THE STEEPLE.
There's mist in the hollows,
There's gold on the tree,
And South go the swallows
Away over sea.
They home in our steeple
That climbs in the wind,
And, parson and people,
We welcome 'em kind.
The steeple was set here
In 1266;
If William could get here
He'd burn it to sticks.
He'd burn it for ever,
Bells, belfry and vane,
That swallows would never
Come home there again.
He'd bang down their perches
With cannon and gun,
For churches is churches,
And William's a Hun.
So—mist in the hollow
And leaf falling brown—
Ere home comes the swallow
May William be down!
And high stand the steeples
From Lincoln to Wells,
For parsons and peoples,
For birds and for bells!
"It makes things clearer, for example, if one knows that a howitzer gun drops its shells, while an ordinary field gun fires them to all intents and purposes vertically."
Weekly Dispatch.
Much clearer.
Youthful Patriot. "Oh, mummy, you must speak to baby: he's most awfully naughty. He won't let nurse take his vest off, and (in an awe-struck voice) he keeps on screaming and yelling that he likes the Germans! Anybody might hear him."