Songs from Books Part 14

'OUR FATHERS OF OLD'

Excellent herbs had our fathers of old-- Excellent herbs to ease their pain-- Alexanders and Marigold, Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane.

Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue, (Almost singing themselves they run) Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you-- Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun.

Anything green that grew out of the mould Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old.

Wonderful tales had our fathers of old-- Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars-- The Sun was Lord of the Marigold, Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars.

Pat as a sum in division it goes-- (Every plant had a star bespoke)-- Who but Venus should govern the Rose?

Who but Jupiter own the Oak?

Simply and gravely the facts are told In the wonderful books of our fathers of old.

Wonderful little, when all is said, Wonderful little our fathers knew.

Half their remedies cured you dead-- Most of their teaching was quite untrue-- 'Look at the stars when a patient is ill, (Dirt has nothing to do with disease,) Bleed and blister as much as you will, Blister and bleed him as oft as you please.'

Whence enormous and manifold Errors were made by our fathers of old.

Yet when the sickness was sore in the land, And neither planets nor herbs a.s.suaged, They took their lives in their lancet-hand And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged!

Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door-- (Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled,) Excellent courage our fathers bore-- Excellent heart had our fathers of old.

None too learned, but n.o.bly bold Into the fight went our fathers of old.

If it be certain, as Galen says, And sage Hippocrates holds as much-- 'That those afflicted by doubts and dismays Are mightily helped by a dead man's touch', Then, be good to us, stars above!

Then, be good to us, herbs below!

We are afflicted by what we can prove, We are distracted by what we know-- So--ah, so!

Down from your heaven or up from your mould, Send us the hearts of our fathers of old!

THE HERITAGE

Our Fathers in a wondrous age, Ere yet the earth was small, Ensured to us an heritage, And doubted not at all That we, the children of their heart, Which then did beat so high, In later time should play like part For our posterity.

A thousand years they steadfast built, To 'vantage us and ours, The Walls that were a world's despair, The sea-constraining Towers: Yet in their midmost pride they knew, And unto Kings made known, Not all from these their strength they drew, Their faith from bra.s.s or stone.

Youth's pa.s.sion, manhood's fierce intent.

With age's judgment wise, They spent, and counted not they spent.

At daily sacrifice.

Not lambs alone nor purchased doves Or t.i.the of trader's gold-- Their lives most dear, their dearer loves, They offered up of old.

Refraining e'en from lawful things.

They bowed the neck to bear The unadorned yoke that brings Stark toil and sternest care.

Wherefore through them is Freedom sure; Wherefore through them we stand From all but sloth and pride secure, In a delightsome land.

Then, fretful, murmur not they gave So great a charge to keep.

Nor dream that awestruck Time shall save Their labour while we sleep.

Dear-bought and clear, a thousand year, Our fathers' t.i.tle runs.

Make we likewise their sacrifice, Defrauding not our sons.

CHAPTER HEADINGS

'BEAST AND MAN IN INDIA'

They killed a child to please the G.o.ds In earth's young penitence, And I have bled in that Babe's stead Because of innocence.

I bear the sins of sinful men That have no sin of my own, They drive me forth to Heaven's wrath Unpastured and alone.

I am the meat of sacrifice, The ransom of man's guilt, For they give my life to the altar-knife Wherever shrine is built.

_The Goat._

Between the waving tufts of jungle-gra.s.s, Up from the river as the twilight falls, Across the dust-beclouded plain they pa.s.s On to the village walls.

Great is the sword and mighty is the pen, But greater far the labouring ploughman's blade, For on its oxen and its husbandmen An Empire's strength is laid.

_The Oxen._

The torn boughs trailing o'er the tusks aslant, The saplings reeling in the path he trod, Declare his might--our lord the Elephant, Chief of the ways of G.o.d.

The black bulk heaving where the oxen pant, The bowed head toiling where the guns careen, Declare our might--our slave the Elephant And servant of the Queen.

_The Elephant._

Dark children of the mere and marsh, Wallow and waste and lea, Outcaste they wait at the village gate With folk of low degree.

Their pasture is in no man's land.

Their food the cattle's scorn, Their rest is mire and their desire The thicket and the thorn.

But woe to those who break their sleep, And woe to those who dare To rouse the herd-bull from his keep, The wild boar from his lair!

_Pigs and Buffaloes._

The beasts are very wise, Their mouths are clean of lies, They talk one to the other, Bullock to bullock's brother Resting after their labours, Each in stall with his neighbours.

But man with goad and whip, Breaks up their fellowship, Shouts in their silky ears Filling their souls with fears.

When he has ploughed the land, He says: 'They understand.'

But the beasts in stall together, Freed from the yoke and tether, Say as the torn flanks smoke: 'Nay, 'twas the whip that spoke.'