Poems of Annie Murgatroyd (Bensen Kendal)

Murgatroyd, Annie, H.J. Weeks, Christchurch, N.Z., 1900

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The original publication details are as follows:

Title: Poems of Annie Murgatroyd (Bensen Kendal).

Author: Murgatroyd, Annie

Published: H.J. Weeks, Christchurch, N.Z., 1900

Poems of Annie Murgatroyd

(Ucnsen ikcuoal).

ENTERED AT STATIONERS HALL

Cbristcburcb:

Printed by H. J. Weeks. Ltd., Manchester Street—‘is39s

MDCCCC.

INTRODUCTION

ef||n|NNlE M feTRGATR9YD i wag Bopn at Kppeplej? Bpidge, Yopkgßipe, England, on Jan. 30, 1871. ppom 1880 §zr? life wag gpent in Zealand. Kt a gßowed gpeat talent, mogt oj' tße Poem? Being wpitten Bej'ope gße wag 21 veapg age. SBe died on January 8, 1900.

INDEX.

Life’s Pages .. .. .. •• •• 1

Voices of Nature .. .. ... •• 8

The Dew of Death .. .. .. • • 9

The City by Night .. .. .. •• 11

The “Sundowner” .. .. .. .. 12

Life and Death .. .. .. .. ■ • 18

Old Rosie .. •• •• 1®

Beauty .. .. • • • • • • • • 21

Success .. .. • • • • • • • • 21

A Sore Subject .. .. .. •. - • 22

Ambition.. . ■ . • • • • • • • 25

A Reverie .. .. • • • • • • 27

Echoes from Spiritland .. .. .. .. 29

The First Flower .. .. • • • • -81

A Cold World .. .. .. •• •• 32

The Cry of the Injured Innocents.. .. .. 35

Kura .. .. •• •• 39

Divided .. Lady Fairc .. .. •• •• •• 65

Lady Faire .. .- ■• •• ■• 65

Memories .. • • • • • • • • ""

Farewell (to the Governor and Lady Onslow) .. 70

Fame .. •• ■• •• •• ••

Lines to Leila .. .. • • ■ • • • 3

Pleasure and Fame .. .. • • • • 74

My Father .. •• •• •• •• 78

Gethsemane .. .. •• •• •• 80

Autumn ..

She is Dead .. .. •• •• •■ 84

7

Lira's PASES.

Life’s Pages.

HE leaves are for ever turning—

£ The leaves of the Book of Life

Each page is a memorandum

Of our inward yearnings and strife.

Each page is filled with the actions,

With the deeds that this moment were done

And then they are turned down quickly—

And we cannot undo one.

Oh, think of the thoughts that this moment

Were hidden within our breast!

And the sin that this day we committed,

And say, " Is our conscience at rest ? "

Is there a moment spotless—

A page with never a blot ?

Our conscience tells us our failings—

We know in our heart there is not.

s

VOICES OF NATURE

And can we be still God’s children ?

And can He care for us still ?

When the pages of life are blotted —

And our hearts are so full of ill ?

Does He look down in pity on us—

And smile when He sees us pray ?

Perhaps when He sees our repentance —

He washes our sins away

And then though our sins were as scarlet,

No trace in the Book may remain—

For our bitter tears of repentance

Have blotted away every stain

And thus the leaves are turning—

And thus from youth till age ;

May He wipe away our errors,

Till “ The End ” is upon the page

1890.

Voices of Nature.

«f*nE wind is whisp’ring in the pines—

* The cool soft wind from the distant sea—

It tells of calm and sunny waves —

It comforts mc.

The brook is babbling at my feet—

Hurrying on to meet the sea ;

It tells of life, and joy, and hope—

And comforts me

(1

THE DEW OF DEATH

The blue-bell nods to the whisp'ring wind,

And rings to the brook a lullaby

Its words that I hear are full of love

And they comfort me.

The sunbeams slant through the sombre pines

To dance on the stream with a quiet glee,

They tell of happiness nnd mirth —

They comfort me.

The stars come out in the evening sky—

The soft-eyed stars with their sympathy

Their tears are shining through the gloom

They comfort me,

No jarring discord —no bitter w 7 ord—

In these voices soft there will ever be,

'Tis the touch of heaven in earthly things

That comforts me.

June 18 th, 1890.

The Dew of Death.

Written on the death of the Duke of Clarence.

day there passes over the land ** An angel bearing in his hand

A censer full of a mystical dew,

A balm that will some day fall on you

Tt soothes all pain, it saps the breath,

And mortals call it the dew of death

17

THE DEW OF DEATH.

An angel paused in the twilight gray,—

He had visited many a home that day

The dew had fallen on children fair,

And on aged brows that were lined with care,

He paused, though his work was not yet done,

He had still the message to give to " one."

He saw in a desert far away

One dying of thirst 'neath the sun's fierce ray,

While dashed about by the cruel sea,

Brave men were baffling desperately

He turned away with a human sigh,

" Not yet, may I call on ye to die."

He saw in the street by rough hands borne,

A pale, pale face, and a mangled form

There was a shivering gray-haired man,

And a child whose face was strangely wan.

He passed them by, " Not yet," said he,

" To-morrow ye all shall come with me."

Softly he flew o'er the wintry land, —

There were darkened homes on every hand.

He heard the motherless children cry,

He heard a father’s broken sigh.

He thought of the hearts that would beat again

For those that were tossed on the seething main

And then he paused at a castle fair

Was it the night wind chilled the air ?

Or did the watchers feel the breath,

Icily cold, of the hand of death?

The dew drops fell on that fair young head,

The flower of our land lay still and dead.

18

THE CITY BY NIGHT,

With empty censer the angel stood

With tear dimmed eye—in pitying mood

He saw the mother's cheek turn pale,

He heard the maiden's anguished wail

" Sorrow and death," he murmured low,

" Come alike to all on this world below

The City by Night.

I UST now from yonder distant tower, ~ Tolled slow and clear the midnight hour

Beneath me, in the quiet street,

There echoes some belated feet,

Then all is still—

So still, that from the hall below,

I hear the clock tick faint and slow,

And through the window open wide

I hear the distant ebbing tide,

That murmurs low

Pale autumn moonbeams softly fall

In flickering lines upon the wall

The curtains rustle in the breeze,

And down below the lilac trees

Stir to and fro.

The soft night air around me breathes

Sweet scents of flowers and wet dead leaves ;

The earth seems very fair to-night ;

No shadow clouds the moonbeams bright

Sweet silence reigns.

19

THE “SUNDOWNER. 1

The “Sundowner.”

M° shade, no shelter !

“ Naught visible but arid plain—

The swagger scans the track in vain

Then starts with measured step ngaii

To tramp and swelter

No breeze, uo rain—

Naught but the haze of throbbing heat,

Which seems in unison to beat

With tired pulse and bleeding feet,

That throb with pain.

He rose at dawn :

Last night he made his lonely camp

Upon the dried-up river's bank ;

Among the flax 'twas cool and damp

To one way-worn.

He was alone

The stars shone with their quiet light

He watched them far into the night

And once a tear-drop dimmed his sight

He thought of home.

Then visions came—

Of days when he was young and bold,

Before the craving came for gold

He half forgets that he is old

Without a home.

20

THE “ SUNDOWNER

And then he dreamed-

He saw again the fields of Kent,

Where he had toiled with discontent ;

Time had a halo to them lent —

Pleasant they seemed

And then again—

Among the hop-poles, in the shade,

That trailing vines about them made,

There stood together lad and maid—

A happy twain

It mattered not

That many years since then had rolled —

That she was dead—and he was old—

That he had bartered love for gold—

’Twas all forgot

He saw again

The little village gray and still

The stream, the fields, the water-mill

The ancient church upon the hill—

'Twas all the same

And still the same—

He saw his mother's white-washed cot

The garden, where forget-me-not,

And gilly-flower, and thyme, and stock

Scented the lane.

And she was there—

With open arms and welcome kind

Ah, surely he were very blind

To think more pure gold to find

Than her soft hair !

21

THE “ SUNDOWNER.

He never guessed

That time and care had long ago

Turned her fair tresses white as snow

That in the church-yard she lay low,

For aye at rest.

Then, with a cry

She came her wand'ring boy to meet;

But he awoke 'ere she could speak;

Woke with her kisses on his cheek ;

Woke with a sigh

The stars above

Were paling in the early dawn;

The East was flushed with coming morn

And he arose—sad, lonely, worn—

Once more to rove.

He thinks of home

As 'neath the sun's fierce scorching ray,

He plods along his weary way,

And sadly sighs for close of day-

For night to come.

He pauses now—

And gazes o'er the barren track ;

And shifts the swag upon his back ;

Or with his well-worn tattered cap

Wipes his hot brow

His way he takes—

The lizard wriggles o'er the ground ;

And from the tussock all around,

The unseen grasshopper's shrill sound,

The stillness breaks.

22

THE “ SUNDOWNER.'

Far off he sees

A range of hazy mountains rise,

Whose bush-fires cloud the azure skies,

And at the foot a homestead lies

Among the trees.

