POETRY.
NEWS FROM THE NORTH.
As I went down by London Bridge (And I not long on land), I met a lad from the North country, And gripped him by the hand, And said : " If you be late from home, 0 quickly tell me true How fares it now with mine own country And with the folk I knew ?"
O he looked up and he looked down, And slow he shook his head,
And " Sure the place is not the same This many a year," he said.
" For this one's dead, and that one's wed, And that gone over sea ; You scarce would know the place again So many changes be." "Tell me no more, no more," I cried, "These grievous news and ill ; Full well I know, where'er you go The round world stands not still.
" For folk must die, and folk must wive, Since change and chance must be Alike for those who bide at home And those who use the sea.
"Tell me if anything I'll find I've known and loved before ; Do the trees stand up by Oakenclough P The winds blow off the Moor ?
" Do magpies in our planting build, And hares by Blackbrook run ?
And at Top o' th' Lowe the grasses blow All ruddy in the sun ? "
"Still runs the brook, the trees stand up By yonder cloughside still ; You can see the roof of your father's barn Look over the windy hill."
" There will I go, and there shall meet Old ghosts of joy and pain, And the folk I knew in the time that's gone Shall greet me once again.
" The lad that's dead, the lad that's wed, With me shall leap and run As they did when we were boys at home Ere roving days begun.
" There is no land so lone and far, There is no sea so wide, There is no grave so deep that there Shall they unheeding bide, When the winds that blow in mine own country Do call them to my side !"
C. Fox SMITH.
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