The English Homesteader.

Horowhenua Chronicle, 10 January 1913, Page 4

The English Homesteader.

He threw himself upon the bunk, ■ And gazed upon tho raftered ceding J His head upon his bosom sunk, And dreary thoughts wore turned to dreaming. The howling blizzard's whisting roar deemed softoned to a gentler day; Tho whispering ripple of the Soar, Tho zephyrs of an English May. To black and massive English oak, The rough unplained rafters change, And whitened walls of prairie sod, To panels hung with weapons strange. Soft voices seem to gently rise, In somo sweet old-time melody; With half-raised head the sleeper lies Quivering in silent ecstasy. Then through tho hall a rippling laugh, Like silver bells rings pure and sweet; Tho sleeper gives a choking gasp, And with a bound is on his feet. Who says what thoughts that laugh recallP Rigid and motionless ho stands, Loaning against tho whitened wall, His head is buried in his hands. —Albert John Eaiues