Kitabı oku: «Songs from Books», sayfa 5

THE NECESSITARIAN

 
I know not in Whose hands are laid
  To empty upon earth
From unsuspected ambuscade
  The very Urns of Mirth;
 
 
Who bids the Heavenly Lark arise
  And cheer our solemn round —
The Jest beheld with streaming eyes
  And grovellings on the ground;
 
 
Who joins the flats of Time and Chance
  Behind the prey preferred,
And thrones on Shrieking Circumstance
  The Sacredly Absurd,
 
 
Till Laughter, voiceless through excess,
  Waves mute appeal and sore,
Above the midriff's deep distress,
  For breath to laugh once more.
 
 
No creed hath dared to hail Him Lord,
  No raptured choirs proclaim,
And Nature's strenuous Overword
  Hath nowhere breathed His Name.
 
 
Yet, it must be, on wayside jape,
  The selfsame Power bestows
The selfsame power as went to shape
  His Planet or His Rose.
 

THE JESTER

 
There are three degrees of bliss
At the foot of Allah's Throne,
And the highest place is his
Who saves a brother's soul
At peril of his own.
There is the Power made known!
 
 
There are three degrees of bliss
In the Gardens of Paradise,
And the second place is his
Who saves his brother's soul
By excellent advice.
For there the Glory lies!
 
 
There are three degrees of bliss
And three abodes of the Blest,
And the lowest place is his
Who has saved a soul by a jest
And a brother's soul in sport …
But there do the Angels resort!
 

A SONG OF TRAVEL

 
Where's the lamp that Hero lit
  Once to call Leander home?
Equal Time hath shovelled it
  'Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome.
Neither wait we any more
That worn sail which Argo bore.
 
 
Dust and dust of ashes close
  All the Vestal Virgins' care;
And the oldest altar shows
  But an older darkness there.
Age-encamped Oblivion
Tenteth every light that shone!
 
 
Yet shall we, for Suns that die,
  Wall our wanderings from desire?
Or, because the Moon is high.
  Scorn to use a nearer fire?
Lest some envious Pharaoh stir,
Make our lives our sepulchre?
 
 
Nay! Though Time with petty Fate
  Prison us and Emperors,
By our Arts do we create
  That which Time himself devours —
Such machines as well may run
'Gainst the horses of the Sun.
 
 
When we would a new abode,
  Space, our tyrant King no more,
Lays the long lance of the road
  At our feet and flees before,
Breathless, ere we overwhelm,
  To submit a further realm!
 

THE TWO-SIDED MAN

 
Much I owe to the Land that grew —
More to the Life that fed —
But most to Allah Who gave me two
Separate sides to my head.
 
 
Much I reflect on the Good and the True
In the Faiths beneath the sun,
But most upon Allah Who gave me two
Sides to my head, not one.
 
 
Wesley's following, Calvin's flock,
White or yellow or bronze,
Shaman, Ju-ju or Angekok,
Minister, Mukamuk, Bonze —
 
 
Here is a health, my brothers, to you,
However your prayers are said,
And praised be Allah Who gave me two
Separate sides to my head!
 
 
I would go without shirt or shoe,
Friend, tobacco or bread,
Sooner than lose for a minute the two
Separate sides of my head!
 

'LUKANNON'

(Song of the breeding Seal. Aleutian Islands)

 
I met my mates in the morning (and oh, but I am old!)
Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled.
I heard them lift the chorus that drowned the breakers' song —
The Beaches of Lukannon – two million voices strong!
 
 
The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons,
The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes,
The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame —
The Beaches of Lukannon – before the sealers came!
 
 
I met my mates in the morning (I'll never meet them more!);
They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore.
And through the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could reach
We hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach.
 
 
The Beaches of Lukannon – the winter-wheat so tall —
The dripping, crinkled lichens, and the sea-fog drenching all!
The platforms of our playground, all shining smooth and worn!
The Beaches of Lukannon – the home where we were born!
 
 
I meet my mates in the morning, a broken, scattered band.
Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land;
Men drive us to the Salt House like silly sheep and tame,
And still we sing Lukannon – before the sealers came.
 
