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# The Exile of The Lariat

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
A regular Joseph's coat: love, women in politics, dinosaurs, aeroplanes, irrigation crooks, blizzards, and canyon scenery, all neatly interwoven. —The Bookman October 1923.
THE EXILE OF THE LARIAT
BY
HONORE WILLSIE
Author of “The Enchanted Canyon,” “Judith
of the Godless Valley,” “Still Jim,”
“The Heart of the Desert,” etc.
NEW YORK FREDERICK A STOKES COMPANY MCMXXIII
Copyright, 1923, by The Ridgway Company
Copyright, 1923, by Frederick A. Stokes Company
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America

### CONTENTS

* chapterpage
* I. Christmas 1
* II. Fort Sioux 31
* III. Uncle Bookie 49
* IV. Miriam 72
* V. The Man Grafton 93
* VI. Mrs Ellis 110
* VII. Wild Horses 129
* VIII. The Gray Stallion 148
* IX. The Hearing 168
* X. The Dinosaur 188
* XI. Big Fang 206
* XII. The Lone Spring Vote 226
* XIII. The Governor Elect 239
* XIV. The Last Fight for the Code 263
* XV. Christmas Again 275
* XVI. Jessie 294
* XVII. The Old Ranch 315
* XVIII. Riding the Gray Stallion 330
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1940, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 83 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Exeter Book (Jebson)/Wulf and Eadwacer

Wulf and Eadwacer is an Old English poem of 20 lines that appears to date from the 9th century, drawing on earlier oral traditions of Anglo-Saxon tale singing. The only text of the fragment is copied in the Exeter Book, a manuscript of Old English poetry compiled in the late 10th century.
Leodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife; willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð. Ungelic is us.
Wulf is on iege, ic on oþerre. Fæst is þæt eglond, fenne biworpen. Sindon wælreowe weras þær on ige; willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð. Ungelice is us.
Wulfes ic mines widlastum wenum dogode; þonne hit wæs renig weder ond ic reotugu sæt, þonne mec se beaducafa bogum bilegde, wæs me wyn to þon, wæs me hwæþre eac lað. Wulf, min Wulf, wena me þine seoce gedydon, þine seldcymas, murnende mod, nales meteliste. Gehyrest þu, Eadwacer? Uncerne earne hwelp bireð wulf to wuda.
þæt mon eaþe tosliteð þætte næfre gesomnad wæs, uncer giedd geador.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Exile's Dirge

* The Exile's Dirge, in The Winter's Wreath, 1830.
* The Exile's Dirge, in Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems (Songs of the Affections), 1830.
# The Five Nations/White Horses

WHITE HORSES
Where run your colts at pasture? Where hide your mares to breed? 'Mid bergs about the Ice-cap Or wove Sargasso weed; By chartless reef and channel, Or crafty coastwise bars, But most the ocean-meadows All purple to the stars!
Who holds the rein upon you? The latest gale let free. What meat is in your mangers? The glut of all the sea. 'Twixt tide and tide's returning Great store of newly dead,— The bones of those that faced us, And the hearts of those that fled.
​Afar, off-shore and single, Some stallion, rearing swift, Neighs hungry for new fodder, And calls us to the drift. Then down the cloven ridges— A million hooves unshod— Break forth the mad White Horses To seek their meat from God!
Girth-deep in hissing water Our furious vanguard strains— Through mist of mighty tramplings Roll up the fore-blown manes— A hundred leagues to leeward, Ere yet the deep is stirred, The groaning rollers carry The coming of the herd!
Whose hand may grip your nostrils— Your forelock who may hold? E'en they that use the broads with us The riders bred and bold, ​That spy upon our matings, That rope us where we run— They know the strong White Horses From father unto son.
We breathe about their cradles, We race their babes ashore, We snuff against their thresholds, We nuzzle at their door; By day with stamping squadrons, By night in whinnying droves, Creep up the wise White Horses, To call them from their loves.
And come they for your calling? No wit of man may save. They hear the loosed White Horses Above their father's grave; And, kin of those we crippled, And, sons of those we slew, Spur down the wild white riders To school the herds anew.
​What service have ye paid them, Oh jealous steeds and strong? Save we that throw their weaklings, Is none dare work them wrong; While thick around the homestead Our snow-backed leaders graze— A guard behind their plunder, And a veil before their ways.
With march and countermarchings— With weight of wheeling hosts— Stray mob or bands embattled— We ring the chosen coasts: And, careless of our clamour That bids the stranger fly, At peace within our pickets The wild white riders lie.
Trust ye the curdled hollows— Trust ye the neighing wind— Trust ye the moaning groundswell— Our herds are close behind!
​To bray your foeman's armies— To chill and snap his sword— Trust ye the wild White Horses, The Horses of the Lord!
# The Five Nations/The Song of Diego Valdez

