The Works of Rudyard Kipling Part 22

They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of jail, They only fawned for dollars on the blood-dyed Clan-na-Gael.

If black is black or white is white, ill black and white it's down, They're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown.

"Cleared," honorable gentlemen. Be thankful it's no more: The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at your door.

On you the shame of open shame, on you from North to South The band of every honest man flat-heeled across your mouth.

"Less black than we were painted"?--Faith, no word of black was said; The lightest touch was human blood, and that, ye know, runs red.

It's sticking to your fist today for all your sneer and scoff, And by the Judge's well-weighed word you cannot wipe it off.

Hold up those hands of innocence--go, scare your sheep, together, The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the old bell-wether; And if they snuff the taint and break to find another pen, Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them yours again!

"The charge is old"?--As old as Cain--as fresh as yesterday; Old as the Ten Commandments, have ye talked those laws away?

If words are words, or death is death, or powder sends the ball, You spoke the words that sped the shot--the curse be on you all.

"Our friends believe"? Of course they do--as sheltered women may; But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped from the quivering clay?

They--If their own front door is shut, they'll swear the whole world's warm; What do they know of dread of death or hanging fear of harm?

The secret half a country keeps, the whisper in the lane, The shriek that tells the shot went home behind the broken pane, The dry blood crisping in the sun that scares the honest bees, And shows the "bhoys" have heard your talk--what do they know of these?

But you--you know--ay, ten times more; the secrets of the dead, Black terror on the country-side by word and whisper bred, The mangled stallion's scream at night, the tail-cropped heifer's low.

Who set the whisper going first? You know, and well you know!

My soul! I'd sooner lie in jail for murder plain and straight, Pure crime I'd done with my own hand for money, l.u.s.t, or hate, Than take a seat in Parliament by fellow-felons cheered, While one of those "not provens" proved me cleared as you are cleared.

Cleared--you that "lost" the League accounts--go, guard our honor still, Go, help to make our country's laws that broke G.o.d's laws at will-- One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal "strike again"; The other on your dress-s.h.i.+rt front to show your heart is @dane,

If black is black or white is white, in black and white it's down, You're only traitors to the Queen and but rebels to the Crown If print is print or words are words, the learned Court perpends: We are not ruled by murderers, only--by their friends.

AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT

Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed, To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak in their need, He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and pant, and sweat, That the straw might be counted fairly and the tally of bricks be set.

The Lords of Their Hands a.s.sembled; from the East and the West they drew-- Baltimore, Lille, and Essen, Brummagem, Clyde, and Crewe.

And some were black from the furnace, and some were brown from the soil, And some were blue from the dye-vat; but all were wearied of toil.

And the young King said:--"I have found it, the road to the rest ye seek: The strong shall wait for the weary, the hale shall halt for the weak; With the even tramp of an army where no man breaks from the line, Ye shall march to peace and plenty in the bond of brotherhood--sign!"

The paper lay on the table, the strong heads bowed thereby, And a wail went up from the peoples:--"Ay, sign--give rest, for we die!"

A hand was stretched to the goose-quill, a fist was cramped to scrawl, When--the laugh of a blue-eyed maiden ran clear through the council-hall.

And each one heard Her laughing as each one saw Her plain-- Saidie, Mimi, or Olga, Gretchen, or Mary Jane.

And the Spirit of Man that is in Him to the light of the vision woke; And the men drew back from the paper, as a Yankee delegate spoke:--

"There's a girl in Jersey City who works on the telephone; We're going to hitch our horses and dig for a house of our own, With gas and water connections, and steam-heat through to the top; And, W. Hohenzollern, I guess I shall work till I drop."

And an English delegate thundered:--"The weak an' the lame be blowed!

I've a berth in the Sou'-West workshops, a home in the Wandsworth Road; And till the 'sociation has footed my buryin' bill, I work for the kids an' the missus. Pull up? I be d.a.m.ned if I will!"

And over the German benches the bearded whisper ran:-- "Lager, der girls und der dollars, dey makes or dey breaks a man.