 
Wheel down, wheel down to southward! Oh, Gooverooska go!
And tell the Deep-Sea Viceroys the story of our woe;
Ere, empty as the shark's egg the tempest flings ashore,
The Beaches of Lukannon shall know their sons no more!
 

AN ASTROLOGER'S SONG

 
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 fashion, 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.
 
 
Through abysses unproven,
  O'er gulfs beyond thought,
Our portion is woven,
  Our burden is brought.
Yet They that prepare it,
  Whose Nature we share,
Make us who must bear it
  Well able to bear.
 
 
Though terrors o'ertake us
  We'll not be afraid.
No Power can unmake us
  Save that which has made.
Nor yet beyond reason
  Or hope shall we fall —
All things have their season,
  And Mercy crowns all!
 
 
Then, doubt not, ye fearful —
  The Eternal is King —
Up, heart, and be cheerful,
  And lustily sing: —
What chariots, what horses,  
Against us shall bide
While the Stars in their courses  
Do fight on our side?
 

'THE POWER OF THE DOG'

 
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
But when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
 
 
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie —
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
 
 
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find – it's your own affair,
But … you've given your heart to a dog to tear.
 
 
When the body that lived at your single will,
When the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!),
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone – wherever it goes – for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
 
 
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long —
So why in – Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
 

THE RABBI'S SONG

 
If Thought can reach to Heaven,
  On Heaven let it dwell,
For fear thy Thought be given
  Like power to reach to Hell.
For fear the desolation
  And darkness of thy mind
Perplex an habitation
  Which thou hast left behind.
 
 
Let nothing linger after —
  No whimpering ghost remain,
In wall, or beam, or rafter,
  Of any hate or pain.
Cleanse and call home thy spirit,
  Deny her leave to cast,
On aught thy heirs inherit,
  The shadow of her past.
For think, in all thy sadness,
  What road our griefs may take;
Whose brain reflect our madness,
  Or whom our terrors shake.
For think, lest any languish
  By cause of thy distress —
The arrows of our anguish
  Fly farther than we guess.
 
 
Our lives, our tears, as water,
  Are spilled upon the ground;
God giveth no man quarter,
  Yet God a means hath found,
Though faith and hope have vanished,
  And even love grows dim —
A means whereby His banished
  Be not expelled from Him.
 

THE BEE BOY'S SONG

 
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
'Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!'
 
 
A maiden in her glory,
  Upon her wedding-day,
Must tell her Bees the story,
  Or else they'll fly away.
    Fly away – die away —
      Dwindle down and leave you!
    But if you don't deceive your Bees,
      Your Bees will not deceive you.
 
 
Marriage, birth or buryin',
  News across the seas,
All you're sad or merry in,
  You must tell the Bees.
    Tell 'em coming in an' out,
      Where the Fanners fan,
    'Cause the Bees are just about
      As curious as a man!
 
 
Don't you wait where trees are,
  When the lightnings play,
Nor don't you hate where Bees are,
  Or else they'll pine away.
    Pine away – dwine away —
      Anything to leave you!
    But if you never grieve your Bees,
      Your Bees'll never grieve you.
 

THE RETURN OF THE CHILDREN

 
Neither the harps nor the crowns amused, nor the cherubs' dove-winged races —
Holding hands forlornly the Children wandered beneath the Dome,
Plucking the splendid robes of the passers-by, and with pitiful faces
Begging what Princes and Powers refused: – 'Ah, please will you let us go home?'
 
 
Over the jewelled floor, nigh weeping, ran to them Mary the Mother,
Kneeled and caressed and made promise with kisses, and drew them along to the gateway —
Yea, the all-iron unbribeable Door which Peter must guard and none other.
Straightway She took the Keys from his keeping, and opened and freed them straightway.
 
 
Then, to Her Son, Who had seen and smiled, She said: 'On the night that I bore Thee,
What didst Thou care for a love beyond mine or a heaven that was not my arm?
Didst Thou push from the nipple, O Child, to hear the angels adore Thee?
When we two lay in the breath of the kine?' And He said: – 'Thou hast done no harm.'
 
