LOCKTON

Oh, did you come by Lockton.

On a wintry afternoon

And watch the storm clouds gather

And listen to the tune

Of the shrill North-easter blowing

O'er the moorland road from the sea,

With a tang of the salt wave in it,

And a lashing of hail in its lee?

Oh, did you come by Lockton.

One morn in early Spring,

And see the green trees bending

And hear the merry ring

Of a thousand bluebells shaking

In a fairy haunted wood,

Or walk an a violet carpet

Where the primrose lately stood?

Oh, did you come by Lockton,

In laughing late July

And hear the song of a thousand birds,

Or a curlew's plaintive cry.

As he wheels o'er the lonely valley

In the haze of the Summer hours.

While browsing kine on the hillside

Move on 'mid the swaying flowers

Oh, did you come by Lockton.

When Autumn shed its gold,

And gaze on the misty moorland

Where the distant hills unfold

Their mantle of royal purple

'Mid bracken of russet sheen,

Where its store the squirrel is hiding

And the hunted fox is seen?

For I long for the hills of Lockton.

And one day I will go

To the kindly folk on the hillside,

Where the heather and bracken grow.

Where the shrill North-easter's blowing

Down the moorland road from the sea

With a tang of the salt wave in it

And a lashing of hail in its lee.

M. A. HYDE.