Sunday Kipling - Father's Day Edition

ML came and shot a class with me last weekend (as many of you know). It was great and I'll write something up on it this week. It was great hosting and getting to know him.

More repairs on the Ford. At 10 years old and 120,000 miles it may at last be time to consider getting something new. It's starting to cost me a bit to keep it up to speed.

Lu is good. The DO and grandkids will be here on Tuesday. Cannot wait!

We bought the materials for the new sunshade frame yesterday. Better than 500 bucks worth. Ouch! Look for a couple of posts on our next (and hopefully last for the Summer) project.

Angus is really doing well. Energetic, happy and full of life. He loved ML btw. Go figure. Of course the very first thing ML did when they met was to hand Angus a toy. Almost like he knows a little about dogs or something.

A Happy Father's Day to my son in law, AFSon, and to all the dads out there. This country would not exist without you. Here's to ya!
 Six
(And the poem is The Knife and the Naked Chalk, not Naked Chick. Guys. Amiright?)

Song of the Men's Side

Neolithic

"The Knife and the Naked Chalk"
-- Rewards and Fairies

    Once we feared The Beast--when he followed us we ran,
      Ran very fast though we knew
    It was not right that The Beast should master Man;
      But what could we Flint-workers do?
    The Beast only grinned at our spears round his ears--
      Grinned at the hammers that we made;
    But now we will hunt him for the life with the Knife--
       And this is the Buyer of the Blade!

         Room for  his shadow on the grass--let it pass!
            To left and right-stand clear!
         This is the Buyer of the Blade--be afraid!
           This is the great god Tyr!

    Tyr thought hard till he hammered our a plan,
      For he knew it was not right
    (And it is not right) that The Beast should master Man;
      So he went to the Children of the Night.
    He begged a Magic Knife of their make for our sake.
      When he begged for the Knife they said:
    "The price of the Knife you would buy is an eye!"
      And that was the price he paid.

         Tell it to the Barrows of the Dead--run ahead!
            Shout it so the Women's Side can hear!
          This is the Buyer of the Blade--be afraid!
            This is the great god Tyr!

    Our women and our little ones may walk on the Chalk,
      As  far as we can see them and beyond, 
    We shall not be anxious for our sheep when we keep
      Tally at the shearing-pond.
    We can eat with both our elbows on our knees, if we please,
      We can sleep after meals in the sun,
    For Shepherd-of-the-Twilight is dismayed at the Blade,
      Feet-in-the-Night  have  run!
    Dog-without-a-Master goes away (Hai, Tyr, aie!),
      Devil-in-the-Dusk has run!

    Then:
         Room for his shadow on the grass-let it pass!
            To left and to right--stand clear!
         This is the Buyer of the Blade--be afraid!
            This is the great god Tyr!

Sunday Kipling

We're tired today but not as bad as feared.

Took Angus swimming. He's doing so well. He barely shows any sign of the break and two surgeries. I think taking out the plate has been a game changer though we're still keeping our fingers crossed.

Getting ready for a rifle class next weekend. A certain much beloved and famous blogger is coming out to shoot it with me. I can't wait to show him some Southern Utah hospitality and get in some trigger time with him. It's going to be immensely fun though I'm still gonna kick his tail at the range :)

All is well here at Casa Six. The sun is shining and we're feeling good. Angus is looking a lot like that puppy we brought home 3 years ago and that makes my heart sing. We'll fire up the grill, cook something hot and tasty and revel in the joys of life.

Tell your best friend you love them, give your best pal a tasty treat and give a prayer of thanks for all your blessings. See you all next week.
Six

Something light today.

The Story of Ung

Once, on a glittering ice-field, ages and ages ago,
Ung, a maker of pictures, fashioned an image of snow.
Fashioned the form of a tribesman -- gaily he whistled and sung,
Working the snow with his fingers.  Read ye the Story of Ung!
 
Pleased was his tribe with that image -- came in their hundreds to scan 
Handled it, smelt it, and grunted:  "Verily, this is a man!
Thus do we carry our lances -- thus is a war-belt slung.
Lo! it is even as we are.  Glory and honour to Ung!"
 
Later he pictured an aurochs -- later he pictured a bear 
Pictured the sabre-tooth tiger dragging a man to his lair 
Pictured the mountainous mammoth, hairy, abhorrent, alone 
Out of the love that he bore them, scribing them clearly on bone.
 
Swift came the tribe to behold them, peering and pushing and still 
Men of the berg-battered beaches, men of the boulder-hatched hill 
Hunters and fishers and trappers, presently whispering low:
"Yea, they are like -- and it may be --  But how does the Picture-man know?"
 
"Ung -- hath he slept with the Aurochs -- watched where the Mastodon roam?
Spoke on the ice with the Bow-head -- followed the Sabre-tooth home?
Nay!  These are toys of his fancy!  If he have cheated us so,
How is there truth in his image -- the man that he fashioned of snow?"
 
Wroth was that maker of pictures -- hotly he answered the call:
"Hunters and fishers and trappers, children and fools are ye all!
Look at the beasts when ye hunt them!"  Swift from the tumult he broke,
Ran to the cave of his father and told him the shame that they spoke.
 
And the father of Ung gave answer, that was old and wise in the craft,
Maker of pictures aforetime, he leaned on his lance and laughed:
"If they could see as thou seest they would do what thou hast done,
And each man would make him a picture, and -- what would become of my son?
 
"There would be no pelts of the reindeer, flung down at thy cave for a gift,
Nor dole of the oily timber that comes on the Baltic drift;
No store of well-drilled needles, nor ouches of amber pale;
No new-cut tongues of the bison, nor meat of the stranded whale.
 
"Thou hast not toiled at the fishing when the sodden trammels freeze,
Nor worked the war-boats outward through the rush of the rock-staked seas,
Yet they bring thee fish and plunder -- full meal and an easy bed 
And all for the sake of thy pictures."  And Ung held down his head.
 