 
So through the Void the Children ran homeward merrily hand in hand,
Looking neither to left nor right where the breathless Heavens stood still.
And the Guards of the Void resheathed their swords, for they heard the Command:
'Shall I that have suffered the children to come to Me hold them against their will?'
 

MERROW DOWN

I

 
There runs a road by Merrow Down —
  A grassy track to-day it is —
An hour out of Guildford town,
  Above the river Wey it is.
 
 
Here, when they heard the horse-bells ring,
  The ancient Britons dressed and rode
To watch the dark Phoenicians bring
  Their goods along the Western Road.
 
 
Yes, here, or hereabouts, they met
  To hold their racial talks and such —
To barter beads for Whitby jet,
  And tin for gay shell torques and such.
 
 
But long and long before that time
  (When bison used to roam on it)
Did Taffy and her Daddy climb
  That Down, and had their home on it.
 
 
Then beavers built in Broadstonebrook
  And made a swamp where Bramley stands;
And bears from Shere would come and look
  For Taffimai where Shamley stands.
 
 
The Wey, that Taffy called Wagai,
  Was more than six times bigger then;
And all the Tribe of Tegumai
  They cut a noble figure then!
 

II

 
Of all the Tribe of Tegumai
  Who cut that figure, none remain, —
On Merrow Down the cuckoos cry —
  The silence and the sun remain.
 
 
But as the faithful years return
  And hearts unwounded sing again,
Comes Taffy dancing through the fern
  To lead the Surrey spring again.
 
 
Her brows are bound with bracken-fronds,
  And golden elf-locks fly above;
Her eyes are bright as diamonds
  And bluer than the sky above.
 
 
In mocassins and deer-skin cloak,
  Unfearing, free and fair she flits,
And lights her little damp-wood smoke
  To show her Daddy where she flits.
 
 
For far – oh, very far behind,
  So far she cannot call to him,
Comes Tegumai alone to find
  The daughter that was all to him.
 

OLD MOTHER LAIDINWOOL

 
'Old Mother Laidinwool had nigh twelve months been dead.
She heard the hops was doing well, an' so popped up her head,'
For said she: 'The lads I've picked with when I was young and fair,
They're bound to be at hopping and I'm bound to meet 'em there!'
 
 
  Let me up and go  
Back to the work I know, Lord!  
Back to the work I know, Lord!  
For it's dark where I lie down, My Lord!  
An' it's dark where I lie down!
 
 
Old Mother Laidinwool, she give her bones a shake,
An' trotted down the churchyard path as fast as she could make.
She met the Parson walking, but she says to him, says she:
'Oh don't let no one trouble for a poor old ghost like me!'
 
 
'Twas all a warm September an' the hops had flourished grand,
She saw the folks get into 'em with stockin's on their hands;
An' none of 'em was foreigners but all which she had known,
And old Mother Laidinwool she blessed 'em every one.
 
 
She saw her daughters picking, an' their children them beside,
An' she moved among the babies an' she stilled 'em when they cried.
She saw their clothes was bought, not begged, an' they was clean an' fat,
An' old Mother Laidinwool she thanked the Lord for that.
 
 
Old Mother Laidinwool she waited on all day
Until it come too dark to see an' people went away —
Until it come too dark to see an' lights began to show,
An' old Mother Laidinwool she hadn't where to go.
 
 
Old Mother Laidinwool she give her bones a shake,
An' trotted back to churchyard-mould as fast as she could make.
She went where she was bidden to an' there laid down her ghost, …
An' the Lord have mercy on you in the Day you need it most!
 
 
  Let me in again,  
Out of the wet an' rain, Lord!  
Out of the dark an rain, Lord!  
For it's best as you shall say, My Lord!  
An' it's best as you shall say!
 