He quickens pace

And all that sultry afternoon

He toils along, content that soon

He shall have gained the wanderer's boon

A resting-place

Mile after mile—

Till faint, and worn, and travel-stained

The shadow of the trees is gained;

And there, he, till the day has waned

Must wait awhile.

And there he waits

His empty “ billy ” by his side

Till sundown he must lurk and hide—

Thirsty and spent he still must bide

Outside the gates

Too early yet:

Haggard and pale, he lies asleep;

Still—motionless—he slumbers deep ;

And still the Westering sunbeams creep ;

They have not set

Too early yet ?

Nay, for the last long journey’s o’er;

He will be homeless never more—

For he has gained the far off shore—

His sun has set.

23

LIFE AND DEATH.

Life and Death.

IS life but just to live?

*To wake —to be —to fall asleep again

To do to-morrow what we do to-day—

And thus stand still until our years are sped,

And then 'tis whispered, " He that was is dead

Dead—! blotted out! Our name

Never to be uttered in the same breath

As mortal name, bespoke with awe,

As of one, who entering the unseen,

Has solved the mystery of mysteries !

Oh ! the great gulf between the is and is not !

Feud, malice, vengeance, what avails ?

"With death's dark angel hovering o'er that form

Vengeance to God alone belongs-

Thy cause —thy real or fancied wron

Are in His hands—await His word

That hand that once was raised to thee in strife

Is stiff and cold. Those lips

That withered thee with tones of scorn

Are closed in silence, till the dreadful morn

When all shall be made known.

That life is lived—or well—or ill-

Not now can it be changed, for it is done,

Before that soul there lies an everlasting doom,

Or life eternal with the saints above

17

LIFE AND DEATH.

The busy world goes on—

Death is no stranger in this world of ours.

It hears perchance that one is dead,

But it has thoughts and deeds and other oare

Than to bewail a vanished soul.

It sees, perhaps, another grave

In a crowded churchyard raised

It sees the mourners—and it hears

The dead or blamed or praised,

Yet pauseth not —nor thinketh of the day

When it shall hear the call

Which none dares but obey

Life is but short—The days of man

Are numbered. Yet he can

Sit still and calmly watch them glide

Like bits of seaweed on an outward tide

And e'en as they, the ripples of the world,

Will bear him onward to some dark abyss,

Till an immortal soul is sunk in miseries,

Oh! would that there were lifeboats on the main

To warn those sinking souls,

And bring them back again—

To help them fight against the tide

Of worldly vanity and worldly pride

To bid them rise high—high above the wave—

And stretch a helping hand some other soul to save. I

25

OLD BOBIK.

Tis not our nature but to sleep,—to breathe,

God meant us all to do, to work, to live.

Why sleep by day ? The night is close at hand,

Now is the time to do—The time will come

When He will call His children home

Oh ! let it not be empty hands

Thou takest to the throne,

Composed 1888

Old Rosie.

Thoughts suggested by lecture by Rev. Mark Guy Pearce, on " Old Folks at Home."

JTIHE lane is full of summer flowers, 1 And o’er the cottage wall,

The jessamine and wild rose,

In scented glory fall.

Straw-thatched and low it is,

And there beneath the eaves,

The flitting swallows build their nests

Among the wild rose leaves.

The window stands wide open,

And the summer sunbeams slant

In the little cottage kitchen,

So quaint and yet so scant.

It flickers on the sanded floor,

And plays upon the delf,

Which in a sparkling neat array

Stands smiling on the shelf.

26

OLD ROSIE,

The old clock in the corner,

And the chair in the ingle-nook,

Tell of the days that have vanished,

They have an old-world look,

But I do not stop to note them—

I have seen it all before ;

And my thoughts are all of " Eosie "

As I cross the sanded floor.

I climb the narrow staircase,

With the rafters close o'er head,

And the steps beneath me creaking,

With my light but hurried tread.

The room may be poor and scanty,

But that I never see—

For there is my own old Eosie,

And she's all the world to me.

Her face may be old and withered,

But to me it is angel-bright,

And the smile that she always gives me

Seems to fill the room with light.

The cap is so white and snowy

That borders her happy face —

And the soft grey curls that fall from it,

Seem never out of place,

She is always calm and patient,

And her eyes are always kind,

When I ask her why she's so happy,

She says it is peace of mind

But I don't like her to talk of heaven,

For she looks me through and through.

'2O

OLD EOSIE

And she says in a voice so earnest,

" My lad there's a mansion for you !

So I try to do the talking.

And eagerly chatter away

About the birds and the flowers

That are out in the sunshine to-day

She smiles at my childish prattle,

A quiet holy smile—

And then she says with her hand on mine

" Now lad, let Eosiepray for awhile."

I bury my head in the covers,

And while I'm kneeling there,

She tells God all about me—

(I don't like Eosie's prayer.)

She wants me to be a preacher

But " I won't " to myself I say,

I won't tease people like she does,

I won't learn how to pray

"Amen," she says very slowly,

And " good-bye," I say very fast,

" Good-bye," I say, but she holds me

(Ah, had I but known, 'twas the last.)

Her smile is as bright as ever

But the tears are in her eyes,

And she looks away through the window,

To the cloudless blue of the skies.

" Good-bye " she says " and God bless thee,"

And she lays her hand on my head

" Good-bye," I say, half impatient,

And away down the staircase I sped

21

SUCCESS.

Beauty.

I SAW a flower one dewy morn,

1 Sweet, pure and tinted rare.

The sun looked down with ardent frown,

At eve it was not there

I saw the woodlands in the spring—

The brightest of all the year,

But time has flown—the woods are brown,

The leaves are withered and sear

I saw a face that rivalled the flower,

But time changed its beauty with care,

The beauteous face has lost its grace

And a gloom has settled there

And so it seems that beauty's power,

Has but a short-lived sway

Like the rare tinted flower that lives but an hour

It withers and falls in decay

1890.

Success.

O UCCESS is to achieve whate'ei We set ourselves to do —

Well may our labours then be crowned

When gained the end in view.

But if all unattained

The standard that we set,

29

A SORE SUBJECT.

What matters it if men applaud

Or if the prize we get?

But if we gain our end, We know it is success,

Then we may well dispense with praise,

Or prize the triumph less.

1890.

A Sore Subject.

Written on board S.S. “ Tongariro ” 1889

TP by some chance an epicure you be, A Take my advice and never go to sea,

Or at each meal, disgusted you will sit,

And at the close most likely have a fit

Thus, to avert the fate that I predict,

Hark to the song that I e'en now inflict.

All early risers, we at six arose ;

Hied to the deck fresh from our night's repose.

Paced back and forth, until the breakfast bell,

Upon our ears like sweetest music fell

We one and all to the saloon descend,

Where whiffs of curry, hash, and onions blend

Altho' the bell has just struck eight,

For quite awhile we sit in state

And then a steward whispers nigh—

" What will you take Miss? Curry ? Fry?

Dry Hash? or Steak, Miss? Irish Stew?"

The boy is, in fact, a walking menu,

30

A SORE SUBJECT.

The porridge is thin, and the milk is, too,

And in a strong light looks actually blue,

The steak is tough, the dry hash dry,

And the less that is said the better, of fry

The rolls are burned, and the bread is sour,

But that is put down to a cask of bad flour,

The coffee is coffee —the tea is tea —

I know it, for 'twas told to me,

The china is not of Dresden make,

And they give us marmalade served on a plate.

This is our breakfast! There's choice do you say

W T ait till you've tried it a week and a day.

In the forenoon—inspection o'er,

A favoured half a dozen or more,

By doctor's orders drink beef tea,

And quaff the beverage happily,

While health)- mortals look and long,

And wait the sound of the dinner gong.

It comes at length, the welcome sound,

And to the tables all sit round.

Pea soup comes first—the wise decline—

Then comes the steward’s lengthy whine,

" What will you take Miss ? boiled sheep's head?

Eoast beef? Boiled mutton?" "That was all,' he said.

Enough to say, we hurry through these courses,

Thinking dessert and pudding last resources.

Vain hope! When the plum pudding comes,

31

A SOEE SUBJECT.

It proves but flour, stuck with many plums.

Dessert comes next—some apples green and sour

A dozen nuts, some dates, and nothing more

The day wears on, as half-past five comes round-

Down in the bright saloon, we may be found

The tables' neat array we quickly scan,

And note the pickles, butter, buns and jam

And then the steward comes along once more

And asks the question asked so oft before

" Mutton or beef?" 'Tis but what I expect,

Varied by " beef or mutton ?" as he asks the next

I let them pass, and take a piece of bread,

And slowly with some jam that piece I spread ;

The buns alas ! my sole delight,

Grow small and fewer every night.

At half past-eight a supper light—

Is always served for us each night

It just consists of bread and cheese

And you're given ten minutes to eat at your ease

And some get wishy-washy gruel

And those who can’t, think it so cruel

Thus ends the day, and thus my lay

For I have nothing more to say

Unless I add, I hope 'twill keep

All growls and grumbles from the deep

And best of all may it secure,

A passage free from the epicure

And thus I shall have gained the end

For which these numerous lines were penned

'25

AMBITION,

Ambition.

