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

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СКАЧАТЬ that's their little way—

       But damn the chills and fever, men, we're goin' 'ome today!

      Troopin', troopin', winter's round again!

       See the new draf's pourin' in for the old campaign;

       Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your pay—

       What's the last from Lunnon, lads? We're goin' there today.

      Troopin', troopin', give another cheer—

       'Ere's to English women an' a quart of English beer.

       The Colonel an' the regiment an' all who've got to stay,

       Gawd's mercy strike 'em gentle—Whoop! we're goin' 'ome today.

      We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome,

       Our ship is at the shore,

       An' you must pack your 'aversack,

       For we won't come back no more.

      Ho, don't you grieve for me,

       My lovely Mary-Ann,

       For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit

       As a time-expired man.

Ford O' Kabul River

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      Kabul town's by Kabul river—

       Blow the bugle, draw the sword—

       There I lef' my mate for ever,

       Wet an' drippin' by the ford.

       Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,

       Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

       There's the river up and brimmin', an' there's 'arf a squadron swimmin'

       'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

      Kabul town's a blasted place—

       Blow the bugle, draw the sword—

       'Strewth I sha'n't forget 'is face

       Wet an' drippin' by the ford!

       Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,

       Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

       Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an' they will surely guide you

       'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

      Kabul town is sun and dust—

       Blow the bugle, draw the sword—

       I'd ha' sooner drownded fust

       'Stead of 'im beside the ford.

       Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,

       Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

       You can 'ear the 'orses threshin', you can 'ear the men a-splashin',

       'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

      Kabul town was ours to take—

       Blow the bugle, draw the sword—

       I'd ha' left it for 'is sake—

       'Im that left me by the ford.

       Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,

       Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

       It's none so bloomin' dry there; ain't you never comin' nigh there,

       'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark?

      Kabul town'll go to hell—

       Blow the bugle, draw the sword—

       'Fore I see him 'live an' well—

       'Im the best beside the ford.

       Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,

       Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

       Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder, for their boots'll pull 'em under,

       By the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

      Turn your 'orse from Kabul town—

       Blow the bugle, draw the sword—

       'Im an' 'arf my troop is down,

       Down an' drownded by the ford.

       Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,

       Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

       There's the river low an' fallin', but it ain't no use o' callin'

       'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

Route Marchin'

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      We're marchin' on relief over Injia's sunny plains,

       A little front o' Christmas-time an' just be'ind the Rains;

       Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle blowed,

       There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road;

       With its best foot first

       And the road a-sliding past,

       An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the last;

       While the Big Drum says,

       With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!"—

       "Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy jow?"

      Oh, there's them Injian temples to admire when you see,

       There's the peacock round the corner an' the monkey up the tree,

       An' there's that rummy silver grass a-wavin' in the wind,

       An' the old Grand Trunk a-trailin' like a rifle-sling be'ind.

      While it's best foot first,...

      At half-past five's Revelly, an' our tents they down must come,

       Like a lot of button mushrooms when you pick 'em up at 'ome.

       But it's over in a minute, an' at six the column starts,

       While the women and the kiddies sit an' shiver in the carts.

      An' СКАЧАТЬ