CHAPTER HEADINGS

JUST-SO STORIES

 
When the cabin port-holes are dark and green
  Because of the seas outside;
When the ship goes wop (with a wiggle between)
And the steward falls into the soup-tureen,
  And the trunks begin to slide;
When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,
And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,
And you aren't waked or washed or dressed,
Why, then you will know (if you haven't guessed)
You're 'Fifty North and Forty West!'
 
 
How the Whale got his Throat.
 
 
The Camel's hump is an ugly lump
  Which well you may see at the Zoo;
But uglier yet is the hump we get
  From having too little to do.
 
 
Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
If we haven't enough to do-oo-oo.
    We get the hump —
    Cameelious hump —
The hump that is black and blue!
 
 
We climb out of bed with a frouzly head
  And a snarly-yarly voice.
We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl
  At our bath and our boots and our toys;
 
 
And there ought to be a corner for me
(And I know there is one for you)
    When we get the hump —
    Cameelious hump —
The hump that is black and blue!
 
 
The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
  Or frowst with a book by the fire;
But to take a large hoe and a shovel also,
  And dig till you gently perspire;
 
 
And then you will find that the sun and the wind,
And the Djinn of the Garden too,
    Have lifted the hump —
    The horrible hump —
The hump that is black and blue!
 
 
I get it as well as you-oo-oo —
If I haven't enough to do-oo-oo!
    We all get hump —
    Cameelious hump —
Kiddies and grown-ups too!
 
 
How the Camel got his Hump.
 
 
I am the Most Wise Baviaan, saying in most wise tones,
'Let us melt into the landscape – just us two by our lones.'
People have come – in a carriage – calling. But Mummy is there…
Yes, I can go if you take me – Nurse says she don't care.
Let's go up to the pig-styes and sit on the farmyard rails!
Let's say things to the bunnies, and watch 'em skitter their tails!
Let's – oh, anything, daddy, so long as it's you and me,
And going truly exploring, and not being in till tea!
Here's your boots (I've brought 'em), and here's your cap and stick,
And here's your pipe and tobacco. Oh, come along out of it – quick!
 
 
How the Leopard got his Spots.
 
 
I keep six honest serving-men
  (They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
  And How and Where and Who.
I send them over land and sea,
  I send them east and west;
But after they have worked for me,
  I give them all a rest.
 
 
I let them rest from nine till five,
  For I am busy then,
As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,
  For they are hungry men.
 
 
But different folk have different views;
  I know a person small —
She keeps ten million serving-men,
  Who get no rest at all!
She sends 'em abroad on her own affairs,
  From the second she opens her eyes —
One million Hows, two million Wheres,
  And seven million Whys!
 
 
The Elephant's Child.
 
 
This is the mouth-filling song of the race that was run by a Boomer.
Run in a single burst – only event of its kind —
Started by Big God Nqong from Warrigaborrigarooma,
Old Man Kangaroo first, Yellow-Dog Dingo behind.
 
 
Kangaroo bounded away, his back-legs working like pistons —
Bounded from morning till dark, twenty-five feet at a bound.
Yellow-Dog Dingo lay like a yellow cloud in the distance —
Much too busy to bark. My! but they covered the ground!
 
 
Nobody knows where they went, or followed the track that they flew in,
For that Continent hadn't been given a name.
They ran thirty degrees, from Torres Straits to the Leeuwin
(Look at the Atlas, please), then they ran back as they came.
 
 
S'posing you could trot from Adelaide to the Pacific,
For an afternoon's run – half what these gentlemen did —
You would feel rather hot, but your legs would develop terrific —
Yes, my importunate son, you'd be a Marvellous Kid!
 
 
The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo.
 
 
I've never sailed the Amazon,
  I've never reached Brazil;
But the Don and Magdalena,
  They can go there when they will!
 
 
     Yes, weekly from Southampton,
     Great steamers, white and gold,
     Go rolling down to Rio
     (Roll down – roll down to Rio!).
     And I'd like to roll to Rio
     Some day before I'm old!
 
 
I've never seen a Jaguar,
  Nor yet an Armadill —
O dilloing in his armour,
  And I s'pose I never will,
 
 
     Unless I go to Rio
     These wonders to behold —
     Roll down – roll down to Rio —
     Roll really down to Rio!
     Oh, I'd love to roll to Rio
     Some day before I'm old!
 
