The Story Of Uriah

"Now there were two men in one city; the one rich, and the other poor."



Jack Barrett went to Quetta
Because they told him to.
He left his wife at Simla
On three-fourths his monthly screw.
Jack Barrett died at Quetta
Ere the next month's pay he drew.

Jack Barrett went to Quetta.
He didn't understand
The reason of his transfer
From the pleasant mountain-land.
The season was September,
And it killed him out of hand.

Jack Barrett went to Quetta
And there gave up the ghost,
Attempting two men's duty
In that very healthy post;
And Mrs. Barrett mourned for him
Five lively months at most.

Jack Barrett's bones at Quetta
Enjoy profound repose;
But I shouldn't be astonished
If now his spirit knows
The reason of his transfer
From the Himalayan snows.

And, when the Last Great Bugle Call
Adown the Hurnai throbs,
And the last grim joke is entered
In the big black Book of Jobs.
And Quetta graveyards give again
Their victims to the air,
I shouldn't like to be the man
Who sent Jack Barrett there.

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

Rudyard

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The Grave Of The Hundred Head

There's a widow in sleepy Chester
Who weeps for her only son;
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A grave that the Burmans shun;
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A Snider squibbed in the jungle,
Somebody laughed and fled,
And the men of the First Shikaris
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Subadar Prag Tewarri,
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Took command of the party,
Twenty rifles in all,
Marched them down to the river
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They buried the boy by the river,
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The Lament Of The Border Cattle Thief

O woe is me for the merry life
I led beyond the Bar,
And a treble woe for my winsome wife
That weeps at Shalimar.

They have taken away my long jezail,
My shield and sabre fine,
And heaved me into the Central jail
For lifting of the kine.

The steer may low within the byre,
The Jat may tend his grain,
But there'll be neither loot nor fire
Till I come back again.

And God have mercy on the Jat
When once my fetters fall,
And Heaven defend the farmer's hut
When I am loosed from thrall.

It's woe to bend the stubborn back
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It's woe to hear the leg-bar clack
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A Ballade Of Burial

"Saint Praxed's ever was the Church for peace"


If down here I chance to die,
Solemnly I beg you take
All that is left of "I"
To the Hills for old sake's sake,
Pack me very thoroughly
In the ice that used to slake
Pegs I drank when I was dry,
This observe for old sake's sake.

To the railway station hie,
There a single ticket take
For Umballa, goods-train, I
Shall not mind delay or shake.
I shall rest contentedly
Spite of clamour coolies make;
Thus in state and dignity
Send me up for old sake's sake.

Next the sleepy Babu wake,
Book a Kalka van "for four."
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Chapter Headings - Lifes Handicap

The doors were wide, the story saith,
Out of the night came the patient wraith.
He might not speak, and he could not stir
A hair of the Barons minniver.
Speechless and strengthless, a shadow thin,
He roved the castle to find his kin.
And oh! twas a piteous sight to see
The dumb ghost follow his enemy!
The Return of Imray.



Before my Spring I garnered Autumn's gain,
Out of her time my field was white with grain,
The year gave up her secrets, to my woe.
Forced and deflowered each sick season lay
In mystery of increase and decay;
I saw the sunset ere men see the day,
Who am too wise in all I should not know.
Without Benefit of Clergy.



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The Last Department

Twelve hundred million men are spread
About this Earth, and I and You
Wonder, when You and I are dead,
"What will those luckless millions do?"

None whole or clean, "we cry, "or free from stain
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Nor grade nor greed, shall trouble us again.

Fear, Favour, or Affection, what are these
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I never knew a wife or interest yet
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Pagett, M.P.

The toad beneath the harrow knows
Exactly where eath tooth-point goes.
The butterfly upon the road
Preaches contentment to that toad.


Pagett, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith,
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Called me a "bloated Brahmin," talked of my "princely pay."
March went out with the roses. "Where is your heat?" said he.
"Coming," said I to Pagett, "Skittles!" said Pagett, M.P.

April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat,,
Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat.
He grew speckled and mumpy-ha...

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