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Home  »  Rudyard Kipling’s Verse  »  Chant-Pagan

Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.

Chant-Pagan

(English Irregular discharged)

ME that ’ave been what I’ve been—

Me that ’ave gone where I’ve gone—

Me that ’ave seen what I’ve seen—

’Ow can I ever take on

With awful old England again,

An’ ’ouses both sides of the street,

And ’edges two sides of the lane,

And the parson an’ gentry between,

An’ touchin’ my ’at when we meet—

Me that ’ave been what I’ve been?

Me that ’ave watched ’arf a world

’Eave up all shiny with dew,

Kopje on kop to the sun,

An’ as soon as the mist let ’em through

Our ’elios winkin’ like fun—

Three sides of a ninety-mile square,

Over valleys as big as a shire—

Are ye there? Are ye there? Are ye there?

An’ then the blind drum of our fire …

An’ I’m rollin’ ’is lawns for the Squire,

Me!

Me that ’ave rode through the dark

Forty mile, often, on end,

Along the Ma’ollisberg Range,

With only the stars for my mark

An’ only the night for my friend,

An’ things runnin’ off as you pass,

An’ things jumpin’ up in the grass,

An’ the silence, the shine an’ the size

Of the ’igh, unexpressible skies—

I am takin’ some letters almost

As much as a mile to the post,

An’ “mind you come back with the change”!

Me!

Me that saw Barberton took

When we dropped through the clouds on their ’ead,

An’ they ’ove the guns over and fled—

Me that was through Di’mond ’Ill,

An’ Pieters an’ Springs an’ Belfast—

From Dundee to Vereeniging all—

Me that stuck out to the last

(An’ five bloomin’ bars on my chest)—

I am doin’ my Sunday-school best,

By the ’elp of the Squire an’ ’is wife

(Not to mention the ’ousemaid an’ cook),

To come in an’ ’ands up an’ be still,

An’ honestly work for my bread,

My livin’ in that state of life

To which it shall please God to call

Me!

Me that ’ave followed my trade

In the place where the Lightnin’s are made,

’Twixt the Rains and the Sun and the Moon—

Me that lay down an’ got up

Three years with the sky for my roof—

That ’ave ridden my ’unger an’ thirst

Six thousand raw mile on the hoof,

With the Vaal and the Orange for cup,

An’ the Brandwater Basin for dish,—

Oh! it’s ’ard to be’ave as they wish

(Too ’ard, an’ a little too soon),

I’ll ’ave to think over it first—

Me!

I will arise an’ get ’ence;—

I will trek South and make sure

If it’s only my fancy or not

That the sunshine of England is pale,

And the breezes of England are stale,

An’ there’s somethin’ gone small with the lot;

For I know of a sun an’ a wind,

An’ some plains and a mountain be’ind,

An’ some graves by a barb-wire fence;

An’ a Dutchman I’ve fought ’oo might give

Me a job were I ever inclined,

To look in an’ offsaddle an’ live

Where there’s neither a road nor a tree—

But only my Maker an’ me,

And I think it will kill me or cure,

So I think I will go there an’ see.

Me!