CYCLING SONG.

New Zealand Mail, 3 December 1896, Page 72

CYCLING SONG.

MY ARIEL. [By L. Dottgall.] Whirr, whirr, whirr ! The sound of the flying wheel ! The meadows are yellow with buttercup ; The swallow curves down andthe lark soars up ; The meadows a flash of gold as we fly; The voice of the lark like a fairy peal Rung in the depths of the purple sky For a mystic moment as we pas 3 by On the wings of the flying wheel! Joy, Joy, joy! A race with the laughing day ! She has cast her gossamer robe aside, With its spangled dew, and has swiftly tied Her sandals with grasses; her frock of white May „ She had kilted with sunbeams, and "bound her hair With strips of blue from the distaiit air ; She has leaped on the path, a rival fair— Oh, ho, ’tis a race ! We’re away ! Tread, tread, tread! Slow to the top of a hill, For the blithesome day hath advantage now ; We follow her hard with dew on the brow. The meads of the river are drenched with sun, The mist of heat on the plain lies still, But the sprites of the breeze, that dance and run On upland "pastures, come one by one To kiss us for climbing the hill. Fast, fast, fast ! As the road drops down to the vale, Like the hawk that swoops from the open sky, • Like the buzzing rush of the bright-winged fly, Like the swift that darts from the river’s brim — A streak of blue and no more of him— So the flying wheel runs adowm the dale ; And the panting day, although light of limb, In the race may not prevail. Hush, hush, hush ! Scarce a sound in "the afternoon ! The road winds long through the fields behind ; The poplars are stirred by the evening wind ; O’er tfle sunlit valleys the shadows stray, While the east gives birth to a crescent moon. We have made a pact with the fleeting day, We move together in leisurely way, Through the calm of the afternoon. Home, home, home ! So the wheel brings us home to rest! The meadows that bloomed when the day -was born Are mown and sere since we passed in the morn ; The snow from the hawthorn has fluttered down. With her faded posies upon her breast The day lies wrapped in the shadows brown, And we enter again the gray old town, When the wheel brings us home to rest. —The Speaker.

THE “SCOUR” IN CALVES It is calculated that fully 20,000 calves have, in the past, died annually in this Colony from the complaint known as the “ Scours.” This represents a loss to tho farmers .of, at least, >£25,000. There is no necessity for calves to die from scours, if the proper remedy is used in time. Mr Alex. Colson, of New Plymouth, so well and widely known in connection with the stock sales of Mr Newton King, the well-known auctioneer says: “ There is no mistake, those Scour Drenches made by Ellis, of Stratford, are a wonderful remedy. I never saw anything equal to them. I had some calves, the other day, lying almost dead from scour. I gave them one dose each, just on the oft - chance, hardly expecting them to live. Next day those same calves were strong' and well, and as lively as crickets. I strongly recommend every farmer to keep them by him, for I can guarantee if he uses them in time he will never have his ealves die from the Scours.” These Drenches may be obtained through all storekeepers, at Is Gd per packet, with full directions ; or they will be sent free by post on receipt of the amount, in postal notes from the sole manufacturer, W. A. Ellis, M.P.S., Veterinary Druggist, Stratford. The wholesale agents are Sharland and Co., Wellington and Auckland