Part 1
Transcriber’s Notes
Italic text is enclosed in _underscores_; small-caps text has been changed to all-caps.
Bracketed page numbers, such as [Page 17], at the beginning of each Poem, were added as a Search aid by Transcriber, as the Table of Contents is in alphabetical, rather than page number sequence.
THE SERVICE EDITION OF THE WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING
THE FIVE NATIONS
VOL. II
THE
FIVE NATIONS
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II
METHUEN AND CO., LTD. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
_First Published_ _September 1903_ _Second Edition_ _1903_ _Third Edition_ _1907_ _Fourth Edition_ _1908_ _Fifth and Sixth Editions_ _1909_ _Seventh Edition_ _1910_ _Eighth Edition_ _1911_ _Ninth Edition_ _1912_ _Tenth, Eleventh, Twelfth, and Thirteenth Editions_ _1913_ _Fourteenth Edition_ _1914_ _Fifteenth Edition (2 vols.)_ _1914_
CONTENTS
THE FIVE NATIONS
PAGE BRIDGE-GUARD IN THE KARROO 8
DIRGE OF DEAD SISTERS 26
ISLANDERS, THE 31
LESSON, THE 13
OLD ISSUE, THE 1
PEACE OF DIVES, THE 40
REFORMERS, THE 23
SETTLER, THE 53
SOUTH AFRICA 49
SERVICE SONGS
BOOTS 88
CHANT-PAGAN 59
COLUMNS 72
FILES, THE 17
HALF-BALLAD OF WATERVAL 102
INSTRUCTOR, THE 86
LICHTENBERG 95
MARRIED MAN, THE 91
M. I. 64
PARTING OF THE COLUMNS, THE 77
PIET 104
RECESSIONAL 121
RETURN, THE 117
STELLENBOSH 98
TWO KOPJES 82
UBIQUE 113
‘WILFUL-MISSING’ 110
INDEX TO FIRST LINES
PAGE At times when under cover I ’ave said, 86
Files, 17
God of our fathers, known of old, 121
‘Here is nothing new nor aught unproven’ say the Trumpets, 1
Here, where my fresh-turned furrows run, 53
I do not love my Empire’s foes, 104
I wish my mother could see me now, with a fence-post under my arm, 64
Let us admit it fairly, as a business people should, 13
Lived a woman wonderful, 49
Me that ’ave been what I’ve been, 59
No doubt but ye are the People--your throne is above the King’s, 31
Not in the camp his victory lies, 23
Only two African kopjes, 82
Out o’ the wilderness, dusty an’ dry, 72
Peace is declared, an’ I return, 117
Smells are surer than sounds or sights, 95
Sudden the desert changes, 8
The bachelor ’e fights for one, 91
The General ’eard the firin’ on the flank, 98
There is a word you often see, pronounce it as you may, 113
There is a world outside the one you know, 110
The Word came down to Dives in Torment where he lay, 40
We’re foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin’ over Africa! 88
We’ve rode and fought and ate and drunk as rations come to hand, 77
When by the labour of my ’ands, 102
Who recalls the twilight and the ranged tents in order, 26
THE OLD ISSUE [Page 1]
OCTOBER 9, 1899
_’Here is nothing new nor aught unproven,’ say the Trumpets, ‘Many feet have worn it and the road is old indeed. ‘It is the King--the King we schooled aforetime!’ (Trumpets in the marshes--in the eyot at Runnymede!)_
_’Here is neither haste, nor hate, nor anger,’ peal the Trumpets, ‘Pardon for his penitence or pity for his fall. ‘It is the King!’--inexorable Trumpets-- (Trumpets round the scaffold at the dawning by Whitehall!)_
* * * * *
_’He hath veiled the crown and hid the sceptre,’ warn the Trumpets, ‘He hath changed the fashion of the lies that cloak his will. ‘Hard die the Kings--ah hard--dooms hard!’ declare the Trumpets, Trumpets at the gang-plank where the brawling troop-decks fill!_
_Ancient and Unteachable, abide--abide the trumpets! Once again the Trumpets, for the shuddering ground-swell brings Clamour over ocean of the harsh pursuing Trumpets-- Trumpets of the Vanguard that have sworn no truce with Kings!_
All we have of freedom, all we use or know-- This our fathers bought for us long and long ago.
Ancient Right unnoticed as the breath we draw-- Leave to live by no man’s leave, underneath the Law.
