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diff --git a/old/sgact10.txt b/old/sgact10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e9dbf57 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/sgact10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2563 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Songs of Action +by Arthur Conan Doyle +(#30 in our series by Arthur Conan Doyle) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other +Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your +own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future +readers. Please do not remove this. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the etext. 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Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + +SONGS OF ACTION + + + + +Contents: + + +The Song Of The Bow +Cremona +The Storming Party +The Frontier Line +Corporal Dick's Promotion +A Forgotten Tale +Pennarby Mine +A Rover Chanty +A Ballad Of The Ranks +A Lay Of The Links +The Dying Whip +Master +H.M.S. 'Foudroyant' +The Farnshire Cup +The Groom's Story +With the Chiddingfolds +A Hunting Morning +The Old Gray Fox +'Ware Holes +The Home-coming of the 'Eurydice' +The Inner Room +The Irish Colonel +The Blind Archer +A Parable +A Tragedy +The Passing +The Franklin's Maid +The Old Huntsman + + + +THE SONG OF THE BOW + + + +What of the bow? + The bow was made in England: +Of true wood, of yew-wood, + The wood of English bows; + So men who are free + Love the old yew-tree +And the land where the yew-tree grows. + +What of the cord? + The cord was made in England: +A rough cord, a tough cord, + A cord that bowmen love; + And so we will sing + Of the hempen string +And the land where the cord was wove. + +What of the shaft? + The shaft was cut in England: +A long shaft, a strong shaft, + Barbed and trim and true; + So we'll drink all together + To the grey goose-feather +And the land where the grey goose flew. + +What of the mark? + Ah, seek it not in England, +A bold mark, our old mark + Is waiting over-sea. + When the strings harp in chorus, + And the lion flag is o'er us, +It is there that our mark will be. + +What of the men? + The men were bred in England: +The bowmen--the yeomen, + The lads of dale and fell. + Here's to you--and to you! + To the hearts that are true +And the land where the true hearts dwell. + + + +CREMONA + + + +[The French Army, including a part of the Irish Brigade, under +Marshal Villeroy, held the fortified town of Cremona during the +winter of 1702. Prince Eugene, with the Imperial Army, surprised it +one morning, and, owing to the treachery of a priest, occupied the +whole city before the alarm was given. Villeroy was captured, +together with many of the French garrison. The Irish, however, +consisting of the regiments of Dillon and of Burke, held a fort +commanding the river gate, and defended themselves all day, in spite +of Prince Eugene's efforts to win them over to his cause. Eventually +Eugene, being unable to take the post, was compelled to withdraw from +the city.] + +The Grenadiers of Austria are proper men and tall; +The Grenadiers of Austria have scaled the city wall; + They have marched from far away + Ere the dawning of the day, +And the morning saw them masters of Cremona. + +There's not a man to whisper, there's not a horse to neigh; +Of the footmen of Lorraine and the riders of Dupres, + They have crept up every street, + In the market-place they meet, +They are holding every vantage in Cremona. + +The Marshal Villeroy he has started from his bed; +The Marshal Villeroy has no wig upon his head; + 'I have lost my men!' quoth he, + 'And my men they have lost me, +And I sorely fear we both have lost Cremona.' + +Prince Eugene of Austria is in the market-place; +Prince Eugene of Austria has smiles upon his face; + Says he, 'Our work is done, + For the Citadel is won, +And the black and yellow flag flies o'er Cremona.' + +Major Dan O'Mahony is in the barrack square, +And just six hundred Irish lads are waiting for him there; + Says he, 'Come in your shirt, + And you won't take any hurt, +For the morning air is pleasant in Cremona.' + +Major Dan O'Mahony is at the barrack gate, +And just six hundred Irish lads will neither stay nor wait; + There's Dillon and there's Burke, + And there'll be some bloody work +Ere the Kaiserlics shall boast they hold Cremona. + +Major Dan O'Mahony has reached the river fort, +And just six hundred Irish lads are joining in the sport; + 'Come, take a hand!' says he, + 'And if you will stand by me, +Then it's glory to the man who takes Cremona!' + +Prince Eugene of Austria has frowns upon his face, +And loud he calls his Galloper of Irish blood and race: + 'MacDonnell, ride, I pray, + To your countrymen, and say +That only they are left in all Cremona!' + +MacDonnell he has reined his mare beside the river dyke, +And he has tied the parley flag upon a sergeant's pike; + Six companies were there + From Limerick and Clare, +The last of all the guardians of Cremona. + +'Now, Major Dan O'Mahony, give up the river gate, +Or, Major Dan O'Mahony, you'll find it is too late; + For when I gallop back + 'Tis the signal for attack, +And no quarter for the Irish in Cremona!' + +And Major Dan he laughed: 'Faith, if what you say be true, +And if they will not come until they hear again from you, + Then there will be no attack, + For you're never going back, +And we'll keep you snug and safely in Cremona.' + +All the weary day the German stormers came, +All the weary day they were faced by fire and flame, + They have filled the ditch with dead, + And the river's running red; +But they cannot win the gateway of Cremona. + +All the weary day, again, again, again, +The horsemen of Dupres and the footmen of Lorraine, + Taafe and Herberstein, + And the riders of the Rhine; +It's a mighty price they're paying for Cremona. + +Time and time they came with the deep-mouthed German roar, +Time and time they broke like the wave upon the shore; + For better men were there + From Limerick and Clare, +And who will take the gateway of Cremona? + +Prince Eugene has watched, and he gnaws his nether lip; +Prince Eugene has cursed as he saw his chances slip: + 'Call off! Call off!' he cried, + 'It is nearing eventide, +And I fear our work is finished in Cremona.' + +Says Wauchop to McAulliffe, 'Their fire is growing slack.' +Says Major Dan O'Mahony, 'It is their last attack; + But who will stop the game + While there's light to play the same, +And to walk a short way with them from Cremona?' + +And so they snarl behind them, and beg them turn and come, +They have taken Neuberg's standard, they have taken Diak's drum; + And along the winding Po, + Beard on shoulder, stern and slow +The Kaiserlics are riding from Cremona. + +Just two hundred Irish lads are shouting on the wall; +Four hundred more are lying who can hear no slogan call; + But what's the odds of that, + For it's all the same to Pat +If he pays his debt in Dublin or Cremona. + +Says General de Vaudray, 'You've done a soldier's work! +And every tongue in France shall talk of Dillon and of Burke! + Ask what you will this day, + And be it what it may, +It is granted to the heroes of Cremona.' + +'Why, then,' says Dan O'Mahony, 'one favour we entreat, +We were called a little early, and our toilet's not complete. + We've no quarrel with the shirt, + But the breeches wouldn't hurt, +For the evening air is chilly in Cremona.' + + + +THE STORMING PARTY + + + +Said Paul Leroy to Barrow, +'Though the breach is steep and narrow, + If we only gain the summit + Then it's odds we hold the fort. +I have ten and you have twenty, +And the thirty should be plenty, +With Henderson and Henty + And McDermott in support.' + +Said Barrow to Leroy, +'It's a solid job, my boy, + For they've flanked it, and they've banked it, + And they've bored it with a mine. +But it's only fifty paces +Ere we look them in the faces; +And the men are in their places, + With their toes upon the line.' + +Said Paul Leroy to Barrow, +'See that first ray, like an arrow, + How it tinges all the fringes + Of the sullen drifting skies. +They told me to begin it +At five-thirty to the minute, +And at thirty-one I'm in it, + Or my sub will get his rise. + +'So we'll wait the signal rocket, +Till . . . Barrow, show that locket, +That turquoise-studded locket, +Which you slipped from