Adieu! adieu! the land of palms
Fades o’er the waters blue;
The loafers yell, the planters roar,
And weeps the mild Hindu.
Apollo his own Bunder gilds,
As slow he sinks from sight:
Farewell to them and thee for aye,
Unhappy land—Good night!
I leave thy shores to which I steered
With hopes that swelled my heart,
Their shadowy phantoms rise again
To greet me ere I part.
They came not through Sleep’s Ivory Gate,
As once they came, dream-born,
But whence the truer shades arise
From the twin Gate of Horn.
They tell of many a purpose crossed,
Of disconcerted plan:
Of baffled aims that wisely chide
The imaginings of man:
Of fond desires, of fancied good,
As though could power constrain
All means to justest ends and bring
A golden age again.
They tell of angry gathering crowds:
Of Faction’s hate-swayed throng:
Of wild words prompting wilder deeds,
Unstayed by heed of wrong;
The cruel taunt, the scornful jest,
The slander that belies,
The coward hiss that rose unshamed
Before a woman’s eyes.
All save the last in other years
I braved this, this, was spared;
Though fiercer crowds had wreaked the worst
That bigot rage had dared.
I stood for what I deemed the right—
Ye women-slayers say true!
Have cheeks that never paled for them,
Ere blanched for such as you?
To win the fickle breath of praise,
No suppliant knee I bow,
And what once Duty pledged to grant,
No fear shall disavow.
I crave not at your hands for aught
But dues that fair lists owe,
And bear ye as ye will, ye meet
At least a gallant foe.
Yet not alone of these the freight
Their parting message bears,
But auguries of harvest joys
For a seed-time of tears.
The reapers of the summer swathes
Know well that winter’s rain
Must spend its havoc on the soil,
Ere smiles the yellow grain.
So time shall its own wreck repair,
And they who garner, then,
Forget not that the day’s long heats
Were borne by other men.
Yet not in vain the labour now,
Nor scant the meed unsued,
The richest guerdon toil can earn—
A people’s gratitude.
They bring the memories of friends
Who charm on exile shed:
Who lightened weary months of care,
And soothed the fevered bed:
Bold hearts that never failed my side,
In cloud or shine the same:
Still true in the fierce fight that raged
Round Ilbert’s fateful name.
Come hither, come hither, my trusty Aide,
What turns thy cheek so pale?
What latest fair thou leav’st behind,
Believes thy oft-told tale?
If ’tis some fond delusion paints
Thy happiness at stake,
A heart that holds so many loves,
Fear not, will never break.
And she for whom thou sighest now,
That fond and faithful she!
Already smiles on other Aides,
And thinks no more of thee.
A simple primrose is to her
But that and nothing more:
And thou wilt find some newer love
Before thou touchest shore.
Another lord my palace treads,
My reign is past and o’er:
Of me thy shades have seen the last,
Rheumatic Barrackpore!
Let Simla’s typhoid-laden air
Another victim know,
And envy his ungrateful race
That wail in health below.
Farewell to levees, pageants, routs,
To weeks of endless dinners;
To balls where I must lead the dance
With capering saints and sinners.
Farewell to Rajahs and Nabobs:
To fetid pan and attar,
To coming Russians in Herat
And Rent Bills in Calcutta.
Farewell, Societies where meet
In concord, whites and blacks:
Associations that defend
What nobody attacks:
The long addresses that pursue
A Viceroy where he goes:
Farewell to Hunter’s bright romance
And Kimberley’s dull prose.
Farewell to Budgets and Reports,
To critics in the press,
Who nightly weave Arabian tales
Of fiction, fact and guess:
To hourly fears lest Colvin’s glance
Of deficits should tell;
Riots, rupees, and zemindars!
To one and all farewell!
And all the scathing paper wars
Where Secretaries fight
To prove how sharp the pens they wield,
How smartly they can write:
Official minutes, drafts and notes
And boxes that they fill,
To my successors I bequeath
With one unfinished Bill.
With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly speed
Athwart the ocean’s span,
Nor care what land thou bear’st me to,
So not to Hindustan.
Welcome, welcome, ye hastening waves
That homeward wing my flight!
Welcome the Franchise and the Lords.
Distracted land—Good night.
H. S. J.