I SAW afar the fields of thought, Which I had never trod,

My feet in tangled briars had caught,

Through marsh and mire I plod

I saw the rugged heights of fame

Which I had never scaled,

I longed for praise, renown —a name,

I tried to climb, but failed

I sighed for power, I longed to lead,

But mine was to obey,

I had grown tired of lane and mead,

I longed for life's high way.

I dreamed of wealth, position, ease,

Of all things bright and fair—

“ Had I,” I cried, “ Such gifts as these

I should have done with care.”

My soul was full of discontent,

Of wild and strange unrest,

Hate, envy, pride together rent

My palpitating breast

I was not as I longed to hi

I fretted at the thought,

In the paths of knowledge I could see

My gleanings were as nought.

And so it seemed to me, for lack

Of knowledge, power, and wealth,

33

AMBITION.

I could not tread the beaten track,

Or carve a way myself.

I felt perchance, as prisoners feel,

As weary of their chain,

They grind it madly 'neath their heel,

Yet know it is in vain.

I saw the wild bird of the night

Sail high across the skies,

I envied it, it's airy flight—

Alas ! I could not rise

I heard no sound in earth or sky,

All nature seemed at rest,

No strife was there, no tumult nigh,

Save that within my breast.

Somehow the stillness of the night

Stole on my troubled soul.

The beauty of the soft calm light

Of a myriad worlds unknown

Pell like sweet dew upon the fires

That burned within my brain,

And quenched ambition's wild desires,

And soothed the craving pain.

It lifted me from thoughts of self,

To thoughts of God above

" Oh what," I cried, " are power and wealth

To His great gift of love,

What if I spend my few short days

In deepest mines of thought,

My few small jewels may win praise

A REVERIE

K

If that were what I sought.

What if the wisdom of all time,

The learning of all men,

Flourished in this keen brain of mine ”

Were I contented then ?

Nay, for it only is too true

That as we wiser grow',

We only then begin to rue

How paltry what we know

We surmise this, or that presume

And build fair learning's walls,

And when we totter to the tomb,

Perchance the temple falls

Not till we pass the gates of Death,

Our doubts will be at rest

But when Death's wings have closed us round

The myst'ries shall be solved.

A Reverie.

LJIGH hills and a deep blue sky ; A silence all round as of death—

The faint sweet scent of the flax

Perfuming the zephyr's soft breath

A deep dark gully beneath,

Where the creek echoes softly unseen,

The black-birches meeting o'er head,

In a canopy leafily green

35

A REVERIE

A bridge with a moss-grown rail—

Two names that were carved with care,

The mosses have hidden them now,

Yet somebody knows they are there

I lean o'er the bridge and think—

While beneath me the waters sigh,

They have sighed for us all these years—

Since we parted here—you and I

I trace with my fingers those names

Enclosed in that ill-shapen heart,

We dreamed of a life together—

Yet now we are strangers —apart

The summers have come and gone

Since that summer of long ago,

Days that were bright as they were long,

Yet to me they never seemed so,

But the years have been kind to me

For they give me no time for regret

Life is not all halcyon days—

For the rest—l have learnt to forgi

Has time been as kind to thee ?

It has given thee wealth and fame

Art thou happier now than then

That the world has rung with this name

We should meet as strangers to-day

Perchance I may pass thee unknown

For time has brought changes to both,

In the years that since then have flown

36

ECHOES FROM SPIRITLAND.

Echoes from Spiritland.

"TTiERE'S a spirit lives in these old grey walls. * The spirit of other days—

It sits by the fire when the twilight falls,

And speaks from the ruddy blaze.

It tells me of other eyes than mine,

Which gazed at its dull red glow

And pictures in visions half divine

The people of long ago

In fancy I hear through the silent hall

The footsteps of those long dead —

The children's feet as they lightly fall,

And the old man's heavy tread,

I seem to hear in the silence of night,

Lost voices so quaint and slow,

Sometimes their tone is with laughter light,

Sometimes it is sweet and low

There echoes about in the lonely home,

The voices of children gay ;

The merry laugh and the mocking tone

Are strangsrs here to-day

I read in the flame that just flickers now,

The secrets it long hath kept,

It tells me of many an aching brow

And of many an eye that wept.

37

ECHOES FROM SPIHiTI,AND.

And somebody mused as I muse to-night,

On the days of a hidden past,

And saw in the firelight dancing bright,

The future in sunshine cast

There passes before me a frail sweet child,

Who brightens the dimlit room —

A beam of sunlight that flickered and smiled,

And then was lost in the tomb,

The grandfather totters from room to room

With a halo of snowy hair,

Or muses away—all the summer noon,

In the ingle corner there

A mother with face so patiently sad,

Sits there at the latticed pane,

Watching perchance for the sailor lad

Who never came back again

Two lovers part by the wicket gate,

A tear drop dims her eye,

She comes every twilight to watch and wait,

And the weary years slip by

The old man has lain in his resting place,

These fifty years and more,

And the maiden, too, with the calm white face

From this very room they bore

The children have fled from the old gray nest,

And the mother was left alone,

And they laid her at length in her well-earned rest,

The last of the old, old home

31

THU FIRST FLOWER

Out in the world there are gray-haired men,

Bent down with the weight of years,

Who turn to that happy youth again,

And think of that mother through tears

And women there are so patient, so lone,

Grown old with a weight of care,

And they think sometimes of the old, old home

And whisper that mother's prayer.

Like a summer cloud, men come and go,

And our places know us not,

But in the hearts of our friends below

Our memory is unforgot.

The First Flower.

To a Mothee.

'THEY have taken thy first-born from thee, 1 God, and the Angel Death :

God folded his arms about him

'While the Angel sapped his breath.

And thine arms feel very empty—

And thine eyes with tears are dim ;

But thy flower is in God’s keeping—

He has taken it unto Him.

Taken from pain and suffering,

With Him in peace to dwell;

And on his face is the brightness—

And the smile you loved so well.

39

A COLD WOULD

And there on the golden threshold,

With that white-robed angel band,

He is waiting to bid you welcome,

When you reach the better land.

Then lift your dim eyes Heavenward

And breathe to God the prayer—

To make you pure and spotless,

To meet your white flower there,

April, 1890.

A Cold World.

ICILY cold does the north wind blow— A nd all the moors are covered with snow

Dark masses of clouds float over the sky—

Homeward the sparrows quickly fly

All day has fallen the snow and sleet—

The world seems wrapped in its winding sheet—

Wrapped in a mantle of purest snow—

That covers the blackness that lies below

Hidden away 'neath that covering white,

From the chilling blast and the coming night

Dead to the fact that to many a one —

The cheerless night is their only home

The twilight gathers ; the sun went down,

Like a ball of fire behind the town :

The mists o’er the moors come thick and fast

89

A COLD WORLD.

Hurried along by the chilling blast

The lights of the town in the valley below

Shine dim and blurred through the falling snow

Across the moors came a little lad—

Tired and cold, and so thinly clad;

His poor little feet looked cold and blue—

As out of his shoes they would push through ;

He had lost his cap—his head was bare—

And matted and damp was his curly hair.

He carried a basket of holly bright

That he meant to sell in the town that night.

As he hurried along he began to weave

Things he would do this Christmas Eve,

If the sale of his holly brought him in

Enough and to spare to buy everything,

A pair of blankets for mother's bed,

Some crutches strong for little Fred,

A lot of coal and a load of wood—

And for little Bess —a nice warm hood

" He'd do all this—and then who'd say

They could not be happy on Christmas Day.'

The twilight deepened, 'twas almost dark

As he passed the gates of the squire's park—

He stopped awhile, through the trees to gaze

At the lit-up windows, all in a blaze—

The squire's child had enough and to spare,

While he was hungry, with little to wear.

34

A COLD WORLD.

He lifted the latch of the iron gate—

Ran up the drive, —(it was getting late)

Timidly tapped at the great hall door—

With his little knuckles purple and sore

Then asked in a voice so eagerly bright

If they did'nt want some holly that night.

" No," said the voice, " and he'd better be gone —

They'd finished with holly, ever so long."

With a sad little face he turned away,

When a lady passed and he heard her say,

" Give him these bon-bons, I can't provide

For every beggar at Christmas tide."

She turned away and the door shut tight,

Leaving him shivering in the night,

At her cruel words the tears came fast,

And were rudely dried by the wintry blast

He was tired and cold, so he sat him down

To rest 'ere he started off for the town

He was very hungry, but not to eat

Were those shiny packets so pretty and neat

“ I’ll take them,” he thought “ to little Bess,

She’ll like ’em well enough I guess.”

So he sat on the doorsteps awhile to rest

With the bon-bons tightly clasped to his breast

A shadow passed o'er the moonlit snow.

As an angel came to the world below

It hovered above the sleeping child,

THE CRY OP THE INJURED INNOCENTS

42

Who clasping his bon-bons murmured and smiled

And then two angels upward rise

And vanish amid the starry skies.

" Frozen to death !" they sadly say —

As they find the child at break of day

For they did not see the angel's flight

As he came to the earth through the starry night— I

As he took the child through the skies so clear And left but a pale-faced image here.

1887-1890.

The Cry of the Injured Innocents.

