POETRY.
A VOLUNTEER TO HIS EQUIPMENT.
Clinch of the equipment issued to Volunteers has seen service in the field.) I WAS, I own, a little dashed, nay, hurt, When you were issued to me on a day Of dripping vileness : " Is the whole world dirt? "
Was all, regarding both, that I could say.
Most foul you were and with an odour old, And buckles that no fool could take for gold, And straps that always curled the other way !
Then, when my mood and rain-purged skies were clear, Remorse stirred in me for my childish scorn ; For you, perchance, were the unsullied gear That an unsullied hero once had worn : Perchance you'd seen by Oise the little mills, And Noyon perched among its wooded hills Above the valley mists aflush with morn.
Perchance, I thought, you know the Sept Etoiles, Where once, how long ago ! the gay Susette Served me with heavenly meats, wine of the soil, And most divine and delicate gaufrettes: Maybe Susette herself had sight of you, Though now, no doubt, her eyes' enchanting blue Is somewhat dimmed by time and old regret.
And so I laboured at you like a slave, Smeared you with horrid pastes and rubbed amain, Till you emerged a glittering harness brave, Revealing leather of the finest grain : And now, when you embrace me, I confess Pride in community of steadfastness, And love you for my youth revived again.
C. KENNETT BURROW.
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