The Poetry Corner

The Iron Hand

By John Kendall (Dum-Dum)

'The Government of India has been pleased to sanction the infliction of a fine of ..., etc.' To him that reads with careless eyes My present theme affords But little scope for enterprise In buttering one's lords: Fines, he would urge, have always bulked Largely to Those that rule, For, plainly, every man They mulct Contributes to the pool. But when in ages dead and gone Our fathers fought with Sin, However hard they laid it on, They didn't rub it in; While These not only bring to bear Their dark prerogatives, But diabolically air The pleasure that it gives! Here is the Iron Hand that builds Our realms beyond the sea; No suaviter in modo gilds Their fortiter in re; Here is no washy velvet glove To pad the Fist of Fear - None of your guiding charms of Love - None of your hogwash here! No. From Their thrones amid the stars They glower athwart the land Implacable, with 'eye like Mars To threaten and command.' Too cold, too truculent, to stay The awful bolt They fling, They make no bones about it - They Are pleased to do this thing! Blind to the victim's mask of woe, Deaf to his poignant howls, No pity stirs Their bosoms, no Reluctance wrings Their bow'ls! By prompt and ready cash alone Their wrath shall be appeased Who pile it on like gods, and own, Like men, to being pleased.