Lance and torch and tumult, steel and grey-goose wing Wrenched it, inch and ell and all, slowly from the King.
Till our fathers ’stablished, after bloody years, How our King is one with us, first among his peers.
So they bought us freedom--not at little cost-- Wherefore must we watch the King, lest our gain be lost.
Over all things certain, this is sure indeed, Suffer not the old King: for we know the breed.
Give no ear to bondsmen bidding us endure, Whining ‘He is weak and far’; crying ‘Time shall cure.’
(Time himself is witness, till the battle joins, Deeper strikes the rottenness in the people’s loins.)
Give no heed to bondsmen masking war with peace. Suffer not the old King here or overseas.
They that beg us barter--wait his yielding mood-- Pledge the years we hold in trust--pawn our brother’s blood--
Howso’ great their clamour, whatso’er their claim, Suffer not the old King under any name!
Here is naught unproven--here is naught to learn. It is written what shall fall if the King return.
He shall mark our goings, question whence we came, Set his guards about us, as in Freedom’s name.
He shall take a tribute, toll of all our ware; He shall change our gold for arms--arms we may not bear.
He shall break his Judges if they cross his word; He shall rule above the Law calling on the Lord.
He shall peep and mutter; and the night shall bring Watchers ’neath our window, lest we mock the King--
Hate and all division; hosts of hurrying spies; Money poured in secret, carrion breeding flies.
Strangers of his council, hirelings of his pay, These shall deal our Justice: sell--deny--delay.
We shall drink dishonour, we shall eat abuse For the Land we look to--for the Tongue we use.
We shall take our station, dirt beneath his feet, While his hired captains jeer us in the street.
Cruel in the shadow, crafty in the sun, Far beyond his borders shall his teachings run.
Sloven, sullen, savage, secret, uncontrolled-- Laying on a new land evil of the old;
Long-forgotten bondage, dwarfing heart and brain-- All our fathers died to loose he shall bind again.
_Here is naught at venture, random nor untrue-- Swings the wheel full-circle, brims the cup anew._
_Here is naught unproven, here is nothing hid: Step for step and word for word--so the old Kings did!_
_Step by step and word by word: who is ruled may read. Suffer not the old Kings--for we know the breed--_
_All the right they promise--all the wrong they bring. Stewards of the Judgment, suffer not this King!_
BRIDGE-GUARD IN THE KARROO [Page 8]
‘and will supply details to guard the Blood River Bridge.’
_District Orders--Lines of Communication._
Sudden the desert changes, The raw glare softens and clings, Till the aching Oudtshoorn ranges Stand up like the thrones of kings--
Ramparts of slaughter and peril-- Blazing, amazing--aglow ’Twixt the sky-line’s belting beryl And the wine-dark flats below.
Royal the pageant closes, Lit by the last of the sun-- Opal and ash-of-roses, Cinnamon, umber, and dun.
The twilight swallows the thicket, The starlight reveals the ridge; The whistle shrills to the picket-- We are changing guard on the bridge.
(Few, forgotten and lonely, Where the empty metals shine-- No, not combatants--only Details guarding the line.)
We slip through the broken panel Of fence by the ganger’s shed; We drop to the waterless channel And the lean track overhead;
We stumble on refuse of rations, The beef and the biscuit-tins; We take our appointed stations, And the endless night begins.
We hear the Hottentot herders As the sheep click past to the fold-- And the click of the restless girders As the steel contracts in the cold--
Voices of jackals calling And, loud in the hush between, A morsel of dry earth falling From the flanks of the scarred ravine.
And the solemn firmament marches, And the hosts of heaven rise Framed through the iron arches-- Banded and barred by the ties,
Till we feel the far track humming, And we see her headlight plain, And we gather and wait her coming-- The wonderful north-bound train.
(Few, forgotten and lonely, Where the white car-windows shine-- No, not combatants--only Details guarding the line.)
Quick, ere the gift escape us! Out of the darkness we reach For a handful of week-old papers And a mouthful of human speech.
And the monstrous heaven rejoices, And the earth allows again, Meetings, greetings, and voices Of women talking with men.
So we return to our places, As out on the bridge she rolls; And the darkness covers our faces, And the darkness re-enters our souls.
More than a little lonely Where the lessening tail-lights shine. No--not combatants--only Details guarding the line!
