полная версия

Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг
Verses 1889-1896

THE ‘EATHEN

 
  The ‘eathen in ‘is blindness bows down to wood an’ stone;
  ‘E don’t obey no orders unless they is ‘is own;
  ‘E keeps ‘is side-arms awful:  ‘e leaves ‘em all about,
  An’ then comes up the regiment an’ pokes the ‘eathen out.
 
 
       All along o’ dirtiness, all along o’ mess,
       All along o’ doin’ things rather-more-or-less,
       All along of abby-nay, kul, an’ hazar-ho, ⁶
       Mind you keep your rifle an’ yourself jus’ so!
 
 
  The young recruit is ‘aughty – ‘e draf’s from Gawd knows where;
  They bid ‘im show ‘is stockin’s an’ lay ‘is mattress square;
  ‘E calls it bloomin’ nonsense – ‘e doesn’t know no more —
  An’ then up comes ‘is Company an’ kicks ‘im round the floor!
 
 
  The young recruit is ‘ammered – ‘e takes it very ‘ard;
  ‘E ‘angs ‘is ‘ead an’ mutters – ‘e sulks about the yard;
  ‘E talks o’ “cruel tyrants” ‘e’ll swing for by-an’-by,
  An’ the others ‘ears an’ mocks ‘im, an’ the boy goes orf to cry.
 
 
  The young recruit is silly – ‘e thinks o’ suicide;
  ‘E’s lost ‘is gutter-devil; ‘e ‘asn’t got ‘is pride;
  But day by day they kicks ‘im, which ‘elps ‘im on a bit,
  Till ‘e finds ‘isself one mornin’ with a full an’ proper kit.
 
 
       Gettin’ clear o’ dirtiness, gettin’ done with mess,
       Gettin’ shut o’ doin’ things rather-more-or-less;
       Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho,
       Learns to keep ‘is rifle an’ ‘isself jus’ so!
 
 
  The young recruit is ‘appy – ‘e throws a chest to suit;
  You see ‘im grow mustaches; you ‘ear ‘im slap ‘is boot;
  ‘E learns to drop the “bloodies” from every word ‘e slings,
  An’ ‘e shows an ‘ealthy brisket when ‘e strips for bars an’ rings.
 
 
  The cruel-tyrant-sergeants they watch ‘im ‘arf a year;
  They watch ‘im with ‘is comrades, they watch ‘im with ‘is beer;
  They watch ‘im with the women at the regimental dance,
  And the cruel-tyrant-sergeants send ‘is name along for “Lance”.
 
 
  An’ now ‘e’s ‘arf o’ nothin’, an’ all a private yet,
  ‘Is room they up an’ rags ‘im to see what they will get;
  They rags ‘im low an’ cunnin’, each dirty trick they can,
  But ‘e learns to sweat ‘is temper an’ ‘e learns to sweat ‘is man.
 
 
  An’, last, a Colour-Sergeant, as such to be obeyed,
  ‘E schools ‘is men at cricket, ‘e tells ‘em on parade;
  They sees ‘em quick an’ ‘andy, uncommon set an’ smart,
  An’ so ‘e talks to orficers which ‘ave the Core at ‘eart.
 
 
  ‘E learns to do ‘is watchin’ without it showin’ plain;
  ‘E learns to save a dummy, an’ shove ‘im straight again;
  ‘E learns to check a ranker that’s buyin’ leave to shirk;
  An’ ‘e learns to make men like ‘im so they’ll learn to like their work.
 
 
  An’ when it comes to marchin’ he’ll see their socks are right,
  An’ when it comes to action ‘e shows ‘em ‘ow to sight;
  ‘E knows their ways of thinkin’ and just what’s in their mind;
  ‘E knows when they are takin’ on an’ when they’ve fell be’ind.
 
 
  ‘E knows each talkin’ corpril that leads a squad astray;
  ‘E feels ‘is innards ‘eavin’, ‘is bowels givin’ way;
  ‘E sees the blue-white faces all tryin’ ‘ard to grin,
  An’ ‘e stands an’ waits an’ suffers till it’s time to cap ‘em in.
 
 
  An’ now the hugly bullets come peckin’ through the dust,
  An’ no one wants to face ‘em, but every beggar must;
  So, like a man in irons which isn’t glad to go,
  They moves ‘em off by companies uncommon stiff an’ slow.
 
 
  Of all ‘is five years’ schoolin’ they don’t remember much
  Excep’ the not retreatin’, the step an’ keepin’ touch.
  It looks like teachin’ wasted when they duck an’ spread an’ ‘op,
  But if ‘e ‘adn’t learned ‘em they’d be all about the shop!
 
 
  An’ now it’s “‘Oo goes backward?” an’ now it’s “‘Oo comes on?”
   And now it’s “Get the doolies,” an’ now the captain’s gone;
  An’ now it’s bloody murder, but all the while they ‘ear
  ‘Is voice, the same as barrick drill, a-shepherdin’ the rear.
 
