Wine, Water, and Song Part 2

The Song of the Oak

The Druids waved their golden knives And danced around the Oak When they had sacrificed a man; But though the learned search and scan, No single modern person can Entirely see the joke.

But though they cut the throats of men They cut not down the tree, And from the blood the saplings sprang Of oak-woods yet to be.

But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood, He rots the tree as ivy would, He clings and crawls as ivy would About the sacred tree.

King Charles he fled from Worcester fight And hid him in an Oak; In convent schools no man of tact Would trace and praise his every act, Or argue that he was in fact A strict and sainted bloke, But not by him the sacred woods Have lost their fancies free, And though he was extremely big He did not break the tree.

But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood, He breaks the tree as ivy would, And eats the woods as ivy would Between us and the sea.

Great Collingwood walked down the glade And flung the acorns free, That oaks might still be in the grove As oaken as the beams above, When the great Lover sailors love Was kissed by Death at sea.

But though for him the oak-trees fell To build the oaken ships, The woodman worshipped what he smote And honoured even the chips.

But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood, He hates the tree as ivy would, As the dragon of the ivy would That has us in his grips.

The Road to Roundabout

Some say that Guy of Warwick, The man that killed the Cow And brake the mighty Boar alive Beyond the Bridge at Slough; Went up against a Loathly Worm That wasted all the Downs, And so the roads they twist and squirm (If I may be allowed the term) From the writhing of the stricken Worm That died in seven towns.

I see no scientific proof That this idea is sound, And I should say they wound about To find the town of Roundabout, The merry town of Roundabout, That makes the world go round.

Some say that Robin Goodfellow, Whose lantern lights the meads (To steal a phrase Sir Walter Scott In heaven no longer needs), Such dance around the trysting-place The moonstruck lover leads; Which superst.i.tion I should scout There is more faith in honest doubt (As Tennyson has pointed out) Than in those nasty creeds.

But peace and righteousness (St. John) In Roundabout can kiss, And since that's all that's found about The pleasant town of Roundabout, The roads they simply bound about To find out where it is.

Some say that when Sir Lancelot Went forth to find the Grail, Grey Merlin wrinkled up the roads For hope that he should fail; All roads led back to Lyonesse And Camelot in the Vale, I cannot yield a.s.sent to this Extravagant hypothesis, The plain, shrewd Briton will dismiss Such rumours (=Daily Mail=).

But in the streets of Roundabout Are no such factions found, Or theories to expound about, Or roll upon the ground about, In the happy town of Roundabout, That makes the world go round.

The Song of the Strange Ascetic

If I had been a Heathen, I'd have praised the purple vine, My slaves should dig the vineyards, And I would drink the wine; But Higgins is a Heathen, And his slaves grow lean and grey, That he may drink some tepid milk Exactly twice a day.

If I had been a Heathen, I'd have crowned Neoera's curls, And filled my life with love affairs, My house with dancing girls; But Higgins is a Heathen, And to lecture rooms is forced, Where his aunts, who are not married, Demand to be divorced.

If I had been a Heathen, I'd have sent my armies forth, And dragged behind my chariots The Chieftains of the North.

But Higgins is a Heathen, And he drives the dreary quill, To lend the poor that funny cash That makes them poorer still.

If I had been a Heathen, I'd have piled my pyre on high, And in a great red whirlwind Gone roaring to the sky; But Higgins is a Heathen, And a richer man than I; And they put him in an oven, Just as if he were a pie.

Now who that runs can read it, The riddle that I write, Of why this poor old sinner, Should sin without delight--?

But I, I cannot read it (Although I run and run), Of them that do not have the faith, And will not have the fun.

The Song of Right and Wrong

Feast on wine or fast on water, And your honour shall stand sure, G.o.d Almighty's son and daughter He the valiant, she the pure; If an angel out of heaven Brings you other things to drink, Thank him for his kind attentions, Go and pour them down the sink.

Tea is like the East he grows in, A great yellow Mandarin With urbanity of manner And unconsciousness of sin; All the women, like a harem, At his pig-tail troop along; And, like all the East he grows in, He is Poison when he's strong.

Tea, although an Oriental, Is a gentleman at least; Cocoa is a cad and coward, Cocoa is a vulgar beast, Cocoa is a dull, disloyal, Lying, crawling cad and clown, And may very well be grateful To the fool that takes him down.

As for all the windy waters, They were rained like tempests down When good drink had been dishonoured By the tipplers of the town; When red wine had brought red ruin And the death-dance of our times, Heaven sent us Soda Water As a torment for our crimes.

Who Goes Home?

In the city set upon slime and loam They cry in their parliament "Who goes home?"

And there comes no answer in arch or dome, For none in the city of graves goes home.

Yet these shall perish and understand, For G.o.d has pity on this great land.

Men that are men again; who goes home?

Tocsin and trumpeter! Who goes home?

For there's blood on the field and blood on the foam And blood on the body when Man goes home.

And a voice valedictory.... Who is for Victory?

Who is for Liberty? Who goes home?

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SOME DELIGHTFUL BOOKS BY G. K. CHESTERTON

*CHARLES d.i.c.kENS.

With 2 Portraits in Photogravure. _Eighth Edition._ Crown 8vo, 6s.

A famous book on d.i.c.kens which is intended as a general justification of that author. Mr. Chesterton compares the immense achievements produced by the optimism of d.i.c.kens in the realm of reform with the small results produced by the pessimistic method of later days. He treats each of the novels in turn, and he devotes the latter part of his book to a general estimate of the influence of d.i.c.kens.

THE FLYING INN. _Third Edition._ Crown 8vo, 6s. Also Crown 8vo, 2s. net.

THE BALLAD OF THE WHITE HORSE. _Fifth Edition._ Fcap. 8vo, 5s.

A Ballad of the Reign of King Alfred. It describes that monarch's n.o.ble exploits, his character, his struggle with the Danes, the story of the White Horse, and the Battle of Ethandune.