HORACE.

Observer, Volume XL, Issue 3, 20 September 1919, Page 7

HORACE.

Young Horace was a gilded youth Of slim and graceful figure; Of hair he had a golden mop All redolent of barber's shop; He was, in fact, a city fop, And played the part with vigour.

In grim old London Horace spent His final week in Blighty; And as ho swanked it up and down, . A dashing Anzac brisk and brown, He met a flower girl in town, With purple feathers flighty. He was attracted by her style, Her selling talk sarcastic;

Young Horace from his stock of coin Selected- half a dollar, Ami never pa'ising once to think From out her stock he chose a pink; .!.... She pinned it in with songish wink Then said, "Quick march, Apoller." He stood a "moment on the kerb, Then up to Flora striding;

He swore a solemn search me oath, Her faith,and truth to treasure; She took him to the music halls; They sat well forward in the stalls, Her peals of laughter shook the walls; And Horace glowed with pleasure; Each day they revelled round the town, With merriment untired ; And all the giddy things he said Completely turned her feathered head ; The upshot was that they were wed And then—his leave expired. She went to see him sail away, Her soldier man, her hero; Her swelling heart began to throb ; She smothered back a broken sob; And finally got through the job As gaily as a Piorr.ot. Straight to the front young Horace went On am important mission; Machine guns, on a wooded height Were holding up the section^ right; They went across at dawn of light To clean up the position. Silently they climbed the slope By gaping shell holes pitted; Then at the spitting guns they flew; Young Horace led the foremost few; With bomb and steel they stabbed and slew, All hell its fiends emitted.. Swift through his brain quick visions came Of her across the water; The rougish laugh, the ruddy hair, His heart beat out a silent prayer; He smiled amid the carnage there; Then set his teeth to slaughter.