712 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE
When they are ready to begin No flag is flown, no fuss is made
More than the shearing of a pin. That is the custom of "The Trade."
The Scout's quadruple funnel flames
A mark from Sweden to the Swin, The Cruiser's thundrous screw proclaims
Her comings out and goings in:
But only whiffs of paraffin Or creamy rings that fizz and fade
Show where the one-eyed Death has been. That is the custom of "The Trade."
Their feats, their fortunes and their fames Are hidden from their nearest kin;
No eager public backs or blames,
No journal prints the yarns they spin (The Censor would not let it in!)
When they return from run or raid. Unheard they work, unseen they win.
That is the custom of "The Trade."
THE KING'S TASK
1902
A FTER the sack of the City when Rome was sunk to a
name In the years that the lights were darkened, or ever St. Wilfrid
came
Low on the borders of Britain (the ancient poets sing) Between the Cliff and the Forest there ruled a Saxon King. Stubborn all were his people from cottar to overlord Not to be cowed by the cudgel, scarce to be schooled by the
sword;