 
The Beginning of the Armadilloes.
 
 
China-going P. and O.'s
Pass Pau Amma's playground close,
And his Pusat Tasek lies
Near the track of most B.I.'s.
N.Y.K. and N.D.L.
Know Pau Amma's home as well
As the Fisher of the Sea knows
'Bens,' M.M.'s, and Rubattinos.
But (and this is rather queer)
A.T.L.'s can not come here;
O. and O. and D.O.A.
Must go round another way.
Orient, Anchor, Bibby, Hall,
Never go that way at all.
U.C.S. would have a fit
If it found itself on it.
And if 'Beavers' took their cargoes
To Penang instead of Lagos,
Or a fat Shaw-Savill bore
Passengers to Singapore,
Or a White Star were to try a
Little trip to Sourabaya,
Or a B.S.A. went on
Past Natal to Cheribon,
Then great Mr. Lloyds would come
With a wire and drag them home!
 

* * * * *

 
You'll know what my riddle means
When you've eaten mangosteens.
 
 
The Crab that Played with the Sea.
 
 
Pussy can sit by the fire and sing,
  Pussy can climb a tree,
Or play with a silly old cork and string
  To 'muse herself, not me.
But I like Binkie my dog, because
  He knows how to behave;
So, Binkie's the same as the First Friend was,
  And I am the Man in the Cave!
 
 
Pussy will play man-Friday till
  It's time to wet her paw
And make her walk on the window-sill
  (For the footprint Crusoe saw);
Then she fluffles her tail and mews,
  And scratches and won't attend.
But Binkie will play whatever I choose,
  And he is my true First Friend!
 
 
Pussy will rub my knees with her head
  Pretending she loves me hard;
But the very minute I go to my bed
  Pussy runs out in the yard,
And there she stays till the morning-light;
  So I know it is only pretend;
But Binkie, he snores at my feet all night,
  And he is my Firstest Friend!
 
 
The Cat that Walked by Himself
 
 
There was never a Queen like Balkis,
  From here to the wide world's end;
But Balkis talked to a butterfly
  As you would talk to a friend.
 
 
There was never a King like Solomon,
  Not since the world began;
But Solomon talked to a butterfly
  As a man would talk to a man.
 
 
She was Queen of Sabæa —
  And he was Asia's Lord —
But they both of 'em talked to butterflies
  When they took their walks abroad!
 
 
The Butterfly that Stamped.
 

THE LOOKING-GLASS

(A Country Dance)

 
Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. Stand forward partners all!
She danced King Philip down-a down,
And left her shoe to show 'twas true –      
(The very tune I'm playing you)
In Norgem at Brickwall!
 
 
The Queen was in her chamber, and she was middling old,
Her petticoat was satin, and her stomacher was gold.
Backwards and forwards and sideways did she pass,
Making up her mind to face the cruel looking-glass.
The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass
As comely or as kindly or as young as what she was!
 
 
Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. Now hand your partners all!
The Queen was in her chamber, a-combing of her hair.
There came Queen Mary's spirit and It stood behind her chair.
Singing, 'Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pass,
But I will stand behind you till you face the looking-glass.
The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass
As lovely or unlucky or as lonely as I was!'
 
 
Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. – Now turn your partners all!
The Queen was in her chamber, a-weeping very sore.
There came Lord Leicester's spirit and It scratched upon the door,
Singing, 'Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pass,
But I will walk beside you till you face the looking-glass.
The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass
As hard and unforgiving or as wicked as you was!'
 
 
Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. Now kiss your partners all!
 
 
The Queen was in her chamber; her sins were on her head.
She looked the spirits up and down and statelily she said: —
Backwards and forwards and sideways though I've been,
Yet I am Harry's daughter and I am England's Queen!'
And she faced the looking-glass (and whatever else there was),
And she saw her day was over and she saw her beauty pass
In the cruel looking-glass, that can always hurt a lass
More hard than any ghost there is or any man there was!