VERSES

Evening Star, Issue 22032, 18 May 1935, Page 6

VERSES

AUSTRALIA TO ENGLAND (Suggested by the Silver Jubilee of His Majesty King George VO Deathless Englandl - , . . We have left you, England, and peopled the ends of the-.earth; ■ We have carried your hag to the.nm of the uttermost seas; ■ . And we joy to greet you, England vour glory, your worth. Are chanted at. lonely outposts, borne on the tropic breeze! And who that leaves our England, Old England’s peaceful shore, ■ ' But knows the pain of parting—but, oh, we love her more! • When blows the mad tornado or burns the desert sand, Our thoughts fly home to England—to , ohr dear Motherland! ' We feel the west wind blowing across the Channel foam— - And mist-filled eyes turn homeward wherever we may roam— . And, sounding down the ages, like a thrilling trumpet blast, . • Come the voices of great forbears—the • echoes of the past. We see her green Hills lifting, the soft blue English skies, ; The white clouds slowly drifting out whdre'the mendips rise; , The sparkling streams, the meadows, the shadowed, winding ways, And quiet hamlets sleeping through drowsy summer days: We glimpse her great cathedrals, ivied churches,* storied halls,. _ Her old -towers and battlements and slowlv crumbling walls: , And gonfalons and banners—the lovely ’ Isle of Wight—, : The Thames and mighty' London flaming through the English night: We see "white clouds of hawthorn' and scent the lilac bloom, . r Sweet eglantine and roses and spires of golden broom; , And happy, children playing where treefringed waters run, And noisy rooks upflying as sinks the westering sun. Our eyes look out across the wave, and, through the heat and haze, We see the fields of Somerset upon a , summer day. - - But, oh, to 'be in England, to tread her flower-strewn ways— Once more to be in England in the magic month of May! —Walter D. White, in Sydney •Morning Herald.’ IWIT EVENING ‘ .■•Q.K.Nv Like ghostly fingers on the pane ‘ . Hour after 'hour a dismal rain :. Tapi a fiSßSlfapqpus-: refrain./ > -?* •. The streaming, postman on his way Passes as swiftly, as he may, He has no mail for me to-day. , All sombrely the heavens frown' Above the soaked and lifeless town, And prematurely night doivn. But mid that Stygian gloom profound That seems to lap my world around Hark to that sudden, joyous sohnd! , On the dank air I hear it swell, -’ Of life and hope it seems to tell— The tinkle of a'distant bell. Oh, crumpets, toasted at the fire, With all the butter they require! -What xnore'could heart of man desire? Though all without be damp and dark Life is once more a joyous larkl (Did they have crumpets in the Ark?) —“Touchstone,” in the ‘Morning Post.’ ——— 1 ■ ■ ' MR FRANK FAHY IRISH LITERARY SOCIETIES IN LONDON ilr Frank Fahy, the, Irish song writer, who died at Claphain last month, aged 80, was one of the bestknown and respected Irishmen in London, for lie had a part in the promotion of every Irish literary and social movement in London for the past 50 years. He was born at Kinvara,. (Jo. Galway. Having passed for the Civil Service, he came to London in 187 J on his appointment to a clerkship, in the Board of Trade. He published in 1887 a collection of his poetry, ‘ Irish' Songs and. Ballads,’ and as he was then a colleague of Austin Dobson arid Edmund Gosse, he contributed to the reputation of the Board of Trade as “a nest of singing birds.” His connection with the board lasted until 1919.. The first of the 'lrish ' movements which Fahy helped to found was the Southwark- - N lrish Club in the early ’eighties. It 'met in halls round and about. Elephant and Castle - for lectures, concerts, and dances. Out of it developed the present Irish Literary • Society of London, in 1892, of which Pahy was an original member. He was* a promoter of the Gaelic League in London, and being an Irish speaker, was its president for many, years. The Irish Tests Society also owes much to bis help ayul guidance. Fahy was part author with the late D.. J. O’Donoghue of a book of Irish memories in. London entitled ‘lreland in London’ (1889). He wrote a Child’s History of Ireland in verse, an effort remarkable for its compression and easy-flowing rhymes. For example, after describing the Norman invasion, he goes on:— Yet many a Norman changed his' name, And Irish, heart and soul, became, And served dear Ireland’s rights and fame. Spoke Irish speech, Jived Irish lives, Took Irish names and Irish wives, And so, to quote a saying true, “ More Irish than the Irish” grew. His songs, are notable for their singing quality, and have long been favourites at concerts. Two of them, ‘ The .Donovans ’ and ‘ The Gold Plaid Shawl,’ are' frequently sung at the broadcast concerts of the 8.8. C. “My sweetheart lost all his money.” “ I’ll bet you’re sorry for him.” “ Yes, he’ll miss me.”