Published in the Wtthly Press during the controversy on Colonial vtrsus English Girls.

Introduction.

IQDHE poet in the fields of Ayr, ®5 Thought surely, he was wondrous fair,

Or he had never wished I ween,

To see himself as he was seen

Conceit possesses so the mind,

We deem the world is safely blind

To all our follies ; and but sees

Virtues and graces that must surely please.

The while our neighbour's piercing eye

Each fault and folly does descry ;

He notes our errors, marks our ways—

Gives silent censure —never praise.

3G

THE CRY OP THE INJURED INNOCENTS

In blissful ignorance of such we live—

And being blissful, therefore, cannot grieve,

'Twere wisdom then to keep our state of bliss—

And folly were we wiser than we wish

Folly, alas, dogs well the heels of man—

And wisdom, slighted, enters not his plan

He talks too oft, and knows not when to cease ;

For fools will speak, when wise men hold their peace

So tender is our self respect,

We would not have a friend detect

In mind or manners, speech or dress,

Aught—that he might respect us less.

Yet now, alas ! for our conceit!

The veil lies trampled at our feet,

And to the sunlight's fiercest glare

Our faults and follies are laid bare

Eecoiling from the sudden blow,

We sing and tune our song to woe ;

We air our wrongs, and seek redress

On common ground—the public Press

THEME.

Our hard accuser, though as lambkin dressed

By his own showing, stands a wolf confessed

He lives among us, free at large to roam,

But the stern wilds of Britain are his home.

44

THE CRY OP THE INJURED INNOCENTS

His heart unchanged, through many a changing year

Turns to the girls that flocked like mountain deer

Around his native haunts, with native grace ;

And feet that carried them with deer-like pace,

Imagination lends her every grace,

Improves her figure, beautifies her face,

Softens her manners, clothes her with such care

No girl on earth with her can well compare.

In thought he sees each coy gazelle

Skip twenty miles o'er hill and dell;

While her bright face and subtile form

The tennis court and dance adorn

And while in sport she doth excel,

Her mind is cultivated well;

On politics she talks with ease,

(Her male acquaintances to please.)

Fiction of light and airy kind

Rejected is ; no food for mind

Which feeds on standard works and deems

Nought edible that lighter seems !

Perfect in body, mind, estate,

No airs and graces does this maiden take,

But sits adoring at her master's feet,

Obedient, dutiful, divinely sweet

All men are heroes in her saintly eyes,

She asks no questions, and is told no lies ;

Claims no attention, blushes at his praise,

Makes him her lord, and to him homage pays,

38

THE CRY OF THE INJURED INNOCENTS.

The wolf, with lofty discontent,

Upon the foreign herd his gaze has bent

Inferior creatures ! yet with glances cool

They dare to show they think himself a fool

" Zounds !" cries the wolf " it can't be borne,

That I should brook their childish scorn !

I, who in yonder distant land,

Was king of many a girlish band

:< Can these poor mortals with my own compare?

Are they so agile, and so wondrous fair?

So versed in politics, so true and sweet

So brightly bashful, and withal so meek ?

And can these creatures for one moment think

I from my kingly power will deign to sink

To gain their grace and favour, do they deem

I'd play the courtier, while they play the Queen T

“ Not so ! my object now shall be

To check their pride and vanity ;

I’ll make them value their opinions less,

By printing mine within the Christchurch Press."

And thus this avalanche of spite and spleen

Ungallant, despicable, mean, —

Falls on us, then our injured cries

Against our false accusers rise

" The fault, dear wolfie," we but make reply

Bests with thyself,—it does not with us lie

Back! to the haunts where graze thy peaceful deer

And leave alone the flocks that pasture here

46

KURA

" Worship at will thy ideal English girl,

But dare again her worth at us to hurl !

Our hearts and homes are barred for evermore,

We bid thee choose for friend, a kindred boor "

Kura.

A Tale of the Maori War

CANTO I

the lonely snow clad mountains, *«» Came the sun in all his splendour,-

Glistened down the realms of whiteness,

Bathed the hills below in brightness ;

And the valleys where he shone not—

Tinted them with deepest purple—

Glanced through trees still wet with dewdrops

At the stream that murmured loudly—

Flickered on the mossy boulders

Took the fern fronds and unwound them—

Bade the birds sing morning carols.—

Then he followed where the river

Wanders lonely o'er the flat land—

Saw that all was very quiet,

Saw that all around was peaceful—

Saw no sign of habitation,

Saw no hut or Maori whare.

Nothing broke the balmy stillness,

But the streamlet or the bell-bird—

■lO

KDBA.

Or the distant murmuring river

Rushing o'er its bed of shingle ;

But above the tall black birches

He espies a wreath of blue smoke

And it curls amid the green leaves,

And denotes some habitation—

So he mounts above the branches,

And looks down upon a clearing—

Notes the piles of logs and branches

And the tree that fell but lately

Sees the bright axe careless lying

'Mid the ferns and trailing lawyers,

But the stillness is not broken,

And the axe is not uplifted

So he turns to where the smoke wreath

Still is curling through the branches—

And he sees a tiny cottage-

With its walls of rough hewn timber,

And its roof of thatch (manuka)

Shaded by the golden kowhai

Round its porch so quaintly trailing,

Climbs the rose, the English wild rose,

And they hang in rich pale clusters

Round a form they frame too poorly

Nestle 'midst the nut-brown tresses

That in waves of dusky richness,

Shade a face at once bewitching

And yet with a sadness in it-

Faint the sadness as the shadow

41

KURA

Of yond fading wreath of blue smoke ;

But upon her brow it rested

As the shade of coining evil

111 that yet was vague and distant,

But that still might fall upon her

But her face was like the sunshine

Pure and radiant, richly glowing—

And her eyes shone like the starlight

Deep and soft yet sparkling clearly

And the lashes swept the olive

Of her cheek so softly rounded

Fair it was, though tinted darker

Browner than fair England's daughters.

And a breath of wild rose colour

Bloomed and vanished in succession ;

While her lips, like rarest carmine,

Rivalled e'en the blood red kowhai

Bound her form fell folds of crimson-

Girded by a belt of sea shells ;

At her throat hung rows of berries,

And her arms were clasped with silver

Young and beauteous was the maiden,

Tall and lithe and very lovely

Shading with one hand her gray eyes

That the sun might not perceive her,

She looked forth upon a hill near,

Where upon its rugged summit,

She could see a figure moving,

Then she smiled, and still it lingered

49

KURA.

As she turned to list the tui,

As it sang its sweet voiced carol

In the fuchsia near the cottage.

Then a shadow crossed the doorway,

And she started and stepped forward—

Forth into the dazzling sunlight—

Forth unto the bold intruder.

Then her gaze fell on Tutari,

On the old man of her people ;

And her eyes were wild and startled,

But she smiled a smile of welcome,

And she bade the old man enter

" Nay," he said, " I stay not with thee

Mine is but a hurried visit

I have wandered since the young moon

Sank behind the sea last even —

For I left the pah in secret —

For in secret was my errand

When I have disclosed it to thee,

I must hasten to my people,

Hasten back o'er hill and flat land

To the pah upon the sea shore."

Thus he spake with many a headshake

And his face was full of sorrow —

And his glance was full of sadness,

As he gazed on Kura's beauty.

" Would thy mother ne'er had mated

With the white man, the oppressor !

Or that thou had been contented

50

KURA

With the chieftain of thine own tribe !

Then this ill were not upon thee—

Thou might'st then have dwelt in safety

Dwelt within thy husband's whare,

Sheltered by thy husband's warriors."

All the while fair Kura waited—

Waited with her hands clasped fiercely,

And her cheek lost all its roses.

Waited—but she knew his errand

When at length he broke the silence,

Every word fell on the maiden

Sharp and cruel as an arrow —

But she bore it all unflinching,

And the old man told his story

" Late last eve a weary horseman

From the north came to the sea shore,

Begged for shelter in the Gate Pah,

Threw him on our Chieftain's mercy,

Asked that he would safely hide him

From Te Kooti and his followers,

He had ridden far and swiftly,

And his steed and he were weary

And his face was drawn and haggard,

While the blood was oozing quickly

From a wound upon his forehead

Thus he told what had befallen,

Thus he told to us his story."

" In the dusk of early morning,

To the village of the white man,

51

KURA

Came a band of armed warriors,

Headed by the chief, Te Kooti

And they burned the homes and hay stacks—

Killed the white man in his homestead—

Slew his wife and little children —

Left the village all in ashes —

Left but him to tell the story."

Then Tutari's voice was silent—

All the air was full of stillness;

E'en the birds left off their singing,

All around was very peaceful,

Nought could surely break the calmness.

Still the sun was shining brightly

And the creek stopped not its babbling,

But upon the maid a shadow

Like the black wings of the evening

Fell and hid the sun's clear shining.

Turned the babbling into war-whoops.

And her lips were white with anguish,

And her eyes gazed wildly upwards

Gazed upon the rugged summit,

Fearful that the form had vanished

But she still could see it moving,

And her fears they almost vanished

So she turned unto Tutari

With a laugh as clear and bell-like

As the wild bird in the fuchsia

" Thou would'st make me e'en a coward

I—descended from the chieftains !

