THE DINNER HORN.
Out from the mists of memory The scenes of long ago And faces loved in childhood pass Like phantoms, to and fro. I see the dear old homestead, The place where I was born ; Where smiling faces gathered At the sound of the dinner horn. I see the spreading rowan tree, Where 'neath the noonday sliade The gayest coral necklets I From rowan berries made ; I hear'the watchdog bay at eve, ! The chanticleer at morn, _ . And at noon my mother calls a niaid To sound the dinner horn. I see the sweet laburnum hang, Its garlands in the breeze ; The noisy rooks are cawing Out in the tall elm trees. The swallows twitter in the eve, The robins in the thorn , But the sweetest sound by far to me Is the sound of the dinner horn. Ah, well a day ! the home so loved Has passed to strangers' hands; A foreign foe sits by our hearth, Owns our ancestral lands , Each took some souvenir away From the place where we were born, And wandered forth — I took as mine The dear old dinner horn.
— Rose Elleit Eastoi^
Arrnidale, March 1898.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW18980421.2.132
Bibliographic details
Otago Witness, Issue 2303, 21 April 1898, Page 41
Word Count
193THE DINNER HORN. Otago Witness, Issue 2303, 21 April 1898, Page 41
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