POETRY.
ENGLAND AT WAR.
'Tis past : the hour of parting's o'er,
The troopship's on the main, And some have looked on Eng- land's shore That ne'er shall look again : The last adieus come faint and low,
Borne on the wintry wind ... God's mercy on the men that go, And those they leave behind!
For them, the strife,—for us, the fears That grow with hope's delay, The daily dread, the nightly tears For loved ones far away : Yet 0 though loss be hard to bear, And sense of threatening harm, Let not the thought of private care Unnerve a nation's arm
For sternly must the soldier fight Whose country stakes her all : Now is the day when England's might
Must conquer, or must fall : Though Valour unrewarded die Nor every field be won, We'll bate no jot of courage high Before our task be done.
Souls of our best ! whose bodies fill Their unforgotten grave By Magersfontein's murderous hill Or dark Tugela's wave, Nobly ye strove, ye gallant dead, For England's honour slain ! 'Tis ours to prove the blood ye abed Has not been shed in vain ! A. D. GODLEY.
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