Frances Tyrrell Gill BENEATH THE WATTLE Then I reached and gathered a blossomy BOUGHS

bough,

And divided its clustering sprays in twain, The wattles were sweet with September's “ As a token for each” (I closed one in her rain,

hand) We drank in their breath and the breath “Till we come to the end of the year of the spring :

again!” “Our pulses are strong with the tide of Tife,”

Then the years sped on, strung high with I said, “and one year is so swift a thing !”

And laughter and gold were the gifts they The land all around was yellow with

gave, bloom,

Till I chanced one day on some pale dead The birds in the branches sang joyous and flowers, shrill,

And spake, shaking and white, “One more The blue range rose 'gainst the blue of the gift I crave." sky,

“Nay,' a shadow voice in the air replied, Yet she sighed, “But death may be stronger “ 'Neath the blossoming wattles you 'll find still !”

a grave !”

life ;

Sarah Welch

THE DIGGER'S GRAVE

That day had Philip courage gained to tell

His tale of love to pretty Christabel ; He sought Australia's far-famed isle, And she, on her part, with ingenuous grace, Hoping that Fortune on his lot would smile, Endorsed the tell-tale of her blushing face. In search for gold. When one short year Dream on, true lover! never, never thou had flown,

Shalt press the kiss of welcome on her brow. He wrote the welcome tidings to his own E'en now a comrade, eager for thy gold, Betrothèd ; told how months of toiling Above thy fond true heart the knife doth vain

hold Made ten-fold sweeter to him sudden One stroke, the weapon 's plunged into his gain;

breast; With sanguine words, traced with love's So sure the aim that, like a child at rest, eager hand,

The murdered digger lies,

a happy smile He bade her join him in this bright south Parts the full manly bearded lips the while.

land. Oft as he sat, his long day's labor o'er, Next day they found him. In his deathIn his bush hut, he dreamed of home once

cold hand, more ;

He held his last home letter, lately scanned His thoughts to the old country home in With love-lit eyes; and next his heart they Kent

found Returned. ’T was Christmas-day, and they A woman's kerchief which, when they untwo went

wound, O'er frost and snow ; the Christmas anthem Disclosed a lock of silken auburn hair rang

And portrait of a girl's face, fresh and fair, Through the old church, which echoed as Dyed with the life-blood of his faithful they sang

To more than one eye, tears unbidden start;
With reverent hands, and rough, uncon-

scious grace,

The bright-hued birds true nature's re

quiem gave, And wattle-bloom bestrews the digger's

grave.

They laid him in his lonely resting-place.

Arthur Patchett Martin

men

LOVE AND WAR

Then the maid dried her tears and looked

up in his eyes, THE Chancellor mused as he nibbled his And she said, “Thou of loving art pen

worthy : (Sure no Minister ever looked wiser), When all are in danger no brave man e'er And said, “I can summon a million of

flies,

And thy love should spur on not deter To fight for their country and Kaiser ;

thee." “ While that shallow charlatan ruling o'er The Chancellor took a cigar, which he France,

lit, Who deems himself deeper than Merlin, And he muttered, “Here's naught to Thinks he and his soldiers have only to

alarm me ; dance

By Heaven ! I swear they are both of them To the tune of the Can-can to Berlin.

fit

To march with the great German army." “But as soon as he gets to the bank of the

Rhine,
He'll be met by the great German THE CYNIC OF THE WOODS1

army."
Then the Chancellor laughed, and he said, Come from busy haunts of men,
“I will dine,

With nature to commune,
For I see nothing much to alarm me.” Which you, it seems, observe, and then

Laugh out, like some buffoon.
Yet still as he went out he paused by the
door

You cease, and through the forest drear
(For his mind was in truth heavy laden), I pace, with sense of awe ;
And he saw a stout fellow, equipped for When once again upon my ear

Breaks in your harsh guffaw.
Embracing a fair-haired young maiden.

I look aloft to yonder place,
“Ho! ho !” said the Chancellor, “this Where placidly you sit,
will not do,

And tell you to your very face,
For Mars to be toying with Venus,

I do not like

your

wit.
When these Frenchmen are coming — a
rascally crew ! -

I'm in no mood for blatant jest,
And the Rhine only flowing between us.” I hate your mocking song,

My weary soul demands the rest
So the wary old fox, just in order to hear, Denied to it so long.

Strode one or two huge paces nearer ;
And he heard the youth say,

“ More than Besides, there passes through my brain life art thou dear;

The poet's love of fame But, 0 loved one, the Fatherland's Why should not an Australian strain dearer."

Immortalize my name ? 1 The giant kingfisher, or “ laughing jackass."

the war,