"Thou hast not stood to the Aurochs when the red snow reeks of the fight;
Men have no time at the houghing to count his curls aright.
And the heart of the hairy Mammoth, thou sayest, they do not see,
Yet they save it whole from the beaches and broil the best for thee.
 
"And now do they press to thy pictures, with opened mouth and eye,
And a little gift in the doorway, and the praise no gift can buy:
But -- sure they have doubted thy pictures, and that is a grievous stain 
Son that can see so clearly, return them their gifts again!"
 
And Ung looked down at his deerskins -- their broad shell-tasselled bands 
And Ung drew downward his mitten and looked at his naked hands;
And he gloved himself and departed, and he heard his father, behind:
"Son that can see so clearly, rejoice that thy tribe is blind!"
 
Straight on the glittering ice-field, by the caves of the lost Dordogne,
Ung, a maker of pictures, fell to his scribing on bone
Even to mammoth editions.  Gaily he whistled and sung,
Blessing his tribe for their blindness.  Heed ye the Story of Ung!

Sunday Kipling - Memorial Day Edition

Today is not the day to thank a serving member or veteran for their service. It's a day to honor, thank and remember those who gave their all. It's especially poignant here today as it's the first since we lost The Sarge, Lu's beloved dad. He was a two tour Vietnam veteran who ultimately lost his battle against the unseen wounds all combat vets are exposed to and must endure. We miss him dearly.

As we do all those we have sent off to that cauldron never to return. Or to return so broken and damaged that their lives are cut all too tragically short. Not all those honorable dead met their end on the battlefield so far from home. Some gave their all without knowing it at the time. Only to return home and face a different kind of fight. One against a body damaged beyond repair and a bureaucracy that doesn't give a damn. Remember them when it comes time to call those responsible to account. Keep them in your prayers because they need all the help they can get. It's never over. One generation is replaced by the next. The names and faces are different but the stories are all too familiar. To those men and women, who are waging yet the war they thought had been left behind, we owe honor, fidelity and support. May they forgive us our failures and may we ever renew and honor the promises we made them when we sent them marching off on our behalf. Even the courageous need a helping hand from time to time. That this country has forgotten and abandoned them now, in their time of greatest need, casts a pall of shame upon us all.

I will take a moment today and offer up a heart felt prayer for our honorable dead. Killed in defense of hearth and home. "They placed their bodies between their home and the war's desolation" to quote my favorite author. They died that others may live. Heroes all.

They may be gone but so long as even one of us remains they will never be forgotten.

For The Sarge, Pop to those who knew and loved him. We'll cry again today Pop but only because we miss you and not because you died for what you loved. That we will honor.

In your memory.
Six and Lu

Soldier, Soldier

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Why don't you march with my true love?"
"We're fresh from off the ship an' 'e's maybe give the slip,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
New love!  True love!
Best go look for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes,
An' you'd best go look for a new love.
 
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
What did you see o' my true love?"
"I seed 'im serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-green,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
 
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did ye see no more o' my true love?"
"I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots begun to fly 
But you'd best go look for a new love."
 
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did aught take 'arm to my true love?"
"I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay so white 
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
 
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I'll up an' tend to my true love!"
"'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
 
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I'll down an' die with my true love!"
"The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 'im 
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
 
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Do you bring no sign from my true love?"
"I bring a lock of 'air that 'e allus used to wear,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
 
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
O then I know it's true I've lost my true love!"
"An' I tell you truth again -- when you've lost the feel o' pain
You'd best take me for your true love."
True love!  New love!
Best take 'im for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes,
An' you'd best take 'im for your true love.

Sunday Kipling (And Happy Birthday Angus)

Our little man is 3 today. We are grateful for the blessing God has given us in this companion. Happy Birthday Angus. And rest assured he's getting spoiled today.

We finally finished the shower on Friday. First shower was yesterday and it was sublime. I need to finish the trim and hang some girly towel stuff for Lu but for all intents and purposes it's done. Pics later this week.

I think I've settled on a handgun. If so I'll be purchasing this week. If that happens look for a write up on what and why.

Lu's garden is sprouting. The carrots are huge, the potatoes, cucumbers, melons, peaches and tomatoes are all coming in very well and we're seeing signs of life in the corn. The strawberries not so much.

Life is good and The Lord is firmly in charge. Rest, recuperate and reflect today and get ready for a brand new week. And if you happen to have someone special to spend the day with, well....
Six

For Angus. Just Because.

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run 
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!

Sunday Kipling

Sorry for the delay today. I just finished a very tough 3 Gun match. Two days and ten stages. I even managed to almost fall off the 10 foot platform. Almost. I should have posted this last night but I was beat and trying to recover for today. We just got home and after a shower, a cold beverage and some Ibuprofen I may even survive.

Lu did the range monkey thing and was just generally the awesome woman that she is. Couldn't do it without her. I managed to finish around mid pack and got some match experience in some stuff that I'm going to need to be able to do. My shotgun loads were very good but my pistol was off. Still trying to adjust to the Glock. I don't think it's the answer but time will tell. I loaded the .40 pistol ammo for the match and it performed very well. 4 grains of 231 over a CCI small pistol primer and a 180 grain Berry's. I was happy.

Angus was forced into durance vile since it was too hot to take him with us. Did I mention that we had a thunder, lightning, rain and wind storm last night? It snowed in Cedar City just 50 miles north of us. In May.

I hope you all had as great a weekend as we did. Hug your best friend and kiss the one you love best. From Lu, Angus and I may God's blessings find you today and every day.
Six

Boots

(Infantry Columns)

We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa 
Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa 
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again!)
  There's no discharge in the war!

Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an'-twenty mile to-day 
Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before 
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again!)
  There's no discharge in the war!

Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you.
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again);
Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin' em,
  An' there's no discharge in the war!

Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different 
Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin' lunatic!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
  There's no discharge in the war!

Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers.
If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o' you!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again) 
  There's no discharge in the war!

