We took no tearful leaving, We bade no long good-byes; Men talked of crime and thieving, Men wrote of fraud and lies. To save our injured feelings ’Twas time and time to go-- Behind was dock and Dartmoor, Ahead lay Callao! The widow and the orphan That pray for ten per cent., They clapped their trailers on us To spy the road we went. They watched the foreign sailings (They scan the shipping still), And that’s your Christian people Returning good for ill! God bless the thoughtful islands Where never warrants come! God bless the just Republics That give a man a home, That ask no foolish questions, But set him on his feet; And save his wife and daughters From the workhouse and the street! On church and square and market The noonday silence falls; You’ll hear the drowsy mutter Of the fountain in our halls. Asleep amid the yuccas The city takes her ease-- Till twilight brings the land-wind To our clicking jalousies. Day long the diamond weather, The high, unaltered blue-- The smell of goats and incense And the mule-bells tinkling through. Day long the warder ocean That keeps us from our kin, And once a month our levee When the English mail comes in. You’ll find us up and waiting To treat you at the bar; You’ll find us less exclusive Than the average English are. We’ll meet you with our carriage, Too glad to show you round, But--we do not lunch on steamers, For they are English ground. We sail o’ nights to England And join our smiling Boards; Our wives go in with Viscounts And our daughters dance with Lords. But behind our princely doings, And behind each coup we make, We feel there’s Something Waiting, And--we meet It when we wake. Ah God! One sniff of England-- To greet our flesh and blood-- To hear the hansoms slurring Once more through London mud! Our towns of wasted honour-- Our streets of lost delight! How stands the old Lord Warden? Are Dover’s cliffs still white? THE FEET OF THE YOUNG MEN [Page 44] Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds are loose-- Now the Smokes of Spring go up to clear the brain; Now the Young Men’s hearts are troubled for the whisper of the Trues, Now the Red Gods make their medicine again! Who hath seen the beaver busied? Who hath watched the black-tail mating? Who hath lain alone to hear the wild-goose cry? Who hath worked the chosen water where the ouananiche is waiting, Or the sea-trout’s jumping-crazy for the fly? _He must go--go--go away from here! On the other side the world he’s overdue. ’Send your road is clear before you when the old Spring-fret comes o’er you And the Red Gods call for you!_