S9 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE
Word they gave me overhead of quarry newly slain, Word I gave them underfoot of buck upon the plain. Here's an end of every trail they shall not speak again!
They that cried the hunting-cry they that followed fast
(For Chil ! Look youjor Chil /)
They that bade the sambhur wheel, or pinned him as he passed
(Chil ! Vanguards of Chil /)
They that lagged behind the scent they that ran before, They that shunned the level horn they that over-bore. Here's an end of every trail they shall not follow more.
These were my companions. Pity 'twas they died!
(For Chil ! Look you, for Chil /) Now come I to comfort them that knew them in their pride.
(Chil ! Vanguards of Chil /)
Tattered flank and sunken eye, open mouth and red, Locked and lank and lone they lie, the dead upon their dead. Here's an end of every trail and here my hosts are fed !
THE CAPTIVE
with an outcry to Allah nor any complaining He answered his name at the muster and stood to the chaining.
When the twin anklets were nipped on the leg-bars that held them,
He brotherly greeted the armourers stooping to weld them.
Ere the sad dust of the marshalled feet of the chain-gang swallowed him,
Observing him nobly at ease, I alighted and followed him.
Thus we had speech by the way, but not touching his sor- row
Rather his red Yesterday and his regal To-morrow,