out your pocket + And are pressing with a kiss! + Turquoise-studded, spiral-twisted, +It is hers! And I had missed it +From her chain; and you have kissed it: + Barrow, villain, what is this?' + +'Leroy, I had a warning, +That my time has come this morning, +So I speak with frankness, scorning + To deny the thing that's true. +Yes, it's Amy's, is the trinket, +Little turquoise-studded trinket, +Not her gift--oh, never think it! + For her thoughts were all for you. + +'As we danced I gently drew it +From her chain--she never knew it + But I love her--yes, I love her: + I am candid, I confess. +But I never told her, never, +For I knew 'twas vain endeavour, +And she loved you--loved you ever, + Would to God she loved you less!' + +'Barrow, Barrow, you shall pay me! +Me, your comrade, to betray me! + Well I know that little Amy + Is as true as wife can be. +She to give this love-badged locket! +She had rather . . . Ha, the rocket! +Hi, McDougall! Sound the bugle! + Yorkshires, Yorkshires, follow me!' + +* * * + +Said Paul Leroy to Amy, +'Well, wifie, you may blame me, +For my passion overcame me, + When he told me of his shame; +But when I saw him lying, +Dead amid a ring of dying, +Why, poor devil, I was trying + To forget, and not to blame. + +'And this locket, I unclasped it +From the fingers that still grasped it: +He told me how he got it, + How he stole it in a valse.' +And she listened leaden-hearted: +Oh, the weary day they parted! +For she loved him--yes, she loved him - +For his youth and for his truth, + And for those dying words, so false. + + + +THE FRONTIER LINE + + + +What marks the frontier line? + Thou man of India, say! +Is it the Himalayas sheer, +The rocks and valleys of Cashmere, +Or Indus as she seeks the south +From Attoch to the fivefold mouth? + 'Not that! Not that!' + Then answer me, I pray! +What marks the frontier line? + +What marks the frontier line? + Thou man of Burmah, speak! +Is it traced from Mandalay, +And down the marches of Cathay, +From Bhamo south to Kiang-mai, +And where the buried rubies lie? + 'Not that! Not that!' + Then tell me what I seek: +What marks the frontier line? + +What marks the frontier line? + Thou Africander, say! +Is it shown by Zulu kraal, +By Drakensberg or winding Vaal, +Or where the Shire waters seek +Their outlet east at Mozambique? + 'Not that! Not that! + There is a surer way +To mark the frontier line.' + +What marks the frontier line? + Thou man of Egypt, tell! +Is it traced on Luxor's sand, +Where Karnak's painted pillars stand, +Or where the river runs between +The Ethiop and Bishareen? + 'Not that! Not that! + By neither stream nor well +We mark the frontier line. + +'But be it east or west, + One common sign we bear, +The tongue may change, the soil, the sky, +But where your British brothers lie, +The lonely cairn, the nameless grave, +Still fringe the flowing Saxon wave. + 'Tis that! 'Tis where + THEY lie--the men who placed it there, +That marks the frontier line.' + + + +CORPORAL DICK'S PROMOTION +A BALLAD OF '82 + + + +The Eastern day was well-nigh o'er +When, parched with thirst and travel sore, +Two of McPherson's flanking corps + Across the Desert were tramping. +They had wandered off from the beaten track +And now were wearily harking back, +Ever staring round for the signal jack + That marked their comrades camping. + +The one was Corporal Robert Dick, +Bearded and burly, short and thick, +Rough of speech and in temper quick, + A hard-faced old rapscallion. +The other, fresh from the barrack square, +Was a raw recruit, smooth-cheeked and fair +Half grown, half drilled, with the weedy air + Of a draft from the home battalion. + +Weary and parched and hunger-torn, +They had wandered on from early morn, +And the young boy-soldier limped forlorn, + Now stumbling and now falling. +Around the orange sand-curves lay, +Flecked with boulders, black or grey, +Death-silent, save that far away + A kite was shrilly calling. + +A kite? Was THAT a kite? The yell +That shrilly rose and faintly fell? +No kite's, and yet the kite knows well + The long-drawn wild halloo. +And right athwart the evening sky +The yellow sand-spray spurtled high, +And shrill and shriller swelled the cry + Of 'Allah! Allahu!' + +The Corporal peered at the crimson West, +Hid his pipe in his khaki vest. +Growled out an oath and onward pressed, + Still glancing over his shoulder. +'Bedouins, mate!' he curtly said; +'We'll find some work for steel and lead, +And maybe sleep in a sandy bed, + Before we're one hour older. + +'But just one flutter before we're done. +Stiffen your lip and stand, my son; +We'll take this bloomin' circus on: + Ball-cartridge load! Now, steady!' +With a curse and a prayer the two faced round, +Dogged and grim they stood their ground, +And their breech-blocks snapped with a crisp clean sound + As the rifles sprang to the 'ready.' + +Alas for the Emir Ali Khan! +A hundred paces before his clan, +That ebony steed of the prophet's breed + Is the foal of death and of danger. +A spurt of fire, a gasp of pain, +A blueish blurr on the yellow plain, +The chief was down, and his bridle rein + Was in the grip of the stranger. + +With the light of hope on his rugged face, +The Corporal sprang to the dead man's place, +One prick with the steel, one thrust with the heel, + And where was the man to outride him? +A grip of his knees, a toss of his rein, +He was settling her down to her gallop again, +When he stopped, for he heard just one faltering word + From the young recruit beside him. + +One faltering word from pal to pal, +But it found the heart of the Corporal. +He had sprung to the sand, he had lent him a hand, + 'Up, mate! They'll be 'ere in a minute; +Off with you! No palaver! Go! +I'll bide be'ind and run this show. +Promotion has been cursed slow, + And this is my chance to win it.' + +Into the saddle he thrust him quick, +Spurred the black mare with a bayonet prick. +Watched her gallop with plunge and with kick + Away o'er the desert careering. +Then he turned with a softened face, +And loosened the strap of his cartridge-case, +While his thoughts flew back to the dear old place + In the sunny Hampshire clearing. + +The young boy-private, glancing back, +Saw the Bedouins' wild attack, +And heard the sharp Martini crack. + But as he gazed, already +The fierce fanatic Arab band +Was closing in on every hand, +Until one tawny swirl of sand, + Concealed them in its eddy. + +* * * + +A squadron of British horse that night, +Galloping hard in the shadowy light, +Came on the scene of that last stern fight, + And found the Corporal lying +Silent and grim on the trampled sand, +His rifle grasped in his stiffened hand, +With the warrior pride of one who died + 'Mid a ring of the dead and the dying. + +And still when twilight shadows fall, +After the evening bugle call, +In bivouac or in barrack-hall, +His comrades speak of the Corporal, + His death and his devotion. +And there are some who like to say +That perhaps a hidden meaning lay +In the words he spoke, and that the day +When his rough bold spirit passed away + WAS the day that he won promotion. + + + +A FORGOTTEN TALE + + + +[The scene of this ancient fight, recorded by Froissart, is still +called 'Altura de los Inglesos.' Five hundred years later +Wellington's soldiers were fighting on the same ground.] + +'Say, what saw you on the hill, + Campesino Garcia?' +'I saw my brindled heifer there, +A trail of bowmen, spent and bare, +And a little man on a sorrel mare + Riding slow before them.' + +'Say, what saw you in the vale, + Campesino Garcia?' +'There I saw my lambing ewe +And an army riding through, +Thick and brave the pennons flew + From the lances o'er them.' + +'Then what saw you on the hill, + Campesino Garcia?' +'I saw beside the milking byre, +White with want and black with mire, +The little man with eyes afire + Marshalling his bowmen.' + +'Then what saw you in the vale, + Campesino Garcia?' +'There I saw my bullocks twain, +And amid my uncut grain +All the hardy men of Spain + Spurring for their foemen.' + +'Nay, but there is more to tell, + Campesino Garcia!' +'I could not bide the end to view; +I had graver things to do +Tending on the lambing ewe + Down among the clover.' + +'Ah, but tell me what you heard, + Campesino Garcia!' +'Shouting from the mountain-side, +Shouting until eventide; +But it dwindled and it died + Ere milking time was