North where the bergs careen,

The spray of seas unseen

Smokes round my head and freezes in the fall

ing;

South where the corals breed,

The footless, floating weed

Folds me and fouls me, strake on strake upcrawl

ing.

I that was clean to run

My race against the sun

Strength on the deep, am bawd to all disasterWhipped forth by night to meet

My sister's careless feet,

And with a kiss betray her to my master!

Man made me, and my will

Is to my maker still

To him and his, our peoples at their pier:

Lifting in hope to spy

Trailed smoke along the sky;

Falling afraid lest any keel come near!

THE SONG OF THE BANJO.

You couldn't pack a Broadwood half a mile-
You mustn't leave a fiddle in the damp-
You couldn't raft an organ up the Nile,
And play it in an Equatorial swamp.

I travel with the cooking-pots and pails

I'm sandwiched 'tween the coffee and the

pork

And when the dusty column checks and tails, You should hear me spur the rearguard to a walk!

With my "Pilly-willy-winky-winky popp!"
[O it's any tune that comes into my

head!]

So I keep 'em moving forward till they drop;

So I play 'em up to water and to bed.

In the silence of the camp before the fight,

When it's good to make your will and say

your prayer,

You can hear my strumpty-tumpty overnight
Explaining ten to one was always fair.
I'm the prophet of the Utterly Absurd,

Of the Patently Impossible and Vain—
And when the Thing that Couldn't has occurred,
Give me time to change my leg and go again.

66

Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tum-pa

With my
tump!"

In the desert where the dung-fed camp-
smoke curled

There was never voice before us till I led
our lonely chorus,

I-the war-drum of the White Man round
the world!

By the bitter road the Younger Son must tread, Ere he win to hearth and saddle of his own,'Mid the riot of the shearers at the shed,

In the silence of the herder's hut alone

In the twilight, on a bucket upside down,
Hear me babble what the weakest won't con-
fess-

I am Memory and Torment-I am Town!

I am all that ever went with evening dress!

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIRAN TIDRAPIES

With my

"Tunk-a tunka-tunka-tunka

tunk!"

[So the lights-the London lights-grow near and plain!]

So I rowel 'em afresh towards the Devil and the Flesh,

Till I bring my broken rankers home again.

In desire of many marvels over sea,

Where the new-raised tropic city sweats and

roars,

I have sailed with Young Ulysses from the quay Till the anchor rumbled down on stranger

shores.

He is blooded to the open and the sky,

He is taken in a snare that shall not fail,

He shall hear me singing strongly, till he die, Like the shouting of a backstay in a gale.

With my

"Hya! Heeya! Heeya! Hullah! Haul!"

[O the green that thunders aft along the

deck!]

Are you sick o' towns and men? You must sign and sail again,

For it's "Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit

and trek!"

Through the gorge that gives the stars at noonday clear

Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our

wheel

Round the bluff that sinks her thousand fathom sheer

Down the valley with our guttering brakes

asqueal:

Where the trestle groans and quivers in the

snow,

Where the many-shedded levels loop and

twine,

So I lead my reckless children from below
Till we sing the Song of Roland to the pine.

With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!"'
[And the axe has cleared the mountain,
'croup and crest!]

So we ride the iron stallions down to drink,
Through the cañons to the waters of the
West!

And the tunes that mean so much to you

alone

Common tunes that make you choke and

blow your nose,