Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1024 page)

Oh, my country, bless the training that from cot to castle runs -
The pitfall of the stranger but the bulwark of thy sons -
Measured speech and ordered action, sluggish soul and un - perturbed,
Till we wake our Island-Devil-nowise cool for being curbed!

When the heir of all the ages “has the honour to remain,”
When he will not hear an insult, though men make it ne’er so plain,
When his lips are schooled to meekness, when his back is bowed to blows -
Well the keen
aas-vogels
know it-well the waiting jackal knows.

Build on the flanks of Etna where the sullen smoke-puffs float -
Or bathe in tropic waters where the lean fin dogs the boat -
Cock the gun that is not loaded, cook the frozen dynamite -
But oh, beware my Country, when my Country grows polite!

Evarra And His Gods

Read here:
This is the story of Evarra — man —
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.
 Because the city gave him of her gold,
 Because the caravans brought turquoises,
 Because his life was sheltered by the King,
 So that no man should maim him, none should steal,
 Or break his rest with babble in the streets
 When he was weary after toil, he made
 An image of his God in gold and pearl,
 With turquoise diadem and human eyes,
 A wonder in the sunshine, known afar,
 And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with pride,
 Because the city bowed to him for God,
 He wrote above the shrine:  “
Thus Gods are made,
 And whoso makes them otherwise shall die.
”
 And all the city praised him. . . .  Then he died.

Read here the story of Evarra — man —
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.
 Because the city had no wealth to give,
 Because the caravans were spoiled afar,
 Because his life was threatened by the King,
 So that all men despised him in the streets,
 He hewed the living rock, with sweat and tears,
 And reared a God against the morning-gold,
 A terror in the sunshine, seen afar,
 And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with pride,
 Because the city fawned to bring him back,
 He carved upon the plinth:  “
Thus Gods are made,
 And whoso makes them otherwise shall die.
”
 And all the people praised him. . . .  Then he died.

Read here the story of Evarra — man —
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.
 Because he lived among a simple folk,
 Because his village was between the hills,
 Because he smeared his cheeks with blood of ewes,
 He cut an idol from a fallen pine,
 Smeared blood upon its cheeks, and wedged a shell
 Above its brows for eyes, and gave it hair
 Of trailing moss, and plaited straw for crown.
 And all the village praised him for this craft,
 And brought him butter, honey, milk, and curds.
 Wherefore, because the shoutings drove him mad,
 He scratched upon that log:  “
Thus Gods are made,
 And whoso makes them otherwise shall die.
”
 And all the people praised him. . . .  Then he died.

Read here the story of Evarra — man —
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.
 Because his God decreed one clot of blood
 Should swerve one hair’s-breadth from the pulse’s path,
 And chafe his brain, Evarra mowed alone,
 Rag-wrapped, among the cattle in the fields,
 Counting his fingers, jesting with the trees,
 And mocking at the mist, until his God
 Drove him to labour.  Out of dung and horns
 Dropped in the mire he made a monstrous God,
 Abhorrent, shapeless, crowned with plantain tufts,
 And when the cattle lowed at twilight-time,
 He dreamed it was the clamour of lost crowds,
 And howled among the beasts:  “
Thus Gods are made,
 And whoso makes them otherwise shall die.
”
 Thereat the cattle bellowed. . . .  Then he died.

Yet at the last he came to Paradise,
And found his own four Gods, and that he wrote;
And marvelled, being very near to God,
What oaf on earth had made his toil God’s law,
Till God said mocking:  “Mock not.  These be thine.”
Then cried Evarra:  “I have sinned!” — “Not so.
If thou hadst written otherwise, thy Gods
Had rested in the mountain and the mine,
And I were poorer by four wondrous Gods,
And thy more wondrous law, Evarra.  Thine,
Servant of shouting crowds and lowing kine.”
Thereat, with laughing mouth, but tear-wet eyes,
Evarra cast his Gods from Paradise.

This is the story of Evarra — man —
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea.

The Expert

“Beauty Sports”
From “Limits and Renewals” (1932)
Youth that trafficked long with Death,
   And to second life returns,
Squanders little time or breath
   On his fellow — man’s concerns.
Earned peace is all he asks
To fulfill his broken tasks.

Yet, if he find war at home
   (Waspish and importunate),
He hath means to overcome
   Any warrior at his gate;
For the past he buried brings
Back unburiable things —

Nights that he lay out to spy,
   Whence and when the raid might start;
Or prepared in secrecy
   Sudden blows to break its heart —
All the lore of No-Man’s Land
Steels his soul and arms his hand.

So, if conflict vex his life
   Where he thought all conflict done,
He, resuming ancient strife,
   Springs his mine or trains his gun;
And, in mirth more dread than wrath,
Wipes the nuisance from his path!

The Explanation

Love and Death once ceased their strife
At the Tavern of Man’s Life.
Called for wine, and threw — alas! —
Each his quiver on the grass.
When the bout was o’er they found
Mingled arrows strewed the ground.
Hastily they gathered then
Each the loves and lives of men.
Ah, the fateful dawn deceived!
Mingled arrows each one sheaved;
Death’s dread armoury was stored
With the shafts he most abhorred;
Love’s light quiver groaned beneath
Venom-headed darts of Death.

Thus it was they wrought our woe
At the Tavern long ago.
Tell me, do our masters know,
Loosing blindly as they fly,
Old men love while young men die?