 
  ‘E’s just as sick as they are, ‘is ‘eart is like to split,
  But ‘e works ‘em, works ‘em, works ‘em till he feels ‘em take the bit;
  The rest is ‘oldin’ steady till the watchful bugles play,
  An’ ‘e lifts ‘em, lifts ‘em, lifts ‘em through the charge that wins the day!
 
 
       The ‘eathen in ‘is blindness bows down to wood an’ stone;
       ‘E don’t obey no orders unless they is ‘is own;
       The ‘eathen in ‘is blindness must end where ‘e began,
       But the backbone of the Army is the non-commissioned man!
 
 
       Keep away from dirtiness – keep away from mess.
       Don’t get into doin’ things rather-more-or-less!
       Let’s ha’ done with abby-nay, kul, an’ hazar-ho;
       Mind you keep your rifle an’ yourself jus’ so!
 

THE SHUT-EYE SENTRY

 
  Sez the Junior Orderly Sergeant
   To the Senior Orderly Man:
  “Our Orderly Orf’cer’s hokee-mut,
   You ‘elp ‘im all you can.
  For the wine was old and the night is cold,
   An’ the best we may go wrong,
  So, ‘fore ‘e gits to the sentry-box,
   You pass the word along.”
 
 
       So it was “Rounds!  What Rounds?” at two of a frosty night,
        ‘E’s ‘oldin’ on by the sergeant’s sash, but, sentry, shut your eye.
       An’ it was “Pass!  All’s well!”  Oh, ain’t ‘e drippin’ tight!
        ‘E’ll need an affidavit pretty badly by-an’-by.
 
 
  The moon was white on the barricks,
   The road was white an’ wide,
  An’ the Orderly Orf’cer took it all,
   An’ the ten-foot ditch beside.
  An’ the corporal pulled an’ the sergeant pushed,
   An’ the three they danced along,
  But I’d shut my eyes in the sentry-box,
   So I didn’t see nothin’ wrong.
 
 
       Though it was “Rounds!  What Rounds?”  O corporal, ‘old ‘im up!
        ‘E’s usin’ ‘is cap as it shouldn’t be used, but, sentry, shut your eye.
       An’ it was “Pass!  All’s well!”  Ho, shun the foamin’ cup!
        ‘E’ll need, etc.
 
 
  ‘Twas after four in the mornin’;
   We ‘ad to stop the fun,
  An’ we sent ‘im ‘ome on a bullock-cart,
   With ‘is belt an’ stock undone;
  But we sluiced ‘im down an’ we washed ‘im out,
   An’ a first-class job we made,
  When we saved ‘im, smart as a bombardier,
   For six-o’clock parade.
 
 
       It ‘ad been “Rounds!  What Rounds?”  Oh, shove ‘im straight again!
        ‘E’s usin’ ‘is sword for a bicycle, but, sentry, shut your eye.
       An’ it was “Pass!  All’s well!”  ‘E’s called me “Darlin’ Jane”!
        ‘E’ll need, etc.
 
 
  The drill was long an’ ‘eavy,
   The sky was ‘ot an’ blue,
  An’ ‘is eye was wild an’ ‘is ‘air was wet,
   But ‘is sergeant pulled ‘im through.
  Our men was good old trusties —
   They’d done it on their ‘ead;
  But you ought to ‘ave ‘eard ‘em markin’ time
   To ‘ide the things ‘e said!
 
 
       For it was “Right flank – wheel!” for “‘Alt, an’ stand at ease!”
         An’ “Left extend!” for “Centre close!”  O marker, shut your eye!
       An’ it was, “‘Ere, sir, ‘ere! before the Colonel sees!”
         So he needed affidavits pretty badly by-an’-by.
 
 
  There was two-an’-thirty sergeants,
   There was corp’rals forty-one,
  There was just nine ‘undred rank an’ file
   To swear to a touch o’ sun.
  There was me ‘e’d kissed in the sentry-box,
   As I ‘ave not told in my song,
  But I took my oath, which were Bible truth,
   I ‘adn’t seen nothin’ wrong.
 
 
  There’s them that’s ‘ot an’ ‘aughty,
   There’s them that’s cold an’ ‘ard,
  But there comes a night when the best gets tight,
   And then turns out the Guard.
  I’ve seen them ‘ide their liquor
   In every kind o’ way,
  But most depends on makin’ friends
   With Privit Thomas A.!
 
 
       When it is “Rounds!  What Rounds?”  ‘E’s breathin’ through ‘is nose.
        ‘E’s reelin’, rollin’, roarin’ tight, but, sentry, shut your eye.
       An’ it is “Pass!  All’s well!”  An’ that’s the way it goes:
        We’ll ‘elp ‘im for ‘is mother, an’ ‘e’ll ‘elp us by-an’-by!
 

