POETRY OLD AND NEW.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14244, 15 December 1909, Page 10

POETRY OLD AND NEW.

MOTHER! The mint lies low on the mountain, Where the firs and the larches grow, Heather and gone all blossomlces Wait for the winter's snow; ■..■■■■ The breeze blows cold from the moss, Where the rushes all lean low, The air above is silent, Silent the earth below. Through the thick of the trees they bear her To her grave by the churchyard wall, But few are the mourners present, ■ But few are the tears which fall. I think of the wrinkled forehead, Those lines of love and of care, The cold gray iron streaking All her raven hair— I think of the hands crossed gently Upon the cold still breast, ~ ; . Over that heart beneath them, And I know it all for the hem. For the purple and gold await her When to blossom the flowers begin. And the air o'er the moss will vibrate When the plovers come with the-sprm* , I see it up there in the Northland Though here in the South below, She IV nearer, dearer to mo now— 'Twas expedient she should go To the countless throng who greet her, To the glorious spirit band, Who out of tribulation won The right to take her hand! Thames, December 10. ' • MHEART OF MINE. . Up, heart of mine! Thou wayfarer of Earth, Of seed Divine, .... . Be mindful of thy birth 1 Tho' the flesh faint - Through long-endured constraint -. Of nights and days, Lift up thy praise To Life, that set thee in such strenuous ways, And left thee not . ,',.'.'.• * T.i drowse and rot ... In some thick-perfumed and luxurious plot. . . • . - .... .; ■; And tho' thou feel The slow clog of tho hours Leaden upon thy heel, . V: ■ Put forth thy powers., - Thine the deep sky, • , The unpre-empted blue, The haste of storm. , The hush of dew. Thine, thine the free Exalt of star-and tree, The reinless run • Of wind and sun, The vagrance of the sea! '—Charles G. D. Roberts. SPORTSMEN AFOOT. . 'Tis a selfish snort the world may think As it see us riding there, „ But perhaps it is scarce aware That it isn't only the man in pink Who gets the fun of the fair. For it isn't only the dainty swell ■- On his thousand-guinea horse That you'll find beside the gorse; There's many a sportsman there as well, Though he hunts on foot perforce. The townsman perched on the stile— Though he's more or less in the way- ' Has stolen a country day, ■ ' '„' And walked full many a muddy mile For a front seat at the play. The shepherd holding the gate , Has taken a holiday, too, Illas taken holiday, too. ewe; From fold and wether and ewe; The plot of the drama's worth a wait, Ana he means to see it through . . . There's an old man breaking stones, And the chase his toil beguiles. As he sits on a post, all smiles; And high on a ladder there's Parson Jones, And perched on a rcjof old Giles. And so it goes on all day. • . And whatever the world may think, There are sportsmen not in pink Who take their place at the play.-; Success to their sport I drink! ■ And long may they hunt, I say! \' '■'■■ WiUi H. OGjl»vrji, in Baily's Magazine. j