January 9, 2013

  • This Has All Happened Before. This Will All Happen Again.

    Please note the date this strip was published. The next time someone (who probably wasn’t born in 1958) pulls out this cliche about “kids today”, point them to this. Then, point AT them and laugh. Or just quote Kipling. You can never go wrong by quoting Kipling.

    The King

    “Farewell, Romance!” the Cave-men said;

      “With bone well carved He went away,

    Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,

      And jasper tips the spear to-day.

    Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance,

    And He with these.  Farewell, Romance!”

     

    “Farewell, Romance!” the Lake-folk sighed;

      “We lift the weight of flatling years;

    The caverns of the mountain-side

      Hold him who scorns our hutted piers.

    Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell,

    Guard ye his rest.  Romance, farewell!”

     

    “Farewell, Romance!” the Soldier spoke;

      “By sleight of sword we may not win,

    But scuffle ‘mid uncleanly smoke

      Of arquebus and culverin.

    Honour is lost, and none may tell

    Who paid good blows.  Romance, farewell!”

     

    “Farewell, Romance!” the Traders cried;

      “Our keels have lain with every sea;

    The dull-returning wind and tide

      Heave up the wharf where we would be;

    The known and noted breezes swell

    Our trudging sails. Romance, farewell!”

     

    “Good-bye, Romance!” the Skipper said;

      “He vanished with the coal we burn.

    Our dial marks full-steam ahead,

      Our speed is timed to half a turn.

    Sure as the ferried barge we ply

    ‘Twixt port and port.  Romance, good-bye!”

     

    “Romance!” the season-tickets mourn,

      “He never ran to catch His train,

    But passed with coach and guard and horn –

      And left the local — late again!”

    Confound Romance!…  And all unseen

    Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.

     

    His hand was on the lever laid,

      His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,

    His whistle waked the snowbound grade,

      His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks;

    By dock and deep and mine and mill

    The Boy-god reckless laboured still!

     

    Robed, crowned and throned, He wove His spell,

      Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled,

    With unconsidered miracle,

      Hedged in a backward-gazing world;

    Then taught His chosen bard to say:

    “Our King was with us — yesterday!”

     

     

    http://www.gocomics.com/peanuts/1958/03/11

Comments (1)

  • The strip before that one pretty good, too. Unfortunately the strip after it has been overtaken by inflation.

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