If Schmitt haf collared der dollars, he collars der girl deremit; But if Schmitt bust in der pizness, we collars der girl from Schmitt."

They pa.s.sed one resolution:--"Your sub-committee believe You can lighten the curse of Adam when you've lightened the curse of Eve.

But till we are built like angels, with hammer and chisel and pen, We will work for ourself and a woman, for ever and ever, amen."

Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser held-- The day that they razored the Grindstone, the day that the Cat was belled, The day of the Figs from Thistles, the day of the Twisted Sands, The day that the laugh of a maiden made light of the Lords of Their Hands.

TOMLINSON

Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square, And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by the hair-- A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far away, Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of the Milky Way: Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and drone and cease, And they came to the Gate within the Wall where Peter holds the keys.

"Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and answer loud and high The good that ye did for the sake of men or ever ye came to die-- The good that ye did for the sake of men in little earth so lone!"

And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white as a rain-washed bone.

"O I have a friend on earth," he said, "that was my priest and guide, And well would he answer all for me if he were by my side."

--"For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall be written fair, But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in Berkeley Square: Though we called your friend from his bed this night, he could not speak for you, For the race is run by one and one and never by two and two."

Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain was there, For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw that his soul was bare: The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife, And Tomlinson took up his tale and spoke of his good in life.

"This I have read in a book," he said, "and that was told to me, And this I have thought that another man thought of a Prince in Muscovy."

The good souls flocked like homing doves and bade him clear the path, And Peter twirled the jangling keys in weariness and wrath.

"Ye have read, ye have heard, ye have thought," he said, "and the tale is yet to run: By the worth of the body that once ye had, give answer--what ha'ye done?"

Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and little good it bore, For the Darkness stayed at his shoulder-blade and Heaven's Gate before:-- "O this I have felt, and this I have guessed, and this I have heard men say, And this they wrote that another man wrote of a carl in Norroway."

--"Ye have read, ye have felt, ye have guessed, good lack! Ye have hampered Heaven's Gate; There's little room between the stars in idleness to prate!

O none may reach by hired speech of neighbour, priest, and kin Through borrowed deed to G.o.d's good meed that lies so fair within; Get hence, get hence to the Lord of Wrong, for doom has yet to run, And... the faith that ye share with Berkeley Square uphold you, Tomlinson!"

The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun by sun they fell Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars that rim the mouth of h.e.l.l: The first are red with pride and wrath, the next are white with pain, But the third are black with clinkered sin that cannot burn again: They may hold their path, they may leave their path, with never a soul to mark, They may burn or freeze, but they must not cease in the Scorn of the Outer Dark.

The Wind that blows between the worlds, it nipped him to the bone, And he yearned to the flare of h.e.l.l-Gate there as the light of his own hearth- stone.

The Devil he sat behind the bars, where the desperate legions drew, But he caught the hasting Tomlinson and would not let him through.

"Wot ye the price of good pit-coal that I must pay?" said he, "That ye rank yoursel' so fit for h.e.l.l and ask no leave of me?

I am all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that ye should give me scorn, For I strove with G.o.d for your First Father the day that he was born.

"Sit down, sit down upon the slag, and answer loud and high The harm that ye did to the Sons of Men or ever you came to die."

And Tomlinson looked up and up, and saw against the night The belly of a tortured star blood-red in h.e.l.l-Mouth light; And Tomlinson looked down and down, and saw beneath his feet The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in h.e.l.l-Mouth heat.

"O I had a love on earth," said he, "that kissed me to my fall, And if ye would call my love to me I know she would answer all."

--"All that ye did in love forbid it shall be written fair, But now ye wait at h.e.l.l-Mouth Gate and not in Berkeley Square: Though we whistled your love from her bed tonight, I trow she would not run, For the sin ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one!"

The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife, And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sin in life:-- "Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice at the grip of the Grave, And thrice I ha' patted my G.o.d on the head that men might call me brave."

The Devil he blew on a brandered soul and set it aside to cool:-- "Do ye think I would waste my good pit-coal on the hide of a brain-sick fool?

I see no worth in the hobnailed mirth or the jolthead jest ye did That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleeping three on a grid."