THE PARTING OF THE COLUMNS You 'ad no special call to come, and so you doubled out, And learned us how to camp and cook an' steal a horse and scout: Whatever game we fancied most, you joyful played it too, And rather better on the whole. Good-bye-good luck to you! There isn't much we 'aven't shared, since Kruger cut an' run, The same old work, the same old skoff, the same old dust and sun; The same old chance that laid us out, or winked an' let us through; The same old Life, the same old Death. Good-byegood luck to you! Our blood 'as truly mixed with yours-all down the Red Cross train, We've bit the same thermometer in Bloeming typhoidtein. We've 'ad the same old temp'rature-the same relapses too, The same old saw-backed fever-chart. Good-bye good luck to you! THE PARTING OF THE COLUMNS But 'twasn't merely this an' that (which all the world may know), 'Twas how you talked an' looked at things which made us like you so. All independent, queer an' odd, but most amazin' new, My word! you shook us up to rights. Good-byegood luck to you! Think o' the stories round the fire, the tales along the trek O' Calgary an' Wellin'ton, an' Sydney and Quebec; Of mine an' farm, an' ranch an' run, an' moose an' cariboo, An' parrots peckin' lambs to death! Good-byegood luck to you! We've seen you 'ome by word o' mouth, we've watched your rivers shine, We've 'eard your bloomin' forests blow of eucalip' an' pine; Your young, gay countries north an' south, we feel we own 'em too, For they was made by rank an' file. Good-bye good luck to you! THE PARTING OF THE COLUMNS 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! Good-bye 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. Good-byegood luck to you! TWO KOPJES (MADE YEOMANRY) ONLY two African kopjes, Only the cart-tracks that wind. Empty and open between 'em, Only the Transvaal behind; Only an Aldershot column Marching to conquer the land . . . Only a sudden and solemn Visit, unarmed, to the Rand. Then scorn not the African kopje, The home of Cornelius and Piet. You can never be sure of your kopje, A kopje is always a kopje, And a Boojer is always a Boer! TWO KOPJES Only two African kopjes, Only the vultures above, Only pretendin' to scout... Then mock not the African kopje, The kopje beloved by the guide. Only two African kopjes, Only the dust of their wheels, Only a bolted commando, Only our guns at their heels . . Only a little barb-wire, Only a natural fort, Only "by sections retire," Only "regret to report"! |