]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Billiard-marker (awed by rank of visitor--a foreign
prince who has joined in a game of pool)._ "SHOULD I CALL 'IM 'YER
ROYAL 'IGHNESS, SIR, OR 'SPOT YALLER'?"]
* * * * *
THE HAIRIES.
We have carried our lancer's, hussars and dragoons
And tugged in the batteries, columns and trains,
On _pave_ that smoked under white summer noons
And tracks that washed out under black winter rains.
We've shivered in standings hock-deep in the mud,
With matted tails turned to the drift of the sleet;
We've seen the bombs flash and been spattered with blood
Of mates as they rolled, belly-ripped, at our feet.
We've dragged ammunition up shell-smitten tracks,
Round bottomless craters, through stump-littered woods;
When the waggons broke down took the load on our backs
And somehow or other delivered the goods.
But the dread roads, the red roads will know us no more;
Oh, it's England, chum, England for you and for me!
The countryfolk wave us as westward we pour
Down the jolly white highways that lead to the sea.
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