THE LESSON [Page 13]
(1899–1902)
_Let us admit it fairly, as a business people should, We have had no end of a lesson: it will do us no end of good._
Not on a single issue, or in one direction or twain, But conclusively, comprehensively, and several times and again, Were all our most holy illusions knocked higher than Gilderoy’s kite. We have had a jolly good lesson, and it serves us jolly well right!
This was not bestowèd us under the trees, nor yet in the shade of a tent, But swingingly, over eleven degrees of a bare brown continent. From Lamberts to Delagoa Bay, and from Pietersburg to Sutherland, Fell the phenomenal lesson we learned--with a fulness accorded no other land.
It was our fault, and our very great fault, and _not_ the judgment of Heaven. We made an Army in our own image, on an island nine by seven, Which faithfully mirrored its makers’ ideals, equipment, and mental attitude-- And so we got our lesson: and we ought to accept it with gratitude.
We have spent two hundred million pounds to prove the fact once more, That horses are quicker than men afoot, since two and two make four: And horses have four legs, and men have two legs, and two into four goes twice, And nothing over except our lesson--and very cheap at the price.
For remember (this our children shall know: we are too near for that knowledge) Not our mere astonied camps, but Council and Creed and College-- All the obese, unchallenged old things that stifle and overlie us-- Have felt the effects of the lesson we got--an advantage no money could buy us!
Then let us develop this marvellous asset which we alone command, And which, it may subsequently transpire, will be worth as much as the Rand: Let us approach this pivotal fact in a humble yet hopeful mood-- We have had no end of a lesson: it will do us no end of good!
It was our fault, and our very great fault--and now we must turn it to use; We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse! So the more we work and the less we talk the better results we shall get-- We have had an Imperial lesson; it may make us an Empire yet!
THE FILES [Page 17]
(THE SUB-EDITOR SPEAKS)
Files-- The Files-- Office Files! Oblige me by referring to the files. Every question man can raise, Every phrase of every phase Of that question is on record in the files-- (Threshed out threadbare--fought and finished in the files). Ere the Universe at large Was our new-tipped arrows’ targe-- Ere we rediscovered Mammon and his wiles-- Faenza, gentle reader, spent her--five-and-twentieth leader (You will find him, and some others, in the files). Warn all future Robert Brownings and Carlyles, It will interest them to hunt among the files, Where unvisited, a-cold, Lie the crowded years of old In that Kensall-Green of greatness called the files-- (In our newspaPère-la-Chaise the office files), Where the dead men lay them down Meekly sure of long renown, And above them, sere and swift, Packs the daily deepening drift Of the all-recording, all-effacing files-- The obliterating, automatic files. Count the mighty men who slung Ink, Evangel, Sword, or Tongue When Reform and you were young-- Made their boasts and spake according in the files-- (Hear the ghosts that wake applauding in the files!) Trace each all-forgot career From long primer through brevier Unto Death, a para minion in the files (Para minion--solid--bottom of the files).... Some successful Kings and Queens adorn the files, They were great, their views were leaded, And their deaths were triple-headed, So they catch the eye in running through the files (Show as blazes in the mazes of the files); For their ‘paramours and priests,’ And their gross, jack-booted feasts, And their epoch-marking actions see the files. Was it Bomba fled the blue Sicilian isles? Was it Saffi, a professor Once of Oxford, brought redress or Garibaldi? Who remembers Forty-odd-year old Septembers?-- Only sextons paid to dig among the files (Such as I am, born and bred among the files). You must hack through much deposit Ere you know for sure who was it Came to burial with such honour in the files (Only seven seasons back beneath the files). ‘Very great our loss and grievous-- ‘So our best and brightest leave us, ‘And it ends the Age of Giants,’ say the files; All the ’60--’70--’80--’90 files (The open-minded, opportunist files-- The easy ‘O King, live for ever’ files). It is good to read a little in the files; ’Tis a sure and sovereign balm Unto philosophic calm, Yea, and philosophic doubt when Life beguiles. When you know Success is Greatness, When you marvel at your lateness In apprehending facts so plain to Smiles (Self-helpful, wholly strenuous Samuel Smiles). When your Imp of Blind Desire Bids you set the Thames afire, You’ll remember men have done so--in the files. You’ll have seen those flames transpire--in the files (More than once that flood has run so--in the files). When the Conchimarian horns Of the reboantic Norns Usher gentlemen and ladies With new lights on Heaven and Hades, Guaranteeing to Eternity All yesterday’s modernity; When Brocken-spectres made by Some one’s breath on ink parade by, Very earnest and tremendous, Let not shows of shows offend us. When of everything we like we Shout ecstatic:--’_Quod ubique, Quod ab omnibus_ means _semper!_’ Oh, my brother, keep your temper! Light your pipe and take a look along the files! You’ve a better chance to guess At the meaning of Success (Which is Greatness--_vide_ press) When you’ve seen it in perspective in the files.