over.' + +'Nay, but saw you nothing more, + Campesino Garcia?' +'Yes, I saw them lying there, +The little man and sorrel mare; +And in their ranks the bowmen fair, + With their staves before them.' + +'And the hardy men of Spain, + Campesino Garcia?' +'Hush! but we are Spanish too; +More I may not say to you: +May God's benison, like dew, + Gently settle o'er them.' + + + +PENNARBY MINE + + + +Pennarby shaft is dark and steep, +Eight foot wide, eight hundred deep. +Stout the bucket and tough the cord, +Strong as the arm of Winchman Ford. + 'Never look down! + Stick to the line!' +That was the saying at Pennarby mine. + +A stranger came to Pennarby shaft. +Lord, to see how the miners laughed! +White in the collar and stiff in the hat, +With his patent boots and his silk cravat, + Picking his way, + Dainty and fine, +Stepping on tiptoe to Pennarby mine. + +Touring from London, so he said. +Was it copper they dug for? or gold? or lead? +Where did they find it? How did it come? +If he tried with a shovel might HE get some? + Stooping so much + Was bad for the spine; +And wasn't it warmish in Pennarby mine? + +'Twas like two worlds that met that day - +The world of work and the world of play; +And the grimy lads from the reeking shaft +Nudged each other and grinned and chaffed. + 'Got 'em all out!' + 'A cousin of mine!' +So ran the banter at Pennarby mine. + +And Carnbrae Bob, the Pennarby wit, +Told him the facts about the pit: +How they bored the shaft till the brimstone smell +Warned them off from tapping--well, + He wouldn't say what, + But they took it as sign +To dig no deeper in Pennarby mine. + +Then leaning over and peering in, +He was pointing out what he said was tin +In the ten-foot lode--a crash! a jar! +A grasping hand and a splintered bar. + Gone in his strength, + With the lips that laughed - +Oh, the pale faces round Pennarby shaft! + +Far down on a narrow ledge, +They saw him cling to the crumbling edge. +'Wait for the bucket! Hi, man! Stay! +That rope ain't safe! It's worn away! + He's taking his chance, + Slack out the line! +Sweet Lord be with him!' cried Pennarby mine. + +'He's got him! He has him! Pull with a will! +Thank God! He's over and breathing still. +And he--Lord's sakes now! What's that? Well! +Blowed if it ain't our London swell. + Your heart is right + If your coat IS fine: +Give us your hand!' cried Pennarby mine. + + + +A ROVER CHANTY + + + +A trader sailed from Stepney town - +Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the mainsail! +A trader sailed from Stepney town +With a keg full of gold and a velvet gown: + Ho, the bully rover Jack, + Waiting with his yard aback +Out upon the Lowland sea! + +The trader he had a daughter fair - +Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the foresail +The trader he had a daughter fair, +She had gold in her ears, and gold in her hair: + All for bully rover Jack, + Waiting with his yard aback, +Out upon the Lowland sea! + +'Alas the day, oh daughter mine!' - +Shake her up! Wake her up! Try her with the topsail! +'Alas the day, oh daughter mine! +Yon red, red flag is a fearsome sign!' + Ho, the bully rover Jack, + Reaching on the weather tack, +Out upon the Lowland sea! + +'A fearsome flag!' the maiden cried - +Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the jibsail! +'A fearsome flag!' the maiden cried, +But comelier men I never have spied!' + Ho, the bully rover Jack, + Reaching on the weather tack, +Out upon the Lowland sea! + +There's a wooden path that the rovers know - +Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the headsails! +There's a wooden path that the rovers know, +Where none come back, though many must go: + Ho, the bully rover Jack, + Lying with his yard aback, +Out upon the Lowland sea! + +Where is the trader of Stepney town? - +Wake her up! Shake her up! Every stick a-bending! +Where is the trader of Stepney town? +There's gold on the capstan, and blood on the gown: + Ho for bully rover Jack, + Waiting with his yard aback, +Out upon the Lowland sea! + +Where is the maiden who knelt at his side? - +Wake her up! Shake her up! Every stitch a-drawing! +Where is the maiden who knelt at his side? +We gowned her in scarlet, and chose her our bride: + Ho, the bully rover Jack, + Reaching on the weather tack, +Right across the Lowland sea! + +So it's up and its over to Stornoway Bay, +Pack it on! Crack it on! Try her with the stunsails! +It's off on a bowline to Stornoway Bay, +Where the liquor is good and the lasses are gay: + Waiting for their bully Jack, + Watching for him sailing back, +Right across the Lowland sea. + + + +A BALLAD OF THE RANKS + + + +Who carries the gun? + A lad from over the Tweed. +Then let him go, for well we know + He comes of a soldier breed. +So drink together to rock and heather, + Out where the red deer run, +And stand aside for Scotland's pride - + The man that carries the gun! + For the Colonel rides before, + The Major's on the flank, + The Captains and the Adjutant + Are in the foremost rank. + But when it's 'Action front!' + And fighting's to be done, + Come one, come all, you stand or fall + By the man who holds the gun. + +Who carries the gun? + A lad from a Yorkshire dale. +Then let him go, for well we know + The heart that never will fail. +Here's to the fire of Lancashire, + And here's to her soldier son! +For the hard-bit north has sent him forth - + The lad that carries the gun. + +Who carries the gun? + A lad from a Midland shire. +Then let him go, for well we know + He comes of an English sire. +Here's a glass to a Midland lass, + And each can choose the one, +But east and west we claim the best + For the man that carries the gun. + +Who carries the gun? + A lad from the hills of Wales. +Then let him go, for well we know, + That Taffy is hard as nails. +There are several ll's in the place where he dwells, + And of w's more than one, +With a 'Llan' and a 'pen,' but it breeds good men, + And it's they who carry the gun. + +Who carries the gun? + A lad from the windy west. +Then let him go, for well we know + That he is one of the best. +There's Bristol rough, and Gloucester tough, + And Devon yields to none. +Or you may get in Somerset + Your lad to carry the gun. + +Who carries the gun? + A lad from London town. +Then let him go, for well we know + The stuff that never backs down. +He has learned to joke at the powder smoke, + For he is the fog-smoke's son, +And his heart is light and his pluck is right - + The man who carries the gun. + +Who carries the gun? + A lad from the Emerald Isle. +Then let him go, for well we know, + We've tried him many a while. +We've tried him east, we've tried him west, + We've tried him sea and land, +But the man to beat old Erin's best + Has never yet been planned. + +Who carries the gun? + It's you, and you, and you; +So let us go, and we won't say no + If they give us a job to do. +Here we stand with a cross-linked hand, + Comrades every one; +So one last cup, and drink it up + To the man who carries the gun! + For the Colonel rides before, + The Major's on the flank, + The Captains and the Adjutant + Are in the foremost rank. + And when it's 'Action front!' + And there's fighting to be done, + Come one, come all, you stand or fall + By the man who holds the gun. + + + +A LAY OF THE LINKS + + + +It's up and away from our work to-day, + For the breeze sweeps over the down; +And it's hey for a game where the gorse blossoms flame, + And the bracken is bronzing to brown. +With the turf 'neath our tread and the blue overhead, + And the song of the lark in the whin; +There's the flag and the green, with the bunkers between - + Now will you be over or in? + +The doctor may come, and we'll teach him to know + A tee where no tannin can lurk; +The soldier may come, and we'll promise to show + Some hazards a soldier may shirk; +The statesman may joke, as he tops every stroke, + That at last he is high in his aims; +And the clubman will stand with a club in his hand + That is worth every club in St. James'. + +The palm and the leather come rarely together, + Gripping the driver's haft, +And it's good to feel the jar of the steel + And the spring of the hickory shaft. +Why trouble or seek for the praise of a clique? + A cleek here is common to all; +And the lie that might sting is a very small thing + When compared with the lie of the ball. + +Come youth and come age, from the study or