16 APRIL 1910, Page 16

POETRY.

THE SONG OF THE TINKER.

I AM the man of pot and pan,

I am a lad of mettle ; My tent I pitch by the wayside ditch To mend your can and kettle ; While town-bred folk bear a year-long yoke Among their• feeble fellows, I clink and clank on the hedgerow bank, And blow my snoring bellows.

I loved a lass with hair like brass, And eyes like a brazier glowing ; But the female crew, what they will do, I swear is past all knowing !

She flung her cap at a ploughman chap, And a fool I needs must think her, Who left for an oaf the mug and loaf, And the snug little tent of a tinker.

But, clank and clang, let women go bang, And who shall care a farden ?

With the solder strong of a laugh and a song My mind I'll heal and harden.

My ways I'll wend, and the pots I'll mend For gaffer and for gammer, And drive my cart with a careless heart, And sit by the road and hammer I MAY BYRON.