We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness,
But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em 
Boot--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
  An' there's no discharge in the war!

'Taint--so--bad--by--day because o' company,
But night--brings--long--strings--o' forty thousand million
Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again.
  There's no discharge in the war!

I--'ave--marched--six--weeks in 'Ell an' certify
It--is--not--fire--devils, dark, or anything,
But boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
  An' there's no discharge in the war!

Sunday Kipling

I'm late again today. I ended up shooting a USPSA match yesterday and last night I was beat.

I shot production with the Sig. Finished second and shot 91% of the winning score. Not too bad but I lost nearly 8 seconds per stage (there were 5) and only hung with him because I was more accurate than he was.

The Sig has gone into the safe as her newest Queen. The firing pin retaining rush pin is failing and coming out. Started last weekend at the class and continued into yesterday. I'll fix her but the fact is she's over 30 years old. 30 years of hard use and many, many thousands of rounds fired. It's time to retire the old girl.

That said I think I'm about to commit a sacrilege and do something I swore I wouldn't do; buy and start competing with a striker fired gun. I shot Lu's XDm 5.25 for the last 2 days and 1000 rounds of the class and the simple fact is I'm faster and just as accurate with it as the Sig. Plus it's lighter. I'm going to shoot the big 3 Gun match this weekend with it and then start putting in some serious time with the Glock35. Then we'll see.

Lu is good and Angus shows improvement literally by the day. He's still swimming most every day and we've started lengthening out the walkies. Joy!

I bought a new toy today, a sonic case cleaner. It's running beside me as I type this. A write up later. Also, MW asked for more details on my shotgun reloading setup. I'll get another post with video showing the specifics on my gear and reloading systems soonest. 

I recently had a situation where I felt the sure and certain hand of God in my life. It was as if he was smacking me behind the head and telling me to start paying attention and doing those things he wants me to do. It was intensely moving and more than a little sobering. I won't go in to the specifics but it was something I dearly needed. Remember to stop and listen. Look for the signs and wonders of God around you each and every day. They're there I promise you. Chances are good he's trying to tell you something and it's probably something you need and should heed. It was for me. It has strengthened my testimony and reinforced my personal relationship with Jesus Christ.

All my love and friendship to each and every one of you.
Six

Chartres Windows

1925

COLOUR fulfils where Music has no power:
   By each man's light the unjudging glass betrays 
All men's surrender, each man's holiest hour
   And all the lit confusion of our days-
Purfled with iron, traced in dusk and fire, 
   Challenging ordered Time who, at the last,
   Shall bring it, grozed and leaded and wedged fast, 
   To the cold stone that curbs or crowns desire. 
Yet on the pavement that all feet have trod-
   Even as the Spirit, in her deeps and heights, 
Turns only, and that voiceless, to her God-
   There falls no tincture from those anguished lights. 
And Heaven's one light, behind them, striking through 
Blazons what each man dreamed no other knew.

For Brigid

We have no words just prayers.
Six, Lu and Angus

For your Big Bro.

Poseidon's Law

When the robust and Brass-bound Man commissioned first for sea
His fragile raft, Poseidon laughed, and “Mariner,” said he,
“Behold, a Law immutable I lay on thee and thine,
That never shall ye act or tell a falsehood at my shrine.

“Let Zeus adjust your landward kin whose votive meal and salt
At easy-cheated altars win oblivion for the fault,
But you the unhoodwinked wave shall test – the immediate gulf condemn 
Except ye owe the Fates a jest, be slow to jest with them.

“Ye shall not clear by Greekly speech, nor cozen from your path
The twinkling shoal, the leeward beach, or Hadria’s white-lipped wrath;
Nor tempt with painted cloth for wood my fraud-avenging hosts;
Nor make at all, or all make good, your bulwarks and your boasts.

“Now and henceforward serve unshod, through wet and wakeful shifts,
A present and oppressive God, but take, to aid my gifts 
The wide and windward-opening eye, the large and lavish hand,
The soul that cannot tell a lie – except upon the land!”

In dromond and in catafract – wet, wakeful, windward-eyed 
He kept Poseidon’s Law intact (his ship and freight beside), 
But, once discharged the dromond’s hold, the bireme beached once more,
Splendaciously mendacious rolled the Brass-bound Man ashore….

The thranite now and thalamite are pressures low and high,
And where three hundred blades bite white the twin-propellers ply.
The God that hailed, the keel that sailed, are changed beyond recall,
But the robust and Brass-bound Man he is not changed at all!

From Punt returned, from Phormio’s Fleet, from Javan and Gadire,
He strongly occupies the seat about the tavern fire,
And, moist with much Falernian or smoked Massilian juice,
Revenges there the Brass-bound Man his long-enforced truce!

Sunday Kipling

Shot a 2 Gun match yesterday. Had a pretty good day. 4th overall and 3rd in Tactical Optics division. I'm still searching for that elusive consistency and the need to just go faster. My coach says I need to go fast enough to start missing to get acclimated to the faster pace. Or something like that. More range time before the big 3 Gun match next month. Woe is me!

No match pictures. Lu and MIL had a yard sale. Made 200 bucks!!

Angus continues to improve. We swam him Friday and he was in a state of doggy joyful bliss. Another swim tomorrow. Longer this time.

It's turned hot here. Had to fire up the swamp cooler and toss the sunscreen in the range bag. Lu's garden is doing very well. The carrots are a foot high, the strawberries are greening and we have peaches! She'll be doing the rest of the planting this week.

I hope this day finds you all at peace. God is great my friends and though we find ourselves in a time of uncertainty and chaos I am content in the knowledge that his will is being done here on Earth as it is in Heaven. What will come will come. All we must do is bow our heads and ready our hearts.

This week's Kipling is dedicated to all our 4 footed family members. May you always have such a steadfast friend along with you on the road.
Six

Four-Feet

I have done mostly what most men do,
And pushed it out of my mind;
But I can't forget, if I wanted to,
Four-Feet trotting behind.

