6 JULY 1912, Page 26

POETRY.

THE MULE.

I AM the Mule along the precipice's utter edges T. walk demurely, stepping surely

Across the slippery ledges Of smooth worn rock ; derisory I grin The while 1 note the mental state wherein

Ta east my rider—who is but a foal.

I am the Mule : at peep o' day, yawning, they shivering rise And seek me, bearing ropes, and swearing; Entrapped, my gentle eyes They cover with a cloth; and on my back

Is rudely roped the dolorific pack—

Which I again buck off—such is my rule.

The mountains' cool gives way; live oaks the pines replace; The buckboard, swerving, down the curving Cartroad flies; the pace More furious grows ; slack hangs the loosened trace, Grimly the trembling travellers backwards brace : The time has come—I balk—I am the Mule.

Parral, Mexico. .Tan. 1912.

G. F. GROGAN.