18 JUNE 1910, Page 18

- POETRY.

An ancient glee of spring, And sunlit falls the challenge

Come out—come out, and sing ; When lo! there comes a rumour, A whispering to me Of the grey town, the fey town, The town where I would be.

I see the river Silence, I see the crumbling walls, I hear the mellow laughter And a clear voice that calls ; O tears that rise unbidden, Ye shall not blur for me The old town, the cold town, The town I cannot see.

The memories of comrades, Of battles lost or won, Light, light they sway the balance Against a gleam of sun: But ah ! my heart is yearning And going far from me To the grey town, the fey town, The town where I would be.

H. F. B. BRETT-SMITH.