19 APRIL 1902, Page 16

POETRY.

IN HUGHENDEN CHURCHYARD. Or that lone, sphinx-like life here read the end: In Eastern sunshine, 'neath the grassy sod, Lies the strange chieftain, where his beeches bend, Wrapped in the peace of God.

Puzzled and grudging, him we glibly named Adventurer, masquerader, alien-Jew. Blind to the nobler goals at which he aimed, To England greatly true.

From no sharp crisis did he flinch or swerve ; In the stern times ahead 'twere well who steer Our ship of Empire show like steely nerve And fine contempt of fear.

JOSEPH TRUMAN.