THE REFORMERS [Page 23]
_Not in the camp his victory lies Or triumph in the market-place, Who is his Nation’s sacrifice To turn the judgment from his race._
Happy is he who, bred and taught By sleek, sufficing Circumstance-- Whose Gospel was the apparelled thought, Whose Gods were Luxury and Chance--
Sees, on the threshold of his days, The old life shrivel like a scroll, And to unheralded dismays Submits his body and his soul;
The fatted shows wherein he stood Foregoing, and the idiot pride, That he may prove with his own blood All that his easy sires denied--
Ultimate issues, primal springs, Demands, abasements, penalties-- The imperishable plinth of things Seen and unseen, that touch our peace.
For, though ensnaring ritual dim His vision through the after-years, Yet virtue shall go out of him: Example profiting his peers.
With great things charged he shall not hold Aloof till great occasion rise, But serve, full-harnessed, as of old, The days that are the destinies.
He shall forswear and put away The idols of his sheltered house; And to Necessity shall pay Unflinching tribute of his vows.
He shall not plead another’s act, Nor bind him in another’s oath To weigh the Word above the Fact, Or make or take excuse for sloth.
The yoke he bore shall press him still, And long-ingrained effort goad To find, to fashion, and fulfil The cleaner life, the sterner code.
_Not in the camp his victory lies-- The world (unheeding his return) Shall see it in his children’s eyes And from his grandson’s lips shall learn!_
DIRGE OF DEAD SISTERS [Page 26]
Who recalls the twilight and the ranged tents in order (Violet peaks uplifted through the crystal evening air?) And the clink of iron teacups and the piteous, noble laughter, And the faces of the Sisters with the dust upon their hair?
(Now and not hereafter, while the breath is in our nostrils, Now and not hereafter, ere the meaner years go by-- Let us now remember many honourable women, Such as bade us turn again when we were like to die.)
Who recalls the morning and the thunder through the foothills (Tufts of fleecy shrapnel strung along the empty plains?) And the sun-scarred Red-Cross coaches creeping guarded to the culvert, And the faces of the Sisters looking gravely from the trains?
(When the days were torment and the nights were clouded terror, When the Powers of Darkness had dominion on our soul-- When we fled consuming through the Seven Hells of fever, These put out their hands to us and healed and made us whole.)
Who recalls the midnight by the bridge’s wrecked abutment (Autumn rain that rattled like a Maxim on the tin?) And the lightning-dazzled levels and the streaming, straining wagons, And the faces of the Sisters as they bore the wounded in?
(Till the pain was merciful and stunned us into silence-- When each nerve cried out on God that made the misused clay; When the Body triumphed and the last poor shame departed-- These abode our agonies and wiped the sweat away.)
Who recalls the noontide and the funerals through the market (Blanket-hidden bodies, flagless, followed by the flies?) And the footsore firing-party, and the dust and stench and staleness, And the faces of the Sisters and the glory in their eyes?
(Bold behind the battle, in the open camp all-hallowed, Patient, wise, and mirthful in the ringed and reeking town, These endured unresting till they rested from their labours-- Little wasted bodies, ah, so light to lower down!)
Yet their graves are scattered and their names are clean forgotten, Earth shall not remember, but the Waiting Angel knows Them that died at Uitvlugt when the plague was on the city-- Her that fell at Simon’s Town in service on our foes.
_Wherefore we they ransomed, while the breath is in our nostrils, Now and not hereafter, ere the meaner years go by, Praise with love and worship many honourable women, Those that gave their lives for us when we were like to die!_
THE ISLANDERS [Page 31]
_No doubt but ye are the People--your throne is above the King’s. Whoso speaks in your presence must say acceptable things: Bowing the head in worship, bending the knee in fear-- Bringing the word well smoothen--such as a King should hear._