POETRY.
THE ROAD TO LADYSMITH. GENTLE herdsman, tell me, pray, Unto the town of Ladysmith Which is the right and ready way ?
The way is easy to be gone, Although to use but lately won ; And though across the thirsty waste And o'er the veldt but faintly traced, For scarce yet green, on either hand, Are graves that mark in that new laud The long, lone road to Ladysmith.
Then tell me, gentle herdsman, pray, Upon the road to Ladysmith Whose are the graves that mark the way
The graves are theirs who died to give To Freedom room and right to live; She called them years and years ago— How they made answer all men know At Badajos--Trafalgar Bay—
At Waterloo, and yesterday They spoke once more at Ladysmith.
Then, gentle herdsman, tell me, pray, Now men go free to Ladysmith If they will rest who made the way?
Ah, pilgrim, never will they rest While East is sundered from the West ; For they unweariedly must tramp At Freedom's call from camp to camp; .And many a road for men to tread
Must yet be guarded by their dead,—
As this which leads to Ladysmith.
W. G. HOLE.
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