Day after day, the whole day through 
Wherever my road inclined 
Four-feet said, "I am coming with you!"
And trotted along behind.

Now I must go by some other round, 
Which I shall never find 
Somewhere that does not carry the sound
Of Four-Feet trotting behind.

Sunday Kipling

It was a very long weekend. Shot Thursday, RO'd Saturday and today. I finished Ok. 56th overall but 5th in Production which is all I really care about since those are the folks I'm directly competing with. Good match, good folks and a lot of fun had by all. I won 2 shell holders and a plastic ammo box that looks like a military green box but is see through. Kinda cool. I'm not really shooting a lot of pistol since I'm concentrating on 3 Gun but I can't forget about it either. I'm probably going to shoot a little more pistol in the future.

Angus is doing well. He gets his stitches out tomorrow. He's been a very good boy but I know he's ready. Rehab is ongoing.

I hope you all had as good a Sunday as I did. Be well and keep your blessings in mind. All we really have is each other.

Now I'm going to relax and make plans for the coming week. That shower is calling my name. I think it's time.
Six

Two Races

I SEEK not what his soul desires.
  He dreads not what my spirit fears. 
Our Heavens have shown us separate fires. 
  Our dooms have dealt us differing years. 

Our daysprings and our timeless dead 
  Ordained for us and still control
Lives sundered at the fountain-head, 
  And distant, now, as Pole from Pole. 

Yet, dwelling thus, these worlds apart, 
  When we encounter each is free 
To bare that larger, liberal heart
  Our kin and neighbours seldom see. 

(Custom and code compared in jest-
  Weakness delivered without shame-
And certain common sins confessed
  Which all men know, and none dare blame.) 

E'en so it is, and well content
  It should be so a moment's space, 
Each finds the other excellent, 
  And-runs to follow his own race!

Sunday Kipling

Hello and a Happy and blessed Sunday to you all.

Angus is doing well. He's still sore and tripoding around but I think that's mostly to get sympathy and loves from Momma. And treats. Can't forget those. Of course she's a big ol' softy. Unlike me.

Busy week upcoming. I'm shooting the Berry's Steel Shoot on Thursday and Friday and ROing the match as staff on Saturday and Sunday. Monday is stage build day so I'll be at the range a bit. Pics and a write up as soon as I recover. Which may be sometime in October.

The weather has been nice and I'm finally back in the gym. My workouts are in inverse proportion to my remodel schedule. Since I'm being lazy working out seems the least I could do. Well, actually sitting around and eating Cadbury Creme Eggs until I turn into a sugar filled sack of oozing lard would be the least I could do but you know what I mean.

Have a great day everyone. And remember. Love means never having to apologize for lusting after a new gun. I hope.
Six

Since I'm in a silly mood today...

 The Camel's hump is an ugly lump
         Which well you may see at the Zoo;
       But uglier yet is the hump we get
         From having too little to do.

       Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
       If we haven't enough to do-oo-oo,
             We get the hump 
             Cameelious hump 
       The hump that is black and blue!

       We climb out of bed with a frouzly head,
         And a snarly-yarly voice.                        
       We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl
         At our bath and our boots and our toys;

       And there ought to be a corner for me
       (And I know' there is one for you)
             When we get the hump 
             Cameelious hump 
       The hump that is black and blue!

       The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
         Or frowst with a book by the fire;
       But to take a large hoe and a shovel also,
         And dig  till you gently perspire;
                  
       And then you will find that the sun and the wind,
       And the Djinn of the Garden  too,
         Have lifted the hump    
         The horrible hump 
       The hump that is black and blue!
                  
       I get it as well as you-oo-oo 
         If I haven't enough to do-oo-oo!
         We all get hump 
         Cameelious hump 
       Kiddies and grown-ups too!                
                           How the Camel Got His Hump 

Sunday Kipling

Another 3 Gun Match yesterday. I finished mid pack. I'm getting faster and my accuracy is still good but as I speed up my mental mistakes increase. It's expected. I'll stay at my current pace while working on eliminating those errors. Once I'm there I'll attempt to speed up still further. It's a process and a goal. It was still a fine shoot and a great day.

We're both anticipating and dreading Tuesday. Anticipation because we're so hopeful that this will finally be the fix (and last) surgery Angus needs. Thank you for your prayers.

Lu and I are doing well. The early Springtime pollen has kicked her butt but in a month or two, when we switch from pollen to dry Summer dust our places will switch. Joy.

We've been busy and are taking today off. No travel, no work and no worrying. Well....

I hope you're all having a fine Sunday. It's the day to reflect, give thanks for our blessings and hold tight to those we love. Especially to God who is the author of those blessings. May your hand ever be in His.
Six

Today's poem s dedicated to all the Mariners out there. Those who have served and those who still yet brave the seas and yearn to return to we who love them. May the Coastwise Lights ever welcome you home.

The Coastwise Lights

Our brows are bound with spindrift and the weed is on our knees;
Our loins are battered 'neath us by the swinging, smoking seas.
From reef and rock and skerry -- over headland, ness, and voe 
The Coastwise Lights of England watch the ships of England go!
 
Through the endless summer evenings, on the lineless, level floors;
Through the yelling Channel tempest when the siren hoots and roars 
By day the dipping house-flag and by night the rocket's trail 
As the sheep that graze behind us so we know them where they hail.
 
We bridge across the dark and bid the helmsman have a care,
The flash that wheeling inland wakes his sleeping wife to prayer;
From our vexed eyries, head to gale, we bind in burning chains
The lover from the sea-rim drawn -- his love in English lanes.

We greet the clippers wing-and-wing that race the Southern wool;
We warn the crawling cargo-tanks of Bremen, Leith, and Hull;
To each and all our equal lamp at peril of the sea 
The white wall-sided war-ships or the whalers of Dundee!

