Half-Ballad of Waterval
When by the labour of my ’andsI’ve ’elped to pack a transport tightWith prisoners for foreign lands,I ain’t transported with delight.I know it’s only just an’ right,But yet it somehow sickens me,For I ’ave learned at WatervalThe meanin’ of captivity.
Be’ind the pegged barb-wire strands,Beneath the tall electric light,We used to walk in bare-’ead bands,Explainin’ ’ow we lost our fight.An’ that is what they’ll do to-nightUpon the steamer out at sea,If I ’ave learned at WatervalThe meanin’ of captivity.
They’ll never know the shame that brands--Black shame no livin’ down makes white,The mockin’ from the sentry-stands,The women’s laugh, the gaoler’s spite.We are too bloomin’ much polite,But that is ’ow I’d ’ave us be...Since I ’ave learned at WatervalThe meanin’ of captivity.
They’ll get those draggin’ days all right,Spent as a foreigner commands,An’ ’orrors of the locked-up night,With ’Ell’s own thinkin’ on their ’ands.I’d give the gold o’ twenty Rands(If it was mine) to set ’em free ...For I ’ave learned at WatervalThe meanin’ of captivity!
Words in this poem
- somehow adv.
- In one way or another; in some way not yet known or designated; by some means; as, the thing must be done somehow; he lives somehow.
- polite a.
- Smooth; polished. [L. politus, p. p. of polire to polish: cf. F. poli. See Polish, v.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Half-Ballad of Waterval is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Five Nations, Volume II, Project Gutenberg ebook #60261; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Rudyard Kipling, Half-Ballad of Waterval, in The Five Nations, Volume II (1903), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #60261, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/kipling-five-nations-2/half-ballad-of-waterval.html, id L20270.
Form and metre
Half-Ballad of Waterval is 32 lines in 4 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 84%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABB--- andsA · tightB · landsA · delightB · rightB · me · waterval · captivity
- 2 ABABB--- strandsA · lightB · bandsA · fightB · nightB · sea · waterval · captivity
- 3 ABABB--- brandsA · whiteB · standsA · spiteB · politeB · be · waterval · captivity
- 4 ABABB--- rightA · commandsB · nightA · andsB · randsB · free · waterval · captivity
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| When by the labour of my ’ands | 8 | ···/···· |
| I’ve ’elped to pack a transport tight | 8 | ·····˘/· |
| With prisoners for foreign lands, | 8 | ·/˘˘·/˘· |
| I ain’t transported with delight. | 8 | ··˘/˘·˘/ |
| I know it’s only just an’ right, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But yet it somehow sickens me, | 8 | ···/·/˘· |
| For I ’ave learned at Waterval | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| The meanin’ of captivity. | 8 | ····˘/˘˘ |
| Be’ind the pegged barb-wire strands, | 8 | ···˘·/˘· |
| Beneath the tall electric light, | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| We used to walk in bare-’ead bands, | 8 | ········ |
| Explainin’ ’ow we lost our fight. | 8 | ······/· |
| An’ that is what they’ll do to-night | 8 | ········ |
| Upon the steamer out at sea, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| If I ’ave learned at Waterval | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| The meanin’ of captivity. | 8 | ····˘/˘˘ |
| They’ll never know the shame that brands-- | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Black shame no livin’ down makes white, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The mockin’ from the sentry-stands, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The women’s laugh, the gaoler’s spite. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| We are too bloomin’ much polite, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| But that is ’ow I’d ’ave us be... | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| Since I ’ave learned at Waterval | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| The meanin’ of captivity. | 8 | ····˘/˘˘ |
| They’ll get those draggin’ days all right, | 8 | ········ |
| Spent as a foreigner commands, | 8 | ···/˘˘˘/ |
| An’ ’orrors of the locked-up night, | 8 | ········ |
| With ’Ell’s own thinkin’ on their ’ands. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I’d give the gold o’ twenty Rands | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| (If it was mine) to set ’em free ... | 8 | ········ |
| For I ’ave learned at Waterval | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| The meanin’ of captivity! | 8 | ····˘/˘˘ |
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