Modern British Poetry Part 10

It was "Din! Din! Din!

You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!

Hi! _slippy hitherao!_ Water, get it! _Panee lao!_[6]

You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"

The uniform 'e wore Was nothin' much before, An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, For a twisty piece o' rag An' a goatskin water-bag Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.

When the sweatin' troop-train lay In a sidin' through the day, Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl, We shouted "_Harry By!_"[7]

Till our throats were bricky-dry, Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.

It was "Din! Din! Din!

You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?

You put some _juldees_[8] in it, Or I'll _marrow_[9] you this minute, If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one Till the longest day was done, An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.

If we charged or broke or cut, You could bet your bloomin' nut, 'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.

With 'is _mussick_[10] on 'is back, 'E would skip with our attack, An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."

An' for all 'is dirty 'ide, 'E was white, clear white, inside When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was "Din! Din! Din!"

With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.

When the cartridges ran out, You could 'ear the front-files shout: "Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night When I dropped be'ind the fight With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.

I was chokin' mad with thirst, An' the man that spied me first Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.

'E lifted up my 'ead, An' 'e plugged me where I bled, An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water--green; It was crawlin' an' it stunk, But of all the drinks I've drunk, I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!

'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen; 'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around: For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away To where a _dooli_ lay, An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.

'E put me safe inside, An' just before 'e died: "I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.

So I'll meet 'im later on In the place where 'e is gone-- Where it's always double drill and no canteen; 'E'll be squattin' on the coals Givin' drink to pore d.a.m.ned souls, An' I'll get a swig in h.e.l.l from Gunga Din!

Din! Din! Din!

You Lazarus.h.i.+an-leather Gunga Din!

Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you, By the livin' Gawd that made you, You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

THE RETURN[11]

Peace is declared, and I return To 'Ackneystadt, but not the same; Things 'ave transpired which made me learn The size and meanin' of the game.

I did no more than others did, I don't know where the change began; I started as a average kid, I finished as a thinkin' man.

_If England was what England seems An not the England of our dreams, But only putty, bra.s.s, an' paint, 'Ow quick we'd drop 'er!_ But she ain't!

Before my gappin' mouth could speak I 'eard it in my comrade's tone; I saw it on my neighbour's cheek Before I felt it flush my own.

An' last it come to me--not pride, Nor yet conceit, but on the 'ole (If such a term may be applied), The makin's of a bloomin' soul.

Rivers at night that cluck an' jeer, Plains which the moons.h.i.+ne turns to sea, Mountains that never let you near, An' stars to all eternity; An' the quick-breathin' dark that fills The 'ollows of the wilderness, When the wind worries through the 'ills-- These may 'ave taught me more or less.

Towns without people, ten times took, An' ten times left an' burned at last; An' starvin' dogs that come to look For owners when a column pa.s.sed; An' quiet, 'omesick talks between Men, met by night, you never knew Until--'is face--by sh.e.l.lfire seen-- Once--an' struck off. They taught me, too.

The day's lay-out--the mornin' sun Beneath your 'at-brim as you sight; The dinner-'ush from noon till one, An' the full roar that lasts till night; An' the pore dead that look so old An' was so young an hour ago, An' legs tied down before they're cold-- These are the things which make you know.

Also Time runnin' into years-- A thousand Places left be'ind-- An' Men from both two 'emispheres Discussin' things of every kind; So much more near than I 'ad known, So much more great than I 'ad guessed-- An' me, like all the rest, alone-- But reachin' out to all the rest!

So 'ath it come to me--not pride, Nor yet conceit, but on the 'ole (If such a term may be applied), The makin's of a bloomin' soul.

But now, discharged, I fall away To do with little things again....

Gawd, 'oo knows all I cannot say, Look after me in Thamesfontein!

_If England was what England seems An' not the England of our dreams, But only putty, bra.s.s, an' paint, 'Ow quick we'd chuck 'er!_ But she ain't!

THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS

When the flush of a newborn sun fell first on Eden's green and gold, Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mold; And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

Wherefore he called to his wife and fled to fas.h.i.+on his work anew-- The first of his race who cared a fig for the first, most dread review; And he left his lore to the use of his sons--and that was a glorious gain When the Devil chuckled: "Is it Art?" in the ear of the branded Cain.

They builded a tower to s.h.i.+ver the sky and wrench the stars apart, Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks: "It's striking, but is it Art?"

The stone was dropped by the quarry-side, and the idle derrick swung, While each man talked of the aims of art, and each in an alien tongue.

They fought and they talked in the north and the south, they talked and they fought in the west, Till the waters rose on the jabbering land, and the poor Red Clay had rest-- Had rest till the dank blank-canvas dawn when the dove was preened to start, And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, but is it Art?"

The tale is old as the Eden Tree--as new as the new-cut tooth-- For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is master of Art and Truth; And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his dying heart, The Devil drum on the darkened pane: "You did it, but was it Art?"

We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the shape of a surplice-peg, We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the yolk of an addled egg, We know that the tail must wag the dog, as the horse is drawn by the cart; But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: "It's clever, but is it Art?"

When the flicker of London's sun falls faint on the club- room's green and gold, The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mold-- They scratch with their pens in the mold of their graves, and the ink and the anguish start When the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it art?"

Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the four great rivers flow, And the wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left it long ago, And if we could come when the sentry slept, and softly scurry through, By the favor of G.o.d we might know as much--as our father Adam knew.

AN ASTROLOGER'S SONG[12]

To the Heavens above us O look and behold The Planets that love us All harnessed in gold!

What chariots, what horses Against us shall bide While the Stars in their courses Do fight on our side?

All thought, all desires, That are under the sun, Are one with their fires, As we also are one: All matter, all spirit, All fas.h.i.+on, all frame, Receive and inherit Their strength from the same.

(Oh, man that deniest All power save thine own, Their power in the highest Is mightily shown.

Not less in the lowest That power is made clear.

Oh, man, if thou knowest, What treasure is here!)

Earth quakes in her throes And we wonder for why!

But the blind planet knows When her ruler is nigh; And, attuned since Creation To perfect accord, She thrills in her station And yearns to her Lord.

The waters have risen, The springs are unbound-- The floods break their prison, And ravin around.

No rampart withstands 'em, Their fury will last, Till the Sign that commands 'em Sinks low or swings past.