Your young, gay countries north an' south, we feel we own 'em too,

For they was made by rank an' file. Goodbye-good luck to you!

We'll never read the papers now without inquirin' first

For word from all those friendly dorps where you was born an' nursed.

Why, Dawson, Galle, an' Montreal-Port Darwin-Timaru,

They're only just across the road! Goodbye-good luck to you!

Good-bye!--So-long! Don't lose yourselves— nor us, nor all kind friends,

But tell the girls your side the drift we're comin'-when it ends!

Good-bye, you bloomin' Atlases! You've taught us somethin' new:

The world's no bigger than a kraal. Goodbye-good luck to you!

TWO KOPJES

(MADE YEOMANRY)

NLY two African kopjes,
Only the cart-tracks that wind
mpty and open between 'em,
Only the Transvaal behind;
aly an Aldershot column
Marching to conquer the land
ly a sudden and solemn
Visit, unarmed, to the Rand.

Then scorn not the African kopje,
The kopje that smiles in the heat,
The wholly unoccupied kopje,

The home of Cornelius and Piet.

You can never be sure of your kopje,
But of this be you blooming well sure

A kopje is always a kopje,

And a Boojer is always a Boer!

Then mock not the African kopje,
Especially when it is twins,

One sharp and one table-topped kopje, For that's where the trouble begins.

You can never be, etc.

ly two African kopjes
Baited the same as before-

ly we've had it so often,
Only we're taking no more
ly a wave to our troopers,
Only our flanks swinging past,
y a dozen voorloopers,
Only we've learned it at last!

Then mock not the African kopje,

But take off your hat to the same, The patient, impartial old kopje,

The kopje that taught us the game! For all that we knew in the Columns, And all they've forgot on the Staff, We learned at the fight o' Two Kopjes, Which lasted two years an' a half.

O mock not the African kopje,

Not even when peace has been signed— The kopje that isn't a kopje—

The kopje that copies its kind.