Author: Rudyard Kipling

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Hear now the Song of the Dead, in the North by the torn berg-edges,
They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped sledges.
Song of the Dead in the South, in the sun by their skeleton horses,
Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust of the sere river-courses.

Song of the Dead in the East, in the heat-rotted jungle-hollows,
Where the dog-ape barks in the kloof, in the brake of the buffalo-wallows.

Song of the Dead in the West in the Barrens, the pass that betrayed them,
Where the wolverine tumbles their packs from the camp and the grave-rnound they made them;
Hear now the Song of the Dead!

I

We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town;
We yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange roads go down.
Came the Whisper, came the Vision, came the Power with the Need,
Till the Soul that is not man's soul was lent us to lead.
As the deer breaks, as the steer breaks, from the herd where they graze,
In the faith of little children we went on our ways.
Then the wood failed, then the food failed, then the last water dried.
In the faith of little children we lay down and died.
On the sand-drift, on the veldt-side , in the fern-scrub we lay,
That our sons might follow after by the bones on the way.
Follow after-follow after! We have watered the root,
And the bud has come to blossom that ripens for fruit!
Follow after, we are waiting, by the trails that we lost,
For the sounds of many footsteps, for the tread of a host.
Follow after-follow after, for the harvest is sown:
By the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your own!

When Drake went down to the Horn
And England was crowned thereby,
'Twixt seas unsailed and shores unhailed
Our Lodge, our Lodge was born
(And England was crowned thereby!)

Which never shall close again
By day nor yet by night,
While man shall take his ife to stake
At risk of shoal or main
(By day nor yet by night)

But standeth even so
As now we witness here,
While men depart, of joyful heart,
Adventure for to know
(As now bear witness here!)

II

We have fed our sea for a thousand years
And she calls us, still unfed,
Tbough there's never a wave of all her waves
But marks our English dead:
We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest,
To the shark and the sheering gull.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' paid in full!

There's never a flood goes shoreward now
But lifts a keel we manned;
There's never an ebb goes seaward now
But drops our dead on the sand,
But slinks our dead on the sands forlore,
From the Ducies to the Swin.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' paid it in!

We must feed our sea for a thousand years,
For that is our doom and pride,
As it was when they sailed with the Golden Hind,
Or the wreck that struck last tide,
Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef
Where the ghastly blue-lights flare
If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' bought it fair!

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Type of Poem: Narrative Poem

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: Rudyard Kipling’s "The Song of the Dead" is a Narrative Elegy with strong elements of Epic Commemoration and Patriotic Meditation. The poem is a vast, reverent hymn to those who ventured into the unknown—across oceans, through jungles, deserts, and ice fields—and perished in pursuit of exploration, conquest, trade, or service to the British Empire. The central theme is sacrifice: the idea that England's greatness—its naval power, its dominion across the seas—has been paid for, not cheaply, but in the blood and bones of countless unnamed adventurers and sailors. Their dreams, deaths, and labors have seeded the Empire’s flourishing.

The tone of the poem is solemn, grand, and almost liturgical. Kipling treats the dead not as mere casualties but as founders, builders, and guarantors of a civilization that endures because of their willingness to stake their lives beyond the visible horizon. The opening stanzas summon the dead from the four corners of the earth—north, south, east, and west—creating a global scope that underscores the breadth of England’s maritime and colonial reach. The structure of the poem flows in two parts: the first focused on explorers, visionaries, and pathbreakers (“dreamers, dreaming greatly”), and the second on sailors and the maritime dead who "fed our sea for a thousand years."

Imagery in the poem is visceral and powerful: the dust of sere river-courses, the heat-rotted jungle hollows, and the weed-strewn ocean depths all serve as both graveyards and testaments to the enduring spirit of those who fell. The repeated refrain, "If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha' paid in full," beats like a tolling bell throughout the second half, emphasizing that Britain's mastery of the seas was not a gift but an inheritance paid for by generations of suffering and loss. Historically, "The Song of the Dead" resonates deeply with Kipling’s concern for the maintenance of imperial power and sacrifice, especially in an age when the costs of empire were becoming more visibly burdensome.

Ultimately, "The Song of the Dead" is a profound, elegiac tribute to the dead who laid the foundations of Britain’s global influence. Kipling sanctifies their sacrifice, portraying it not merely as the price of ambition or conquest but as a necessary offering that made possible the security, prosperity, and dominion of their descendants. It is one of Kipling’s grandest statements of national memory, turning grief and pride into a shared epic of endurance and achievement.