stage, + From Bar or from Bench--high and low! +A green you must use as a cure for the blues - + You drive them away as you go. +We're outward bound on a long, long round, + And it's time to be up and away: +If worry and sorrow come back with the morrow, + At least we'll be happy to-day. + + + +THE DYING WHIP + + + +It came from gettin' 'eated, that was 'ow the thing begun, +And 'ackin' back to kennels from a ninety-minute run; +'I guess I've copped brownchitis,' says I to brother Jack, +An' then afore I knowed it I was down upon my back. + +At night there came a sweatin' as left me deadly weak, +And my throat was sort of tickly an' it 'urt me for to speak; +An' then there came an 'ackin' cough as wouldn't leave alone, +An' then afore I knowed it I was only skin and bone + +I never was a 'eavy weight. I scaled at seven four, +An' rode at eight, or maybe at just a trifle more; +And now I'll stake my davy I wouldn't scale at five, +And I'd 'old my own at catch-weights with the skinniest jock alive. + +And the doctor says the reason why I sit an' cough an wheeze +Is all along o' varmint, like the cheese-mites in the cheese; +The smallest kind o' varmint, but varmint all the same, +Microscopes or somethin'--I forget the varmints' name. + +But I knows as I'm a goner. They never said as much, +But I reads the people's faces, and I knows as I am such; +Well, there's 'Urst to mind the 'orses and the 'ounds can look to +Jack, +Though 'e never was a patch on me in 'andlin' of a pack. + +You'll maybe think I'm boastin', but you'll find they all agree +That there's not a whip in Surrey as can 'andle 'ounds like me; +For I knew 'em all from puppies, and I'd tell 'em without fail - +If I seed a tail a-waggin', I could tell who wagged the tail. + +And voices--why, Lor' love you, it's more than I can 'elp, +It just comes kind of natural to know each whine an' yelp; +You might take them twenty couple where you will and let 'em run, +An' I'd listen by the coverside and name 'em one by one. + +I say it's kind of natural, for since I was a brat +I never cared for readin' books, or fancy things like that; +But give me 'ounds and 'orses an' I was quite content, +An' I loved to ear 'em talkin' and to wonder what they meant. + +And when the 'ydrophoby came five year ago next May, +When Nailer was be'avin' in a most owdacious way, +I fixed 'im so's 'e couldn't bite, my 'ands on neck an' back, +An' I 'eaved 'im from the kennels, and they say I saved the pack. + +An' when the Master 'eard of it, 'e up an' says, says 'e, +'If that chap were a soldier man, they'd give 'im the V.C.' +Which is some kind a' medal what they give to soldier men; +An' Master said if I were such I would 'a' got it then. + +Parson brought 'is Bible and come to read to me; +''Ave what you like, there's everythink within this Book,' says 'e. +Says I, 'They've left the 'orses out!' Says 'e, 'You are mistook;' +An' 'e up an' read a 'eap of things about them from the Book. + +And some of it amazin' fine; although I'm fit to swear +No 'orse would ever say 'Ah, ah!' same as they said it there. +Per'aps it was an 'Ebrew 'orse the chap 'ad in his mind, +But I never 'eard an English 'orse say nothin' of the kind. + +Parson is a good 'un. I've known 'im from a lad; +'Twas me as taught 'im ridin', an' 'e rides uncommon bad; +And he says--But 'ark an' listen! There's an 'orn! I 'eard it blow; +Pull the blind from off the winder! Prop me up, and 'old me so. + +They're drawin' the black 'anger, just aside the Squire's grounds. +'Ark and listen! 'Ark and listen! There's the yappin' of the +'ounds: +There's Fanny and Beltinker, and I 'ear old Boxer call; +You see I wasn't boastin' when I said I knew 'em all. + +Let me sit an' 'old the bedrail! Now I see 'em as they pass: +There's Squire upon the Midland mare, a good 'un on the grass; +But this is closish country, and you wants a clever 'orse +When 'alf the time you're in the woods an' 'alf among the gorse. + +'Ark to Jack a'ollering--a-bleatin' like a lamb. +You wouldn't think it now, perhaps, to see the thing I am; +But there was a time the ladies used to linger at the meet +Just to 'ear me callin' in the woods: my callin' was so sweet. + +I see the crossroads corner, with the field awaitin' there, +There's Purcell on 'is piebald 'orse, an' Doctor on the mare, +And the Master on 'is iron grey; she isn't much to look, +But I seed 'er do clean twenty foot across the 'eathly brook. + +There's Captain Kane an' McIntyre an' 'alf a dozen more, +And two or three are 'untin' whom I never seed afore; +Likely-lookin' chaps they be, well groomed and 'orsed and dressed - +I wish they could 'a seen the pack when it was at its best. + +It's a check, and they are drawin' down the coppice for a scent, +You can see as they've been runnin', for the 'orses they are spent; +I'll lay the fox will break this way, downwind as sure as fate, +An' if he does you'll see the field come poundin' through our gate. + +But, Maggie, what's that slinkin' beside the cover?--See! +Now it's in the clover field, and goin' fast an' free, +It's 'im, and they don't see 'im. It's 'im! 'Alloo! 'Alloo! +My broken wind won't run to it--I'll leave the job to you. + +There now I 'ear the music, and I know they're on his track; +Oh, watch 'em, Maggie, watch 'em! Ain't they just a lovely pack! +I've nursed 'em through distemper, an' I've trained an' broke 'em in, +An' my 'eart it just goes out to them as if they was my kin. + +Well, all things 'as an endin', as I've 'eard the parson say, +The 'orse is cast, an' the 'ound is past, an' the 'unter 'as 'is day; +But my day was yesterday, so lay me down again. +You can draw the curtain, Maggie, right across the winder pane. + + + +MASTER + + + + Master went a-hunting, + When the leaves were falling; + We saw him on the bridle path, + We heard him gaily calling. +'Oh master, master, come you back, +For I have dreamed a dream so black!' + A glint of steel from bit and heel, + The chestnut cantered faster; + A red flash seen amid the green, + And so good-bye to master. + + Master came from hunting, + Two silent comrades bore him; + His eyes were dim, his face was white, + The mare was led before him. +'Oh, master, master, is it thus +That you have come again to us?' + I held my lady's ice-cold hand, + They bore the hurdle past her; + Why should they go so soft and slow? + It matters not to master. + + + +H.M.S. 'FOUDROYANT' + + + +[Being an humble address to Her Majesty's Naval advisers, who sold +Nelson's old flagship to the Germans for a thousand pounds.] + +Who says the Nation's purse is lean, + Who fears for claim or bond or debt, +When all the glories that have been + Are scheduled as a cash asset? +If times are black and trade is slack, + If coal and cotton fail at last, +We've something left to barter yet - + Our glorious past. + +There's many a crypt in which lies hid + The dust of statesman or of king; +There's Shakespeare's home to raise a bid, + And Milton's house its price would bring. +What for the sword that Cromwell drew? + What for Prince Edward's coat of mail? +What for our Saxon Alfred's tomb? + They're all for sale! + +And stone and marble may be sold + Which serve no present daily need; +There's Edward's Windsor, labelled old, + And Wolsey's palace, guaranteed. +St. Clement Danes and fifty fanes, + The Tower and the Temple grounds; +How much for these? Just price them, please, + In British pounds. + +You hucksters, have you still to learn, + The things which money will not buy? +Can you not read that, cold and stern + As we may be, there still does lie +Deep in our hearts a hungry love + For what concerns our island story? +We sell our work--perchance our lives, + But not our glory. + +Go barter to the knacker's yard + The steed that has outlived its time! +Send hungry to the pauper ward + The man who served you in his prime! +But when you touch the Nation's store, + Be broad your mind and tight your grip. +Take heed! And bring us back once more + Our Nelson's ship. + +And if no mooring can be found + In all our harbours near or far, +Then tow the old three-decker round + To where the deep-sea soundings are; +There, with her pennon flying clear, + And with her ensign lashed peak high, +Sink her a thousand fathoms sheer. + There let her lie! + + + +THE FARNSHIRE CUP + + + +Christopher Davis was up upon Mavis + And Sammy MacGregor on Flo, +Jo Chauncy rode Spider, the