Ode To The Time-Gun Of Gurrumbad

[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.