Come up, come in from Eastward, from the guardports of the Morn!
Beat up, beat in from Southerly, O gipsies of the Horn!
Swift shuttles of an Empire's loom that weave us, main to main,
The Coastwise Lights of England give you welcome back again!

Go, get you gone up-Channel with the sea-crust on your plates;
Go, get you into London with the burden of your freights!
Haste, for they talk of Empire there, and say, if any seek,
The Lights of England sent you and by silence shall ye speak! 

Sunday Kipling

I'm....not myself today. Have a safe and happy day my friends. See you next week.
Six

L'Envoi to "Life's Handicap"

My new-cut ashlar takes the light
 Where crimson-blank the windows flare;
By my own work, before the night,
 Great Overseer I make my prayer.
 
If there be good in that I wrought,
 Thy hand compelled it, Master, Thine;
Where I have failed to meet Thy thought
 I know, through Thee, the blame is mine.
 
One instant's toil to Thee denied
 Stands all Eternity's offence,
Of that I did with Thee to guide
 To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.
 
Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
 Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain,
Godlike to muse o'er his own trade
 And Manlike stand with God again.
 
The depth and dream of my desire,
 The bitter paths wherein I stray,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
 Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay!
 
One stone the more swings to her place
 In that dread Temple of Thy Worth --
It is enough that through Thy grace
 I saw naught common on Thy earth.
 
Take not that vision from my ken;
 Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed,
Help me to need no aid from men
 That I may help such men as need!

Sunday Kipling

It's Spring! At least here. My apologies and sympathies if Winter has yet to loosen her hold on you.

I think Lu and I are going to take a few days off and just enjoy the weather. The bicycles and my BMW are calling our names. Angus is really doing well so I think maybe some long hikes are in order. A good part of my match prep is to try and stay in at least reasonable condition. I have some Winter fat I need to shed.

I still have a post on my 3 Gun optics and lubrication I need to get done. I picked up something new yesterday and still need to test it a bit. That is probably going to be long term testing.

I hope you all have a fine Sunday and that you spend it with the ones you love best. Living well and free is the best response. Never miss the chance to be happy and let others know you are.

Six

Something Artillery related today. For my Redleg brothers in whatever service you found yourself. Have a chuckle and Hoist one for those who came before.

The Jacket

Through the Plagues of Egyp' we was chasin' Arabi,
 Gettin' down an' shovin' in the sun;
An' you might 'ave called us dirty, an' you might ha' called us dry,
 An' you might 'ave 'eard us talkin' at the gun.
But the Captain 'ad 'is jacket, an' the jacket it was new 
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An' the wettin' of the jacket is the proper thing to do,
 Nor we didn't keep 'im waiting very long.
 
One day they gave us orders for to shell a sand redoubt,
 Loadin' down the axle-arms with case;
But the Captain knew 'is dooty, an' he took the crackers out
 An' he put some proper liquor in its place.
An' the Captain saw the shrapnel, which is six-an'-thirty clear.
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
"Will you draw the weight," sez 'e, "or will you draw the beer?"
 An' we didn't keep 'im waitin' very long.
  For the Captain, etc.
 
Then we trotted gentle, not to break the bloomin' glass,
 Though the Arabites 'ad all their ranges marked;
But we dursn't 'ardly gallop, for the most was bottled Bass,
 An' we'd dreamed of it since we was disembarked,
So we fired economic with the shells we 'ad in 'and,
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
But the beggars under cover 'ad the impidence to stand,
 An' we couldn't keep 'em waitin' very long.
  And the Captain, etc.
 
So we finished 'arf the liquor (an' the Captain took champagne),
 An' the Arabites was shootin' all the while;
An' we left our wounded 'appy with the empties on the plain,
 An' we used the bloomin' guns for projectile!
We limbered up an' galloped -- there were nothin' else to do 
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An' the Battery came a-boundin' like a boundin' kangaroo,
 But they didn't watch us comin' very long.
  As the Captain, etc.
 
We was goin' most extended -- we was drivin' very fine,
 An' the Arabites were loosin' 'igh an' wide,
Till the Captain took the glacis with a rattlin' "right incline,"
 An' we dropped upon their 'eads the other side.
Then we give 'em quarter -- such as 'adn't up and cut,
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An' the Captain stood a limberful of fizzy somethin' Brutt,
 But we didn't leave it fizzing very long.
  For the Captain, etc.
 
We might ha' been court-martialled, but it all come out all right
 When they signalled us to join the main command.
There was every round expended, there was every gunner tight,
 An' the Captain waved a corkscrew in 'is 'and.
  But the Captain 'ad 'is jacket, etc.

Sunday Kipling

It's a lazy day here at Casa Six. I spent it drooling over evil firearms and Lu took young Angus for a trail walk. Pizza and now a movie or to. One of the channels is running a Harold Ramis tribute and Ghostbusters I and II are on. I think it's a fine day to curl up with my two sweeties and let my brain turn into a puddle of mush. The coal mine will be there tomorrow.

Have a great Sunday everyone.
Six

The Young British Soldier

When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
   Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
      Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
      Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
      Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
         So-oldier OF the Queen!
 
Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
   A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
      Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .
 
First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
   An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
      Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
 
When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
   An' it crumples the young British soldier.
      Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .
 
But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
   An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
      Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .
 
If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
   That it's beer for the young British soldier.
      Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .
 
Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
   Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
      'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .
 
If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er:  that's Hell for them both,
   An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
      Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .
 
When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
   And march to your front like a soldier.
      Front, front, front like a soldier . . .
 
When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
   An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
      Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .
 
When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
   For noise never startles the soldier.
      Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .
 
If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
   And wait for supports like a soldier.
      Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .
 
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
   An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
      Go, go, go like a soldier,
      Go, go, go like a soldier,
      Go, go, go like a soldier,
         So-oldier of the Queen!

