POETRY.
ON A TROOPSHIP, 1915.
FAREWELL the village leaning to the hill, And all the cawing rooks that homeward fly; The bees; the drowsy anthem of the mill; And winding pollards, where the plover cry. We watch the breakers crashing on the bow And those far flashes in the Eastern haze; The fields and friends, that were, are fainter now Than whispering of ancient water-ways. Now England stirs, as stirs a dreamer wound In immemorial slumber : lids apart, Soon will she rouse her giant limbs attuned To that old music hidden at her heart.
Farewell ! the little men! Their menial cries Are distant as the sparrows' chatterings; She rises in her circuit of the skies, An eagle with the dawn upon her wings.
We come to harbour in the breath of wars; Welcome again the land of our farewells!
In this strange ruin open to the stars We find the haven, where her spirit dwells :
Where the near guns boom; and the stricken towns are rolled
Skyward athundor with their trail of gold. H. A.
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