ODE TO THE TIME-GUN OF GURRUMBAD
Reading edition
[Time-guns are of invariable pattern and extreme antiquity. Other species come and go; their ancestor remains always. One is to be found in each cantonment: he generally occupies a position of unsheltered and pathetic loneliness in a corner of the local parade-ground. The writer has never seen one herded in the Gun-park with his kind.]
Strong scion of the sturdy past When simpler methods ruled the fray, At whose demoralising blast The stoutest foe recoiled aghast, How fall'n art thou to-day! Thy power the little children mock; Thy voice, that shook the serried line, But supplements the morning cock At—roughly speaking—one o'clock, And—broadly—half-past nine. (Saving when Thomas' deep employ Th' attendant closing hour postpones, And he, the undefeated boy, To gain a temporary joy, Hath stuffed thee up with stones.) Thy kindred of a mushroom 'Mark,' Young guns, intolerably spruce, Have cast thee from the social 'park'; Which, to their humbled patriarch, Must be the very deuce. Their little toils with leisure crowned, They, in their turn, will seek the Vale Of Rest that thou hast never found; What wonder if thy daily Round Is very like a Wail? Yet many love thee. Though his clutch Be heavy, Time doth still afford That fine consolatory touch— It hardly seems to go for much, But cannot be ignored. For him that braves the midday fare Thou hast the immemorial task Of booming forth at one—or there- abouts—which saves the wear and tear Of yelling out to ask. So, when athwart the glooming flats Thy hoarse, nocturnal whispers stray— Much to the horror of the bats— We're one day nearer home, and that's A comfort, anyway! Then courage! Guns may come and go, But him alone we hold divine Whose task it is to let us know The hours of one o'clock—or so— And—roundly—half-past nine.