POETRY.
ULSTER ON THE SOMME.
(In Memoriam E. G. B., Killed in Action, July 1st, 1918.) r" The Men of Ulster," published in the Spectator on September 26th. 1914, ended with the lines :—
* And wherever the fight is hottest, anil the sorest task is sat, Ulster will strike for England—and England will not forget."11
'Twas two short years ago—they seem Fate-laden aems now—
Faith saw the destined glory gleam O'er Ulster's helmed brow.
Yet Faith itself might not foretell Such transcendental dower, When yawned the gates of Death and Hell, And broke the awful hour.
From Antrim glens and hills of Down, And moaning Northern Sea, From mill and mart and thronging town, Strode Ulster's chivalry.
Heroes re-born of the Red Branch, They leapt into the fray, Whclmed by the steely avalanche, That long Midsummer day.
Life !--'tivaa a little thing to give e Death ?—'twas a toy to try.
They latew that Ulster dared not live, Did they not dare to die.
There, blithely venturing in the van, A kinsman of mine own,
In years a boy, in heart a man, Was radiantly o'erthrown.
"Gay as a lark "—the tribute this By chief and comrade penned— He sang his way to the Abyss, And smiled on Death as friend.
For him no sombre requiem, No threnody of tears, Who bartered for Youth's diadem The dross of After-Years.
F. S. Bois.
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