Chapter I: Front Matter

THE SEVEN SEAS

by

Rudyard Kipling

Author of Many Inventions, Barrack-Room Ballads, The Jungle Books, Etc.

New York D. Appleton and Company 1900

Copyright, 1896, by Rudyard Kipling

This book is also protected by copyright under the laws of Great Britain, and the several poems contained herein have also been severally copyrighted in the United States of America.

CONTENTS.

PAGE
DEDICATION TO THE CITY OF BOMBAY V
A SONG OF THE ENGLISH 1
THE FIRST CHANTEY 18
THE LAST CHANTEY 21
THE MERCHANTMEN 26
MCANDREWS' HYMN 31
THE MIRACLES 46
THE NATIVE-BORN 48
THE KING 54
THE RHYME OF THE THREE SEALERS 57
THE DERELICT 71
THE SONG OF THE BANJO 74
"THE LINER SHE'S A LADY" 80
MULHOLLAND'S CONTRACT 83
ANCHOR SONG 87
THE SEA-WIFE 90
HYMN BEFORE ACTION 93
TO THE TRUE ROMANCE 96
THE FLOWERS 100
THE LAST RHYME OF TRUE THOMAS 104
THE STORY OF UNG 113
THE THREE-DECKER 118
AN AMERICAN 123
THE MARY GLOSTER 126
SESTINA OF THE TRAMP-ROYAL 141

BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS.

"BACK TO THE ARMY AGAIN" 145
"BIRDS OF PREY" MARCH 149
"SOLDIER AN' SAILOR TOO" 152
SAPPERS 156
THAT DAY 160
"THE MEN THAT FOUGHT AT MINDEN" 163
CHOLERA CAMP 167
THE LADIES 171
BILL 'AWKINS 175
THE MOTHER-LODGE 177
"FOLLOW ME 'OME" 181
THE SERGEANT'S WEDDIN' 184
THE JACKET 187
THE 'EATHEN 191
THE SHUT-EYE SENTRY 198
"MARY, PITY WOMEN!" 202
FOR TO ADMIRE 205
L'ENVOI 208

DEDICATION

To The City Of Bombay.

The Cities are full of pride,
Challenging each to each--
This from her mountain-side,
That from her burthened beach.

They count their ships full tale--
Their corn and oil and wine,
Derrick and loom and bale,
And rampart's gun-flecked line;
City by city they hail:
"Hast aught to match with mine?"

And the men that breed from them
They traffic up and down,
But cling to their cities' hem
As a child to the mother's gown.

When they talk with the stranger bands,
Dazed and newly alone;
When they walk in the stranger lands,
By roaring streets unknown;
Blessing her where she stands
For strength above their own.

(On high to hold her fame
That stands all fame beyond,
By oath to back the same,
Most faithful-foolish-fond;
Making her mere-breathed name
Their bond upon their bond.)

So thank I God my birth
Fell not in isles aside--
Waste headlands of the earth,
Or warring tribes untried--
But that she lent me worth
And gave me right to pride.

Surely in toil or fray
Under an alien sky,
Comfort it is to say:
"Of no mean city am I."

(Neither by service nor fee
Come I to mine estate--
Mother of Cities to me,
For I was born in her gate,
Between the palms and the sea,
Where the world-end steamers wait.)

Now for this debt I owe,
And for her far-borne cheer
Must I make haste and go
With tribute to her pier.

And she shall touch and remit
After the use of kings
(Orderly, ancient, fit)
My deep-sea plunderings,
And purchase in all lands.
And this we do for a sign
Her power is over mine,
And mine I hold at her hands.

A SONG OF THE ENGLISH.

_Fair is our lot--O goodly is our heritage!
(Humble ye, my people, and be fearful in your mirth!)
For the Lord our God Most High
He hath made the deep as dry,
He hath smote for us a pathway to the ends of all the Earth!_

_Yea, though we sinned--and our rulers went from righteousness--
Deep in all dishonour though we stained our garments' hem.
Oh be ye not dismayed,
Though we stumbled and we strayed,
We were led by evil counsellors--the Lord shall deal with them._

_Hold ye the Faith--the Faith our Fathers sealèd us;
Whoring not with visions--overwise and overstale.
Except ye pay the Lord
Single heart and single sword,
Of your children in their bondage shall He ask them treble-tale._

_Keep ye the Law--be swift in all obedience.
Clear the land of evil, drive the road and bridge the ford.
Make ye sure to each his own
That he reap what he hath sown;
By the peace among Our peoples let men know we serve the Lord._

* * * * *

_Hear now a song--a song of broken interludes--
A song of little cunning; of a singer nothing worth.
Through the naked words and mean
May ye see the truth between
As the singer knew and touched it in the ends of all the Earth!_

The Coastwise Lights.

Our brows are wreathed with spindrift and the weed is on our knees;
Our loins are battered 'neath us by the swinging, smoking seas.
From reef and rock and skerry--over headland, ness and voe--
The Coastwise Lights of England watch the ships of England go!

Through the endless summer evenings, on the lineless, level floors;
Through the yelling Channel tempest when the syren hoots and roars--
By day the dipping house-flag and by night the rocket's trail--
As the sheep that graze behind us so we know them where they hail.

We bridge across the dark, and bid the helmsman have a care,
The flash that wheeling inland wakes his sleeping wife to prayer;
From our vexed eyries, head to gale, we bind in burning chains
The lover from the sea-rim drawn--his love in English lanes.

We greet the clippers wing-and-wing that race the Southern wool;
We warn the crawling cargo-tanks of Bremen, Leith and Hull;
To each and all our equal lamp at peril of the sea--
The white wall-sided warships or the whalers of Dundee!

Come up, come in from Eastward, from the guard-ports of the Morn!
Beat up, beat in from Southerly, O gipsies of the Horn!
Swift shuttles of an Empire's loom that weave us main to main,
The Coastwise Lights of England give you welcome back again!

Go, get you gone up-Channel with the sea-crust on your plates;
Go, get you into London with the burden of your freights!
Haste, for they talk of Empire there, and say, if any seek,
The Lights of England sent you and by silence shall ye speak.

The Song of the Dead.

_Hear now the Song of the Dead--in the North by the torn berg-edges--
They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped
sledges.
Song of the Dead in the South--in the sun by their skeleton horses,
Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust of the sere
river-courses._

_Song of the Dead in the East--in the heat-rotted jungle hollows,
Where the dog-ape barks in the kloof--in the brake of the
buffalo-wallows.
Song of the Dead in the West--in the Barrens, the snow that betrayed
them,
Where the wolverine tumbles their packs from the camp and the
grave-mound they made them;
Hear now the Song of the Dead!_