For Brigid And Barkley

Brigid's beloved companion Barkley has passed and the world is a bit darker and less friendly. But we shall celebrate with her a life well lived. A dog who loved his Person with every fiber of his being. Who existed only to protect her, comfort her and bring joy to her life. As pet owners we are all too aware of what Brigid is enduring and our hearts go out to her in the hope that a shared grief is a lighter burden.

Brigid, you did good by Barkley. He was loved, warm, fed and happy. And in the end you did the only thing you could. The bargain we make when we bring them into our lives to love. You let him go when he so desperately needed you to do just that.

Thank you for sharing him with us. It was a gift, one we shall always treasure. Barkley was a part of all our lives and will live on in our hearts and memories as if he was one of our own. 

Lu and I send you our prayers and the sure and certain knowledge that someday you will once again be reunited in joy with the one you loved so dearly.

Farewell Barkley. May the grass be green, the treats tasty and the squirrels slow as you wait in the cool shade beside the Bridge for the one you loved best.

Six, Lu and Angus

Dedicated to Barkley.

His Apologies

1932

Master, this is Thy Servant. He is rising eight weeks old.
He is mainly Head and Tummy. His legs are uncontrolled.
But Thou hast forgiven his ugliness, and settled him on Thy knee...
Art Thou content with Thy Servant? He is very comfy with Thee.

Master, behold a Sinner! He hath committed a  wrong.
He hath defiled Thy Premises through being kept in too long.
Wherefore his nose has been rubbed in the dirt, 

and his self-respect has been bruised.
Master, pardon Thy Sinner, and see he is properly loosed.

Master-again Thy Sinner! This that was once Thy Shoe,
He has found and taken and carried aside, as fitting matter to chew.
Now there is neither blacking nor tongue, and the Housemaid has us in tow.
Master, remember Thy Servant is young, and tell her to let him go!

Master, extol Thy Servant, he has met a most Worthy Foe!
There has been fighting all over the Shop – and into the Shop also! 
Till cruel umbrellas parted the strife 

(or I might have been choking him yet),
But Thy Servant has had the Time of his Life  

and now shall we call on the vet?

Master, behold Thy Servant! Strange children came to play,
And because they fought to caress him, Thy Servant wentest away.
But now that the Little Beasts have gone, he has returned to see 
(Brushed – with his Sunday collar on) what they left over from tea. 

Master, pity Thy Servant! He is deaf and three parts blind.
He cannot catch Thy Commandments. He cannot read Thy Mind.
Oh, leave him not to his loneliness; nor make him that kitten's scorn.
He hath had none other God than Thee since the year that he was born.

Lord, look down on Thy Servant! Bad things have come to pass. 
There is no heat in the midday sun, nor health in the wayside grass.
His bones are full of an old disease – his torments run and increase. 
Lord, make haste with Thy Lightnings and grant him a quick release!

Sunday Kipling

Late, late I am so LATE! Got up this morning and just plain forgot. Shame on me.

I have a big pistol match coming up. Berry's Bullets is sponsoring a steel shoot first week of April. They're a local company so it's really great to see them stepping up and sponsoring a big match. I should also have a 3 Gun coming up first Saturday of March. I hope. I'm starting to get the shakes and seeing pink elephants. I need to shoot.

Lu and Angus are good. We went to the range yesterday and shot about 500 rounds or .22 through her Ruger SR22 and our M&P 15-22s. She gets a little closer to competing all the time. She's starting to equate it to running a race and that's a positive development. Angus is just as goofy and loveable as ever.

We've been working on the new bathroom. The water supply is in, main floor is tiled and most of the sheetrock is up. I have to finish up the walls and ceiling, tape and mud all the joints and then we'll be ready for sanding, texture and paint. I'm doing the main bathroom first, then I'll finish the shower in Part II. Look for a post this coming week.

I hope you are all having a fine Sunday. Know that you are always in our thoughts and prayers.
Six

A Ballad of Jakkko Hill

One moment bid the horses wait,
  Since tiffin is not laid till three,
Below the upward path and strait
  You climbed a year ago with me.
Love came upon us suddenly
  And loosed -- an idle hour to kill --
A headless, harmless armory
  That smote us both on Jakko Hill.

Ah, Heaven! we would wait and wait 
  Through Time and to Eternity!
Ah, Heaven! we could conquer Fate
  With more than Godlike constancy
I cut the date upon a tree --
  Here stand the clumsy figures still: 
"10-7-85, A.D."
  Damp in the mists on Jakko Hill.

What came of high resolve and great,
  And until Death fidelity?
Whose horse is waiting at your gate?
  Whose 'rickshaw-wheels ride over me?
No Saint's, I swear; and -- let me see
  To-night what names your programme fill --
We drift asunder merrily,
  As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill.

                L'ENVOI.
Princess, behold our ancient state
  Has clean departed; and we see
'Twas Idleness we took for Fate
  That bound light bonds on you and me.
Amen! Here ends the comedy
  Where it began in all good will,
Since Love and Leave together flee
  As driven mist on Jakko Hill!

Sunday Kipling

A very good Sunday to you all. I hope you are all safe and sound. Weather for an awful lot of you has been...well, awful. Be careful out there.

Lu's birthday was fine and she wanted me to make sure you all know how much she treasured all your well wishes. And she never once threatened me with a blunt object. Well, maybe just once. She had a ball at the range and even ran Stage 5 twice. The only problem is now she's started eyeballing my new rifle. I foresee another addition to the gun safe in the near future.

Scheduled for the coming week is a more in depth look at the new DPMS 3G2 and some tests and thoughts on gun lubrication. I did try the new stuff I got but I have mixed feelings. I'm also shopping for a 3 Gun cart though I may build one. Next match is the last Saturday in February. I think it's a 2 Gun but we'll see.

Six

Something 18th century humorous today I think. 

The Post That Fitted

 Though tangled and twisted the course of true love
  This ditty explains,
  No tangle's so tangled it cannot improve
  If the Lover has brains.

