In Anne of Austria’s trembling hands

          The weary head fell low: —

        “I ship mineselfs tomorrow, straight

          “For Besser in Saro;

        “Und there Ultruda comes to me

          “At Easter, und I go —

        “South, down the Cattegat – What’s here?

          “There – are – no – lights – to guide!”

         The mutter ceased, the spirit passed,

          And Anne of Austria cried

        In Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house

          When Hans the mighty died.

        Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane,

          Bull-throated, bare of arm,

        But Anne of Austria looted first

          The maid Ultruda’s charm —

        The little silver crucifix

          That keeps a man from harm.

        As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely

        Maid last season worshipped dumbly, watched with fervor from afar;

        And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would greet me kindly.

        That was all – the rest was settled by the clinking tonga-bar.

        Yea, my life and hers were coupled by the tonga coupling-bar.

        For my misty meditation, at the second changin’-station,

        Suffered sudden dislocation, fled before the tuneless jar

        Of a Wagner obbligato, scherzo, doublehand staccato,

        Played on either pony’s saddle by the clacking tonga-bar —

        Played with human speech, I fancied, by the jigging, jolting bar.

        “She was sweet,” thought I, “last season, but ‘twere surely wild unreason

        Such tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by my Star,

        When she whispered, something sadly: ‘I – we feel your going badly!’”

         “And you let the chance escape you?” rapped the rattling tonga-bar.

        “What a chance and what an idiot!” clicked the vicious tonga-bar.

        Heart of man – oh, heart of putty! Had I gone by Kakahutti,

        On the old Hill-road and rutty, I had ‘scaped that fatal car.

        But his fortune each must bide by, so I watched the milestones slide by,

        To “You call on Her tomorrow!” – fugue with cymbals by the bar —

        “You must call on Her tomorrow!” – post-horn gallop by the bar.

        Yet a further stage my goal on – we were whirling down to Solon,

        With a double lurch and roll on, best foot foremost, ganz und gar —

        “She was very sweet,” I hinted. “If a kiss had been imprinted?” —

        “‘Would ha’ saved a world of trouble!” clashed the busy tonga-bar.

        “‘Been accepted or rejected!” banged and clanged the tonga-bar.

        Then a notion wild and daring, ‘spite the income tax’s paring,

        And a hasty thought of sharing – less than many incomes are,

        Made me put a question private, you can guess what I would drive at.

        “You must work the sum to prove it,” clanked the careless tonga-bar.

        “Simple Rule of Two will prove it,” lilted back the tonga-bar.

        It was under Khyraghaut I mused. “Suppose the maid be haughty —

        (There are lovers rich – and rotty) – wait some wealthy Avatar?

        Answer monitor untiring, ‘twixt the ponies twain perspiring!”

         “Faint heart never won fair lady,” creaked the straining tonga-bar.

        “Can I tell you ere you ask Her?” pounded slow the tonga-bar.

        Last, the Tara Devi turning showed the lights of Simla burning,

        Lit my little lazy yearning to a fiercer flame by far.

        As below the Mall we jingled, through my very heart it tingled —

        Did the iterated order of the threshing tonga-bar —

        “Try your luck – you can’t do better!” twanged the loosened tonga-bar.

        So long as ‘neath the Kalka hills

          The tonga-horn shall ring,

        So long as down the Solon dip

          The hard-held ponies swing,

        So long as Tara Devi sees

          The lights of Simla town,

        So long as Pleasure calls us up,

          Or Duty drives us down,

            If you love me as I love you

            What pair so happy as we two?

        So long as Aces take the King,

          Or backers take the bet,

        So long as debt leads men to wed,

          Or marriage leads to debt,

        So long as little luncheons, Love,

          And scandal hold their vogue,

        While there is sport at Annandale

          Or whisky at Jutogh,

            If you love me as I love you

            What knife can cut our love in two?

        So long as down the rocking floor

          The raving polka spins,

        So long as Kitchen Lancers spur

          The maddened violins,

        So long as through the whirling smoke

          We hear the oft-told tale —

        “Twelve hundred in the Lotteries,”

           And Whatshername for sale?

            If you love me as I love you

            We’ll play the game and win it too.

        So long as Lust or Lucre tempt

          Straight riders from the course,

        So long as with each drink we pour

          Black brewage of Remorse,