High Hills.

Gently let my ashes rest ‘Mid the high hills of the west, Where the golden tussocks grow And the graceful red deer go.
Where down in the gorges dim Blue ducks of the mountains swim, And the red stags' roars resound Through my happy hunting ground.
While through beeches straight and tall Mountain breezes softly call, And the mad world's worries cease ‘Mid those ancient hills of peace.
There forgotten trails I'll tramp Forgotten make a final camp Where the bellbirds sing the best ‘Mid the high hills of the west.
For remembrance only these Lofty hills and stately trees, Azure lake and rippling shore, Grace of life for evermore.

—L. M.

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