She was his mother. I'll tell her--broken with grief and pride-- "Mother" was Jim's last whisper. That was all. And died. Brightest and bravest and best of us all--none could help but to love him-- And now ... he lies there under the hill, with a wooden cross above him. That's where it gets me twisted. The rest of it I don't mind, But it don't seem right for me to be off, and to leave old Jim behind. Jim, just quietly sleeping; and hundreds and thousands more; For graves and crosses are mighty thick from Quinn's Post down to the shore! Better there than in France, though, with the Germans' dirty work: I reckon the Turk respects us, as we respect the Turk; Abdul's a good, clean fighter--we've fought him, and we know-- And we've left him a letter behind us to tell him we found him so. Not just to say, precisely, "Good-bye," but "_Au revoir_"! Somewhere or other we'll meet again, before the end of the war! But I hope it'll be in a wider place, with a lot more room on the map, And the airmen over the fight that day'll see a bit of a scrap! Meanwhile, here's health to the Navy, that took us there, and away; Lord! they're miracle-workers--and fresh ones every day! My word! those Mids in the cutters! aren't they properly keen! Don't ever say England's rotten--or not to _us_, who've _seen_! Well! we're gone. We're out of it all! We've somewhere else to fight. And we strain our eyes from the transport deck, but "Anzac" is out of sight! Valley and shore are vanished; vanished are cliff and hill; And we'll never go back to "Anzac" ... _But I think that some of us will!_ GALLIPOLI [By L. H. ALLEN, in the _Sydney Morning Herald_.] 1 Winter is here, and in the setting sun York's[1] giant bluff is kindled with the ray That smites his gnarléd sides of red and dun: And the spired obelisk that points the way Where heroes looked, the first of English blood To break the spell of Silence with a cry Startling the ancient sleep in prophecy Of you, my people of the Lion-brood. 2 Does his old vision watch that alien hill, Embrowned and bleak, where strain upon the height, Amid sharp silences that burn and chill, Those heroes' sons, set in sterner fight Than primeval war with solitude? Lo now, the sullen cliff outjets in smoke. And life is groaning death, blooded and broke! So fell ye, brothers of the Lion-brood. 3 I weep the dead; they are no more, no more! Oh, with what pain and rapture came to me Full birth of love for dazzling-sanded shore, For heaven of sapphire, and for scented tree! Keen-eyed and all desire I feel my mood Still fruitless, waiting gust of quickening breath-- And lo, on darkened wing the wind of death Summoned austere the soul to nationhood. 4