rankest outsider, + But HE'D make a wooden horse go. +There was Robin and Leah and Boadicea, + And Chesterfield's Son of the Sea; +And Irish Nuneaton, who never was beaten, + They backed her at seven to three. + +The course was the devil! A start on the level, + And then a stiff breather uphill; +A bank at the top with a four-foot drop, + And a bullfinch down by the mill. +A stretch of straight from the Whittlesea gate, + Then up and down and up; +And the mounts that stay through Farnshire clay + May bid for the Farnshire Cup. + +The tipsters were touting, the bookies were shouting + 'Bar one, bar one, bar one!' +With a glint and a glimmer of silken shimmer + The field shone bright in the sun, +When Farmer Brown came riding down: + 'I hain't much time to spare, +But I've entered her name, so I'll play out the game, + On the back o' my old gray mare. + +'You never would think 'er a thoroughbred clinker, + There's never a judge that would; +Each leg be'ind 'as a splint, you'll find, + And the fore are none too good. +She roars a bit, and she don't look fit, + She's moulted 'alf 'er 'air; +But--' He smiled in a way that seemed to say, + That he knew that old gray mare. + +And the bookies laughed and the bookies chaffed, + 'Who backs the mare?' cried they. +'A hundred to one!' 'It's done--and done!' + 'We'll take that price all day.' +'What if the mare is shedding hair! + What if her eye is wild! +We read her worth and her pedigree birth + In the smile that her owner smiled.' + +And the whisper grew and the whisper flew + That she came of Isonomy stock. +'Fifty to one!' 'It's done--and done! + Look at her haunch and hock! +Ill-groomed! Why yes, but one may guess + That that is her owner's guile.' +Ah, Farmer Brown, the sharps from town, + Have read your simple smile! + +They've weighed him in. 'Now lose or win, + I've money at stake this day; +Gee-long, my sweet, and if we're beat, + We'll both do all we may!' +He joins the rest, they line abreast, + 'Back Leah! Mavis up!' +The flag is dipped and the field is slipped, + Full split for the Farnshire Cup. + +Christopher Davis is leading on Mavis, + Spider is waiting on Flo; +Boadicea is gaining on Leah, + Irish Nuneaton lies low; +Robin is tailing, his wind has been failing, + Son of the Sea's going fast: +So crack on the pace for it's anyone's race, + And the winner's the horse that can last. + +Chestnut and bay, and sorrel and gray, + See how they glimmer and gleam! +Bending and straining, and losing and gaining, + Silk jackets flutter and stream; +They are over the grass as the cloud shadows pass, + They are up to the fence at the top; +It's 'hey then!' and over, and into the clover, + There wasn't one slip at the drop. + +They are all going still; they are round by the mill, + They are down by the Whittlesea gate; +Leah's complaining, and Mavis is gaining, + And Flo's catching up in the straight. +Robin's gone wrong, but the Spider runs strong, + He sticks to the leader like wax; +An utter outsider, but look at his rider - + Jo Chauncy, the pick of the cracks! + +Robin was tailing and pecked at a paling, + Leah's gone weak in her feet; +Boadicea came down at the railing, + Son of the Sea is dead beat. +Leather to leather, they're pounding together, + Three of them all in a row; +And Irish Nuneaton, who never was beaten, + Is level with Spider and Flo. + +It's into the straight from the Whittlesea gate, + Clean galloping over the green, +But four foot high the hurdles lie + With a sunken ditch between. +'Tis a bit of a test for a beast at its best, + And the devil and all at its worst; +But it's clear run in with the Cup to win + For the horse that is over it first. + +So try it, my beauties, and fly it, my beauties, + Spider, Nuneaton, and Flo; +With a trip and a blunder there's one of them under, + Hark to it crashing below! +Is it the brown or the sorrel that's down? + The brown! It is Flo who is in! +And Spider with Chauncy, the pick of the fancy, + Is going full split for a win. + +'Spider is winning!' 'Jo Chauncy is winning!' + 'He's winning! He's winning! Bravo!' +The bookies are raving, the ladies are waving, + The Stand is all shouting for Jo. +The horse is clean done, but the race may be won + By the Newmarket lad on his back; +For the fire of the rider may bring an outsider + Ahead of a thoroughbred crack. + +'Spider is winning!' 'Jo Chauncy is winning!' + It swells like the roar of the sea; +But Jo hears the drumming of somebody coming, + And sees a lean head by his knee. +'Nuneaton! Nuneaton! The Spider is beaten!' + It is but a spurt at the most; +For lose it or win it, they have but a minute + Before they are up with the post. + +Nuneaton is straining, Nuneaton is gaining, + Neither will falter nor flinch; +Whips they are plying and jackets are flying, + They're fairly abreast to an inch. +'Crack em up! Let 'em go! Well ridden! Bravo!' + Gamer ones never were bred; +Jo Chauncy has done it! He's spurted! He's won it!' + The favourite's beat by a head! + +Don't tell me of luck, for its judgment and pluck + And a courage that never will shirk; +To give your mind to it and know how to do it + And put all your heart in your work. +So here's to the Spider, the winning outsider, + With little Jo Chauncy up; +May they stay life's course, both jockey and horse, + As they stayed in the Farnshire Cup. + +But it's possible that you are wondering what + May have happened to Farmer Brown, +And the old gray crock of Isonomy stock + Who was backed by the sharps from town. +She blew and she sneezed, she coughed and she wheezed, + She ran till her knees gave way. +But never a grumble at trip or at stumble + Was heard from her jock that day. + +For somebody laid AGAINST the gray, + And somebody made a pile; +And Brown says he can make farming pay, + And he smiles a simple smile. +'Them sharps from town were riled,' says Brown; + 'But I can't see why--can you? +For I said quite fair as I knew that mare, + And I proved my words was true.' + + + +THE GROOM'S STORY + + + +Ten mile in twenty minutes! 'E done it, sir. That's true. +The big bay 'orse in the further stall--the one wot's next to you. +I've seen some better 'orses; I've seldom seen a wuss, +But 'e 'olds the bloomin' record, an' that's good enough for us. + +We knew as it wa's in 'im. 'E's thoroughbred, three part, +We bought 'im for to race 'im, but we found 'e 'ad no 'eart; +For 'e was sad and thoughtful, and amazin' dignified, +It seemed a kind o' liberty to drive 'im or to ride; + +For 'e never seemed a-thinkin' of what 'e 'ad to do, +But 'is thoughts was set on 'igher things, admirin' of the view. +'E looked a puffeck pictur, and a pictur 'e would stay, +'E wouldn't even switch 'is tail to drive the flies away. + +And yet we knew 'twas in 'im, we knew as 'e could fly; +But what we couldn't git at was 'ow to make 'im try. +We'd almost turned the job up, until at last one day +We got the last yard out of 'im in a most amazin' way. + +It was all along o' master; which master 'as the name +Of a reg'lar true blue sportman, an' always acts the same; +But we all 'as weaker moments, which master 'e 'ad one, +An' 'e went and bought a motor-car when motor-cars begun. + +I seed it in the stable yard--it fairly turned me sick - +A greasy, wheezy engine as can neither buck nor kick. +You've a screw to drive it forrard, and a screw to make it stop, +For it was foaled in a smithy stove an' bred in a blacksmith shop. + +It didn't want no stable, it didn't ask no groom, +It didn't need no nothin' but a bit o' standin' room. +Just fill it up with paraffin an' it would go all day, +Which the same should be agin the law if I could 'ave my way. + +Well, master took 'is motor-car, an' moted 'ere an' there, +A frightenin' the 'orses an' a poisonin' the air. +'E wore a bloomin' yachtin' cap, but Lor'! wot DID 'e know, +Excep' that if you turn a screw the thing would stop or go? + +An' then one day it wouldn't go. 