THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST
Oh, East is East, and
West is West, and never the twain shall
meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand
presently at God’s great Judgment
Seat;
But there is neither
East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men
stand face to face,
tho’
they come from the ends of the earth!
Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border-side,
And he has lifted the Colonel’s mare that is
the Colonel’s pride:
He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the
dawn and the day,
And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her
far away.
Then up and spoke the Colonel’s son that led
a troop of the Guides:
“Is there never a man of all my men can say
where Kamal hides?”
Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar:
“If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye
know where his pickets are.
“At dusk he harries the Abazai—at
dawn he is into Bonair,
But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to
fare,
So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can
fly,
By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win
to the Tongue of Jagai.
“But if he be past the Tongue of Jagai, right
swiftly turn ye then,
For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain
is sown with Kamal’s men.
There is rock to the left, and rock to the right,
and low lean thorn between,
And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a
man is seen.”
The Colonel’s son has taken a horse, and a raw
rough dun was he,
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and
the head of the
gallows-tree.
The Colonel’s son to the Fort has won, they
bid him stay to eat—
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not
long at his meat.
He’s up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as
he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father’s mare in the
gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
Till he was aware of his father’s mare with
Kamal upon her back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made
the pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling
ball went wide.
“Ye shoot like a soldier,” Kamal said.
“Show now if ye can ride.”
It’s up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown
dustdevils go,
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like
a barren doe.
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his
head above,
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as
a maiden plays with a glove.
There was rock to the left and rock to the right,
and low lean thorn between,
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho’
never a man was seen.
They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their
hoofs drum up the dawn,
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare
like a new-roused fawn.
