Poem by Norman Rowland Gale

England v. Australia

The Champion Grace to the match has gone,
  In the British ranks you'll find him,
His magic bat he has girded on,
  And his pads are slung behind him!
'Ground of _Lords_,' said the Bearded Pard,
  'Though all the rest amaze thee,
My stumps for thee I'll keenly guard,
  One faithful bat shall praise thee!'

The Champion smacked, and the _Terror's_ reign
  Could not bring his wicket under;
He made the Cornstalk's cunning vain,
  For he smote each ball like thunder!
And said, 'No screw shall baffle me,
  Thou soul of bowling bravery,
This game shall prove old England free,
  She shall never sink in slavery!'

1. Star-Gazing
2. Buttered
3. Dark Blue
4. Cricket and Cupid
5. Out

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