POETRY.

SQIIAREHEADS.

-"I env= did lave no use for Germans " (said Bill the bosun to me, As he sat on the after hatchway coaming, smoking and drinking his tea), ' I never did 'are no use for equare'eade, sonny, an' that's the truth,

;Since I went to sea in the old Lord Clive ' back there in the days

o' my youth.

Danes I 'eve ;snowed, an' Swedes I 'are knowed, as was white men through an' through, Norwegian—nigger—yeller, an' brown—an' hard-case citieens too— I've sailed in my time with most of the brands, Dago, Dutchman an' Finn, But never a decent shipmate once did I strike in a German skin.

Never the feller a man'd choose to be with in a watch together, Never the man as you'd like to think was around in the worst o' weather,

Never the chap as you'd want by your side when caught aback in a gala, Or layin' aloft in your shirt, maybe, off the Plate there shortenin' sail.

All very well at a -harbour job, they aro, as I make no doubt, Or 'anal' plates in a restorong—or sweephe the cuddy out— But I never did 'are no use for the beggars, though why I can 'ardly say, An' I always used to 'miner 'ens good, which I'm glad to 'are done to-day.

• •

An' I wish I may lie where the lost ships lie as never mounted a gun,

Them as was raked with shrapnel fire—they could neither fight nor run—

Them as spread the sea with their dead when the day was sunny an' fine, Or went down slow as the dark came on, with their guts ripped out by a mine.

I wish I may lie where the lost ships lie—the little ships an' big, Liner an' tank au' leaky tramp, barge an' schooner an' brig, The smacks an' Preachy onion-boats, an' the poor crews they bore, Murdered in eight of open day by square'eads makin' war.

I wish I may lie where them ships lie, an' no more sail the sea— An' drink the drink them dead men drank, poor sailormen like

me— So let me drink if I forget, an' so for ever lie,

If ever I ship with square'eads more until the day I die.

An' if ever I take a German's pay again in steam or sail, Or handle German cargo more, baulk or barrel or bale, If ever I put finger o' mine on stuff a German owns, Or help to fill a German till with workin' o' my bones— If ever I risk life o' mine (as I 'are done before !) To fetch some Bremen merchant home his nitrates or his ore, I wish I may dream o' nothin' but sinkin' ships an' drownia' men, An' wake out o' the dream, an sleep, an' dream it all again.

Dead bodies liftin' on the swell—strong seamen once like me— An' fellers wounded, freezin' to death in open boats at sea, Babies, an' girls with long wet hair, an' mothers mad with woe, The devil's job—the square'eads' job—I seen it an' I know !

I never did 'aro no use for Germans—an' when this war is done, There may be those that will forget—well, I shall not be one! An' by them ships I pass my word—an' by them souls I swear, There'll be hot times in Sailor-town when I meet a square'ead