13 JUNE 1903, Page 18

POETRY.

AN ANSWER.

YESTERDAY you had a song

I could not choose but hear ; 'Twas 0, to be in. England Now that April's there ! But I have found a new refrain I cannot choose but sing ; Via 0, to be in Africa Now Summer's on the wing !

Yesterday we languished For loaded boughs of may, And largess of the hawthorn hedge That April throws away.

But foundered in the sunset The kopjes burn and melt, And golden wacht-a-bietje bloom Is blazoning the veld.

Yesterday we yearned for The breath of English fields, The note of life triumphant That English April yields. But in the bosom of the berg The red-plumed aloes stand.

Ah, calling to my heart I hear My Foster-Motherland !

Mashonaland. PERCEVAL GIBBON.