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

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СКАЧАТЬ we charged or broke or cut,

       You could bet your bloomin' nut,

       'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.

With 'is mussick⁵ on 'is back, 'E would skip with our attack, An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire", An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 'E was white, clear white, inside When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! It was "Din! Din! Din!" With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.

      When the cartridges ran out,

       You could hear the front-files shout,

       "Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

      I shan't forgit the night

       When I dropped be'ind the fight

       With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.

       I was chokin' mad with thirst,

       An' the man that spied me first

       Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.

       'E lifted up my 'ead,

       An' he plugged me where I bled,

       An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:

       It was crawlin' and it stunk,

       But of all the drinks I've drunk,

       I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

      It was "Din! Din! Din!

       'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;

       'E's chawin' up the ground,

       An' 'e's kickin' all around:

       For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!"

      'E carried me away

       To where a dooli lay,

       An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.

       'E put me safe inside,

       An' just before 'e died,

       "I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din.

       So I'll meet 'im later on

       At the place where 'e is gone—

       Where it's always double drill and no canteen;

       'E'll be squattin' on the coals

       Givin' drink to poor damned souls,

       An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!

       Yes, Din! Din! Din!

       You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!

       Though I've belted you and flayed you,

       By the livin' Gawd that made you,

       You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

       Oonts (Northern India Transport Train)

      Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to @penk, wot makes 'im to perspire?

       It isn't standin' up to charge nor lyin' down to fire;

       But it's everlastin' waitin' on a everlastin' road

       For the commissariat camel an' 'is commissariat load.

O the oont,⁶ O the oont, O the commissariat oont! With 'is silly neck a-bobbin' like a basket full o' snakes; We packs 'im like an idol, an' you ought to 'ear 'im grunt, An' when we gets 'im loaded up 'is blessed girth-rope breaks.

      Wot makes the rear-guard swear so 'ard when night is drorin' in,

       An' every native follower is shiverin' for 'is skin?

       It ain't the chanst o' being rushed by Paythans from the 'ills,

       It's the commissariat camel puttin' on 'is bloomin' frills!

       O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy scary oont!

       A-trippin' over tent-ropes when we've got the night alarm!

       We socks 'im with a stretcher-pole an' 'eads 'im off in front,

       An' when we've saved 'is bloomin' life 'e chaws our bloomin' arm.

      The 'orse 'e knows above a bit, the bullock's but a fool,

       The elephant's a gentleman, the battery-mule's a mule;

       But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an' done,

       'E's a devil an' a ostrich an' a orphan-child in one.

       O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont!

       The lumpy-'umpy 'ummin'-bird a-singin' where 'e lies,

       'E's blocked the whole division from the rear-guard to the front,

       An' when we get him up again—the beggar goes an' dies!

      'E'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight—'e smells most awful vile;

       'E'll lose 'isself for ever if you let 'im stray a mile;

       'E's game to graze the 'ole day long an' 'owl the 'ole night through,

       An' when 'e comes to greasy ground 'e splits 'isself in two.

       O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin', droppin' oont!

       When 'is long legs give from under an' 'is meltin' eye is dim,

       The tribes is up be'ind us, and the tribes is out in front—

       It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's kites an' crows for 'im.

      So when the cruel march is done, an' when the roads is blind,

       An' when we sees the camp in front an' 'ears the shots be'ind,

       Ho! then we strips 'is saddle off, and all 'is woes is past:

       'E thinks on us that used 'im so, and gets revenge at last.

       O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin', bloatin' oont!

       The late lamented camel in the water-cut 'e lies;

       We keeps a mile be'ind 'im an' we keeps a mile in front,

       But 'e gets into the drinkin'-casks, and then o' course we dies.

Loot

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