Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1023 page)

And not for nothing these gifts are shown
  By such as delight our dead.
They must twitch and stiffen and slaver and groan
  Ere the eyes are set in the head,
And the voice from the belly begins.   Therefore,
We pay them a wage where they ply at En-dor.

Even so, we have need of faith
  And patience to follow the clue.
Often, at first, what the dear one saith
  Is babble, or jest, or untrue.
(Lying spirits perplex us sore
Till  our  loves — and  their  lives — are  well-known at
        En-dor).   .   .   .

Oh the road to En-dor is the oldest road
  And the craziest road of all!
Straight it runs to the Witch’s abode,
  As it did in the days of  Saul,
And nothing has changed of the sorrow in store
For such as go down on the road to En-dor!

England’s Answer

Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban;
Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man.
Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare;
Stark as your sons shall be — stern as your fathers were.
Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether,
But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together.
My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by;
Sons, I have borne many sons, but my dugs are not dry.
Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors,
That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors —
Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas,
Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees! —
That ye may talk together, brother to brother’s face —
Thus for the good of your peoples — thus for the Pride of the Race.
Also, we will make promise.  So long as The Blood endures,
I shall know that your good is mine:  ye shall feel that my strength is yours:
In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all,
That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall.
Draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands,
And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.
This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom,
This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom.
The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will,
Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still.
Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you,
After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few.
Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways,
Balking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise.
Stand to your work and be wise — certain of sword and pen,
Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of men!

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!

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;
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;
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 night,
The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light:
What is the Flag of England?  Ye have but my bergs to dare,
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.

“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 halliard to hang for a wisp on the Horn;
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.
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
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 Hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose,
And I flung your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows.

“Never the lotus 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,
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.
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,
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.

“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 English Way

1929
After the fight at Otterburn,
        Before the ravens came,
The Witch-wife rode across the fern
        And spoke Earl Percy’s name.

“Stand up-stand up, Northumberland!
        I bid you answer true,
If England’s King has under his hand
        A Captain as good as you?”

Then up and spake the dead Percy-
        Oh, but his wound was sore!
“Five hundred Captains as good,” said he,
        “And I trow five hundred more.

“But I pray you by the lifting skies,
        And the young wind over the grass,
That you take your eyes from off my eyes,
        And let my spirit pass.”

“Stand up-stand up, Northumberland!
        I charge you answer true,
If ever you dealt in steel and brand,
        How went the fray with you?”

“Hither and yon,” the Percy said;
        “As every fight must go;
For some they fought and some they fled,
        And some struck ne’er a blow.

“But I pray you by the breaking skies,
        And the first call from the nest,
That you turn your eyes away from my eyes,
        And let me to my rest.”

“Stand up-stand up, Northumberland!
        I will that you answer true,
If you and your men were quick again,
        How would it be with you?”

“Oh, we would speak of hawk and hound,
        And the red deer where they rove,
And the merry foxes the country round,
        And the maidens that we love.

“We would not speak of steel or steed,
        Except to grudge the cost;
And he that had done the doughtiest deed
        Would mock himself the most.

“But I pray you by my keep and tower,
        And the tables in my hall,
And I pray you by my lady’s bower
        (Ah, bitterest of all!)

“That you lift your eyes from outen my eyes,
        Your hand from off my breast,
And cover my face from the red sun-rise,
        And loose me to my rest!”

She has taken her eyes from out of his eyes-
        Her palm from off his breast,
And covered his face from the red sun-rise,
        And loosed him to his rest.

“Sleep you, or wake, Northumberland-
        You shall not speak again,
And the word you have said ‘twixt quick and dead
        I lay on Englishmen.

“So long as Severn runs to West
        Or Humber to the East,
That they who bore themselves the best
        Shall count themselves the least.

“While there is fighting at the ford,
        Or flood along the Tweed,
That they shall choose the lesser word
        To cloke the greater deed.

“After the quarry and the kill-
        The fair fight and the fame-
With an ill face and an ill grace
        Shall they rehearse the same.

“Greater the deed, greater the need
        Lightly to laugh it away,

Shall be the mark of the English breed
        Until the Judgment Day!”

Et Dona Ferentes

1896
In extended observation of the ways and works of man,
From the Four-mile Radius roughly to the Plains of Hindustan:
I have drunk with mixed assemblies, seen the racial ruction rise,
And the men of half Creation damning half Creation’s eyes.

I have watched them in their tantrums, all that Pentecostal crew,
French, Italian, Arab, Spaniard, Dutch and Greek, and Russ and Jew,
Celt and savage, buff and ochre, cream and yellow, mauve and white,
But it never really mattered till the English grew polite;

Till the men with polished toppers, till the men in long frock-coats,
Till the men who do not duel, till the men who war with votes,
Till the breed that take their pleasures as Saint Lawrence took his grid,
Began to “beg your pardon” and-the knowing croupier hid.

Then the bandsmen with their fiddles, and the girls that bring the beer,
Felt the psychological moment, left the lit Casino clear;
But the uninstructed alien, from the Teuton to the Gaul,
Was entrapped, once more, my country, by that suave, deceptive drawl.

As it was in ancient Suez or ‘neath wilder, milder skies,
I “observe with apprehension” how the racial ructions rise;
And with keener apprehension, if I read the times aright,
Hear the old Casino order: “Watch your man, but be polite.

“Keep your temper. Never answer (that was why they spat and swore).
Don’t hit first, but move together (there’s no hurry) to the door.
Back to back, and facing outward while the linguist tells ‘em how -
`Nous sommes allong ar notre batteau, nous ne voulong pas un row.’”

So the hard, pent rage ate inward, till some idiot went too far...
“Let ‘em have it!” and they had it, and the same was merry war -
Fist, umbrella, cane, decanter, lamp and beer-mug, chair and boot -
Till behind the fleeing legions rose the long, hoarse yell for loot.

Then the oil-cloth with its numbers, like a banner fluttered free;
Then the grand piano cantered, on three castors, down the quay;
White, and breathing through their nostrils, silent, systematic, swift -
They removed, effaced, abolished all that man could heave or lift.