Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love and
flowers;
Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for several
hours;
Ulysses went a-waltzing, and Delilah helped him dance—
Ulysses let the waltzes go, and waited for his chance.
The summer sun was setting, and the summer air was
still,
The couple went a-walking in the shade of Summer Hill.
The wasteful sunset faded out in Turkish-green and
gold,
Ulysses pleaded softly, and— that bad Delilah
told!
Next morn, a startled Empire learnt the all-important
news;
Next week, the Aged Councillor was shaking in his
shoes.
Next month, I met Delilah and she did not show the
least
Hesitation in affirming that Ulysses was a “beast.”
*
* * * *
We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead and
done—
Of Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulysses Gunne!
Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, pride of Bow Bazaar,
Owner of a native press, “Barrishter-at-Lar,”
Waited on the Government with a claim to wear
Sabres by the bucketful, rifles by the pair.
Then the Indian Government winked a wicked wink,
Said to Chunder Mookerjee: “Stick to pen
and ink.
They are safer implements, but, if you insist,
We will let you carry arms wheresoe’er you list.”
Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the gunsmith and
Bought the tubes of Lancaster, Ballard, Dean, and
Bland,
Bought a shiny bowie-knife, bought a town-made sword,
Jingled like a carriage-horse when he went abroad.
But the Indian Government, always keen to please,
Also gave permission to horrid men like these—
Yar Mahommed Yusufzai, down to kill or steal,
Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer, Tantia the Bhil;
Killar Khan the Marri chief, Jowar Singh the Sikh,
Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat, Abdul Huq Rafiq—
He was a Wahabi; last, little Boh Hla-oo
Took advantage of the Act—took a Snider
too.
They were unenlightened men, Ballard knew them not.
They procured their swords and guns chiefly on the
spot;
And the lore of centuries, plus a hundred fights,
Made them slow to disregard one another’s rights.
With a unanimity dear to patriot hearts
All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts
Said: “The good old days are back—let
us go to war!”
Swaggered down the Grand Trunk Road into Bow Bazaar,
Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat found a hide-bound flail;
Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer oiled his Tonk jezail;
Yar Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned with glee
As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khyberee.
Jowar Singh the Sikh procured sabre, quoit, and mace,
Abdul Huq, Wahabi, jerked his dagger from its place,
While amid the jungle-grass danced and grinned and
jabbered
Little Boh Hla-oo and cleared his dah-blade from the
scabbard.
What became of Mookerjee? Soothly, who can say?
Yar Mahommed only grins in a nasty way,
Jowar Singh is reticent, Chimbu Singh is mute.
But the belts of all of them simply bulge with loot.