Ere the seamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was engaged to marry
An attractive girl at Tunbridge, whom he called "my little Carrie."
Sleary's pay was very modest; Sleary was the other way.
Who can cook a two-plate dinner on eight poor rupees a day?

Long he pondered o'er the question in his scantly furnished quarters --
Then proposed to Minnie Boffkin, eldest of Judge Boffkin's daughters.
Certainly an impecunious Subaltern was not a catch,
But the Boffkins knew that Minnie mightn't make another match.

So they recognised the business and, to feed and clothe the bride,
Got him made a Something Something somewhere on the Bombay side.
Anyhow, the billet carried pay enough for him to marry --
As the artless Sleary put it: -- "Just the thing for me and Carrie."

Did he, therefore, jilt Miss Boffkin -- impulse of a baser mind?
No! He started epileptic fits of an appalling kind.
[Of his modus operandi only this much I could gather: --
"Pears's shaving sticks will give you little taste and lots of lather."]

Frequently in public places his affliction used to smite
Sleary with distressing vigour -- always in the Boffkins' sight.
Ere a week was over Minnie weepingly returned his ring,
Told him his "unhappy weakness" stopped all thought of marrying.

Sleary bore the information with a chastened holy joy, --
Epileptic fits don't matter in Political employ, --
Wired three short words to Carrie -- took his ticket, packed his kit --
Bade farewell to Minnie Boffkin in one last, long, lingering fit.

Four weeks later, Carrie Sleary read -- and laughed until she wept --
Mrs. Boffkin's warning letter on the "wretched epilept." . . .
Year by year, in pious patience, vengeful Mrs. Boffkin sits
Waiting for the Sleary babies to develop Sleary's fits.

Sunday Kipling

Another Sunday is upon us. January is gone and February is fleeing. Where does the time go?

Angus is in fine fettle. It's been warm enough for swimming at the pond. The duck chasing is sublime.

Lu is feeling good. She's become the best range monkey ever, ever. If it wasn't for her I'd have to buy one of those electric golf carts and all the other shooters would laugh at me. As it is they cast jealous eyes and wish they had a woman as wonderful as she. I am a lucky man indeed.

I am better. I shot another 3 Gun match yesterday and managed to find some consistency. I'm not winning mind you but I am getting better. My best match yet. No failures (just two small hiccups) and a satisfactory finish. There may be hope for me yet.

Bathroom this week. My excuses are gone and Lu will tolerate no more nonsense. Pics and a write up.

Today is a recovery day. Two matches this week have left my feet hurting and my guns dirty. Clean up and a hot soak in the tub are indicated. I hope this day finds you all hale and in good spirits. Kiss your own range monkey and give a special treat to your best friend. Love is all around us. It's up to each of us to recognize and treasure it. Have a great day my friends.
Six

The Instructor

(Non-commissioned Officers of the Line)


At times when under cover I 'ave said,
To keep my spirits up an' raise a laugh,
'Earin 'im pass so busy over-'ead
Old Nickel-Neck, 'oo isn't on the Staff 
"There's one above is greater than us all"

Before 'im I 'ave seen my Colonel fall,
An 'watched 'im write my Captain's epitaph,
So that a long way off it could be read
He 'as the knack o' makin' men feel small
Old Whistle Tip, 'oo isn't on the Staff.

There is no sense in fleein' (I 'ave fled),
Better go on an' do the belly-crawl,
An' 'ope' 'e'1l 'it some other man instead
Of you 'e seems to 'unt so speshual
Fitzy van Spitz, 'oo isn't on the Staff.

An' thus in mem'ry's cinematograph,
Now that the show is over, I recall
The peevish voice an' 'oary mushroom 'ead
Of  'im we owned was greater than us all,
'Oo give instruction to the quick an' the dead
The Shudderin' Beggar--not upon the Staff!

Sunday Kipling

Sorry for the dearth of posts. We've either been recovering from the creeping gambu that kicked both our butts or getting ready for and shooting another 3 Gun match. Shot it yesterday. Did Ok and the shotgun ran perfectly but my pistol sucked. I'm getting the idea that the key to this thing is putting everything together and running all 3 guns at least competently at the same time. Apparently I focused too hard on shotgun and neglected pistol and it bit me just a bit. I didn't tank any stages but I can see where the improvement needs to come from. Consistency. I don't haz it yet. I also need to address long range better. The 1x4 optic and 16 inch barrel are fine out to about 300 yards but past that and I'm thinking I need something a little bit more directed. Man, I may completely trash that whole 3 Gun On A Budget Thang. My next match is on February 5th so practice and dry fire are very much indicated.

MIL came down with Shingles. It's on her face around her eyes. Doc put her on medication and says they caught it before it actually got into her eyes so I think she's going to be fine if very uncomfortable.

The house is so quiet with the kids gone. I miss 'em.

Today will be spent cleaning up from yesterday and generally resting. Maybe something tasty on the grill. The weather has been really nice. 62 yesterday. I do love me some Southern Utah winters. I hope you all have a great day. Go eat something that will give the nannies massive conniptions and love the fact that we're still here, unsilenced and loving being alive and thorns in the sides of Big Government. Maybe take an hour and turn money into smoke and noise. Ah, the joys of living free and fearless. Be well my friends.
Six

Something fun today I think...

The Juggler's Song

Enlarged From "Kim"

When the drums begin to beat
Down the street,
When the poles are fetched and guyed,
When the tight-rope's stretched and tied,
When the dance-girls make salaam,
When the snake-bag wakes alarm,
When the pipes set up their drone,
When the sharp-edged knives are thrown
When the red-hot coals are shown,
To be swallowed by-and-by--
Arre, Brethren, here come I!

Stripped to loin-cloth in the sun,
Search me well and watch me close!
Tell me how my tricks are done--
Tell me how the mango grows!

