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TO WOLCOTT BALESTIER .
Beyond the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled,
TO T. A. .
I have made for you a song,
DANNY DEEVER .
“What are the bugles blowin' for?” said Files-on-Parade,
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
“Soldier, soldier come from the wars,"
Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool,
I've a head like a concertina : I've a tongue like a button-stick,
You may talk o'gin and beer,
Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes 'im to perspire ?
If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back,
This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps,
There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay,
THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER .
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East,
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,
ROUTE MARCHIN' .
We're marchin' on relief over Injia's sunny plains,
SHILLIN' A DAY .
My name is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly,
THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST
Ob, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
THE LAST SUTTEE
Udai Chand lay sick to death,
THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY
Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told,
THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JEST
When spring-time flushes the desert grass,
WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI .
The wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on the neck,
THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE.
This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone,
THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER CATTLE
O woe is me for the merry lise,
THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS
. . At the close of a winter day,
THE BALLAD OF THE “CLAMPHERDOWN”
It was our war-ship Clampher down,
THE BALLAD OF THE “BOLIVAR”
Seven men from all the world back to Docks again,
THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS.
When the Alush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
THE ENGLISH FLAG
Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro,
Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,
AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT.
Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed,
Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square,
L'ENVOI TO “LIFE'S HANDICAP".
My new-cut ashlar takes the light,
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
The CoasTWISE Lights
Our brows are bound with spindrift and the weed is on our knees,
THE SONG OF THE DEAD
Hear now the Song of the Dead - in the North by the torn berg-edges,
The Deep-Sea Cables
The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar
The Song Of The Sons
One from the ends of the earth-gifts at an open door,