POETRY OLD AND NEW.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LII, Issue 15834, 3 February 1915, Page 10

POETRY OLD AND NEW.

A WINTER SEA. Grey misty morn—no Bun. no light— A leaden sea. The ocean's might Held back. Of all that mighty sea-Fog-bound—a white line comes for me. A line of surf; the pall-like mist Hides all else. The ocean kissed By far-off suns I seem to see In dreams- Here but the surf remains for me. And Death has taken from my eight All those who were my heart's delight. In dreams my happy past I see— Here but the memories are for me. —PETBOKEH.A. O'Do^ELL. A SAILOR'S SONG. The shores are blind, the seas are mined, The wild sou-westers blow; And at our posts on stormy coasts Wo cruise and seek the foe. Behind their forts in sheltered ports Secure their ships may be; But the sea was made for sailor men. And sailors for tho seal Through fields they sowed we clear & road In weather they don't feel: Long watch we keep while they can sleep Behind the booms of Kiel. They lock us cut, and wail in doubt For orders from Berlin; But on the seas we hold the keys. The keys that lock them in. For blows they dealt beneath the- belt, For mines their hirelings laid, For things like these thai spoil our seaa We're out until we're paidin safety they like captives stay. In danger we go free; For tho sea was made for Bailor men. And sailors keep the sea! — S R Ltsaght, in the Times. MUSTER OF ENGLAND'S SONS. Thtt »re coming' They are coming! From the North and from the South, From the castle and the cottage, Frcm the town and coalpit's mouth. They are coming in their thousands From tho East and from the West, Tho sous of Mother England, To give Her of their beat! Through rich Canadian cornlands, Past maple., spruce, and fir, The bearded men go Eastward To hurry ba-k to Her' As the qui"t. deep St. Lawrence Breaks in Xiag'ra's foam. So these men of peace turn Berserk | Gainst the hand that strikes at Home. Where the Southern Cross hangs proudly O'er wattle, bush, and gum. Men are toiling, late and early. For tho news of War has come. And the cry is: "Haste, my brothers. With ships and gold and guns. She must fight, our grand old Mother. But not without Her sons'" By th« surf of Coromandel, 'Neath the palms of Malabar, From Assam's bluff Himalaya. To the Runt of Kathiawar, The dusky tons of England Have hearts as true as high. And Rajah. Rsiyat, Sepoy prays " Bilat! Au» Ma. ki jai!" From the distant, magic country. Of mountain, lake and glen. Of crystal terrace, giant pine. Of grand and stalwart men (Whoso hearts are like their Alpine topsDeep fire beneath the snow), Came instint. as the storm-cloud burst. Of filial help the flow. 'Mid Afric's heaths and vineyards. On blood-stained kopies bare. Where turned and fought so grimly For Her cubs the Mother-Bear. Th<- Kaffir, Boer, and Briton Are one in heart and deed. " You helped us, Little Mother. Well help you in your need '" In many a scattered island And plain of feverish fame, Where England's eons do England's work Uphold old England's name. The yearning hearts turn Westward And o'er the message runs. " e " far —' rd sick—we're lonely— But- God! we're still your sons'" And tho Mother? Oh, the Mother, So old. yet evjr young, Frcm whom ir glorious travail This host of heroes sprung! She flashes forth this greeting O'er all Earth'R stormy seas: "1 he Motherland must conquer. That has such sons as these : : —Flobes-ce Holland, in the Calcutta Englishman.