THE SONG OF THE BANJO You could n't pack a Broadwood half a mile I'm sandwiched 'tween the coffee and the pork- With my "Pilly-willy-winky-winky popp!" So I play 'em up to water and to bed. In the silence of the camp before the fight prayer, You can hear my strumpty-tumpty overnight Explaining ten to one was always fair. I'm the prophet of the Utterly Absurd, And when the Thing that Could n't has occurred, With my "Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tum-pa tump!" In the desert where the dung-fed camp-smoke curled The Song of the Banjo There was never voice before us till I led our lonely chorus, I-the war-drum of the White Man round the world! By the bitter road the Younger Son must tread, In the silence of the herder's hut alone - Hear me babble what the weakest won't cɔnfess I am Memory and Torment-I am Town! I am all that ever went with evening dress. With my "Tunk-a tunka-tunka-tunka-tunk !” So I rowel 'em afresh towards the Devil and the Flesh, Till I bring my broken rankers home again. In desire of many marvels over sea, Where the new-raised tropic city sweats and roars, I have sailed with Young Ulysses from the quay Till the anchor rumbled down on stranger shores. He is blooded to the open and the sky, He is taken in a snare that shall not fail, He shall hear me singing strongly, till he die, With my "Hya! Heeya! Heeya! Hullah! Haul!" (O the green that thunders aft along the deck !) Are you sick o' towns and men? You must sign and sail again, For it's "Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit and trek!" Through the gorge that gives the stars at noon-day clear Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our wheel Round the bluff that sinks her thousand fathom sheer Down the valley with our guttering brakes as queal; Where the trestle groans and quivers in the snow, Where the many-shedded levels loop and twine, So I lead my reckless children from below Till we sing the Song of Roland to the pine. With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!" (And the axe has cleared the mountain, croup and crest!) So we ride the iron stallions down to drink, Through the cañons to the waters of the West! And the tunes that mean so much to you aloneCommon tunes that make you choke and blow your nose, Trek: Track; follow the trail. I can rip your very heartstrings out with those; With the feasting, and the folly, and the fun And the lying, and the lusting, and the drink, And the merry play that drops you, when you're done, To the thoughts that burn like irons if you think. With my "Plunka-lunka-lunka-lunka-lunk !" Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past, Ere the wit that made you win gives you eyes to see your sin . And the heavier repentance at the last. Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof- When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things, With my "Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp!" (Is it naught to you that hear and pass me by?) But the word—the word is mine, when the order moves the line, And the lean, locked ranks go roaring down to die. The grandam of my grandam was the Lyre- To the tune of yestermorn I set the truth With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink !” (What d'ye lack, my noble masters? d' ye lack?) What So I draw the world together link by link : |