'E screwed and screwed again, +But somethin' jammed, an' there 'e stuck in the mud of a country +lane. +It 'urt 'is pride most cruel, but what was 'e to do? +So at last 'e bade me fetch a 'orse to pull the motor through. + +This was the 'orse we fetched 'im; an' when we reached the car, +We braced 'im tight and proper to the middle of the bar, +And buckled up 'is traces and lashed them to each side, +While 'e 'eld 'is 'ead so 'aughtily, an' looked most dignified. + +Not bad tempered, mind you, but kind of pained and vexed, +And 'e seemed to say, 'Well, bli' me! wot WILL they ask me next? +I've put up with some liberties, but this caps all by far, +To be assistant engine to a crocky motor-car!' + +Well, master 'e was in the car, a-fiddlin' with the gear, +And the 'orse was meditatin', an' I was standin' near, +When master 'e touched somethin'--what it was we'll never know - +But it sort o' spurred the boiler up and made the engine go. + +''Old 'ard, old gal!' says master, and 'Gently then!' says I, +But an engine won't 'eed coaxin' an' it ain't no use to try; +So first 'e pulled a lever, an' then 'e turned a screw, +But the thing kept crawlin' forrard spite of all that 'e could do. + +And first it went quite slowly and the 'orse went also slow, +But 'e 'ad to buck up faster when the wheels began to go; +For the car kept crowdin' on 'im and buttin' 'im along, +And in less than 'alf a minute, sir, that 'orse was goin' strong. + +At first 'e walked quite dignified, an' then 'e 'ad to trot, +And then 'e tried a canter when the pace became too 'ot. +'E looked 'is very 'aughtiest, as if 'e didn't 'e mind, +And all the time the motor-car was pushin' 'im be'ind. + +Now, master lost 'is 'ead when 'e found 'e couldn't stop, +And 'e pulled a valve or somethin' an' somethin' else went pop, +An' somethin' else went fizzywiz, and in a flash, or less, +That blessed car was goin' like a limited express. + +Master 'eld the steerin' gear, an' kept the road all right, +And away they whizzed and clattered--my aunt! it was a sight. +'E seemed the finest draught 'orse as ever lived by far, +For all the country Juggins thought 'twas 'im wot pulled the car. + +'E was stretchin' like a grey'ound, 'e was goin' all 'e knew; +But it bumped an' shoved be'ind 'im, for all that 'e could do; +It butted 'im an' boosted 'im an' spanked 'im on a'ead, +Till 'e broke the ten-mile record, same as I already said. + +Ten mile in twenty minutes! 'E done it, sir. That's true. +The only time we ever found what that 'ere 'orse could do. +Some say it wasn't 'ardly fair, and the papers made a fuss, +But 'e broke the ten-mile record, and that's good enough for us. + +You see that 'orse's tail, sir? You don't! No more do we, +Which really ain't surprisin', for 'e 'as no tail to see; +That engine wore it off 'im before master made it stop, +And all the road was littered like a bloomin' barber's shop. + +And master? Well, it cured 'im. 'E altered from that day, +And come back to 'is 'orses in the good old-fashioned way. +And if you wants to git the sack, the quickest way by far +Is to 'int as 'ow you think 'e ought to keep a motor-car. + + + +WITH THE CHIDDINGFOLDS + + + + The horse is bedded down + Where the straw lies deep. + The hound is in the kennel; + Let the poor hound sleep! + And the fox is in the spinney + By the run which he is haunting, + And I'll lay an even guinea + That a goose or two is wanting +When the farmer comes to count them in the morning. + + The horse is up and saddled; + Girth the old horse tight! + The hounds are out and drawing + In the morning light. + Now it's 'Yoick!' among the heather, + And it's 'Yoick!' across the clover, + And it's 'To him, all together!' + 'Hyke a Bertha! Hyke a Rover!' +And the woodlands smell so sweetly in the morning. + + 'There's Termagant a-whimpering; + She whimpers so.' + 'There's a young hound yapping!' + Let the young hound go! + But the old hound is cunning, + And it's him we mean to follow, + 'They are running! They are running! + And it's 'Forrard to the hollo!' +For the scent is lying strongly in the morning. + + 'Who's the fool that heads him?' + Hold hard, and let him pass! + He's out among the oziers + He's clear upon the grass. + You grip his flanks and settle, + For the horse is stretched and straining, + Here's a game to test your mettle, + And a sport to try your training, +When the Chiddingfolds are running in the morning. + + We're up by the Coppice + And we're down by the Mill, + We're out upon the Common, + And the hounds are running still. + You must tighten on the leather, + For we blunder through the bracken; + Though you're over hocks in heather + Still the pace must never slacken +As we race through Thursley Common in the morning. + + We are breaking from the tangle + We are out upon the green, + There's a bank and a hurdle + With a quickset between. + You must steady him and try it, + You are over with a scramble. + Here's a wattle! You must fly it, + And you land among the bramble, +For it's roughish, toughish going in the morning. + + 'Ware the bog by the Grove + As you pound through the slush. + See the whip! See the huntsman! + We are close upon his brush. + 'Ware the root that lies before you! + It will trip you if you blunder. + 'Ware the branch that's drooping o'er you! + You must dip and swerve from under +As you gallop through the woodland in the morning. + + There were fifty at the find, + There were forty at the mill, + There were twenty on the heath, + And ten are going still. + Some are pounded, some are shirking, + And they dwindle and diminish + Till a weary pair are working, + Spent and blowing, to the finish, +And we hear the shrill whoo-ooping in the morning. + + The horse is bedded down + Where the straw lies deep, + The hound is in the kennel, + He is yapping in his sleep. + But the fox is in the spinney + Lying snug in earth and burrow. + And I'll lay an even guinea + We could find again to-morrow, +If we chose to go a-hunting in the morning. + + + +A HUNTING MORNING + + + +Put the saddle on the mare, + For the wet winds blow; +There's winter in the air, + And autumn all below. +For the red leaves are flying +And the red bracken dying, +And the red fox lying + Where the oziers grow. + +Put the bridle on the mare, + For my blood runs chill; +And my heart, it is there, + On the heather-tufted hill, +With the gray skies o'er us, +And the long-drawn chorus +Of a running pack before us + From the find to the kill. + +Then lead round the mare, + For it's time that we began, +And away with thought and care, + Save to live and be a man, +While the keen air is blowing, +And the huntsman holloing, +And the black mare going + As the black mare can. + + + +THE OLD GRAY FOX + + + +We started from the Valley Pride, + And Farnham way we went. +We waited at the cover-side, + But never found a scent. +Then we tried the withy beds + Which grow by Frensham town, +And there we found the old gray fox, + The same old fox, + The game old fox; +Yes, there we found the old gray fox, + Which lives on Hankley Down. + So here's to the master, + And here's to the man! + And here's to twenty couple + Of the white and black and tan! + Here's a find without a wait! + Here's a hedge without a gate! + Here's the man who follows straight, + Where the old fox ran. + +The Member rode his thoroughbred, + Doctor had the gray, +The Soldier led on a roan red, + The Sailor rode the bay. +Squire was there on his Irish mare, + And Parson on the brown; +And so we chased the old gray fox, + The same old fox, + The game old fox, +And so we chased the old gray fox + Across the Hankley Down. + So here's to the master, + And here's to the man! + &c. &c. &c. + +The Doctor's gray was going strong + Until she slipped and fell; +He had to keep his bed so long + His patients all got well. +The Member he had lost his seat, + 'Twas carried by his horse; +And so we chased the old gray fox, + The same old fox, + The game old fox; +And so we chased the old gray fox + That earthed in Hankley Gorse. + So here's to the master, + And here's to the man! + &c. &c. &c. + +The Parson sadly fell away, + And in the furze did lie; +The words we heard that Parson say + Made all the horses shy! +The Sailor he was seen no more + Upon that stormy bay; +But still we chased the old gray fox, + The same old fox, + The game old fox; +Still we chased the old gray fox + Through all the winter day. + So here's to the master, + And here's to the man! + &c. &c. &c. + +And when we found him gone to ground, + They sent for spade and man; +But Squire said 'Shame! The beast was game! + A gamer never ran! +His wind and pace have gained the race, + His life is fairly won. +But may we meet the old gray fox, + The same old fox, + The game old fox; +May we meet the old gray fox + Before the year is done. + So here's to the master, + And here's to the man! + And