KURA.

52

But I care not for my safety,

Tis for " —and she pointed upwards—

And her voice it shook with pathos,

And her eyes were strangely dewy—

" Should they slay my love, my chieftain

They will slay the heart of Kura.'

And Tutari looked upon her,

Looked in pity on her beauty—

Knew it was the truth she uttered.

And his voice was low and husky

As he turned and spoke unto her.

“ Kura, thou dost love thy chieftain,

But thy life is surely precious;

I have come to bid thee follow

To the pah upon the sea shore.

Kura, thou must leave thy lover,

Follow me and seek thy safety

" I will never leave my Allan—

I will live or die beside him—

I refuse thy paltry shelter—

Since it shelters not my loved one !

If the two thou can'st not harbour,

Harbour then my life, my loved one.

They would never kill their kindred,

They would save the life of Kura."

But Tutari spoke then slowly—

" Stay, I finished not my story

While the white man worn and weary

Slept o'er spent within the whare,

53

KURA

Wahou called his wise men round him,

And they sat in council closely

Then the pah was roused with war-whoops,

And the warriors rushed upon him,

Drew him fainting from the whare,

Danced upon his gaze of horror —

And the women wailed their death song—

But thou knowest what the end was.

I can see thy cheek is whiteness,

That thy lips are pale and trembling,

Should I hide for thee thy lover,

Thou dost know what would befall him

Let him seek himself his safety,

Come, oh Kura ! to the sea shore."

O'er her head she raised her hands high—

Called upon the God of sunshine —

“ I will leave him not Tutari

Till yond orb shall lose its brightness,

Till the stars forget to light them,

Or the moon be lost in shadows.

" Go ! " she cried, and turned upon him—

" Thine has been a fruitless errand

Oh, Tutari, tempt no longer,

I am wild but thou’lt forgive me—

For my heart seems rent with arrows,

As I think upon his danger,

Oh Tutari! Leave me ! Leave me !

We must live or die together.'

Slowly rosa the aged warrior—

KURA

54

Turned away, nor looked at Kura ;

Slowly walked across the clearing

And she saw him through the branches

With his head bent low in sorrow—

Thus he went from her in silence—

Leaving Kura sad and lonely.

CANTO 11.

From his work upon the hill top,

Allan turned and saw the old man ;

Saw his figure small with distance

Moving on across the tussock

Saw him reach the shingly river,

Ford its rushing azure waters,

Reach the bank upon the southward-

Then his form was lost to vision

But he heeded not his presence,

Thought no ill—resumed his chopping,

Tied the bundles of manuka,

Sent them rolling down the hillside.

Then he followed whistling gaily,

And his firm tread broke the stillness,

Broke the all pervading stillness,

As he wended through the forest ;

And the shy birds looked upon him

As he whistled 'neath the branches.

Kura heard him when afar off;

Heard him coming ever nearer.

46

KURA

But she went not out to meet him,

Could not meet his eyes of laughter,

Could not meet them with her tidings

Turn their sunshine into darkness

Could not pale his cheek with horror

Turn his happiness to moaning.

So she sat within the doorway,

And she heard him cross the clearing,

Leave his axe against the door post,

Cross the threshold, stand before her.—

" Kura—sweet one ! and what ails thee ?

Thrice I called thee and thou came not —

Wherefore did'st not come to meet me ?

Thou art sad, my pretty bell-bird.

Knra's eyes were large and wistful

As she raised them to her lover's

" I am fearsome of the shadows—

Fearsome lest some ill befall us—

Allan, thou wilt stay beside me?

Stay with me within the cottage —

Let thine axe for once be idle

And thy gun hang still and quiet."

Thus the lovely Kura pleaded—

Twice more lovely in her sorrow

Allan laughed, but stooped to kiss her—

" This," he said "is not my Kura—

Not my brave and fearless Kura !

YVhencejthese lips so pale and trembling ?

Hast thou seen the woodland spirit ? "

56

KURA

Thus half laughing and half earnest,

Spake young Allan to his loved one,

Hoping thus her fears to vanquish—

Half to soothe and half to chide her.

But the lips stopped not their trembling,

While her eyes were drowned in tear drops

Allan stood awhile perplexed;

Then he tried again to soothe her;

Whispered as again he kissed her—

" Nay, I thought thee not so childish—

Let me see thee smile, my loved one —

Chase these dismal thoughts with laughter

Thou shalt sit within the clearing,

And shalt see me saw the timber

Then away with dreams end spirits!

There is nought shall harm my Kura.'

CANTO 111.

In her realm of deepest azure,

Eode the moon, the queen of night time :

While around, a million diamonds

Paid their court unto their sovereign.

And their soft light kissed the valleys—

Shone upon the lonely hillsides ;

Bathed the silent woods in beauty ;

Saw that all the birds were sleeping ;

Shimmered down upon the streamlet—

Cast deep shadows of the black birch ;

57

KCRA

Glistened on the snow capped mountains

As they pierced the sky of evening,

All around was lone and peaceful ;

In their solemn lonely grandeur

Rose each bold and rugged summit

Dark each outline 'gainst the moonlight-

Dark the shadows in the gullies—

Down below the silver river

Flickered weirdly, flowing swiftly—

And its distant, gentle murmuring,

Seemed to scarcely break the stillness.

Surely here where all is peaceful—

Solitude remains unbroken !

From the mountains comes the North wind,

And it sighs amid the forest;

Faintly sighs among the tussock,

As it waves upon the hillside

In the distance screams the weka,

And its cry, so shrill and dreary,

Echoes faintly in the mountains—

Fades away into the silence.

On the doorstep of their whare,

In the heart of the lone forest,

'Neath the porch of pale wild roses,

Sits the sad and beauteous Kura—

On her hand one cheek is resting,

And her eyes look strangely wistful,

As she gazes 'neath the tree ferns,

Peers into the darksome shadows,

58

KURA

Down below the creek is murmuring—

Whispering softly to the moonlight—

And the kowhai near the cottage

To and fro bends with the North wind.

All the air is full of sweetness —

Perfumed with the breath of flowers—

Scented with the pale wild roses —

And the lawyers in the clearing,

And the faint and earthy sweetness

Of the mosses and the dead leaves,

Cold and peaceful shines the moonlight

On the glistening dewy forest—

On the streamlet and the whare—

On the loveliest of women

On her brow the soft light falleth—

And the North wind lifts her tresses —

While her eyes reflect the starlight,

As she peers into the darkness.

Then the North wind leaves her tresses—

Sways the roses high above her—

Enters swiftly through the doorway—

Steals the light from Allan's candle—

Leaves the cottage all in darkness,

Allan throws aside his ramrod,

Rears his gun up in one corner —

Gropes his way unto the doorway,

And he stands beside his loved one.

“ Kura, darling—Why so silent ? ”

Allan cries and bends to kiss her.

59

KUBA.

But she starts, and holds her finger

With a gesture to keep silence.

And her eyes are wild and glistening—

White her face and drawn with anguish—

" Listen ! Allan—can'st not hear it ?"

And her voice is low and trembling—

But he laughs—" Tis but the weka

Rambling in the woods by moonlight,

Dost thou fear 'tis some weird spirit—

That thou tremblest at its coming?"

But she does not heed his banter

She is bending forth and listening.

Then she turns and looks upon him—

In her eyes he reads their terror—

And he listens more intently—

Hears the crackling of the dead leaves—

Hears—but Kura breaks upon him.

“Not the weka! Not the spirits !

’Tis Te Kooti! 'Tis my kindred !

And his warriors—they are on us !

We must flee or die together !

Allan's lips give forth no utterance—

For he feels her words are truthful—

So he lifts her from the doorway,

And they hurry swift and silent

From the threshold of the cottage ;

From the pleasant rose-twined cottage

With its roof of thatch, manuka,

And its walls of rough hewn timber ;

60

KURA.

Hurry from the days of sunshine,

From the past so sweet and peaceful—

Driven by a fate remorseless,

To a future, lone and dismal:

So they hasten in their terror

From the lonely forest whare—

Never take one look of farewell

To the home where all was sunshine ;

To their home they leave for ever,

To the bright days that have vanished.

Thus they start upon the future,

On the dark and dreary pathway

Of the melancholy future.

On the calm air of the evening,

On the silence of the forest,

Breaks a cry that chills the lovers,

Fills them with a wild forboding;

And they hear it echo wildly

In the lonely hills around them:

And the wild birds wake and flutter

In their nests high in the black birch ;

And the North wind bears it onward—

Then again the silence reigneth.

Through the pathless, trackless forest,

Sped young Allan with his loved one ;

Bounded o'er the creeks and boulders,

Often slipped, oft missed their footing

In the under growth of creepers.

And the treacherous lawyer caught them—

61

KUKA.

Held them with its many prickles,

Tore them as they scrambled past it,

As they sped in breathless silence,

Then young Allan paused and listened—

Kura panting, stood beside him

From the distance, echoing wildly,

Came the war-whoops of the Maoris

Baffled, fierce, they grew still louder—

Till the forest rang with war-whoops;

But the moonlight shone down calmly,

And the creek stopped not its babbling,

All around was just as ever,

But the solitude was broken-

Peace had vanished ! Reigned confusion

Rura turned and clung to Allan,

And he placed his arms about her—

" Thou art safe, my love, I'll shield thee,

Low he whispered as he kissed her.

