POETRY.

THE GREY MOTHER. (TO AN OLD GAELIC AIR.)

[The Colonial Volunteers proceeded to the front—Public Prem.]

Lo, how they come to me, Far from South seas swiftly

Long through the night I call sailing.

Ah, how they turn to me. not,

East and South my children Come they to fight for me, scatter, i Sons of the sons I nurtured, North and West the world they' God keep them safe for me.

Yet they come back to me,

Come with their brave hearts Now they come back to me, Longing to die for me, dren. . .

Me, the grey, old, weary mother, I Brave of the brave for me. Throned amid the Northern I In the wilds and waves they waters, slumber,

Where they have died for me, deserts, Died with their songs around

Girding my shores for me. Graves where they lay for- Narrow was my dwelling for

them, Homes they builded o'er the For I see them fall and perish, ocean, Yet they leave all for me, Hearing their mother calling, Bringing their lives for me. Lo, how they come to me, Far from South seas swiftly

them, Out from under stars I know

wander, Long ago their fathers saved me, Died for me among the heather, beating, I Come, in their children's chil.

Me, the grey, old, weary mother, I Brave of the brave for me. Throned amid the Northern I In the wilds and waves they

Deep they slumber

me, Rise they from graves for me, Girding my shores for me. Graves where they lay for-

gotten,

Shades of the brave for me.

Yet my soul is veiled in sadness,

Homes they builded o'er the For I see them fall and perish, ocean, Strewing the hills for me, Claiming the world in dying, Bought with their blood for me in the Hear the grey, old, Northern mother,

Blessing now her dying children,—

God keep ye safe for me, Christ watch ye in your sleeping, Where ye have died for me. And when God's own slogan soundeth, All the dead world's dust awaking, lh, will ye look for me ? Bravely we'll stand together I and my sons with me.

L. MACLEAN WATT.