Kipling Stories and Poems Every Child Should Know, Book II

The Rajah of Dacca rode under the wall;
He set in his bosom a dove of flight —
"If she return, be sure that I fall."
Dove – dove – oh, homing dove!
Pressed to his heart in the thick of the fight.

"Fire the palace, the fort, and the keep —
Leave to the foeman no spoil at all.
In the flame of the palace lie down and sleep
If the dove, if the dove – if the homing dove
Come and alone to the palace wall."

The Kings of the North they were scattered abroad —
The Rajah of Dacca he slew them all.
Hot from slaughter he stooped at the ford,
And the dove – the dove – oh, the homing dove!
She thought of her cote on the palace wall.

She opened her wings and she flew away —
Fluttered away beyond recall;
She came to the palace at break of day.
Dove – dove – oh, homing dove!
Flying so fast for a kingdom's fall.

The Queens of Dacca they slept in flame —
Slept in the flame of the palace old —
To save their honour from Moslem shame.
And the dove – the dove – oh, the homing dove!
She cooed to her young where the smoke-cloud rolled.

The Rajah of Dacca rode far and fleet,
Followed as fast as a horse could fly,
He came and the palace was black at his feet;
And the dove – the dove – the homing dove,
Circled alone in the stainless sky.

So the dove flew to the Rajah's tower —
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings;
So the thorns covered the city of Gaur,
And Dacca was lost for a white dove's wings.
Dove – dove – oh, homing dove,
Dacca is lost from the roll of the kings!

VII

THE SMOKE UPON YOUR ALTAR DIES

(To whom it may concern.)

The smoke upon your Altar dies,
The flowers decay,
The Goddess of your sacrifice
Has flown away.
What profit, then, to sing or slay
The sacrifice from day to day?

"We know the Shrine is void," they said,
"The Goddess flown —
Yet wreaths are on the Altar laid —
The Altar-Stone
Is black with fumes of sacrifice,
Albeit She has fled our eyes.

"For it may be, if still we sing
And tend the Shrine,
Some Deity on wandering wing
May there incline;
And, finding all in order meet,
Stay while we worship at Her feet."

VIII

RECESSIONAL

The Recessional is one of the most popular poems of this century. It is a warning to age and a nation drunk with power, a rebuke to materialistic tendencies and boastfulness, a protest against pride.

"Reverence is the master-key of knowledge."

God of our fathers, known of old —
Lord of our far-flung battle-line —
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine —
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet
Lest we forget – lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies —
The captains and the kings depart —
Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget – lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away —
On dune and headland sinks the fire —
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget – lest we forget!