
    We had forgotten you.
  Now you return to your honoured place
     Panting to shame us anew.

  We have walked with the Ages dead —
     With our Past alive and ablaze.
  And you bid us pawn our honour for bread,
     This day of all the days!
  And you cannot wait till our guests are sped,
     Or last week’s wreath decays?

  The light is still in our eyes
     Of Faith and Gentlehood,
  Of Service and Sacrifice;
    And it does not match our mood,
  To turn so soon to your treacheries
    That starve our land of her food.

  Our ears still carry the sound
    Of our once-Imperial seas,
  Exultant after our King was crowned,
    Beneath the sun and the breeze.
  It is too early to have them bound
    Or sold at your decrees.

  Wait till the memory goes,
    Wait till the visions fade,
  We may betray in time, God knows,
    But we would not have it said,
  When you make report to our scornful foes,
    That we kissed as we betrayed!

Dedication

To the City of Bombay

The Cities are full of pride, Challenging each to each — This from her mountain-side, That from her burdened beach. They count their ships full tale — Their corn and oil and wine, Derrick and loom and bale, And ramparts’ gun-flecked line; City by City they hail: “Hast aught to match with mine?” And the men that breed from them They traffic up and down, But cling to their cities’ hem As a child to the mother’s gown; When they talk with the stranger bands, Dazed and newly alone; When they walk in the stranger lands, By roaring streets unknown; Blessing her where she stands For strength above their own. (On high to hold her fame That stands all fame beyond, By oath to back the same, Most faithful-foolish-fond; Making her mere-breathed name Their bond upon their bond.) So thank I God my birth Fell not in isles aside — Waste headlands of the earth, Or warring tribes untried — But that she lent me worth And gave me right to pride. Surely in toil or fray Under an alien sky, Comfort it is to say: “Of no mean city am I!” (Neither by service nor fee Come I to mine estate — Mother of Cities to me, But I was born in her gate, Between the palms and the sea, Where the world-end steamers wait.) Now for this debt I owe, And for her far-borne cheer Must I make haste and go With tribute to her pier. And she shall touch and remit After the use of kings (Orderly, ancient, fit) My deep-sea plunderings, And purchase in all lands. And this we do for a sign Her power is over mine, And mine I hold at her hands! Dedication from “Barrack-Room Ballads”
BEYOND the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled-
Farther than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled-
Live such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made our world.