here's to twenty couple + Of the white and black and tan! + Here's a find without await! + Here's a hedge without a gate! + Here's the man who follows straight, + Where the old fox ran. + + + +'WARE HOLES + + + +[''Ware Holes!' is the expression used in the hunting-field to warn +those behind against rabbit-burrows or other suck dangers.] + +A sportin' death! My word it was! + An' taken in a sportin' way. +Mind you, I wasn't there to see; + I only tell you what they say. + +They found that day at Shillinglee, + An' ran 'im down to Chillinghurst; +The fox was goin' straight an' free + For ninety minutes at a burst. + +They 'ad a check at Ebernoe + An' made a cast across the Down, +Until they got a view 'ullo + An' chased 'im up to Kirdford town. + +From Kirdford 'e run Bramber way, + An' took 'em over 'alf the Weald. +If you 'ave tried the Sussex clay, + You'll guess it weeded out the field. + +Until at last I don't suppose + As 'arf a dozen, at the most, +Came safe to where the grassland goes + Switchbackin' southwards to the coast. + +Young Captain 'Eadley, 'e was there, + And Jim the whip an' Percy Day; +The Purcells an' Sir Charles Adair, + An' this 'ere gent from London way. + +For 'e 'ad gone amazin' fine, + Two 'undred pounds between 'is knees; +Eight stone he was, an' rode at nine, + As light an' limber as you please. + +'E was a stranger to the 'Unt, + There weren't a person as 'e knew there; +But 'e could ride, that London gent - + 'E sat 'is mare as if 'e grew there. + +They seed the 'ounds upon the scent, + But found a fence across their track, +And 'ad to fly it; else it meant + A turnin' and a 'arkin' back. + +'E was the foremost at the fence, + And as 'is mare just cleared the rail +He turned to them that rode be'ind, + For three was at 'is very tail. + +''Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' with the word, + Still sittin' easy on his mare, +Down, down 'e went, an' down an' down, + Into the quarry yawnin' there. + +Some say it was two 'undred foot; + The bottom lay as black as ink. +I guess they 'ad some ugly dreams, + Who reined their 'orses on the brink. + +'E'd only time for that one cry; + ''Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' saves all three. +There may be better deaths to die, + But that one's good enough for me. + +For mind you, 'twas a sportin' end, + Upon a right good sportin' day; +They think a deal of 'im down 'ere, + That gent what came from London way. + + + +THE HOME-COMING OF THE 'EURYDICE' + + + +[Lost, with her crew of three hundred boys, on the last day of her +voyage, March 23, 1876. She foundered off Portsmouth, from which +town many of the boys came.] + +Up with the royals that top the white spread of her! + Press her and dress her, and drive through the foam; +The Island's to port, and the mainland ahead of her, + Hey for the Warner and Hayling and Home! + +Bo'sun, O Bo'sun, just look at the green of it! + Look at the red cattle down by the hedge! +Look at the farmsteading--all that is seen of it, + One little gable end over the edge!' + +'Lord! the tongues of them clattering, clattering, + All growing wild at a peep of the Wight; +Aye, sir, aye, it has set them all chattering, + Thinking of home and their mothers to-night.' + +Spread the topgallants--oh, lay them out lustily! + What though it darken o'er Netherby Combe? +'Tis but the valley wind, puffing so gustily - + On for the Warner and Hayling and Home! + +'Bo'sun, O Bo'sun, just see the long slope of it! + Culver is there, with the cliff and the light. +Tell us, oh tell us, now is there a hope of it? + Shall we have leave for our homes for to-night?' + +'Tut, the clack of them! Steadily! Steadily! + Aye, as you say, sir, they're little ones still; +One long reach should open it readily, + Round by St. Helens and under the hill. + +'The Spit and the Nab are the gates of the promise, + Their mothers to them--and to us it's our wives. +I've sailed forty years, and--By God it's upon us! + Down royals, Down top'sles, down, down, for your lives!' + +A grey swirl of snow with the squall at the back of it, + Heeling her, reeling her, beating her down! +A gleam of her bends in the thick of the wrack of it, + A flutter of white in the eddies of brown. + +It broke in one moment of blizzard and blindness; + The next, like a foul bat, it flapped on its way. +But our ship and our boys! Gracious Lord, in your kindness, + Give help to the mothers who need it to-day! + +Give help to the women who wait by the water, + Who stand on the Hard with their eyes past the Wight. +Ah! whisper it gently, you sister or daughter, + 'Our boys are all gathered at home for to-night.' + + + +THE INNER ROOM + + + +It is mine--the little chamber, + Mine alone. +I had it from my forbears + Years agone. +Yet within its walls I see +A most motley company, +And they one and all claim me + As their own. + +There's one who is a soldier + Bluff and keen; +Single-minded, heavy-fisted, + Rude of mien. +He would gain a purse or stake it, +He would win a heart or break it, +He would give a life or take it, + Conscience-clean. + +And near him is a priest + Still schism-whole; +He loves the censer-reek + And organ-roll. +He has leanings to the mystic, +Sacramental, eucharistic; +And dim yearnings altruistic + Thrill his soul. + +There's another who with doubts + Is overcast; +I think him younger brother + To the last. +Walking wary stride by stride, +Peering forwards anxious-eyed, +Since he learned to doubt his guide + In the past. + +And 'mid them all, alert, + But somewhat cowed, +There sits a stark-faced fellow, + Beetle-browed, +Whose black soul shrinks away +From a lawyer-ridden day, +And has thoughts he dare not say + Half avowed. + +There are others who are sitting, + Grim as doom, +In the dim ill-boding shadow + Of my room. +Darkling figures, stern or quaint, +Now a savage, now a saint, + Showing fitfully and faint + Through the gloom. + +And those shadows are so dense, + There may be +Many--very many--more + Than I see. +They are sitting day and night +Soldier, rogue, and anchorite; +And they wrangle and they fight + Over me. + +If the stark-faced fellow win, + All is o'er! +If the priest should gain his will + I doubt no more! +But if each shall have his day, +I shall swing and I shall sway +In the same old weary way + As before. + + + +THE IRISH COLONEL + + + +Said the king to the colonel, +'The complaints are eternal, + That you Irish give more trouble + Than any other corps.' + +Said the colonel to the king, +'This complaint is no new thing, + For your foemen, sire, have made it + A hundred times before.' + + + +THE BLIND ARCHER + + + +Little boy Love drew his bow at a chance, + Shooting down at the ballroom floor; +He hit an old chaperone watching the dance, + And oh! but he wounded her sore. + 'Hey, Love, you couldn't mean that! + Hi, Love, what would you be at?' + No word would he say, + But he flew on his way, +For the little boy's busy, and how could he stay? + +Little boy Love drew a shaft just for sport + At the soberest club in Pall Mall; +He winged an old veteran drinking his port, + And down that old veteran fell. + 'Hey, Love, you mustn't do that! + Hi, Love, what would you be at? + This cannot be right! + It's ludicrous quite!' +But it's no use to argue, for Love's out of sight. + +A sad-faced young clerk in a cell all apart + Was planning a celibate vow; +But the boy's random arrow has sunk in his heart, + And the cell is an empty one now. + 'Hey, Love, you mustn't do that! + Hi, Love, what would you be at? + He is not for you, + He has duties to do.' +'But I AM his duty,' quoth Love as he flew. + +The king sought a bride, and the nation had hoped + For a queen without rival or peer. +But the little boy shot, and the king has eloped + With Miss No-one on Nothing a year. + 'Hey, Love, you couldn't mean that! + Hi, Love, what would you be at? + What an impudent thing + To make game of a king!' +'But I'M a king also,' cried Love on the wing. + +Little boy Love grew pettish one day; + 'If you keep on complaining,' he swore, +'I'll pack both my bow and my quiver away, + And so I shall plague you no more.' + 'Hey, Love, you mustn't do that! + Hi, Love, what would you be at? + You may ruin our ease, + You may do what you please, +But we can't do without you, you dear little tease!' + + + +A PARABLE + + + +The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there, + And