Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave? Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave, or a Grott, The Ahkond of Swat? Does he drink small beer from a silver jug? or a Pot, The Ahkond of Swat? Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe, or Rot, The Ahkond of Swat? Does he wear a white tie when he dines with his friends, And tie it neat in a bow with ends, or a Knot, The Ahkond of Swat? Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies? or Not, The Ahkond of Swat? Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake? Does he sail about on an inland lake, in a Yacht, The Ahkond of Swat? Some one, or nobody knows I wot Who or which or why or what Is the Ahkond of Swati Edward Lear. THE AHKOOND OF SWAT "The Ahkoond of Swat is dead."-London Papers of Jan. 22, 1878. WHAT, what, what, What's the news from Swat? Sad news, Bad news, Comes by the cable led The Ahkoond of Swat Through the Indian Ocean's bed, Through the Persian Gulf, the Red Iterranean-he's dead; The Ahkoond is dead! For the Ahkoond I mourn, Who wouldn't? He strove to disregard the message stern, But he Ahkoodn't. Dead, dead, dead: (Sorrow, Swats!) Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, Swats whom he hath often led Onward to a gory bed, Or to victory, As the case might be. Sorrow, Swats! Tears shed, Shed tears like water. Your great Ahkoond is dead! That Swats the matter! Mourn, city of Swat, Your great Ahkoond is not, But laid 'mid worms to rot. His mortal part alone, his soul was caught And skeptics mock the lowly mound The azure skies that bend above his loved He sees with larger, other eyes, 711 Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With a noise of mourning and of lamentation! Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation! Its tower of strength; Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned; Dead lies the great Ahkoond, The great Ahkoond of Swat Is not! George Thomas Lanigan. DIRGE OF THE MOOLLA OF KOTAL, RIVAL OF THE AKHOOND OF SWAT I ALAS, unhappy land; ill-fated spot Kotal-though where or what On earth Kotal is, the bard has forgot; Further than this indeed he knoweth not- II When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battal Ions: the gloom that lay on Swat now lies Upon Kotal, On sad Kotal whose people ululate For their loved Moolla late. Put away his little turban, Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal 713 III His rival, but in what? Wherein did the deceased Akhoond of Swat Kotal's lamented Moolla late, As it were, emulate? Was it in the tented field With crash of sword on shield, While backward meaner champions reeled And loud the tom-tom pealed? Did they barter gash for scar And champions less well heeled Their war-horses wheeled And fled the presence of these mortal big bugs o' the field? Was Kotal's proud citadel Bastioned, walled, and demi-luned, Beaten down with shot and shell Or were wails despairing caught, as Cried in panic, "Moolla ad Portas?" -Or what? Or made each in the cabinet his mark Kotalese Gortschakoff, Swattish Bismarck? Did they explain and render hazier The policies of Central Asia? Did they with speeches from the throne, Wars dynastic, Entents cordiales, Between Swat and Kotal; Holy alliances, And other appliances Of statesmen with morals and consciences plastic Come by much more than their own? Made they mots, as "There to-day is No more Himalayehs," Or, if you prefer it, "There to-day are Or, said the Akhoond, "Sah, L'Etat de Swat c'est moi?" Khabu, did there come great fear Ali Shere? Or did the Khan of far Kashgar Tremble at the menace hot Of my foe the Akhoond of Swat?" Who knows Of Moolla and Akhoond aught more than I did? And in their deaths not very much divided? If any one knows it, Let him disclose it! George Thomas Lanigan. THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE A STREET there is in Paris famous, For which no rhyme our language yields, The which in youth I oft attended, This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is- That Greenwich never could outdo: All these you eat at Terré's tavern |