The Gun Runners, it is called, by "Cecilia Merrifield."
The air is still, the night is dark;
Along the harbour side
There stands a silent, waiting park
Of motors, full inside.
That is the opening stanza. You may possibly take exception to the French rhyme, but you cannot fail, Charles, to appreciate the fine spirit of it.
What are they full of? Not of man,
But rifles, neatly packed,
Taken from out the good ship Fan,
Now in the harbour backed.