THE SONG OF DIEGO VALDEZ
The God of Fair Beginnings Hath prospered here my hand— The cargoes of my lading, And the keels of my command. For out of many ventures That sailed with hope as high, My own have made the better trade, And Admiral am I!
To me my King's much honour, To me my people's love— To me the pride of Princes And power all pride above; To me the shouting cities, To me the mob's refrain:— "Who knows not noble Valdez, Hath never heard of Spain."
​But I remember comrades— Old playmates on new seas— Whenas we traded orpiment Among the savages— A thousand leagues to south'ard And thirty years removed— They knew not noble Valdez, But me they knew and loved.
Then they that found good liquor, They drank it not alone, And they that found fair plunder, They told us every one, About our chosen islands Or secret shoals between, When, walty from far voyage, We gathered to careen.
There burned our breaming-fagots All pale along the shore: There rose our worn pavilions— A sail above an oar: ​As flashed each yearning anchor Through mellow seas afire, So swift our careless captains Rowed each to his desire!
Where lay our loosened harness? Where turned our naked feet? Whose tavern 'mid the palm-trees? What quenchings of what heat? Oh fountain in the desert! Oh cistern in the waste! Oh bread we ate in secret! Oh cup we spilled in haste!
The youth new-taught of longing, The widow curbed and wan— The goodwife proud at season, And the maid aware of man; All souls unslaked, consuming, Defrauded in delays, Desire not more than quittance Than I those forfeit days!
​I dreamed to wait my pleasure Unchanged my spring would bide: Wherefore, to wait my pleasure, I put my spring aside Till, first in face of Fortune, And last in mazed disdain, I made Diego Valdez High Admiral of Spain.
Then walked no wind 'neath Heaven Nor surge that did not aid— I dared extreme occasion, Nor ever one betrayed, They wrought a deeper treason— (Led seas that served my needs!) They sold Diego Valdez To bondage of great deeds.
The tempest flung me seaward, And pinned and bade me hold The course I might not alter— And men esteemed me bold! ​The calms embayed my quarry, The fog-wreath sealed his eyes; The dawn-wind brought my topsails— And men esteemed me wise!
Yet 'spite my tyrant triumphs Bewildered, dispossessed— My dream held I before me— My vision of my rest; But, crowned by Fleet and People, And bound by King and Pope— Stands here Diego Valdez To rob me of my hope!
No prayer of mine shall move him, No word of his set free The Lord of Sixty Pennants And the Steward of the Sea. His will can loose ten thousand To seek their loves again— But not Diego Valdez, High Admiral of Spain.
​There walks no wind 'neath Heaven Nor wave that shall restore The old careening riot And the clamorous, crowded shore— The fountain in the desert, The cistern in the waste, The bread we ate in secret, The cup we spilled in haste!
Now call I to my Captains— For council fly the sign, Now leap their zealous galleys Twelve-oared across the brine. To me the straiter prison, To me the heavier chain— To me Diego Valdez, High Admiral of Spain!
# The Five Nations/The Young Queen

