Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, ‘It’s pretty, but is it Art?’
5
Wherefore he called to his wife, and fled to fashion 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 shiver the sky and wrench the stars apart,
10
Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks: ‘It’s striking, but is it Art?’
The stone was dropped at 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 pitiful land, and the poor Red Clay had rest –
15
Had rest till that 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 as old as the Eden Tree – and 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,
20
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 yelk of an addled egg,
We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is drawn by the cart;
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: ‘It’s clever, but is it Art?’
25
When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the Clubroom’s green and gold,
The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mould –
They scratch with their pens in the mould of their graves, and the ink and the anguish start,
For 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,
30
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 favour of God we might know as much – as our father Adam knew!
‘Ford o’ Kabul River’
Kabul town’s by Kabul river –
Blow the bugle, draw the sword –
There I lef’ my mate for ever,
Wet an’ drippin’ by the ford.
5
Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
There’s the river up and brimmin’, an’ there’s ’arf a squadron swimmin’
‘Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.
Kabul town’s a blasted place –
10
Blow the bugle, draw the sword –
’Strewth, I shan’t forget ’is face
Wet an’ drippin’ by the ford!
Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
15
Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an’ they will surely guide you
‘Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.
Kabul town is sun an’ dust –
Blow the bugle, draw the sword –
I’d ha’ sooner drownded fust
20
’Stead of ’im beside the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
You can ’ear the ’orses threshin’; you can ’ear the men a-splashin’,
’Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.
25
Kabul town was ours to take –
Blow the bugle, draw the sword –
I’d ha’ left it for ’is sake –
’Im that left me by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
30
Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
It’s none so bloomin’ dry there; ain’t you never comin’ nigh there,
‘Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark?
Kabul town’ll go to hell –
Blow the bugle, draw the sword –
35
’Fore I see him ’live an’ well –
’Im the best beside the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
Gawd ’elp ’em if they blunder, for their boots’ll pull ’em under,
40
By the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.
Turn your ’orse from Kabul town –
Blow the bugle, draw the sword –
’Im an’ ’arf my troop is down,
Down an’ drownded by the ford.
45
Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
There’s the river low an’ fallin’, but it ain’t no use a-callin’
’Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
The English Flag
‘Above the portico a flag-staff, bearing the Union Jack, remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ultimately when it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts, and seemed to see significance in the incident.’
Daily Papers
Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro –
And what should they know of England who only England know? –
The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag,
They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English Flag!
5
Must we borrow a clout from the Boer – to plaster anew with dirt?
An Irish liar’s bandage, or an English coward’s shirt?
We may not speak of England; her Flag’s to sell or share.
What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World, declare!
The North Wind blew: – ‘From Bergen my steel-shod vanguards go;
10
I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe.
By the great North Lights above me I work the will of God,
And the liner splits on the ice-field or the Dogger fills with cod.
I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors with flame,
Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came.
15
I took the sun from their presence, I cut them down with my blast,
And they died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the spirit passed.
The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic nights,
The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Lights:
What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my bergs to dare,
20
Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!’
The South Wind sighed: – ‘From the Virgins my mid-sea course was ta’ en
Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main,
Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed breakers croon
Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked lagoon.
25
Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys,
I waked the palms to laughter – I tossed the scud in the breeze.
Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone,
But over the scud and the palm-trees an English flag was flown.
I have wrenched it free from the halliards to hang for a wisp on the Horn;
30
I have chased it north to the Lizard – ribboned and rolled and torn;
I have spread its fold o’er the dying,
adrift in a hopeless sea;
I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free.
My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross,
Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross.
35
What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to dare,
Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is there!’
The East Wind roared: – ‘From the Kuriles, the Bitter Seas, I come,
And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English home.
Look – look well to your shipping! By the breath of my mad typhoon
40
I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at Kowloon!
The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas before,
I raped your richest roadstead – I plundered Singapore!
I set my hand on the Hugli; as a hooded snake she rose;
And I flung your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows.
45
Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake,
But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England’s sake –
Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid –
Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed.
The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows,
50
The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows.
What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun to dare,
Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is there!’
The West Wind called: ‘In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly
That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die.
55
They make my might their porter, they make my house their path,
Till I loose my neck from their rudder and whelm them all in my wrath.
I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole.
They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll;
For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath,
60
And they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death.
But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day,
I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away,
First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky,
Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by.
65
The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it – the frozen dews have kissed –
The naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the mist.
What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare,
Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!’
‘The beasts are very wise’
The beasts are very wise,
Their mouths are clean of lies,
They talk one to the other,
Bullock to bullock’s brother,
5
Resting after their labours,
Each in stall with his neighbours.
But man with goad and whip
Breaks up their fellowship,
Shouts in their silky ears,
10
Filling their souls with fears.
When he has ploughed the land,
He says: ‘They understand.’
But the beasts in stall together,
Freed from the yoke and tether,
15
Say as the torn flanks smoke:
‘Nay, ’twas the whip that spoke.’
Cells
I’ve a head like a concertina: I’ve a tongue like a button-stick,
I’ve a mouth like an old potato, and I’m more than a little sick,
But I’ve had my fun o’ the Corp’ral’s Guard: I’ve made the cinders fly,
And I’m here in the Clink for a thundering drink and blacking the Corporal’s eye.
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
Oh, it’s pack-drill for me and a fortnight’s C.B.
For ‘drunk and resisting the Guard!’
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard –
10
’Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it’s pack-drill for me and a fortnight’s C.B.
For ‘drunk and resisting the Guard.’
I started o’ canteen porter, I finished o’ canteen beer,
But a dose o’ gin that a mate slipped in, it was that that brought me here.
15
’Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed my nose in the dirt –
But I fell away with the Corp’ral’s stock and the best of the Corp’ral’s shirt.
I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the public road,
And Lord knows where – and I don’t care – my belt and my tunic goed.
They’ll stop my pay, they’ll cut away the stripes I used to wear,
20
But I left my mark on the Corp’ral’s face, and I think he’ll keep it there!
My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the barrack-yard.
It ain’t that I mind the Ord’ly Room – it’s that that cuts so hard.
I’ll take my oath before them both that I will sure abstain,
But as soon as I’m in with a mate and gin, I know I’ll do it again!
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
Yes, it’s pack-drill for me and a fortnight’s C.B.
For ‘drunk and resisting the Guard!’
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard –
30
’Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it’s pack-drill for me and a fortnight’s C.B.
For ‘drunk and resisting the Guard.’
The Widow’s Party
‘Where have you been this while away,
Johnnie, Johnnie?’
Out with the rest on a picnic lay.
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
5
They called us out of the barrack-yard
To Gawd knows where from Gosport Hard,
And you can’t refuse when you get the card,
And the Widow gives the party.
(Bugle: Ta-rara-ra-ra-rara!)
10
‘What did you get to eat and drink,
Johnnie, Johnnie?’
Standing water as thick as ink,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
A bit o’ beef that were three year stored,
15
A bit o’ mutton as tough as a board,
And a fowl we killed with a Sergeant’s sword,
When the Widow give the party.
‘What did you do for knives and forks,
Johnnie, Johnnie?’
20
We carries ’em with us wherever we walks,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
And some was sliced and some was halved,
And some was crimped and some was carved,
And some was gutted and some was starved,
25
When the Widow give the party.
‘What ha’ you done with half your mess,
Johnnie, Johnnie?’
They couldn’t do more and they wouldn’t do less,