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178 Your young, gay countries north an' south, we feel we own 'em too,

For they was made by rank an' file. Good-bye—good luck to you!

We'll never read the papers now without inquirin' first

For word from all those friendly dorps where you was born an' nursed.

Why, Dawson, Galle, an' Montreal—Port Darwin—Timaru,

They're only just across the road! Good-bye—good luck to you!

Good-bye!—So-long! Don't lose yourselves—nor us, nor all kind friends,

But tell the girls your side the drift we're comin'—when it ends!

Good-bye, you bloomin' Atlases! You've taught us somethin' new:

The world's no bigger than a kraal, Good-bye—good luck to you!