20 JUNE 1908, Page 18

POE TRY.

A MEMORY.

HAIM is the road that Duty takes t I in London—you at the Lakes ;

I in London's riot and roar—

You by the peaceful Rydal shore;

I in London's pestilent smell—

You in a fragrant Loughrigg dell;

I where no birds flutter and sing—

You where the delicate fly-catcher's wing Poises and dips, while the nestlings call For mother and food from the garden wall, Till the sun goes down, and the lilac shale Of Nab Scar darkens above the dale.

But still I can dream of a cottage blest With earth's best happiness,—home and rest; Can see in the fern the moving fleece Of the Herdwick mother who feeds in peace; And well can remember how white at morn Against blue distances shone the thorn; Can hear the patter of horses' feet Below us, that made the silence sweet.

And so, though the city is thronged and loud, I can still each day be alone in the crowd, Can still go the road that Duty takes, Though I am in London, you at the Lakes.

Axon.