THE SONG OF THE BANJO You couldn't pack a Broadwood half a mile- I travel with the cooking-pots and pails I'm sandwiched 'tween the coffee and the porkAnd when the dusty column checks and tails, You should hear me spur the rear-guard to a walk! With my "Pilly-willy-winky-winky popp! [Oh, it's any tune that comes into my head!] So I keep 'em moving forward till they drop; So I play 'em up to water and to bed. In the silence of the camp before the fight, prayer, You can hear my strumpty-tumpty overnight Explaining ten to one was always fair. And when the Thing that Couldn't has occurred, With my "Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tum-pa tump! There was never voice before us till I led our I-the war-drum of the White Man round the By the bitter road the Younger Son must tread, In the silence of the herder's hut alone— Hear me babble what the weakest won't confessI am Memory and Torment-I am Town! I am all that ever went with evening dress! So I rowel 'em afresh towards the Devil and the Till I bring my broken rankers home again. In desire of many marvels over sea, Where the new-raised tropic city sweats and roars, I have sailed with Young Ulysses from the quay Till the anchor rumbled down on stranger shores. He is blooded to the open and the sky, He is taken in a snare that shall not fail, He shall hear me singing strongly, till he die, With my "Hya! Heeya! Heeya! Hullah! [O the green that thunders aft along the deck!] Are you sick o' towns and men? You must sign and sail again, For it's "Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit and trek!" Through the gorge that gives the stars at noon-day clear Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our wheel Round the bluff that sinks her thousand fathom sheer Down the valley with our guttering brakes asqueal: Where the trestle groans and quivers in the snow, Where the many-shedded levels loop and twine, So I lead my reckless children from below Till we sing the Song of Roland to the pine. With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!" [And the axe has cleared the mountain, croup and crest!] So we ride the iron stallions down to drink, Through the cañons to the waters of the West! And the tunes that mean so much to you aloneCommon tunes that make you choke and blow your nose, Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the groan I can rip your very heartstrings out with those; With the feasting, and the folly, and the fun— To the thoughts that burn like irons if you think. "Plunka-lunka-lunka-lunka-lunk!" With my Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past, Ere the wit that made you win gives you eyes to see your sin And the heavier repentance at the last! Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof- When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things, But the word—the word is mine, when the order moves the line And the lean, locked ranks go roaring down to die. Of the driven dust of speech I make a flame And a scourge of broken withes that men let fall: For the words that had no honour till I cameLo! I raise them into honour over all! By the wisdom of the centuries I speak- So I draw the world together link by link: |