Songs Of The Road.

by Arthur Conan Doyle.

FOREWORD

If it were not for the hillocks You'd think little of the hills; The rivers would seem tiny If it were not for the rills.

If you never saw the brushwood You would under-rate the trees; And so you see the purpose Of such little rhymes as these.

Crowborough

1911

SONGS OF THE ROAD

A HYMN OF EMPIRE

(Coronation Year, 1911) [3]

G.o.d save England, blessed by Fate, So old, yet ever young: The acorn isle from which the great Imperial oak has sprung!

And G.o.d guard Scotland's kindly soil, The land of stream and glen, The granite mother that has bred A breed of granite men!

G.o.d save Wales, from Snowdon's vales To Severn's silver strand!

[4] For all the grace of that old race Still haunts the Celtic land.

And, dear old Ireland, G.o.d save you, And heal the wounds of old, For every grief you ever knew May joy come fifty-fold!

Set Thy guard over us, May Thy shield cover us, Enfold and uphold us On land and on sea!

From the palm to the pine, From the snow to the line, Brothers together And children of Thee.

Thy blessing, Lord, on Canada, Young giant of the West, [5] Still upward lay her broadening way, And may her feet be blessed!

And Africa, whose hero breeds Are blending into one, Grant that she tread the path which leads To holy unison.

May G.o.d protect Australia, Set in her Southern Sea!

Though far thou art, it cannot part Thy brother folks from thee.

And you, the Land of Maori, The island-sisters fair, Ocean hemmed and lake be-gemmed, G.o.d hold you in His care!

Set Thy guard over us, May Thy shield cover us, [6] Enfold and uphold us On land and on sea!

From the palm to the pine, From the snow to the line, Brothers together And children of Thee.

G.o.d guard our Indian brothers, The Children of the Sun, Guide us and walk beside us, Until Thy will be done.

To all be equal measure, Whate'er his blood or birth, Till we shall build as Thou hast willed O'er all Thy fruitful Earth.

May we maintain the story Of honest, fearless right!

[7] Not ours, not ours the Glory!

What are we in Thy sight?

Thy servants, and no other, Thy servants may we be, To help our weaker brother, As we crave for help from Thee!

Set Thy guard over us, May Thy shield cover us, Enfold and uphold us On land and on sea!

From the palm to the pine, From the snow to the line, Brothers together And children of Thee.

SIR NIGEL'S SONG

[8] A sword! A sword! Ah, give me a sword!

For the world is all to win.

Though the way be hard and the door be barred, The strong man enters in.

If Chance or Fate still hold the gate, Give me the iron key, And turret high, my plume shall fly, Or you may weep for me!

A horse! A horse! Ah, give me a horse, To bear me out afar, Where blackest need and grimmest deed, And sweetest perils are.

[9] Hold thou my ways from glutted days, Where poisoned leisure lies, And point the path of tears and wrath Which mounts to high emprise.

A heart! A heart! Ah, give me a heart, To rise to circ.u.mstance!

Serene and high, and bold to try The hazard of a chance.

With strength to wait, but fixed as fate, To plan and dare and do; The peer of all and only thrall, Sweet lady mine, to you!

THE ARAB STEED

[10] I gave the 'orse 'is evenin' feed, And bedded of 'im down, And went to 'ear the sing-song In the bar-room of the Crown, And one young feller spoke a piece As told a kind of tale, About an Arab man wot 'ad A certain 'orse for sale.

I 'ave no grudge against the man — I never 'eard 'is name, But if he was my closest pal I'd say the very same, For wot you do in other things Is neither 'ere nor there, [11] But w'en it comes to 'orses You must keep upon the square.

Now I'm tellin' you the story Just as it was told last night, And if I wrong this Arab man Then 'e can set me right; But s'posin' all these fac's are fac's, Then I make bold to say That I think it was not sportsmanlike To act in sich a way.

For, as I understand the thing, 'E went to sell this steed — Which is a name they give a 'orse Of some outlandish breed —, And soon 'e found a customer, A proper sportin' gent, Who planked 'is money down at once Without no argument.

[12] Now when the deal was finished And the money paid, you'd think This Arab would 'ave asked the gent At once to name 'is drink, Or at least 'ave thanked 'im kindly, An' wished 'im a good day, And own as 'e'd been treated In a very 'andsome way.

But instead o' this 'e started A-talkin' to the steed, And speakin' of its "braided mane"

An' of its "winged speed,"

And other sich expressions With which I can't agree, For a 'orse with wings an' braids an' things Is not the 'orse for me.

[13] The moment that 'e 'ad the cash — Or wot 'e called the gold, 'E turned as nasty as could be: Says 'e, "You're sold! You're sold!"

Them was 'is words; it's not for me To settle wot he meant; It may 'ave been the 'orse was sold, It may 'ave been the gent.

I've not a word to say agin His fondness for 'is 'orse, But why should 'e insinivate The gent would treat 'im worse?

An' why should 'e go talkin'

In that aggravatin' way, As if the gent would gallop 'im And wallop 'im all day?

[14] It may 'ave been an' 'arness 'orse, It may 'ave been an 'ack, But a bargain is a bargain, An' there ain't no goin' back; For when you've picked the money up, That finishes the deal, And after that your mouth is shut, Wotever you may feel.

Supposin' this 'ere Arab man 'Ad wanted to be free, 'E could 'ave done it businesslike, The same as you or me; A fiver might 'ave squared the gent, An' then 'e could 'ave claimed As 'e'd cleared 'imself quite 'andsome, And no call to be ashamed.