The Complete Poetical Works of Rudyard Kipling (570+ Poems in One Edition). Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг

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       Look—look well to your shipping! By the breath of my mad typhoon

       I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at Kowloon!

      "The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas before,

       I raped your richest roadstead—I plundered Singapore!

       I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose,

       And I flung your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows.

      "Never the lotus closes, never the wild-fowl wake,

       But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England's sake—

       Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid—

       Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed.

      "The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows,

       The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows.

       What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun to dare,

       Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is there!"

      The West Wind called:—"In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly

       That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die.

       They make my might their porter, they make my house their path,

       Till I loose my neck from their rudder and whelm them all in my wrath.

      "I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole,

       They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll,

       For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath,

       And they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death.

      "But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day,

       I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away,

       First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky,

       Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by.

      "The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it—the frozen dews have kissed—

       The naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the mist.

       What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare,

       Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!"

       "Cleared" (In Memory of a Commission)

      Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,

       Help for an honorable clan sore trampled in the dirt!

       From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song,

       The honorable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong.

      Their noble names were mentioned—O the burning black disgrace!—

       By a brutal Saxon paper in an Irish shooting-case;

       They sat upon it for a year, then steeled their heart to brave it,

       And "coruscating innocence" the learned Judges gave it.

      Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime beneath the surgeon's knife,

       The honorable gentlemen deplored the loss of life;

       Bear witness of those chanting choirs that burk and shirk and snigger,

       No man laid hand upon the knife or finger to the trigger!

      Cleared in the face of all mankind beneath the winking skies,

       Like phoenixes from Phoenix Park (and what lay there) they rise!

       Go shout it to the emerald seas-give word to Erin now,

       Her honorable gentlemen are cleared—and this is how:

      They only paid the Moonlighter his cattle-hocking price,

       They only helped the murderer with council's best advice,

       But—sure it keeps their honor white—the learned Court believes

       They never gave a piece of plate to murderers and thieves.

      They ever told the ramping crowd to card a woman's hide,

       They never marked a man for death—what fault of theirs he died?—

       They only said "intimidate," and talked and went away—

       By God, the boys that did the work were braver men than they!

      Their sin it was that fed the fire—small blame to them that heard

       The "bhoys" get drunk on rhetoric, and madden at the word—

       They knew whom they were talking at, if they were Irish too,

       The gentlemen that lied in Court, they knew and well they knew.

      They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of jail,

       They only fawned for dollars on the blood-dyed Clan-na-Gael.

       If black is black or white is white, ill black and white it's down,

       They're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown.

      "Cleared," honorable gentlemen. Be thankful it's no more:

       The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at your door.

       On you the shame of open shame, on you from North to South

       The band of every honest man flat-heeled across your mouth.

      "Less black than we were painted"?—Faith, no word of black was said;

       The lightest touch was human blood, and that, ye know, runs red.

       It's sticking to your fist today for all your sneer and scoff,

       And by the Judge's well-weighed word you cannot wipe it off.

      Hold up those hands of innocence—go, scare your sheep, together,

       The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the old bell-wether;

       And if they snuff the taint and break to find another pen,

       Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them yours again!

      "The charge is old"?—As old as Cain—as fresh as yesterday;

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