warmly debated the matter; +The Orthodox said that it came from the air, + And the Heretics said from the platter. +They argued it long and they argued it strong, + And I hear they are arguing now; +But of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese, + Not one of them thought of a cow, + + + +A TRAGEDY + + + +Who's that walking on the moorland? + Who's that moving on the hill? +They are passing 'mid the bracken, +But the shadows grow and blacken + And I cannot see them clearly on the hill. + +Who's that calling on the moorland? + Who's that crying on the hill? +Was it bird or was it human, +Was it child, or man, or woman, + Who was calling so sadly on the hill? + +Who's that running on the moorland? + Who's that flying on the hill? +He is there--and there again, +But you cannot see him plain, + For the shadow lies so darkly on the hill. + +What's that lying in the heather? + What's that lurking on the hill? +My horse will go no nearer, +And I cannot see it clearer, + But there's something that is lying on the hill. + + + +THE PASSING + + + +It was the hour of dawn, + When the heart beats thin and small, +The window glimmered grey, + Framed in a shadow wall. + +And in the cold sad light + Of the early morningtide, +The dear dead girl came back + And stood by his bedside. + +The girl he lost came back: + He saw her flowing hair; +It flickered and it waved + Like a breath in frosty air. + +As in a steamy glass, + Her face was dim and blurred; +Her voice was sweet and thin, + Like the calling of a bird. + +'You said that you would come, + You promised not to stay; +And I have waited here, + To help you on the way. + +'I have waited on, + But still you bide below; +You said that you would come, + And oh, I want you so! + +'For half my soul is here, + And half my soul is there, +When you are on the earth + And I am in the air. + +'But on your dressing-stand + There lies a triple key; +Unlock the little gate + Which fences you from me. + +'Just one little pang, + Just one throb of pain, +And then your weary head + Between my breasts again.' + +In the dim unhomely light + Of the early morningtide, +He took the triple key + And he laid it by his side. + +A pistol, silver chased, + An open hunting knife, +A phial of the drug + Which cures the ill of life. + +He looked upon the three, + And sharply drew his breath: +'Now help me, oh my love, + For I fear this cold grey death.' + +She bent her face above, + She kissed him and she smiled; +She soothed him as a mother + May sooth a frightened child. + +'Just that little pang, love, + Just a throb of pain, +And then your weary head + Between my breasts again.' + +He snatched the pistol up, + He pressed it to his ear; +But a sudden sound broke in, + And his skin was raw with fear. + +He took the hunting knife, + He tried to raise the blade; +It glimmered cold and white, + And he was sore afraid. + +He poured the potion out, + But it was thick and brown; +His throat was sealed against it, + And he could not drain it down. + +He looked to her for help, + And when he looked--behold! +His love was there before him + As in the days of old. + +He saw the drooping head, + He saw the gentle eyes; +He saw the same shy grace of hers + He had been wont to prize. + +She pointed and she smiled, + And lo! he was aware +Of a half-lit bedroom chamber + And a silent figure there. + +A silent figure lying + A-sprawl upon a bed, +With a silver-mounted pistol + Still clotted to his head. + +And as he downward gazed, + Her voice came full and clear, +The homely tender voice + Which he had loved to hear: + +'The key is very certain, + The door is sealed to none. +You did it, oh, my darling! + And you never knew it done. + +'When the net was broken, + You thought you felt its mesh; +You carried to the spirit + The troubles of the flesh. + +'And are you trembling still, dear? + Then let me take your hand; +And I will lead you outward + To a sweet and restful land. + +'You know how once in London + I put my griefs on you; +But I can carry yours now - + Most sweet it is to do! + +'Most sweet it is to do, love, + And very sweet to plan +How I, the helpless woman, + Can help the helpful man. + +'But let me see you smiling + With the smile I know so well; +Forget the world of shadows, + And the empty broken shell. + +'It is the worn-out garment + In which you tore a rent; +You tossed it down, and carelessly + Upon your way you went. + +'It is not YOU, my sweetheart, + For you are here with me. +That frame was but the promise of + The thing that was to be - + +'A tuning of the choir + Ere the harmonies begin; +And yet it is the image + Of the subtle thing within. + +'There's not a trick of body, + There's not a trait of mind, +But you bring it over with you, + Ethereal, refined, + +'But still the same; for surely + If we alter as we die, +You would be you no longer, + And I would not be I. + +'I might be an angel, + But not the girl you knew; +You might be immaculate, + But that would not be you. + +'And now I see you smiling, + So, darling, take my hand; +And I will lead you outward + To a sweet and pleasant land, + +'Where thought is clear and nimble, + Where life is pure and fresh, +Where the soul comes back rejoicing + From the mud-bath of the flesh + +'But still that soul is human, + With human ways, and so +I love my love in spirit, + As I loved him long ago.' + +So with hands together + And fingers twining tight, +The two dead lovers drifted + In the golden morning light. + +But a grey-haired man was lying + Beneath them on a bed, +With a silver-mounted pistol + Still clotted to his head. + + + +THE FRANKLIN'S MAID +(From 'The White Company') + + + +The franklin he hath gone to roam, +The franklin's maid she bides at home; +But she is cold, and coy, and staid, +And who may win the franklin's maid? + +There came a knight of high renown +In bassinet and ciclatoun; +On bended knee full long he prayed - +He might not win the franklin's maid. + +There came a squire so debonair, +His dress was rich, his words were fair. +He sweetly sang, he deftly played - +He could not win the franklin's maid. + +There came a mercer wonder-fine, +With velvet cap and gaberdine; +For all his ships, for all his trade, +He could not buy the franklin's maid. + +There came an archer bold and true, +With bracer guard and stave of yew; +His purse was light, his jerkin frayed - +Haro, alas! the franklin's maid! + +Oh, some have laughed and some have cried, +And some have scoured the countryside; +But off they ride through wood and glade, +The bowman and the franklin's maid. + + + +THE OLD HUNTSMAN + + + +There's a keen and grim old huntsman + On a horse as white as snow; +Sometimes he is very swift + And sometimes he is slow. +But he never is at fault, + For he always hunts at view +And he rides without a halt + After you. + +The huntsman's name is Death, + His horse's name is Time; +He is coming, he is coming + As I sit and write this rhyme; +He is coming, he is coming, + As you read the rhyme I write; +You can hear the hoofs' low drumming + Day and night. + +You can hear the distant drumming + As the clock goes tick-a-tack, +And the chiming of the hours + Is the music of his pack. +You may hardly note their growling + Underneath the noonday sun, +But at night you hear them howling + As they run. + +And they never check or falter + For they never miss their kill; +Seasons change and systems alter, + But the hunt is running still. +Hark! the evening chime is playing, + O'er the long grey town it peals; +Don't you hear the death-hound baying + At your heels? + +Where is there an earth or burrow? + Where a cover left for you? +A year, a week, perhaps to-morrow + Brings the Huntsman's death halloo! +Day by day he gains upon us, + And the most that we can claim +Is that when the hounds are on us + We die game. + +And somewhere dwells the Master, + By whom it was decreed; +He sent the savage huntsman, + He bred the snow-white steed. +These hounds which run for ever, + He set them on your track; +He hears you scream, but never + Calls them back. + +He does not heed our suing, + We never see his face; +He hunts to our undoing, + We thank him for the chase. +We thank him and we flatter, + We hope--because we must - +But have we cause? No matter! + Let us trust! + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Songs of Action +by Arthur Conan Doyle + |