Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXV, Issue 2817, 2 August 1890, Page 5 (Supplement)

Poetry.

JOHNNY'S GRAVE. A Sunday latrs I wandered round Bv contemplation led Where Prnmpton's living myriads bound Their city of tlio dead. Majestic tombs around hip. rose With many a sculptured niche, Whore in their marble beds repose The noble and the rich. There wandering on. at length I came To corners more obscure, Where crowded lie with scarce a name The undistinguished I'oor. A simple mound to mark the spot Deformed by winter showers, With here and there a little knot Of faded summer flowers. There chanced I on an infantV shrine That touched me to the (puck, The tiny mound was kept m lino i'.y one small nendcn stick. A blackened board annoucoment made With letters scrambled o'er, That it presided o'er the grave Of "Johnny aged four.' Against thiit strip of mournful wood, As if in dceo remorse And pity for its master stood A broken wooden horse ; And on a heap of shells thereat All tattered and forlorn Tiiere lay the little felted hat That " Johnny " once had worn. The paint is washed by frequent rain From that afflicted nag, The hat defaced by rent and stain Is nothing but a rag. A broken toy—a mined hat — A little heap of shells— And this is all of " Johnny that His mausoleum tolls ! 0 Johnny ! in the silent eravc Wherein thou dost recline, An elegy I would mt crave More eloquent than thine. It must have been an angel led The hand, however coarse, That laid upon thy baby bed Thy little hat, and horse ! — "Songs and Sonnets," by Philip Acton. THE SONS OF THE WIDOW. 'Ave you 'eard <>' the Widow at Windsor j With a hairy gold crown on 'er 'ead ? | She 'as ships on the foam—sho 'as millions at 'onie, An' she pays us poor beggars in red. (Ows poor beggars in red !) There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses There's 'er mark on the medic.il stores— An 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind That takes us to various wars. (Poor beggars !—barbarious wars !) Then 'ere's to tho Widow at Windsor, An 'ore's to the stores an' the guns, The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces U' Mis-is Victorier's sons. (Poor beggars !— Victorier's sons !) Walk wide >' the Widow at Windsor, For 'alf o' creation she owns; We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the flame, An' we've salted it down with our bones. (Poor beggars!—it's blue with our bones !) Hands off o' the sons of the Widow, Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, For the kings must come down an' the emperors frown When the Widow at Windsor says "stop!" (Poor beggars !—voi're sent to say "Stop! ) Then ere to the lodge o' the Widow, From tho pnle to the tropics it runs — To the lodge that we tile with the rank and tho file, An' open in form with the guns, (Poor beggars : —it's always them guns !) We 'ave 'eard o 1 the Widow at Windsor Tt's safest to let 'er alone ; For 'or sentries we stand by tho sea an' the land Wherever the bugles are blown, (Pour beggars! — an' don't we cot blown !) Take 'old n' the " wings o' the inornin'," An' Mop round the earth till you've dead ; Hut you won't get away from the tune that they play To the blaoiuiu' old rag over ead. (I'.ior bes-'gais !—it's "ot over'ead !) Thou 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow, Wherever, 'uwever Ihcy main. 'Bre's all they desire, an' if thoy require A speedy return to their 'otre. (Poor beggars !—they'll never see home !) KIIIYAHII Kll'LlNli.