Kura's lips were cold and trembling

But she answered " I can trust thee—

Thou art all I have, my chieftain —

1 will either live to save thee,

Or with thee reach the Hereafter."

Then they stood and waited calmly,

Knowing not what might befall them.

O'er the forest slow and awful,

Spread a glow of lurid red flame,

And the wreaths of smoke ascended

To the cloudless vault of azure

55

KURA

Allan started, white with terror

" 'Tis the forest—Oh, my Kura I"

And his voice was wild with anguish

As he saw and knew their danger.

Then the red light fell on Kura—

On her face no longer fearful

Surely this must be an angel

That is smiling radiant on him

And her voice was like the bell-bird's

As it fell upon her lover—

" Allan, death has lost its darkness—

Bright it seems as yonder red light—

Or the moon that shines above us —

Life were death without my chieftain !

Happy I to die beside thee!

" Kura, Kura, I must save thee,

Oh my life, my love, my angel !

Can I bear to see thee perish—

See yond flames curl cruel round thee !

Hear thy cries and cannot help thee !

Come, (Oh God, in pity save us !)

We must hasten from the forest."

So they hurried from the red flame,

From the crackling burning forest,

Hastened to the plain below them,

There to hide among the marshes,

On the outskirts of the forest,

Where the trees were few and scattered,

Allan paused, beneath the shadows,

63

KURA.

Ere they passed into the moonlight ;

They could hear the burning forest

And the wild birds screaming loudly—

But the sounds were in the distance,

All around was very quiet.

So they stepped into the moonlight,

Left the shadow of the black birch,

Soft the moonlight fell upon them,

Calmly looked upon the lovers,

Told them not of nearer danger

Than yond smoke wreaths in the gull}'—

Warned them not, nor veiled her brightness

That they might have passed unheeded

Then from out a clump of tree ferns,

Sprang a warrior armed, upon them ;

And his war-whoops rang triumphant,

As he saw their looks of terror

Allan drew his dagger boldly—

Faced his foeman like a brave knight—

Cried to Kura, " run my loved one !

Kun for life ! my love ! I follow.'

Kura knew but to obey him,

So she hurried, quickly speeding

In the shadow of the forest;

Bounding o'er the stones and tussock,

Plying o'er the trailing lawyers—

Till at length she stopped, and listened

For the footsteps of her husband.

But she could not hear his footsteps,

57

KL'RA.

And she could not see him following,

Surely harm had him befallen !

She had left him single handed—

Left him with the cunning warrior

Even now he might be dying—

And the thought filled her with anguish,

Quickly back she traced her footsteps,

Firing on the wings of strong fear ;

Fast the lurid flame was spreading,

And the North wind's breath was burning

On her face so pale and wistful;

But her thoughts were all with Allan,

And she sped on, panting breathless.

O'er the sky spread wreaths of black smoke

And they hid the pale-hued moonbeams,

Shut out all the light of heaven ;

While beneath, the burning forest,

Sent its red flames higher, higher,

Like some all consuming passion,

Whose foul deeds melt into darkness,

And excludes all that is pure,

Like yond smoke that hides the moonlight.

In the darkness scream the wild birds,

For their throats are parched and burning,

And their nests of fairy mosses

With their young, unfledged, unfeathered,

All are burning with the forest.

And the streamlet boils and bubbles,

As the boughs fall burning on it,

65

KURA

And the flowers fade and wither—

Fade untimely in the hot wind

Allan fought—and 'neath the smoke clouds,

Now he stands with eyes uplifted—

Lifted to the flying black clouds—

And the hot wind blows upon him,

But he does not heed the darkness

Notes not how the flames are spreading—

Does not hear the sweet voiced songsters,

Shrieking in their unknown anguish.

There he stand? with head uplifted—

Still and deathlike as that dark form

Lying in the grass below him

There he stands, as in past ages

Stood the Roman Gladiator—

When to please the Roman Emperor,

He had done his deed of bloodshed

But to e'en a higher Monarch,

Allan looked to seek his pardon

As he stood above his victim,

Stood above that form so silent—

With the forest red behind him,

And above, the waves of darkness,

From the trees, another figure

Quickly stepped, and fell upon him

Startled, Allan raised his dagger—•

Kaised it high above his victim ;

Then the moon from out the smoke wreaths

Shone down brightly, calmly, coldly,

66

KURA.

Flashed on the uplifted dagger,

Fell upon the lovely Kura—

Saw 7 the lock of fearful horror,

As he tried to stay his dagger—

All too late, the aim was taken,

And the blow fell on his loved one.

" Kura ! Oh my God ! he shouted

Kura ! Kura ! I have slain thee !

Tell me with some sign thou livest!

Tell me ! Tell me, thou forgivest,

Speak one word, or with this dagger

I will end this awful anguish

Would that, that foul clod had conquered

Ere my cursed hand had slain thee

Kura ! Kura ! has thy spirit

Fled for ever to the heavens ?

Come back for one little moment—

Hear me, oh in pity hear me !"

And above the roar and crackling

Echoed wildly, " Kura ! Kura ! "

And from hill to hill it sounded,

Every hill was wailing " Kura !

But it waked not Allan's loved one,

Lifted not her heavy eyelids

Brought no life into her bosom—

Nor the colour to her fair face;

And her lips as Allan pressed them,

Were as cold as snow in winter—

Cold and silent, and no whisper

67

KUKA

Came in answer, as he called her

And her form was still and lifeless,

As he hastened from the forest—

Hurried from the burning forest—

Carried her, and gently laid her,

Where upon the hill, the North wind

Softly waved the graceful tussock—

Then he chafed her cold hands wildly,

Kissed her cheek, her lips, her pale brow ;

Called her name, but could not wake her,

Could not feel her soft breath flowing.

Then he called to God, in anger,

Said—" If thou hast any power,

Show it now, and then forever

I will praise Thee, and believe Thee

Do Thy will, and live to serve Thee.

All my life shall be a forfeit,

If Thou sparest me my loved one—

If Thou givest back my Kura.'

But alas ! there came no answer —

Came no sign of life returning.

Down below he saw the river,

Saw its softly glinting waters,

And a thought flashed full upon him,

As he heard the waters rushing,

One cool draught from yonder river

Would revive his fainting Kura —

Bring the life blood to her fair cheek,

Banish from her lips the silence

68

KURA.

So hs kissed once more her cold brow—

Stood awhile before he left her—

Saw her face like alabaster,

Lying lost amid the tussock —

Noted how the moonlight wavered

On her bosom still and pearly ;

How her arms like two twin lilies,

Lifeless lay among the long grass

Saw the folds that fell about her,

Heavy were, with dews of evening.

Then he whispered, " I must leave thee

Good-bye loved one, good-bye, Kura,

But my absence is but moments,

My fleet foot makes fleetest errand,

When my Kura's life is waiting."

Then he turned and down the hillside

Sped with footsteps like the weka,

Over boulder, bush and tussock—

Till he gained the plain beneath him

O'er the plain the shining river

Wandered like a silver serpent;

And its waters from the snow fields,

Shouted o'er its bed of shingle ;

And about his feet it trickled,

As he stooped to fill the buck's horn,

That had hung upon his girdle.

But he felt not the cool waters—

Waited not to slake his own thirst ;

Thought but of his lovely Kura,

69

KURA

Dead or dying on the hillside.

And he grudged the few short moments

That must lapse before he reached her

So he turned, and would have hurried,

Hastened from the flowing river—

Hastened with its cooling waters

To his lovely loved one, Kura

But before one step was taken,

Ere one thought of evil touched him

Singing, whizzing through the moonlight

From the sling of hidden warrior,

Came the well aimed deadly weapon,

Of some cunning crafty Maori

Just one cry of " Kura ! Kura!

Bang above the rushing waters —

Bang above the crackling forest

Beached the warrior on the hillside —

Beached alas ! his lovely Kura.

Then he fell, and the cold river

Softly, gently flowed above him

Bathed his brow, his lips, his eye-lids,

Straightened out his locks of pale-gold;

Stretched out o'er him like a mirror ;

And the moon looked down upon him,

Saw that he was still and lifeless.

KUBA.

70

CANTO IV

When anon the dawn was breaking

And the East was streaked with crimson,

From the North a band of horsemen

Armed and spurred and clothed in scarlet—

Halted high upon a hillside—

Where beneath the bush was smouldering :

In the night the rain had fallen—

And had fought the raging fire :

And now spent with last night's tumult,

It fell sparingly and softly,

As tho’ angels shook the dew-drops

From their myriad wings in passing,

And they fell upon the forest.—

(Unfinished)

64

DIVIDED.

Divided.

CgpHE same blue sky is above us — The same sun shines on us two —

And at night I watch the starlight

And I know that it flickers on you

I saw the flowers in the spring time,

Sweet violets wet with dew—

I watched the woodlands budding,

And wondered if you watched them too.