“MARY, PITY WOMEN!”

 
  You call yourself a man,
   For all you used to swear,
  An’ leave me, as you can,
   My certain shame to bear?
   I ‘ear!  You do not care —
  You done the worst you know.
   I ‘ate you, grinnin’ there..
  Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
 
 
       Nice while it lasted, an’ now it is over —
       Tear out your ‘eart an’ good-bye to your lover!
       What’s the use o’ grievin’, when the mother that bore you
       (Mary, pity women!) knew it all before you?
 
 
  It aren’t no false alarm,
   The finish to your fun;
  You – you ‘ave brung the ‘arm,
   An’ I’m the ruined one;
   An’ now you’ll off an’ run
  With some new fool in tow.
   Your ‘eart?  You ‘aven’t none..
  Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
 
 
       When a man is tired there is naught will bind ‘im;
       All ‘e solemn promised ‘e will shove be’ind ‘im.
       What’s the good o’ prayin’ for The Wrath to strike ‘im
       (Mary, pity women!), when the rest are like ‘im?
 
 
  What ‘ope for me or – it?
   What’s left for us to do?
  I’ve walked with men a bit,
   But this – but this is you.
  So ‘elp me Christ, it’s true!
   Where can I ‘ide or go?
  You coward through and through!.
   Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
 
 
       All the more you give ‘em the less are they for givin’ —
       Love lies dead, an’ you cannot kiss ‘im livin’.
       Down the road ‘e led you there is no returnin’
       (Mary, pity women!), but you’re late in learnin’!
 
 
  You’d like to treat me fair?
   You can’t, because we’re pore?
  We’d starve?  What do I care!
   We might, but this is shore!
   I want the name – no more —
  The name, an’ lines to show,
   An’ not to be an ‘ore..
  Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
 
 
       What’s the good o’ pleadin’, when the mother that bore you
       (Mary, pity women!) knew it all before you?
       Sleep on ‘is promises an’ wake to your sorrow
       (Mary, pity women!), for we sail to-morrow!
 

FOR TO ADMIRE

 
  The Injian Ocean sets an’ smiles
   So sof’, so bright, so bloomin’ blue;
  There aren’t a wave for miles an’ miles
   Excep’ the jiggle from the screw.
  The ship is swep’, the day is done,
   The bugle’s gone for smoke and play;
  An’ black agin’ the settin’ sun
   The Lascar sings, “Hum deckty hai!”                 [“I’m looking out.”]
 
 
       For to admire an’ for to see,
        For to be’old this world so wide —
       It never done no good to me,
        But I can’t drop it if I tried!
 
 
  I see the sergeants pitchin’ quoits,
   I ‘ear the women laugh an’ talk,
  I spy upon the quarter-deck
   The orficers an’ lydies walk.
  I thinks about the things that was,
   An’ leans an’ looks acrost the sea,
  Till spite of all the crowded ship
   There’s no one lef’ alive but me.
 
 
  The things that was which I ‘ave seen,
   In barrick, camp, an’ action too,
  I tells them over by myself,
   An’ sometimes wonders if they’re true;
  For they was odd – most awful odd —
   But all the same now they are o’er,
  There must be ‘eaps o’ plenty such,
   An’ if I wait I’ll see some more.
 
 
  Oh, I ‘ave come upon the books,
   An’ frequent broke a barrick rule,
  An’ stood beside an’ watched myself
   Be’avin’ like a bloomin’ fool.
  I paid my price for findin’ out,
   Nor never grutched the price I paid,
  But sat in Clink without my boots,
   Admirin’ ‘ow the world was made.
 
 
  Be’old a crowd upon the beam,
   An’ ‘umped above the sea appears
  Old Aden, like a barrick-stove
   That no one’s lit for years an’ years!
  I passed by that when I began,
   An’ I go ‘ome the road I came,
  A time-expired soldier-man
   With six years’ service to ‘is name.
 
 
  My girl she said, “Oh, stay with me!”
    My mother ‘eld me to ‘er breast.
  They’ve never written none, an’ so
   They must ‘ave gone with all the rest —
  With all the rest which I ‘ave seen
   An’ found an’ known an’ met along.
  I cannot say the things I feel,
   And so I sing my evenin’ song:
 
 
       For to admire an’ for to see,
        For to be’old this world so wide —
       It never done no good to me,
        But I can’t drop it if I tried!
 

L’ENVOI

 
  When Earth’s last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
  When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
  We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it – lie down for an ]aeon or two,
  Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew!
 
 
  And those that were good shall be happy:  they shall sit in a golden chair;
  They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets’ hair;
  They shall find real saints to draw from – Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
  They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!
 
 
  And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;
  And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
  But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
  Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are!