B

WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID

[June 21st, 1887]

Y the well, where the bullocks go
Silent and blind and slow-

By the field, where the young corn dies In the face of the sultry skies,

They have heard, as the dull Earth hears
The voice of the wind of an hour,

The sound of the Great Queen's voice:-
'My God hath given me years,
Hath granted dominion and power:
And I bid you, O Land, rejoice.'

And the Ploughman settles the share
More deep in the grudging clod;
For he saith:-'The Wheat is my care,
And the rest is the will of God.

He sent the Mahratta spear

As He sendeth the rain,

And the Mlech, in the fated year,

Broke the spear in twain

And was broken in turn. Who knows

How our Lords make strife?

It is good that the young wheat grows,
For the bread is Life.'

Then, far and near, as the twilight drew,
Hissed up to the scornful dark

Great serpents, blazing, of red and blue,
That rose and faded, and rose anew,

That the Land might wonder and mark. 'To-day is a day of days,' they said,

'Make merry, O People, all!'

And the Ploughman listened and bowed his head:'To-day and to-morrow God's will,' he said,

As he trimmed the lamps on the wall.

'He sendeth the years that are good,
As He sendeth the dearth.

He giveth to each man his food,
Or Her food to the Earth.

Our Kings and our Queens are afar,
On their peoples be peace-

God bringeth the rain to the Bar,
That our cattle increase.'

And the Ploughman settled the share
More deep in the sun-dried clod:-

'Mogul, Mahratta, and Mlech from the North,
And White Queen over the Seas-

God raiseth them up and driveth them forth

As the dust of the ploughshare flies in the breeze; But the Wheat and the Cattle are all my care, And the rest is the will of God.'

THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE

To-tschin-shu is condemned to death. How can he drink tea with the executioner?-Japanese Proverb.

T

HE eldest son bestrides him,

And the pretty daughter rides him,

And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course;

And there wakens in my bosom

An emotion chill and gruesome

As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse.

Neither shies he nor is restive,
But a hideously suggestive

Trot, professional and placid, he affects;
And the cadence of his hoof-beats

To my mind this grim reproof beats:

'Mend your pace, my friend, I'm coming. Who's the next?'

Ah! stud-bred of ill-omen,

I have watched the strongest go-men

Of pith and might and muscle-at your heels,
Down the plantain-bordered highway

(Heaven send it ne'er be my way!)

In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels.

Answer, sombre beast and dreary,

Where is Brown, the young, the cheery,

Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force? You were at that last dread dak

We must cover at a walk,

Bring them back to me, O Undertaker's Horse!

With your mane unhogged and flowing,

And your curious way of going,

And that business-like black crimping of your tail,

E'en with Beauty on your back, Sir,

Pacing as a lady's hack, Sir,

What wonder when I meet you I turn pale?

It may be you wait your time, Beast,

Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast,

Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the glass, Follow after with the others,

Where some dusky heathen smothers

Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass.

Or, perchance, in years to follow,

I shall watch your plump sides hollow,
See Carnifex (gone lame) become a corse,
See old age at last o'erpower you,

And the Station Pack devour you

I shall chuckle then, O Undertaker's Horse!

But to insult, jibe, and quest, I've

Still the hideously suggestive

Trot that hammers out the grim and warning text, And I hear it hard behind me

In what place soe'er I find me:

'Sure to catch you sooner or later. Who's the next?'

S

ONE VICEROY RESIGNS

Lord Dufferin to Lord Lansdowne:

O here's your Empire. No more wine, then?
Good.

We'll clear the Aides and khitmatgars away.
(You'll know that fat old fellow with the knife—
He keeps the Name Book, talks in English, too,
And almost thinks himself the Government.)

O Youth, Youth, Youth! Forgive me, you're so young.
Forty from sixty-twenty years of work

And power to back the working! Ay de mi!
You want to know, you want to see, to touch
And, by your lights, to act? It's natural.

I wonder can I help you. Let me try.
You saw-what did you see from Bombay east?
Enough to frighten any one but me?

Neat that! It frightened Me in Eighty-Four!
You shouldn't take a man from Canada
And bid him smoke in powder-magazines;
Nor with a Reputation such as-Bah!
That ghost has haunted me for twenty years,
My Reputation now full-blown

Your fault

Yours, with your stories of the strife at Home,
Who's up, who's down, who leads and who is led-
One reads so much, one hears so little here.

Well, now's your turn of exile. I go back