And all through the long days of summer,

When the flowers and hay smelled so sweet

I thought of you hot and tired,

In the glaring and dusty street

The leaves of the forest are falling—

The leaves that last spring time grew—

They fall across my pathway—

And they fall around you too,

And thus we go on living,

Divided and yet so near

And sometimes I can't help thinking

We shall always be parted here

And so when the leaves are falling

Silently—one by one.-

I shall look for you up yonder

We shall meet in our heavenly home

1889.

72

LADY FAIRE

Lady Faire.

ggJANTA CLAUS said to his daughter " Here my Lady Faire,

I'm too old to do this business,

You must take your share.”

So she put on a robe of sapphire,

Spangled o’er with stars,

And she started on her errand,

To visit the Pas and Mas,

Mamma was knitting her forehead.

Papa was counting his pence,

The children weren't consulted—

(As if they had no sense.)

She didn't go down the chimney,

She walked in at the door.

Whether the place was a mansion,

Or low, and humble, and poor,

She went right up to the stockings,

Just where she knew they would be,

And of all the funny stockings

That ever you did see !

The big boys peeped from the landing,

And one big daring chap

Tried once to catch and kiss her,

But he got oh ! such a smack !

She gave the boys the dollies,

She gave the girls the whips,

She didn’t give babies rattles,

73

IiADY FAIBE.

She them gave tiny ships.

And once when a voice said —

" Santa, oh give me a rocking horse,

She gave him a smack with her little hand,

And then he cried, of course

" You're not to have just what you want,

It's best to be like me —

To have to please another's whims,

It's discipline you see."

So she made them shrink 'neath the bed clothes

And cower away out of sight,

And then she went down the passage,

And out into the night,

And when they woke in the morning,

The tear, the sigh, the pout,

That came to the face of the children,

When the stockings were turning out.

But the Mas don't look so worried,

And the Pas were in high glee,

And before the day was out, the children

Were good as good can be.

" Well " growled old Claus to his daughter,

"They won't like your gifts much—

In my day I gave them lollies,

And cakes, and sweets, and such.'

She didn't stop to argue

Of hygiene for the dears,

She gave him a Christmas present—

And that was a box on the ears !

MEMORIES.

74

Memories.

Oft SIT in the wintry gloaming, And the crackling fire burns bright;

While the room is full of shadows,

That play with the ruddy light;

Forms and faces of loved ones

That have long since taken their flight,

They people the walls around me,

And throng my memory to-night

The weary years slip backward —

I am careless again and young—

I do not know the calm despair

When hopes fade one by one.

My heart is the heart of childhood—

That knows naught of aching care;

Ere the frost of sorrow blighteth,

Or the burdens one has to bear.

Ere the clouds of bitter anguish

O’er shadowed my happy life

Or the thundering of the tempest

Called to the bitter strife.

Ere the wings of death's dark angel

Had hidden my mother's face ;

Ere I knew the days that followed—

With none to fill her place

Before I wished that the flowers

Might grow above my head—

75

MEMORIES

So hard it seems to be living

So easy to rest with the dead

Before I knew the sorrows

That are harder than death to bear

Before I learnt to use the smile

That broken hearts mav wear

Before I learnt to bear alone

My care, when they all were gone.

Before—but my sad cares vanish,

And sweet lost faces throng.

They silently hover around me

And soothe with smiles and tears,

The same that I well remember

Through the vista of silent years.

I seem to be with my mother,

And her cool hand strokes my hair,

While my head sinks low on her bosom,

As oft it has nestled there

And somehow, I feel so rested—

Quiet tears roll down my cheek,

As I feel her tender presence,

And again I hear her speak

She tells me that life is a journey,

A pathway we all must tread ;

It begins with our earliest breathings,

And ends in each narrow bed

And she whispers that trials and sorrows,

Are sent to us each in love

For the rougher and darker our pathway,

MEMORIES.

69

The brighter the mansions above,

And she tells me to look up always,

To lift up to heaven my eyes,

Then the trials and tasks of my pathway

Will be lost in the light of the skies.

" My child," and she looks half sadly,

On my tearful, careworn face,

“ Thus I would rather see thee—

Than forgetting the means of grace.

Thy sorrows will teach thee to love, my child,

Thy trials will teach thee to care

For the trials and sorrows of others,

And the burdens they have to bear.

Thy troubles will make thee noble,

If God blesses them unto thee.—

Fret not at the Hand that prepares thee

For all Eternity."

My tears come fast and repentant,

Forgetting the light divine,

I had buried myself in my sorrows-

Where my heart did nought but repine.

But now I would lay my burden

In the arm that encompassed me—

And would lighten the sorrow of others

By the help of sympathy.

“ Oh mother, you guided my childhood.—

Your words came back to me still—

They often come back to remind me,

To do and to keep His will."

vo

FAREWELL,

The fire burns low in the twilight,

The shadows fade from my sight—

And mem'ries, though lost in the present

Have left a less transient light.—

May 1890.

Farewell.

To the Governor and Lady Onslow

tEOM the wild rocky gorge, Where the rata blooms grow ;

From the great silent hills,

With their mantle of snow ;

From the broad plains of tussock,

Where the blue rivers flow

O'er their beds of gray stone

To the sea-shore below

There comes on the wind,

Like a far distant bell,

A note of sad music—

A murmur—" Farewell 1

Prom the dim forest shades,

Where the waterfall plays ;

From the marshes of flax,

Where the brown weka strays,

From the lone grass-grown grave,

Where the pioneer lies

71

FAREWELL.

In the land of his choice,

'Neath the bright southern skies.

There comes on the wind,

Like a far distant bell,

A note of sad music—

A murmur—“ Farewell!”

From the far-away hut,

On the lonely hill-side ;

From each fisherman's cot,

By the great swelling tide ;

From those calm southern towns,

Neath their cloudless blue skies;

From the hearts of the people,

A last message flies

It comes on the wind,

Like a far distant bell,

A note of sad music—

A murmur—" Farewell."

From the pah on the shore,

Where the swart Maoris dwell,

Comes the same eerie echo,

The chorus to swell

“ Haere ra ” cry they,

In low plaintive tones,

And the waves seem to answer

In long, sobbing moans.

72

FjkMß.

It comes on the wind,

Like a far distant bell,

A note of sad music

A murmur —“ Farewell.”

The forest is sighing.—

The foaming cascades

Sing sadly in falling

The dim mountain glades ;

The sea whispers softly

In each rocky cave—

There is something of grief

In the voice of the wave —

It comes on the wind,

Like a far distant bell,

Zealandia is sighing

That one word—“ Farewell.”

Fame.

tjJIIAT is the praise of man ? ** The thing that we call fame ?

Is it to sway a while the world,

And own a well-known name ?

And still the earth is very small—

And life is but a span —

Then wherefore spend the few short days

To win the praise of man ?

7:!

LINKS TO LEILA,

Our best we can but do-

And that to God we owe—

What matters it what men may think ?

What worth is it to know ?

'Twere better far to live unknown —

With but a simple name-

Than to be puffed with empty praise

And live to work for fame.

1890,

Lines to Leila.

VHEN to my room unknown you stray Please leave it, ere you go away

Just as you found it—

Please don't forget to shut the door

Or in may stray an evil doer,

And pilfer round it

If at my glass your face you scan,

Please take your image, if you can

And don’t leave it behind you !

If on the subject you wish light—

Pull up the green blind to your right-

(You’ll catch it if I find you !)

So far you have done nothing wrong,

But for some catch oh ! how I long ;

(Let well alone.)

Take my advice and do not dare

My privacy, and room to share,

But stay at home.

74

PLEASURE AND FAME.

Pleasure and Fame.

M Y life was like a winter's day—- * Dull—cheerless —all beclouded —gray —

The sun's few rays so scant and poor,

Showed up the darkness all the more

Threw shadows on my prison wall,

On the strong bars that held my life in thrall ;

Until I seemed hemmed in on every side-

Until my heart revolted —turned and cried,

Oh ! give me love ! Shine Star of Love,

From out that garb of gloom around thee wove

Gild all my leaden sky with light divine,

Oh love ! oh star ! thou art, thou must be mine

A zephyr passed —a breath—a sigh—

It scarcely stirred the yew tree nigh—

The flutterings of a wild bird's wings—

The rustling leaves that Autumn brings—

'Twas low and sad —yet clear and sweet—

Now it rejoiced —now seemed to weep—

It told of love—or seemed to tell—

Then seemed to toll love's funeral knell.

It sang of love and joy and light,

Then moaned of how they took their flight

It whispered I could have them all,

Then wildly bade me rise not fait.

75

PLEASURE AND FAME

The wind sank low—its voice was hushed—

Over my soul defiance rushed—

I would not heed its varying voice,

I would be glad—l would rejoice ;

Forget its wails and dreary moans—

Remember but its sweet low tones

I had but just the word to say,

And all the clouds would roll away,

And Venus, star of love and light,

Would down from heaven shine clear and bright

I breathed the cry —but 'ere it sped,

I thought—and it was left unsaid.

I sat and gazed, and watched the thick mist rise

Prom yonder hills, that mingled with the skies.

