The spirit that changed from her knowing and flew to Some grim hidden Past she had never a clue to. But It knew as It grinned, for he touched it unfearing, And muttered aloud, "So you kept that jade earring!" Then nodded, and kindly, as friend nods to friend, "Old man, you fought well, but you lost in the end." The visions departed, and Shame followed Passion :"He took what I said in this horrible fashion, "I'll write to Harendra!" With language unsainted The Captain came back to the Bride . . . who had fainted. And this is a fiction? No. Go to Simoorie A pert little, Irish-eyed Kathleen Mavournin- And you'll see, if her right shoulder-strap is displaced, This: Gules upon argent, a Boh's Head, erased! 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 They have taken away my long jezail, And heaved me into the Central Jail The steer may low within the byre, And God have mercy on the Jat And Heaven defend the farmer's hut When I am loosed from thrall. It's woe to bend the stubborn back But for the sorrow and the shame, For every cow I spared before If I may reach my hold once more I'll reive an honest three. For every time I raised the low Ride hard, ride hard to Abazai, The one I'll shoot at twilight-tide, The black shall mourn for hoof and hide, 'Tis war, red war, I'll give you then, War till my sinews fail; For the wrong you have done to a chief of men, And a thief of the Zukka Kheyl. And if I fall to your hand afresh I give you leave for the sin, That you cram my throat with the foul pig's flesh, And swing me in the skin! THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS This ballad appears to refer to one of the exploits of the notorious Paul Jones, the American pirate. It is founded on fact. .. AT the close of a winter day, Their anchors down, by London town, the Three And one was Admiral of the North from Solway Firth to Skye, And one was Lord of the Wessex coast and all the lands thereby, And one was Master of the Thames from Limehouse to Blackwall, And he was Captain of the Fleet—the bravest of them all. Their good guns guarded their great gray sides that were thirty foot in the sheer, When there came a certain trading-brig with news of a privateer. Her rigging was rough with the clotted drift that drives in a Northern breeze, Her sides were clogged with the lazy weed that spawns in the Eastern seas. See hatim fn Feb 8, 191 for origin |