Այս գրքի մասին
Իմ գրադարանը
Books on Google Play
CONTENTS
BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS
1889-1891
TO WOLCOTT BALESTIER.
Beyond the path of the outmost sun through atter darkness hurled,
"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade,
TOMMY
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
"FUZZY-WUZZY"
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool,
PAGE
XX
3
6
9
12
14
CELLS
I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick,
GUNGA DIN.
17
19
Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes 'im to perspire?
If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back,
"SNARLEYOW"
29
This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps,
There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay,
THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER .
37
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East,
MANDALAY.
40
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,
ROUTE MARCHIN'
We're marchin' on relief over Injia's sunny plains,
SHILLIN' A DAY
My name is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly,
OTHER VERSES
50
53
56
THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST
. . 61
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
THE LAST SUTTEE
68
Udai Chand lay sick to death,
THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY
73
Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told,
WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI .
The wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on the neck,
THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE.
This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone,
84
THE BALLAD OF THE "CLAMPHERDOWN"
It was our war-ship Clampherdown,
112
THE BALLAD OF THE "BOLIVAR"
. 116
Seven men from all the world back to Docks again,
THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS. . 136
When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro,
"CLEARED".
Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,
AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT.
Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed,
143
TOMLINSON
Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square,
L'ENVOI TO "LIFE'S HANDICAP"
My new-cut ashlar takes the light,
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
Our brows are bound with spindrift and the weed is on our knees,
THE SONG OF THE DEAD
Hear now the Song of the Dead—in the North by the torn berg-edges,
The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar
THE SONG OF THE SONS
One from the ends of the earth-gifts at an open door-,
. 158
166
. 168