THE YOUNG QUEEN
THE COMMONWEALTH OF AUSTRALIA, INAUGURATED NEW YEAR'S DAY 1901)
Her hand was still on her sword-hilt, the spur was still on her heel, She had not cast her harness of grey war-dinted steel; High on her red-splashed charger, beautiful, bold, and browned, Bright-eyed out of the battle, the Young Queen rode to be crowned.
She came to the Old Queen's presence, in the Hall of Our Thousand Years— In the Hall of the Five Free Nations that are peers among their peers: Royal she gave the greeting, loyal she bowed the head, Crying—"Crown me, my Mother!" And the Old Queen stood and said:—
​"How can I crown thee further? I know whose standard flies Where the clean surge takes the Leeuwin or the coral barriers rise. Blood of our foes on thy bridle, and speech of our friends in thy mouth— How can I crown thee further, O Queen of the Sovereign South?
"Let the Five Free Nations witness!" But the Young Queen answered swift:—
"It shall be crown of Our crowning to hold Our crown for a gift. In the days when Our folk were feeble thy sword made sure Our lands: Wherefore We come in power to take Our crown at thy hands."
And the Old Queen raised and kissed her, and the jealous circlet prest, Roped with the pearls of the Northland and red with the gold of the West, Lit with her land's own opals, levin-hearted, alive, And the Five-starred Cross above them, for sign of the Nations Five.
​So it was done in the Presence—in the Hall of Our Thousand Years, In the face of the Five Free Nations that have no peer but their peers; And the Young Queen out of the Southland kneeled down at the Old Queen's knee, And asked for a mother's blessing on the excellent years to be.
And the Old Queen stooped in the stillness where the jewelled head drooped low:—
"Daughter no more but Sister, and doubly Daughter so— Mother of many princes—and child of the child I bore, What good thing shall I wish thee that I have not wished before?
"Shall I give thee delight in dominion—mere pride of thy setting forth? Nay, we be women together—we know what that lust is worth. ​Peace in thy utmost borders, and strength on a road untrod? These are dealt or diminished at the secret will of God.
"I have swayed troublous councils, I am wise in terrible things; Father and son and grandson, I have known the heart of the Kings. Shall I give thee my sleepless wisdom, or the gift all wisdom above? Ay, we be women together—I give thee thy people's love:
"Tempered, august, abiding, reluctant of prayers or vows, Eager in face of peril as thine for thy mother's house. God requite thee, my Sister, through the wonderful years to be. And make thy people to love thee as thou hast loved me!"
# The Five Nations/The Wage-Slaves

THE WAGE-SLAVES
Oh glorious are the guarded heights Where guardian souls abide— Self-exiled from our gross delights— Above, beyond, outside: An ampler arc their spirit swings— Commands a juster view— We have their word for all these things, Nor doubt their words are true.
Yet we the bondslaves of our day, Whom dirt and danger press— Co-heirs of insolence, delay, And leagued unfaithfulness— Such is our need must seek indeed And, having found, engage The men who merely do the work For which they draw the wage.
From forge and farm and mine and bench, Deck, altar, outpost lone— ​Mill, school, battalion, counter, trench, Rail, senate, sheepfold, throne— Creation's cry goes up on high From age to cheated age:
"Send us the men who do the work For which they draw the wage."
Words cannot help nor wit achieve, Nor e'en the all-gifted fool, Too weak to enter, bide, or leave The lists he cannot rule. Beneath the sun we count on none Our evil to assuage, Except the men that do the work For which they draw the wage.
When through the Gates of Stress and Strain Comes forth the vast Event— The simple, sheer, sufficing, sane Result of labour spent— They that have wrought the end unthought Be neither saint nor sage, But men who merely did the work For which they drew the wage
​Wherefore to these the Fates shall bend (And all old idle things—) Wherefore on these shall Power attend Beyond the grasp of kings: Each in his place, by right, not grace, Shall rule his heritage— The men who simply do the work For which they draw the wage.
Not such as scorn the loitering street, Or waste to earn its praise, Their noontide's unreturning heat About their morning ways: But such as dower each mortgaged hour Alike with clean courage— Even the men who do the work For which they draw the wage— Men like to Gods that do the work For which they draw the wage— Begin—continue—close the work For which they draw the wage!
# The Five Nations/The White Man's Burden