Slowly it rose, and all the mountain side,

Each grassy slope, each fell, both far and wide,

Was bathed as by a magic spell

In golden glory, that around me fell.

I saw its streams like many a silver line

Wind through the vineyards ’neath the purple vine

Upon its downs grazed flocks and peaceful herds,

About its woods flashed many coloured birds,

All things there pleased or lulled the sense,

The paths were paths of indolence.

My spirit fain had flown to that fair land—

Fain would I by that crystal streamlet stand—

Walk 'neath those clustering vines in deep cool

shade,

76

PLEASURE AND FAME

Or watch the beauteous birds from some fair glade,

Why should I stay in this cold dreary clime,

When there awaited me all things sublime ?

My choice was all but made—a choice of ease,

The zephyr stirred once more among the trees,

It moaned and sighed with passioned signs of grief,

That seemed to speak in every quivering leaf.

“ See, see,” it said, “ That fair and beauteous place

Is but the land about the mountain’s base.

’Tis but the mountain’s foot the sun has kissed,

The summit still is wrapped in gloom and mist.

Once thou should'st stand beside that sparkling stream

Thy life were gone —'twere but an idle dream,

Thou wert entangled with the trailing vine,

Its tiny tendrils round thee would entwine,

And hold thee with their beauty, strong and fast,

Entwine thee with their firm, yet clinging clasp.

Then who would bid thee scale the mountain's brow

Climb upward, through the mist, the sleet, the snow-

Leave stream and down, and glade, and cool green wood ?

Thou could'st not rise, thou would'st not if thou could.

“ Oh wind ! ” I cried, “ well didst thou sing of woe.

But why did’st raise my hopes, then lay them low?

Must I return to what I ne’er have left—

Of what I ne’er have had, am I bereft ?

77

PLEASURE AND FAME

Will this dark day forever close me in—

Have I done wrong, committed some foul sin?

That I am thus destined to prison walls,

Where life is drear, and darkness round me falls !"

" Nay, nay," it cried, " lift up thy weary eyes—

Fix them once more upon the distant skies."

I looked, and night had come—a starry night,

That with its soft yet radiant light,

Lit up the summit of a towering height—

That in the starlight beamed a pure snow white

Beneath, the valley lay, all wrapped in cloud,

Like some lost fancy in its funeral shroud

The zephyr's voice came whispering near —

Its sweet sad tones fell on my ear.

"That height is fame, but few have ever trod

Its sacred tracts, so near to heaven and God

The path is rough, and long, and steep,

It leads through mist, and snow, and sleet

Temptation (thou hast known its power)—

Assails each step, assails each hour.

But thou shalt conquer each and every foe,

Thou shalt rise high, and ever onward go.

And all the dreamers in the vale below-

Shall see thy glory, and thy might shall know

They pity thee, perchance, to see thee now,

With tired eye, and anxious careworn brow.

But they shall bless thee ! and thy name shall last,

When their's are lost in the forgotten past.

85

MY FATHER.

Then look thou upward, thou shalt gain the height

Thine is yond realm of brightness and of light.

Thy life is but a winter’s day,

'Tis short, and soon 'twill pass away—

'Tis wrapped in mist, but see," he waved his hand,

“Upon that mountain summit thou shalt stand.”

Composed 1888.

My Father.

TJT E is old now, And Time and Care, have long ago

Covered his locks with winter's snow,

And lined his brow

His step is slow,

Oft in his walk he stands to rest,

With folded arms upon his breast,

And head bent low.

His eyes are dim,

This world is fading from his sight,

But flower, and tree, and sun, and light,

Are naught to him

The past is his,

And all day long his thoughts will roam,

And -weave again in fancy's loom

Old memories,

MY FATHER

70

At night I hear

His tottering footsteps cross the hall;

Slowly and solemnly they fall

Upon mine ear.

Some night I know

That I shall list for them in vain,

That I shall never go again,

To kiss his brow.

Perchance e’en now

The Angel beckons him away,

And I, 0 God ! would have him stay

With me below.

I cannot weep.

I watch him slipping from my side-

Gliding upon life's ebbing tide

To dreamless sleep

But tears unshed,

Scorch all the fibres of my heart

There will be none to soothe the smart

When he is dead

0 God! I cry,

Spare him to me !Heis my all!

Or bid thine Angel speed to call

Me too, to die !

87

GETHSEMANE

Gethsemane.

Published in the N.Z. “ Methodist,” April 23rd, 18

»fJIS night—the Syrian stars shine down In silent beauty—while the moon

Casts long deep shadows all around,

And with its brilliance rivals noon

The Syrian hills rise dark and still

Against the star-bespangled sky

The olive trees by Kedron's rill,

Stir in the breeze, and rustling sigh

Sweet flow'rs of rich vermilion hue

Hang darkly in the sombre light;

And with their petals wet with dew,

Scent all the balmy air of night

Jerusalem, so still, so fair

Eests like a dove on yonder height;

The moonbeams fall in beauty there,

And paint the city glist’ning white.

Christ saw it all —and from his heart

There rose an agonising cry—

Soon he and all he loved must part,

Soon he must leave it all, and die !

With aching brow and bending head,

With none to pity, none to see,

Fighting alone with doubt and dread,

Alone he seeks Gethsemane

81

OETHSEMANE

Not as the God—but as the man—

Not raised above our human fears ;

These sands of life, that swiftly ran,

Were full of scorching, human tears

A passioned longing fills him now,

A grief too deep for human cry ;

The anguished sweat stands on his brow—

Life is too dear ! He cannot die !

’Twere joy enough to live—to be—

To live, and love, and toil again,

And human flesh instinctively

Shrank from the cross, the nails, the pain

Unknown, the night wind fans his brow,

Unrecked the moon's soft beams are shed

The blood-red flowers as they bow,

Drop tears of dew upon his head

“ Father, if’t be thy will,” he cried

“ Take thou this bitter cup from me

The rustling leaves around him sighed

He knew that it was not to be !

" Thy will, not mine" he said, " be done ;

But oh! the anguish of that brow !

He knew that soon the hour must come,

And there was none beside him now I

•il

GETHSEMANE

His father’s angels came to him,

The breezes soothe, the moonbeams calm ;

And from the flowery arches dim

The glist'ning dewdrops fall as balm.

The struggles cease—the fight is o'er !

And oh ! the grandeur of that face !

The features that such sorrow wore,

Are lighted up with chastened grace.

Love shines from that calm steadfast eye,

Pity and love for all mankind—

Self—and the death that he must die,

Are sunk, are lost, are left behind.

The God within him rises now

All that is highest, noblest, best

A crown of peace rests on that brow

Where soon the crown of thorns will res

He felt our passions, felt our woes—

Life's roughest path his feet have trod

He fought and conquered all our foes,

Divine, yet human—man, yet God.

He knows our weakness—knows our strife, ;

He suffered here to learn our woes ;

There is no sorrow in our life

Misunderstood—he sees and knows

At'TOIS.

90

Autumn.

flaming red Vw Hangs from the mould’ring wall,

And in the stillness, rustling low,

The ripened acorns fail.

The willows on the river's brim,

Are decked with chains of gold ;

And mirrored in the stream below,

Their image we behold.

The pale blue mist at eventime, ;

Hangs over marsh and sedge

And in the morn the spider's web

Has silvered every hedge.

The children ramble in the woods,

Their voices full of glee,

And send the brown nuts tumbling down

From every hazel tree

The harvest waggon with its load,

Comes slowly down the lane ;

And in the farmers' straw thatched barns,

Is gathered in the grain.

The harvest moon sails bright and clear,

Across the frosty sky ;

And swiftly through the stilly night

The startled wild duck fly.

Si

BHX IS DF.i.l)

With pomp and show the summer dies,

Decked out in colours gay ;

Farewell! green woods and summer fields

More lovely in decay !

She is Dead.

CHE lies there so silent—so cold—so still— I spoke, but she answered not.

She smiles, but her lips are so pale—so chill

I thought of—l know not what.

I lifted the tresses of soft fair gold—

Such bonnie bright waving hair—

It sweeps from the forehead so marble cold

And strays o'er the pillow there,

There are lilies—pale lilies around her laid,

She loved them so well I know—

‘ Poor flowers !” she said, “so soon to fade

Yet we value them better so.”

Why lies she so idle —so still to-day ?

Why sleeps she this summer noon ?

She who was ever the gayest of gay,

She loved not such quiet gloom

She sleeps there so calmly, so sound, so well

She was very tired, they say-

It is now two days, I heard them tell—

She will surely wake to-day.

BIS

SHE IS DEAD.

The children are shouting outside at play,

The birds twitter round the door,

“ They will waken my love,” I whisp’ring say

But they say she will wake no more.

They have drawn the curtains across the light

Thev walk with a noiseless tread ;

Someone is sobbing away out of sight—

They say that my love is dead !

Dead ! yet the woods are so green and gay,

Dead ! yet the birds sing on,

The sun shines so vividly bright to-day ;

The brook hurries gaily along.

Dead ! yet the earth seems so glad—so fair —

Its song has no note of woe 1

It claims her—and leaves me alone with care

Dead ! and I loved her so !