Songs of the Army of the Night Part 10

IV.

"HAPPY VALLEY." {66}

There is a valley green that lies 'Mid hills, the summer's bower.

The many coloured b.u.t.terflies Flutter from flower to flower.

And round one lush green side of it, In gardened homes are laid, With grief and care compa.s.sionate, The people of the dead.

There all the voicing summer day They sing, the happy rills.

No noisy sound awakes away The echo of the hills.

A GLIMPSE OF CHINA.

I.

IN A SAMPAN.

(_Min River_, _Fo Kien_.)

Up in the misty morning, Up past the gardened hills, With the rhythmic stroke of the rowers, While the blue deep pales and thrills!

Past the rice-fields green low-lying, Where the sea-gull's winging down From the fleets of junks and sampans And the ancient Chinese Town!

II.

IN A CHAIR.

(_Foo-chow_.)

From the bright and blinding sunshine, From the whirling locust's song, Into the dark and narrow fissures Of the streets I am borne along.

Here and there dusky-beaming A sun-shaft broadens and drops On the brown bare crowd slow-pa.s.sing The crowd of the open shops.

We move on over the bridges With their straight-hewn blocks of stone.

And their quaint grey animal figures, And the booths the hucksters own.

Behind a linen awning Sits an ancient wight half-dead, And a little dear of a girl is Examining-his head.

On a bended bamboo shouldered, Bearing a block of stone, Two worn-out coolies half-naked Utter their grunting groan.

Children, almond-eyed beauties, Impossibly mangy curs, Take part in the motley stream of Insouciant pa.s.sengers.

This is the dream, the vision That comes to me and greets- _The vision of Retribution_ _In the labyrinthine streets_!

III.

"CASTE."

These Chinese toil and yet they do not starve, And they obey, and yet they are not slaves.

It is the "free-born" fuddled Englishmen That grovel rotting in their living graves.

These Chinese do not fawn with servile lips; They lift up equal eyes that ask and scan.

Their degradation has escaped at least That choicest curse of all-the gentleman!

IV.

OVER THE SAMOVAR. {69a} (_Foo-chow_.)

"Yes, I used always to think That you Russians knew How to make the good drink As none others do.

"And I thought moreover, (Not with the epicures), You might search the world over For such women as yours.

"In both these matters now I perceive I was right, And I really can't tell you how Much I delight

"In my third (Thanks, another cup!) Idea of the fun, When your country gets up And follows the sun!

"And just as in Europe, see, There's a conqueror nation, So why not in Asia be A like jubilation?

"Taught as well as organized, {69b} The eternal Coolie, From being robbed and despised, Takes to cutting throats duly!

"But-please, don't be flurried; For I daresay by then You'll be comfortably buried, Ladies and gentlemen!

"No more, thanks! I must be going!

I'm so glad to have made this Opportunity of knowing Some more Russian ladies!"

TO j.a.pAN.

Simple you were, and good. No kindlier heart Beat than the heart within your gentle breast.

Labour you had, and happiness, and rest, And were the maid of nations. Now you start To feverish life, feeling the poisonous smart Upon your lips of harlot lips close-pressed, The lips of her who stands among the rest With greasy righteous soul and rotten heart.

O sunrise land, O land of gentleness, What madness drives you to l.u.s.t's dreadful bed?

O thrice accursed England, wretchedness For ever be on you, of whom 'tis said, Prost.i.tute plague-struck, that you catch and kiss Innocent lives to make them foully dead!

DAI BUTSU. {70} (_Kama Kura_.)

He sits. Upon the kingly head doth rest The round-balled wimple, and the heavy rings Touch on the shoulders where the shadow clings.

The downward garment shows the ambiguous breast; The face-that face one scarce can look on lest One learn the secret of unspeakable things; But the dread gaze descends with shudderings, To the veiled couched knees, the hands and thumbs close-pressed.

O lidded, downcast eyes that bear the weight Of all our woes and terrible wrong's increase: Proud nostrils, lips proud-perfecter than these, With what a soul within you do you wait!

Disdain and pity, love late-born of hate, Pa.s.sion eternal, patience, pain and peace!