Page:Poet Lore, volume 28, 1917.djvu/478

458 How just the native term for Trinidad, Land of the Humming-bird, all-bright Iere, Needing no testimonial as we fare Through scintillating by-ways gay as plaid, Alive, alert, acquiver, perfume-mad; With radiant erythrinas everywhere, Mothers of cocoas rosy-tinged that bear Pods red as wine—oh, nothing here is sad! Even the surly coolie must unbend; For, as I passed this noon a Tamil's nest — Gold thatch on sides of wattled gold bamboo — One, crouched before it in his snowy best, Flashed me a smile, the greeting of a friend, Born of the light, Iëre, absorbed from you.

Sainte-Alousie, St. Lucia of today— Called by what Arawak, what Carib name When the suspicious "Olive Blossom" came?— Climbing with effort sheer Morne Fortuné, Knot of so many a fierce heroic fray, I wonder to what purpose all the flame Which charred these steeps, what use the killed and maim, Except as mulching for a richer May.

Hence Rodney sailed to meet and crush De Grasse, Saving the threatened empire for a Guelph! And here the Marseillaise crashed down before Assaulting Abercromby's royal brass— Here where you drill, but not to guard yourself, Though France and England and rock again with war.