Give a man who is not made
To his trade
Swords to fling and catch again,
Coins to ring and snatch again,
Men to harm and cure again,
Snakes to charm and lure again--
He'll be hurt by his own blade,
By his serpents disobeyed,
By his clumsiness bewrayed,
By the people laughed to scorn--
So 'tis not with juggler born!

Pinch of dust or withered flower,
Chance-flung nut or borrowed staff,
Serve his need and shore his power,
Bind the spell or loose the laugh!

Sunday Kipling

It's another Sunday and I find January slipping away. How does that keep happening? DO and the kids are back home safe and sound. Lu and I seem to be finally recovering from the creeping crud we have all been saddled with for the last few days. Ugh.

3 Gun next weekend. This one will be a true 3 Gun as opposed to last weeks 2 Gun. I think I'm ready. The Principal is well and truly hooked. We're having conversations about gear and how many magazines are enough (The answer is there is no such number). He's doomed.

Football today and our Niners are in for a very rough game in Seattle. I love them but I fear the Seahawks are pretty much unbeatable up there. We'll tune in but if all seems lost I may end up in the Cave getting ready for my own competition. More fun anyway.

I hope this day finds you all happily looking forward to the new year. This will be an interesting year, perhaps seminal in the future of our country. Am I doing enough? Probably not but we do what we can and leave the rest to God. But in the meantime there is meat to grill, loved ones to kiss and money to turn into smoke and loud noises. Ah, life is good.

Happy Sunday my friends!
Six

The Last Suttee

Not many years ago a King died in one of the Rajpoot States. His wives, disregarding the orders of the English against Suttee, would have broken out of the palace had not the gates been barred. But one of them, disguised as the King's favourite dancing-girl, passed through the line of guards and reached the pyre. There, her courage failing, she prayed her cousin, a baron of the court, to kill her. This he did, not knowing who she was.

 
Udai Chand lay sick to death
    In his hold by Gungra hill.
All night we heard the death-gongs ring
For the soul of the dying Rajpoot King,
All night beat up from the women's wing
    A cry that we could not still.
 
All night the barons came and went,
    The lords of the outer guard:
All night the cressets glimmered pale
On Ulwar sabre and Tonk jezail,
Mewar headstall and Marwar mail,
    That clinked in the palace yard.
 
In the Golden room on the palace roof
    All night he fought for air:
And there was sobbing behind the screen,
Rustle and whisper of women unseen,
And the hungry eyes of the Boondi Queen
    On the death she might not share.
 
He passed at dawn -- the death-fire leaped
    From ridge to river-head,
From the Malwa plains to the Abu scars:
And wail upon wail went up to the stars
Behind the grim zenana-bars,
    When they knew that the King was dead.
 
The dumb priest knelt to tie his mouth
    And robe him for the pyre.
The Boondi Queen beneath us cried:
"See, now, that we die as our mothers died
In the bridal-bed by our master's side!
    Out, women! -- to the fire!"
 
We drove the great gates home apace:
    White hands were on the sill:
But ere the rush of the unseen feet
Had reached the turn to the open street,
The bars shot down, the guard-drum beat --
    We held the dovecot still.
 
A face looked down in the gathering day,
    And laughing spoke from the wall:
"Oh]/e, they mourn here:  let me by --
Azizun, the  Lucknow nautch-girl, I!
When the house is rotten, the rats must fly,
    And I seek another thrall.
 
"For I ruled the King as ne'er did Queen, --
    To-night the Queens rule me!
Guard them safely, but let me go,
Or ever they pay the debt they owe
In scourge and torture!"  She leaped below,
    And the grim guard watched her flee.
 
They knew that the King had spent his soul
    On a North-bred dancing-girl:
That he prayed to a flat-nosed Lucknow god,
And kissed the ground where her feet had trod,
And doomed to death at her drunken nod,
    And swore by her lightest curl.
 
We bore the King to his fathers' place,
    Where the tombs of the Sun-born stand:
Where the gray apes swing, and the peacocks preen
On fretted pillar and jewelled screen,
And the wild boar couch in the house of the Queen
    On the drift of the desert sand.
 
The herald read his titles forth,
    We set the logs aglow:
"Friend of the English, free from fear,
Baron of Luni to Jeysulmeer,
Lord of the Desert of Bikaneer,
    King of the Jungle, -- go!"
 
All night the red flame stabbed the sky
    With wavering wind-tossed spears:
And out of a shattered temple crept
A woman who veiled her head and wept,
And called on the King -- but the great King slept,
    And turned not for her tears.
 
Small thought had he to mark the strife --
    Cold fear with hot desire --
When thrice she leaped from the leaping flame,
And thrice she beat her breast for shame,
And thrice like a wounded dove she came
    And moaned about the fire.
 
One watched, a bow-shot from the blaze,
    The silent streets between,
Who had stood by the King in sport and fray,
To blade in ambush or boar at bay,
And he was a baron old and gray,
    And kin to the Boondi Queen.
 
He said:  "O shameless, put aside
    The veil upon thy brow!
Who held the King and all his land
To the wanton will of a harlot's hand!
Will the white ash rise from the blistered brand?
    Stoop down, and call him now!"
 
Then she:  "By the faith of my tarnished soul,
    All things I did not well,
I had hoped to clear ere the fire died,
And lay me down by my master's side
To rule in Heaven his only bride,
    While the others howl in Hell.
 
"But I have felt the fire's breath,
    And hard it is to die!
Yet if I may pray a Rajpoot lord
To sully the steel of a Thakur's sword
With base-born blood of a trade abhorred," --
    And the Thakur answered, "Ay."
 
He drew and struck:  the straight blade drank
    The life beneath the breast.
"I had looked for the Queen to face the flame,
But the harlot dies for the Rajpoot dame --
Sister of mine, pass, free from shame,
    Pass with thy King to rest!"
 
The black log crashed above the white:
    The little flames and lean,
Red as slaughter and blue as steel,
That whistled and fluttered from head to heel,
Leaped up anew, for they found their meal
    On the heart of -- the Boondi Queen!