POETRY.
TO LORD ROBERTS. FAREWELL! The sad sweet word Rings sweetly, sadly now on every ear: The far tones of a trumpet faintly heard Telling the camp is near.
Yet though the long march close, And the keen blade be sheathed, its service done, Not yet can England spare thee to repose, Her still unwearied son.
Once, in a darker day, Her well-loved voice recalled thee to her side. And still thou wilt in that dear service stay, As counsellor and guide.
So shall thy presence yet Be with our troops to kindle and inspire ; To cheer the flagging spirit of age, and set The young man's heart on fire.
For thou bast kept unstained That faith the world delighteth to destroy, And in the soldier's rugged trade retained The pure soul of a boy.
In thee the poet's Happy Warrior lives, "That every man in arms should wish to be"; And on her roll of honour England gives The foremost place to thee.
EDWARD SYDNEY TYLEE.
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