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.