7 SEPTEMBER 1918, Page 12

POETRY.

TO THE MARNE RIVER. MARNE, on thy bank let some high sign he set Where thrice* the world's great Opposites have met; The lust of Rapine and the laws of Right, The fiends of darkness and the God of light. Thus far, no farther, blew the blast obscene Blackening with poisoned breath Earth's vital green; Thus far, no farther, swarmed the robber horde, Stayed here and turned by the avenging sword : Stayed and half spent. Let next year's record tell. Of that foul flood swept to its native hell.

ERNEST MYERS.