" Here your Hamar-made matches! " —
Of them these verses I sang;
A thought to which humor attaches,
But yet to my heart sparks sprang.

Sparks from the box-side flying
Sank deep in my memory,
Till in a light undying
Two eyes cast their spell on me, —

Light on the fire that's present,
When faith blazes forth in deed.
Know, that to every peasant
Those eyes sent a light in need.

Sent to souls without measure
The flame of love's message broad,
Gathering in one treasure
Fatherland, home, and God.

Great noble Captaine of the Scottish band,
Exactly vertue you do acting stand,
Of grave designes, which shew you to be high,
Rightly well fitted for nobility:
Greatly may you your eger heart increase,
Egerly acting still true noblenes.
High Lord, sith you so highly do affect,
And vertues high things to your self select;
You egerly , O on by age may get,
Entring on higher honour Sir with it.

We was in a crump-'ole, 'im and me;
Fightin' wiv our bayonets was we;
Fightin' 'ard as 'ell we was,
Fightin' fierce as fire because
It was 'im or me as must be downed;
'E was twice as big as me;
I was 'arf the weight of 'e;
We was like a terryer and a 'ound.

'Struth! But 'e was sich a 'andsome bloke.
Me, I'm 'andsome as a chunk o' coke.
Did I give it 'im? Not 'arf!
Why, it fairly made me laugh,
'Cos 'is bloomin' bellows wasn't sound.
Couldn't fight for monkey nuts.
Soon I gets 'im in the guts,

Molde, Molde,
True as a song,
Billowy rhythms whose thoughts fill with love me,
Follow thy form in bright colors above me,
Bear thy beauty along.
Naught is so black as thy fjord, when storm-lashes
Sea-salted scourge it and inward it dashes,
Naught is so mild as thy strand, as thine islands,
Ah, as thine islands!
Naught is so strong as thy mountain-linked ring,
Naught is so sweet as thy summer-nights bring.
Molde, Molde,
True as a song,
Murm'ring memories throng.

Molde, Molde,
Flower-o'ergrown,

For oh, when the war will be over
We'll go and we'll look for our dead;
We'll go when the bee's on the clover,
And the plume of the poppy is red:
We'll go when the year's at its gayest,
When meadows are laughing with flow'rs;
And there where the crosses are greyest,
We'll seek for the cross that is ours.

For they cry to us: Friends, we are lonely ,
A-weary the night and the day;
But come in the blossom-time only,
Come when our graves will be gay:
When daffodils all are a-blowing,
And larks are a-thrilling the skies,

TO — THE UNITED LEFT —

Freedom's father — power strong,
Freedom's mother — wrath and song.
Giant-stout, a youth self-taught,
Soon a giant's work he wrought.
Ever he, full of glee,
Thought and wit and melody,
Mighty, merry, made his way, —
Labor's toil or battle-fray.

Enemies whom none could tell
Lay in wait this foe to fell,
Found him waking all too stark,
Sought his sleeping hours to mark,
Tried their skill, bound him still;
When he wakened, they fared ill.
Glad he forward strode firm-paced,

I see your worthines is excelling,
Ayded with vertues fit for heavenly dwelling;
Mighty great lustre sith you so display,
Eternally to sute the stars you may ,
Shewing forth lustre, that so nobly high

Suted with nothing but nobility:
Then sith your vertues make you fit for Heaven,
Very well may you to the stars be ev'n,
And sute them well you do, for you display
Resplendently still a more glorious ray,
Thus you shew rightly you the stars suit may .

Now this is the story of Frank Mulloy, rider of old in the Riverina,
Where he'd often danced, in the bounding joy of living! all night to the concertina.
'Tis not like a story of doubtful fame, in southern ballad, or northern saga —
You'll find " Mulloy " is a living name at Yerong Creek near Wagga Wagga.

This is the story of Frank Mulloy, rider of old in the Riverina;
Gentle and honest and kind from a boy — brave and honest and kind and clean!
Groom at the Government Stables now, in the Irrigation Commission's employ —

Liar! She looked in my honest eyes as they look in the eyes of men ,
And told me her mother had pushed her down and her stepfather kicked her then!
Tale of Ill-treatment told by her sex since civilization begun —
The Staring Lie, the Brazen Lie — the hysterical lie of the Hun!

No light save the lights in the yard beneath the clustering lights of the Lord —
And the lights turned into the window slits of the Observation Ward.
(They eat their meat with their fingers here in a madness starved and dull —

Not for long can I be angry with the most beautiful—
I look out of my vengefulness, and see her so young, so vastly young,
Wandering her fields beside Huron,
Or peering over Mt. Rainier.

Is she in daisies up to her knees?
Do I see that fresh white smile of hers in the morning-shadowed city?
Is this she clinging to the headlight of the locomotive that roars between the pine-lone mountains?
Are her ankles in the wash of sea-weed beside the sea-battered rocks?

Ah! never the curve of a hill but she has just gone beyond it,