THE AWAKENING.
"Here no howitzers speak in stern styles,
Light and gay is the leathern bomb,
We pay our sixpences down at the turnstiles,
And that is our centre, name of Tom;
Wild thunder rolls
When he scores his goals,
And up in the air go Alf and Ern's tiles;
But what is this rumour of war? Whence cometh it from?"
So said Bottlesham, best of cities
Watching the ball from seats above.
"Belgium ruined? A thousand pities!
Bother the Kaiser's mailéd glove!"
But it left no stings
When they heard these things,
Though they wept as the brown bird weeps for Itys
On the day that the Wanderers whacked them two to love.
Suddenly then the news came flying,
"English mariners meet the Dutch,
Tars interned, with the neutrals vieing,
Beaten at Gröningen." Wild hands clutch
At the evening sheets
And the swift pulse beats;
Is the fame of Hawke and Frobisher dying?
The heart of the town is stirred by the Nelson touch.
Six—five. It's true. And the tears bedizen
The smoke-stained cheeks, and there comes a scream,
"If our English lads in a far-off prison
Are matched one day with a German team
And the Germans win,
They will say in Berlin
That a brighter than all our stars has risen;
Will even the Bottlesham Rovers stand supreme?
"Infantry, cavalry, guard and lancer—
Who on that day will bear the brunt,
With twinkling feet like a tip-toe dancer
Dribbling about while the half-backs grunt?
There is only one
Who can vanquish the Hun!"
And Bottlesham town with a cry made answer,
"There is only one; we must send our Tom to the front."
Evoe.