The White Man’s Burden – Rudyard Kipling

The greatest of those imperialist rants. I still can’t understand how the Arabs/Copts who gave them Moses and Jesus and St Paul are less civilized than these Europeans who were nothing but roving barbarians till a millennium ago and in what aspect they are to be civilized.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
Send forth the best ye breed–
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives’ need;
To wait in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild–
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half-devil and half-child.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain
To seek another’s profit,
And work another’s gain.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
The savage wars of peace–
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hopes to nought.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper–
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go mark them with your living,
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard–
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:–
“Why brought he us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?”

Take up the White Man’s burden–
Ye dare not stoop to less–
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloke your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your gods and you.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
Have done with childish days–
The lightly proferred laurel,
The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers!

Bonnie Dundee

That famous Scottish Ballad. If you want to hear a nice version of the song, listen to the version by Corries.

Tae the lairds o’ convention ’twas Claverhouse spoke
Ere the King’s crown go down, there are crowns tae be broke;
Now let each cavalier wha loves honour and me
Come follow the bonnets o’ bonnie Dundee.

Chorus:

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle my horses and call out my men.
And it’s ope’ the west port and let us gae free,
And we’ll follow the bonnets o’ bonnie Dundee!

Dundee he is mounted, he rides doon the street,
The bells they ring backwards, the drums they are beat,
But the Provost, says; Just e’en let him be
For the toon is weel rid of that de’il Dundee.

Chorus:

There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth,
Be there lairds i’ the south, there are chiefs i’ the north!
And brave duine-uasals, three thousand times three
Will cry “Hai!” for the bonnets o’ bonnie Dundee.

Chorus:

We’ll awa’ tae the hills, tae the lea, tae the rocks
E’er I own a usurper, I’ll couch wi’ the fox!
So tremble, false Whigs, in the midst o’ your glee,
For ye’ve naw seen the last o’ my bonnets and me!

Chorus:

The Iron Dictators – Aurobindo Ghosh

I looked for Thee alone, but met my glance
The iron dreadful Four who rule our breath,
Masters of falsehood, Kings of ignorance,
High sovereign Lords of suffering and death.

Whence came these formidable autarchies,
From what inconscient blind Infinity, –
Cold propagandists of a million lies,
Dictators of a world of agony?

Or was it Thou who bor’st the fourfold mask?
Enveloping Thy timeless heart in Time,
Thou has bound the spirit to its cosmic task,
To find Thee veiled in this tremendous mime.

Thou, only Thou, canst raise the invisible siege,
O Light, O deathless Joy, O rapturous Peace!

Interesting to read, but what does it mean?

Life – Aurobindo Ghosh

Mystic Miracle, daughter of Delight,
Life, thou ecstasy,
Let the radius of thy flight
Be eternity.

On thy wings thou bearest high
Glory and disdain,
Godhead and mortality,
Ecstasy and pain.

Take me in thy wild embrace
Without weak reserve
Body dire and unveiled face;
Faint not, Life, nor swerve.

All thy bliss I would explore,
All thy tyranny.
Cruel like the lion’s roar,
Sweet like springtide be.

Like a Titan I would take,
Like a God enjoy,
Like a man contend and make,
Revel like a boy.

More I will not ask of thee,
Nor my fate would choose;
King or conquered let me be,
Live or lose.

Even in rags I am a god;
Fallen, I am divine;
High I triumph when down-trod,
Long I live when slain.