  “An’ I’ll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!” GREEN crawling slime, that bubbles clotted blood; White wraiths of fetid steam that rise and curl, And blood-red mist, convolving in a swirl Of lurid heat, o’er that putrescent flood; And under all, a seething, rotting mud— Torn souls that once were men—flayed, bleeding souls, Souls drenched with gore from gangrenous bullet-holes, Green, sightless eyes—and blood, and blood, and blood! Lo! Gunga Din! He cometh smeared with gore That dribbles from cleft forehead to the skin Of putrid drink, one black foot on Hell’s shore, One in the slime. A flayed hand toward him grasps, And one blind, shattered head that bleeds for sin Bloats forth its purple tongue in strangling gasps. “Elle Était bien belle, le matin, sans atours!” HOW fair, at dawn, how simply did she go, Watching her new-born garden flowrets thrive, Spying her bees in their ambrosial hive, Ling’ring beside each hedge and hawthorn row! How fair at eventide lead on the maze Of the mad dance, whilst in her massy hair Sapphires and roses woven crowned more fair That face illumined by the torches’ blaze! How fair was she beneath her pure soft veil, Outfloating wide upon the listening night; Silent we stood and far, to watch that sight, Happy to glimpse her in the starlight pale. How fair was she! Each day some sweetness gave, Some vague dear hope, pure thoughts and free from care. Love, love was all she lacked, to grow more fair. Peace!... Through the fields they bear her to the grave!... “Lugete, O Veneres Cupidenesque, et quantum est hominum venustiorum.” I BID you all, ye Loves and Cupids, mourn, With what of pitying kindness men may know. The sparrow of my little maid forlorn Ay, even my sweetheart’s sparrow, cherished so, (Loved like her very eyes, ah heavy woe!) Is dead. Full sweet was he, and knew her well As she her mother knew, nor long would stray From her fair breast, save here to hop, or there; His pretty pipings were for her alway. Yet now he wings the shadowy gloom of Hell, Whence none return to breathe Earth’s pleasant air. But curses on thee, dark and evil shade So to engulf all things that lovely be! Thou’st robbed her sparrow from my little maid; (Alas the crime, the sparrow stark and dead!) And now with swollen eyes, because of thee She weeps, alack, nor will be comforted. III.Alone!... Alone? Beneath my heart Fainting I feel our new life beat, Where our lives, joined, though dead thou art, Share each a part. On thy clear temples, bleeding-red The rose-wreaths twine, the flowers die. With roses do I deck our bed Where thou liest dead. (To the Peruvian Mummies in the Peabody Museum at Cambridge.) BOWED be three time-gnawed heads in thoughts profound On crackling breast, on fleshless hands, on knees, Sunk in the depths of endless reveries Whilst foolish sun and fretful earth spin round. By night they counsel, argue, plan, expound And hold high court as once by tropic seas; By day they rightly take their royal ease As fitteth those whom Death no more can hound. Sage King, and ye two Councillors of State, We look on you with ignorant, living eyes. Ye fear no death who be already dead— Time pricks you not, nor haste. Ye sit and wait, Each thoughtful, passionless and very wise, With shrivelled bones and parchment-covered head... TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. |
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