Rhymes of the East and Re-collected Verses Part 5

Sweet, again, to steal a-nigh and Watch thee, ere thy meals begin, Deftly weigh th' unleavened viand, Lest thou be deceived therein:

Sweet to mark thee gravely dining: Grand, when day has nearly gone, 'Tis to view yon Orb declining Down behind thee, broadside on:

Ay! and when thy va.s.sals tub thee, And thou writhest 'neath the brick Wherewithal they take and scrub thee, 'Twere a sight to heal the sick!

Not a pose but serves to ward off Pangs that had of yore prevailed; E'en the stab of being scored off Owns the charm, old Double-Tailed!

But, O Thou that giv'st the flabby Strength, and stingo'st up the weak:- Restful as a grand old Abbey-- Bracing as a Mountain Peak:--

All the bonds of Age were slackened, And my years were out of sight, When I burst upon thy back end As thou kneeled'st yesternight!

Head and frame were hidden. Only Loomed a black, colossal Seat, Taut, magnificent, and lonely, O'er a pair of suppliant feet

To th' astounded mind conveying Dreams from which my manhood shrank, Of a very fat man praying, Whom a boy would love to spank.

And I felt my fingers twitching, And my sinews turned to wire, And my palm was itching, itching, With the old, unhallowed fire.

While the twofold voice within me Urged their long-forgotten feud, One to do thee shame would win me,-- One that whispered, 'Don't be rude!'

Till, by heaven! thy pleading beauty Drove those carnal thoughts away, And the friend that came to scruti- nise was left behind to pray:--

For I shamed thee not, nor spanked thee; But to rearward, on the plain, Hathi, on my knees I thanked thee That I felt a boy again!

VISIONARY

ON THE ADVANTAGES OF AN 'ASTRAL BODY'

It is told, in Buddhi-theosophic Schools There are rules By observing which when mundane matter irks, Or the world has gone amiss, you Can incontinently issue From the circ.u.mscribing tissue Of your Works.

That the body and the gentleman inside Can divide, And the latter, if acquainted with the plan, Can alleviate the tension By remaining 'in suspension'

As a kind of fourth dimension Bogie man.

And to such as mourn an Indian Solar Crime At its prime, 'Twere a stratagem so luminously fit, That tho' doctrinaires deny it, And Academicians guy it, I, for one, would like to try it For a bit.

Just to leave one's earthly tenement asleep In a heap, And detachedly to watch it as it lies, With an epidermis pickled Where the p.r.i.c.kly heat has p.r.i.c.kled, And a sense of being tickled By the flies.

And to sit and loaf and idle till the day Dies away, In a duplicate ethereally cool, Or around the place to potter, (Tho' the flesh could hardly totter,) As contented as an otter In a pool!

'Let the pestilent mosquito do his worst Till he burst, Let him bore and burrow, morning, noon, and night, If he finds the diet sweet, oh, Who am _I_ to place a veto On the pestilent mosquito?-- _Let_ him bite!'

O my c.u.mbersome misfit of bone and skin, Could I win To the wisdom that would render me exempt From the grosser bonds that tether You and Astral Me together, I should simply treat the weather With contempt;

I should contemplate its horrors with entire Lack of ire, And pursuant to my comfortable aim, With a snap at every shackle I should quit my tabernacle, And serenely sit and cackle At the game!

But, alas! the 'mystic glory swims away,'

And the clay Is as vulgarly persistent as of yore, And the cuticle is pickled Where the p.r.i.c.kly heat has p.r.i.c.kled, And the nose and ears are tickled As before;

And until the Buddhi-theosophic Schools Print the rules That will bring our tale of sorrows to a close, Body mine, though others chide thee, And consistently deride thee, I shall have to stay inside thee, I suppose!

SUMMER PORTENTS

Come, let us quaff the br.i.m.m.i.n.g cup Of sorrow, bitterness, and pain; For clearly, things are warming up Again.

Observe with what awakened powers The vulgar Sun resumes the right Of rising in the hallowed hours Of night.

Bound to the village water-wheel, The motive bullock bows his crest, And signals forth a mute appeal For rest.

His neck is galled beneath the yoke: His patient eyes are very dim: Life is a dismal sort of joke To _him_.

Yet one there is, to whom the ox Is kin; who knows, as habitat, The cold, unsympathetic box, Or mat;

Who urges on, with wearied arms, The punkah's rhythmic, laboured sweep, Nor dares to contemplate the charms Of sleep.

Now 'mid a host of lesser things That pasture through the heaving nights, The sharp mosquito flaps his wings, And bites;

With other Anthropophagi, Such as that microscopic brand The common Sand-fly (or the fly Of sand),

Who, with a hideous l.u.s.t uncurbed By clappings of the frequent palm, Devours one's ankles, undisturbed, And calm.

The scorpion nips one unaware: The lizard flops upon the head: And cobras, uninvited, share One's bed.

Oh, if I only had the luck To feel the grand Olympic fire That thrilled the Greater when they struck The lyre!

When Homer wrote of this and that: When Dante sang like one possessed: When Milton groaned and laboured at His Best!

Had I the swelling rise and fall, Whereof the Bo'sun's quivering moan Derives a breezy fragrance all Its own:

Oh, I would pour such pa.s.sion out-- Good gracious me!--I would so sing That you should know the _facts_ about This thing!

Then w-w-wake, my Lyre! O halting lilt!

O miserable, broken lay!

It may not be: I am not built That way.

Yet other gifts the G.o.ds bestow.

I do not weep, I do not grieve.

Far from it. I shall simply go On leave.

ELYSIUM