THE WHITE MAN'S BURDEN
Take up the White Man's burden— Send forth the best ye breed— Go bind your sons to exile To serve your captives' need; To wait in heavy harness, On fluttered folk and wild— Your new-caught, sullen peoples, Half-devil and half-child.
Take up the White Man's burden— In patience to abide, To veil the threat of terror And check the show of pride; By open speech and simple, An hundred times made plain, To seek another's profit, And work another's gain.
​Take up the White Man's burden— The savage wars of peace— Fill full the mouth of Famine And bid the sickness cease; And when your goal is nearest The end for others sought, Watch Sloth and heathen Folly Bring all your hope to nought.
Take up the White Man's burden— No tawdry rule of kings, But toil of serf and sweeper— The tale of common things. The ports ye shall not enter, The roads ye shall not tread, Go make them with your living, And mark them with your dead.
Take up the White Man's burden— And reap his old reward: The blame of those ye better, The hate of those ye guard— ​The cry of hosts ye humour (Ah, slowly!) toward the light:— "Why brought ye us from bondage, Our loved Egyptian night?"
Take up the White Man's burden— Ye dare not stoop to less— Nor call too loud on Freedom To cloak your weariness; By all ye cry or whisper, By all ye leave or do, The silent, sullen peoples Shall weigh your Gods and you.
Take up the White Man's burden— Have done with childish days— The lightly proffered laurel, The easy, ungrudged praise. Comes now, to search your manhood Through all the thankless years, Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom, The judgment of your peers!
# The Five Nations/Two Kopjes

TWO KOPJES
(MADE YEOMANRY)
Only two African kopjes, Only the cart-tracks that wind Empty and open between 'em, Only the Transvaal behind; Only an Aldershot column Marching to conquer the land ... Only a sudden and solemn Visit, unarmed, to the Rand.
Then scorn not the African kopje, The kopje that smiles in the heat, The wholly unoccupied kopje, The home of Cornelius and Piet. You can never be sure of your kopje, But of this be you blooming well sure A kopje is always a kopje, And a Boojer is always a Boer!
​Only two African kopjes, Only the vultures above, Only baboons—at the bottom, Only some buck on the move; Only a Kensington draper Only pretending to scout ... Only bad news for the paper, Only another knock-out.
Then mock not the African kopje, And rub not your flank on its side, The silent and simmering kopje, The kopje beloved by the guide. You can never be, etc.
Only two African kopjes, Only the dust of their wheels, Only a bolted commando, Only our guns at their heels ... Only a little barb-wire, Only a natural fort, Only "by sections retire," Only "regret to report"!
​Then mock not the African kopje, Especially when it is twins, One sharp and one table-topped kopje, For that's where the trouble begins. You can never be, etc.
Only two African kopjes Baited the same as before— Only we've had it so often, Only we're taking no more ... Only a wave to our troopers, Only our flanks swinging past, Only a dozen voorloopers, Only we've learned it at last!
Then mock not the African kopje, But take off your hat to the same, The patient, impartial old kopje, The kopje that taught us the game! For all that we knew in the Columns, And all they've forgot on the Staff, We learned at the fight o' Two Kopjes, Which lasted two years an' a half.
​O mock not the African kopje, Not even when peace has been signed— The kopje that isn't a kopje— The kopje that copies its kind. You can never be sure of your kopje, But of this be you blooming well sure, That a kopje is always a kopje, And a Boojer is always a Boer!
# The Five Nations/Ubique

UBIQUE
There is a word you often see, pronounce it as you may— "You bike," "you bykwe," "ubbikwe"—alludin' to R. A. It serves 'Orse, Field, an' Garrison as motto for a crest, An' when you've found out all it means I'll tell you 'alf the rest.
Ubique means the long-range Krupp be'ind the low-range 'ill— Ubique means you'll pick it up an' while you do stand still. Ubique means you've caught the flash an' timed it by the sound. Ubique means five gunners' 'ash before you've loosed a round.
​Ubique means Blue Fuse, an' make the 'ole to sink the trail. Ubique means stand up an' take the Mauser's 'alf-mile 'ail. Ubique means the crazy team not God nor man can 'old. Ubique means that 'orse's scream which turns your innards cold!
Ubique means "Bank, 'Olborn, Bank—a penny all the way"— The soothin', jingle-bump-an'-clank from day to peaceful day. Ubique means "They've caught De Wet, an' now we shan't be long." Ubique means "I much regret, the beggar's goin' strong!"
Ubique means the tearin' drift where, breech-blocks jammed with mud, The khaki muzzles duck an' lift across the khaki flood. ​Ubique means the dancing plain that changes rocks to Boers. Ubique means the mirage again an' shellin' all outdoors.
Ubique means "Entrain at once for Grootdefeatfontein"! Ubique means "Off-load your guns"—at midnight in the rain! Ubique means "More mounted men. Return all guns to store." Ubique means the R. A. M. R. Infantillery Corps!
Ubique means that warnin' grunt the perished linesman knows, When o'er 'is strung an' sufferin' front the shrapnel sprays 'is foes; An' as their firin' dies away the 'usky whisper runs From lips that 'aven't drunk all day: "The Guns! Thank Gawd, the Guns!"
​Extreme, depressed, point-blank or short, end-first or any 'ow, From Colesberg Kop to Quagga's Poort—from Ninety-Nine till now— By what I've 'eard the others tell an' I in spots 'ave seen, There's nothin' this side 'Eaven or 'Ell Ubique doesn't mean!
# The Five Nations/The Second Voyage

