4 JULY 1908, Page 25

1' 0 E '1' It Y.


(" Posuit fines tuos pacem."—Psalm xlvii.)

No Warden keeps the marches From Tyneclale to the Tweed ; Broad winds the road to Scotland

Beside the streams of Rede.

Here, where some flaming roof-tree Leaped red-tongued to the sky, About the grass-grown ruins The nesting rock-doves fly.

Here, where spear-driven cattle Splashed deep to taste the cool, Only the quick-winged dipper Startles the quiet pool.

Unwatched, your flocks, 0 shepherds, Feed safe o'er many a field ; With red-brown bracken rusted Hangs Cheviot's dinted shield.

Plough, husbandman, long furrows, Fling, sower, undismayed, In groves of birch and alder Tweed sheathes his steel-bright blade.