The Explorer

1898
There’s no sense in going further — it’s the edge of cultivation,”
  So they said, and I believed it — broke my land and sowed my crop —
Built my barns and strung my fences in the little border station
  Tucked away below the foothills where the trails run out and stop:

Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes
  On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated — so:
“Something hidden.  Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges —
  “Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and wating for you. Go!”

So I went, worn out of patience; never told my nearest neighbours —
  Stole away with pack and ponies — left ‘em drinking in the town;
And the faith that moveth mountains didn’t seem to help my labours
  As I faced the sheer main-ranges, whipping up and leading down.

March by march I puzzled through ‘em, turning flanks and dodging shoulders,
  Hurried on in hope of water, headed back for lack of grass;
Till I camped above the tree-line — drifted snow and naked boulders —
  Felt free air astir to windward — knew I’d stumbled on the Pass.

‘Thought to name it for the finder: but that night the Norther found me —
  Froze and killed the plains-bred ponies; so I called the camp Despair
(It’s the Railway Gap to-day, though). Then my Whisper waked to hound me: —
  “Something lost behind the Ranges.  Over yonder! Go you there!”

Then I knew, the while I doubted — knew His Hand was certain o’er me.
  Still — it might be self-delusion — scores of better men had died —
I could reach the township living, but....e knows what terror tore me...
  But I didn’t... but I didn’t. I went down the other side.

Till the snow ran out in flowers, and the flowers turned to aloes,
  And the aloes sprung to thickets and a brimming stream ran by;
But the thickets dwined to thorn-scrub, and the water drained to shallows,
  And I dropped again on desert — blasted earth, and blasting sky....

I remember lighting fires; I remember sitting by ‘em;
  I remember seeing faces, hearing voices, through the smoke;
I remember they were fancy — for I threw a stone to try ‘em.
  “Something lost behind the Ranges” was the only word they spoke.

I remember going crazy. I remember that I knew it
When I heard myself hallooing to the funny folk I saw.
‘Very full of dreams that desert, but my two legs took me through it...
And I used to watch ‘em moving with the toes all black and raw.

But at last the country altered — White Man’s country past disputing —
  Rolling grass and open timber, with a hint of hills behind —
There I found me food and water, and I lay a week recruiting.
  Got my strength and lost my nightmares.  Then I entered on my find.

Thence I ran my first rough survey — chose my trees and blazed and ringed ‘em —
  Week by week I pried and sampled — week by week my findings grew.
Saul he went to look for donkeys, and by God he found a kingdom!
  But by God, who sent His Whisper, I had struck the worth of two!

Up along the hostile mountains, where the hair-poised snowslide shivers —
  Down and through the big fat marshes that the virgin ore-bed stains,
Till I heard the mile-wide mutterings of unimagined rivers,
  And beyond the nameless timber saw illimitable plains!

‘Plotted sites of future cities, traced the easy grades between ‘em;
  Watched unharnessed rapids wasting fifty thousand head an hour;
Counted leagues of water-frontage through the axe-ripe woods that screen ‘em —
  Saw the plant to feed a people — up and waiting for the power!

Well, I know who’ll take the credit — all the clever chaps that followed —
  Came, a dozen men together — never knew my desert-fears;
Tracked me by the camps I’d quitted, used the water-holes I hollowed.
  They’ll go back and do the talking.
They’ll
be called the Pioneers!

They will find my sites of townships — not the cities that I set there.
  They will rediscover rivers — not my rivers heard at night.
By my own old marks and bearings they will show me how to get there,
  By the lonely cairns I builded they will guide my feet aright.

Have I named one single river? Have I claimed one single acre?
  Have I kept one single nugget — (barring samples)? No, not I!
Because my price was paid me ten times over by my Maker.
  But you wouldn’t understand it. You go up and occupy.

Ores you’ll find there; wood and cattle; water-transit sure and steady
  (That should keep the railway rates down), coal and iron at your doors.
God took care to hide that country till He judged His people ready,
  Then He chose me for His Whisper, and I’ve found it, and it’s yours!

Yes, your “Never-never country” — yes, your “edge of cultivation”
  And “no sense in going further” — till I crossed the range to see.
God forgive me! No,
I
didn’t. It’s God’s present to our nation.
 Anybody might have found it, but — His Whisper came to Me!

The Fabulists

1914-18
“The Vortex” — A Diversity of Creatures
When all the world would keep a matter hid,
  Since Truth is seldom Friend to any crowd,
Men write in fable, as old Aesop did,
  Jesting at that which none will name aloud.
And this they needs must do, or it will fall
Unless they please they are not heard at all.

When desperate Folly daily laboureth
  To work confusion upon all we have,
When diligent Sloth demandeth Freedom’s death,
  And banded Fear commandeth Honour’s grave —
Even in that certain hour before the fall,
Unless men please they are not heard at all.

Needs must all please, yet some not all for need,
  Needs must all toil, yet some not all for gain,
But that men taking pleasure may take heed.
  Whom present toil shall snatch from later pain.
Thus some have toiled, but their reward was small
Since, though they pleased, they were not heard at all.

This
was the lock that lay upon our lips,
  This was the yoke that we have undergone,
Denying us all pleasant fellowships
  As in our time and generation.
Our pleasures unpursued age past recall,
And for our pains — we are not heard at all.

What man hears aught except the groaning guns?
  What man heeds aught save what each instant brings?
When each man’s life all imaged life outruns,
  What man shall pleasure in imaginings?
So it hath fallen, as it was bound to fall,
We are not, nor we were not, heard at all.

The Fairies’ Siege