THE SECOND VOYAGE
We've sent our little Cupids all ashore— They were frightened, they were tired, they were cold; Our sails of silk and purple go to store, And we've cut away our mast of beaten gold (Foul weather!) Oh 'tis hemp and singing pine for to stand against the brine, But Love he is the master as of old!
The sea has shorn our galleries away, The salt has soiled our gilding past remede; Our paint is flaked and blistered by the spray, Our sides are half a fathom furred in weed (Foul weather!) And the doves of Venus fled and the petrels came instead. But Love he was our master at our need!
​'Was Youth would keep no vigil at the bow, 'Was Pleasure at the helm too drunk to steer— We've shipped three able quartermasters now, Men call them Custom, Reverence, and Fear (Foul weather!) They are old and scarred and plain, but we'll run no risk again From any Port o' Paphos mutineer!
We seek no more the tempest for delight, We skirt no more the indraught and the shoal— We ask no more of any day or night Than to come with least adventure to our goal (Foul weather!) What we find we needs must brook, but we do not go to look, Nor tempt the Lord our God that saved us whole!
Yet, caring so, not overly we care To brace and trim for every foolish blast, If the squall be pleased to sweep us unaware, He may bellow off to leeward like the last (Foul weather!) ​We will blame it on the deep (for the watch must have their sleep), And Love can come and wake us when 'tis past.
Oh launch them down with music from the beach, Oh warp them out with garlands from the quays— Most resolute—a damsel unto each— New prows that seek the old Hesperides! (Foul weather!) Though we know the voyage is vain, yet we see our path again In the saffroned bridesails scenting all the seas! (Foul weather!)
# The Five Nations/The Settler

THE SETTLER
Here, where my fresh-turned furrows run, And the deep soil glistens red, I will repair the wrong that was done To the living and the dead. Here, where the senseless bullet fell, And the barren shrapnel burst, I will plant a tree, I will dig a well, Against the heat and the thirst.
Here, in a large and a sunlit land, Where no wrong bites to the bone, I will lay my hand in my neighbour's hand, And together we will atone For the set folly and the red breach And the black waste of it all, Giving and taking counsel each Over the cattle-kraal.
​Here will we join against our foes— The hailstroke and the storm, And the red and rustling cloud that blows The locust's mile-deep swarm; Frost and murrain and floods let loose Shall launch us side by side In the holy wars that have no truce 'Twixt seed and harvest tide.
Earth, where we rode to slay or be slain, Our love shall redeem unto life; We will gather and lead to her lips again The waters of ancient strife, From the far and fiercely guarded streams And the pools where we lay in wait, Till the corn cover our evil dreams And the young corn our hate.
And when we bring old fights to mind, We will not remember the sin— If there be blood on his head of my kind, Or blood on my head of his kin— ​For the ungrazed upland, the untilled lea Cry, and the fields forlorn: "The dead must bury their dead, but ye— Ye serve an host unborn."
Bless then, our God, the new-yoked plough And the good beasts that draw, And the bread we eat in the sweat of our brow According to Thy Law. After us cometh a multitude— Prosper the work of our hands, That we may feed with our land's food The folk of all our lands!
Here, in the waves and the troughs of the plains, Where the healing stillness lies, And the vast, benignant sky restrains And the long days make wise— Bless to our use the rain and the sun And the blind seed in its bed, That we may repair the wrong that was done To the living and the dead!