A hireling?  Never!  The bought and sold
    Are ever the prey of the traitor’s gold,
      Wherever the fight may be. 
    Or ever a man will sell his sword,
    The highest bidder may buy the gaud
      With a coward’s niggard fee. 
    Who buys and sells to the market goes,
    And sells his friends as he sells his foes,
    So he gain in the main by his country’s woes,—­
      But the gain is not to the free;—­
    For the soldier bought with a price has nought
    But his fee to ’fend when the fight is fought,
      Wherever the flag may wave. 
    And he who fights for the loot or pay,
    Fights for himself, or ever he may—­
      A huckster and a slave!

    Or ever a Free land needs a son
    To follow the flag with pike or gun
      Upon the field of war,
    There’s never a need to seek for one
    In the dice’s throw, or the number’s run,
      Or the iron grip of the law;—­
    All are ready, where all are free,
    With never a spur and never a fee,
    To fight and ’fend the liberty
      That Freemen hold in awe. 
    The Volunteer is a son sincere,
    And ready, or ever the cause appear,
      Whole-hearted, free as brave,—­
    Ready at call to sally forth
    From east and west, and south and north,
      Wherever the flag may wave,—­
    With never a selfish thought to mar
    The sacrifice of the holy war,
      And never a self to save. 
    And the flag shall float in the blue on high
    Till the last of the Volunteers shall die,
    And Hell shall tear it out of the sky—­
      From Freedom’s trampled grave!

    Right is Might in ever a fight,
      And Truth is Bravery,
    And the Right and True are the Ready too,
    When the bolt is hurl’d in the peaceful blue
      By the hand of Knavery. 
    And the Land that fears for its Volunteers
      Is a Land of Slavery.

DOWN IN AUSTRALIA.

BY GERALD MASSEY.

    Quaff a cup and send a cheer up for the Old Land! 
        We have heard the Reapers shout,
        For the Harvest going out,
    With the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land;
        And our message shall be hurled
        Ringing right across the world,
    There are true hearts beating for you in the Gold Land.

    We are with you in your battles, brave and bold Land! 
        For the old ancestral tree
        Striketh root beneath the sea,
    And it beareth fruit of Freedom in the Gold Land! 
        We shall come, too, if you call,
        We shall fight on if you fall;
    Shakespere’s land shall never be a bought and sold land....

    O, a terror to the Tyrant is that bold Land! 
        He remembers how she stood,
        With her raiment roll’d in blood,
    When the tide of battle burst upon the Old Land;
        And he looks with darkened face,
        For he knows the hero race
    Strike the Harp of Freedom—­draw her sword with bold hand....