There's a speck on the hillside, a dot on the road—
A jingle of bells on the foot-path below—
There's a scuffle above in the monkey's abode—
The world is awake and the clouds are aglow.
For the great Sun himself must attend to the hail:—
"In the name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!"
DIVIDED DESTINIES
IT WAS an artless Bandar[1] and he danced upon a pine,
And much I wondered how he lived, and where the beast might dine,
And many many other things, till, o'er my morning smoke,
I slept the sleep of idleness and dreamt that Bandar spoke.
He said:—"O man of many clothes! Sad crawler on the Hills!
"Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ranken's monthly bills!
"I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you call dress;
"Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks at Mess.
"I steal the bunnia's grain at morn, at noon and eventide
"(For he is fat and I am spare), I roam the mountain side,
"I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in my life
"Have I flirted at Peliti's with another Bandar's wife.
"O man of futile fopperies—unnecessary wraps;
"I own no ponies in the hills, I drive no tallwheeled traps
"I buy me not twelve-button gloves, 'short-sixes' eke, or rings,
"Nor do I waste at Hamilton's my wealth on 'pretty things.'
"I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight abroad;
"But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only lord.
"I never heard of fever—dumps nor debts depress my soul;
"And I pity and despise you!" Here he poached my breakfast-roll.
- ↑ Monkey.
