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The original publication details are as follows:
Title: Verses. II / by Gerald FitzGerald.
Author: Fitzgerald, Gerald
Published: C.M. Banks Ltd., Printers, Wellington, N.Z., 1932
Verses
II
This Volume is One of a Small Edition Numbering Thirty
Printed for Private Circulation Only
With cAuthor’s Compliments.
Presented to
by Qerald tyitzQerald
Preface
Nec turpem senectam
degere, nec cithara carentem.
CfT ROMETHEUS stole fire from heaven, and suffered for it. If, from the gods of the Lucretian Olympus, any one stole the secret of their happiness, it would be of less value to us than fire; man being fitted only for the alternation of light and darkness, the joy whose complement is sorrow. Mr. Gerald FitzGerald has neither stolen fire from heaven, nor analgesia. But the chosen readers of his verses owe him thanks for a very precious gift: he helps us to understand how to deserve happiness. He does not irritate us with advice to renounce all that men prize; on the other hand, he would hardly agree with Plato, that happiness implies such public esteem as springs from sufficiency of means and social position. At times Mr. FitzGerald’s muse seems to lament the flight of the “wild swan of youth:” but what he really shows is the comforting truth that happiness belongs not to the first but rather to the last third of life. Aristotle pricked the bubble of the vaunted happiness of youth, showing that the young can be deemed happy not on the ground of their own experience, but of our confidence in the promise they show.
Mr. FitzGerald shows us combined the three great sources of contentment: gardening: the love of the sea: a creative artistic interest. How many poets could be quoted in praise of the working gardener's lot, from Virgil to Voltaire! But Virgil’s Tarentine gardener is
best to quote, for he was an intensive cultivator of a tiny patch, like Mr. Fitzgerald, and an old sailor-man, too; Mr. FitzGerald, in his holidays, is as loyal to the sea as he is loyal to his garden at week-ends; and the sea inspires several poems in this volume, among them the delightful “Taiko Bay.” To these sources of contentment Mr. FitzGerald adds Horace's chief requirement of a happy old age, the joy of lyrical expression.
What the late Sir John Findlay appreciated most in Mr. FitzGerald was his humour, and there is here one humorous poem that would have delighted Sir John. I should like to thank him even more for the lesson of "Words,” and for the undidactic, unpretentious, nay unintended lesson in happiness.
G. W. VON Zedlitz.
5
Apologia.
You ask me why I sing?
This my reply
Emotion welling up must light its torch
Spontaneously. So sing the birds! The Wind
Thus blows! Free flows the tide around the world
Who knows from what inheritance we phrase?
Through centuries from ages past our lives
We mould in ruts ploughed by tradition’s share.
The songs we sing are thoughts of byegone days.
The footsteps of our sires the paths we tread
Today. And so once more we tune our lute!
Let Rythm control the melody we sing—
Sincerity be seen through eyes of truth
And Sympathy be garbed in robes of white—
The stainless vestment of simplicity
So may we sing to all! Some few may hear!
The Derelict.
The day is fine—horizon clear—
Some little wavelets here and there—
The ocean undulation too—
With nothing else to note in view
Yet stay! Some flotsam lies afloat
Some passing ship has lost a boat
And, though the boat no signal flies,
A man is there who strangely cries.
With hands upraised and mouthing cry,
He cursed the sea, the sun, and sky.
With frightful oaths he cursed the ship,
From which the boat had chanced to slip
He cursed the Master and the Mate
And prayed for them a dreadful fate
He cursed his former mates —the crew
And each of them whose name he knew
But most of all, with palsied lips,
He cursed the men who made the ships
For them he prayed a special Hell
With lurid flame and sulphur smell
Then, thinking of the ships he knew
(And cursing them most foully too),
His imprecations made it plain
He’d never go to sea again
Twas thrice accurs’d that day—said he-
When like a fool he went to sea
His lot he might have cast ashore
And damned the sea for evermore
13
He’d dry the sea right out of hand.
And make it firm and solid land,
Where all the world as honest tars,
Should go their ways in motor cars.
Then, after cursing all the day,
Exhausted nature had her way
With nothing more to curse—he wept —
And finally lay down and slept
Now here we pause and look askance,
To mark the wayward course of chance.
A vessel from some port remote
Came sailing by and saw the boat.
Then standing close and heaving to.
The Master sent away a crew
To salve the boat (if good and sound)
And thus the derelict was found.
And when no longer weak and sore,
The wretched man was put ashore,
To seek employment where he could,
He’d scarcely means to buy his food.
With very little work to do,
Save here and there a job or two.
He found in time and money spent
But little love, and less content
A disillusioned friendless man
He drifted on without a plan
Then, cursing as to the manner born,
Went back to sea, bound round the Horn
14
Diggers.
(N.Z.E.F., 1914)
Can’t you 'ear the trumpets brayin
W’en the column comes in sight
With the ba’nets all a flashin
Little sunny spots of light
An’ the girls an’ boys a runnin
At the side to see the show
With the Diggers steady marchin
To the place they ’ave to go?
Can’t you ’ear the crump of marchin
As the big battalion comes
It’s the crump of all the Diggers
Steppin’ timely to the drums.
Now they’re soldiers ’oove been trainin
'ow to drill an’ ’andle guns,
An’ they uster be civilians.
Office clerks an’ farmers’ sons
Can you see the chap ’oos ridin
At the side upon ’is ’orse
With the red an' gold-laced *potac-
That’s the Brigadier of corse!
E commands the 'ole battalion-
An’, by cripcs. ’e knows it too-
For they ’ave to get a move on
W’cn ’e tells ’em what to do
*Head covering—Cap
15
You'll observe ’e isn’t smilin
But is lookin’ straight a’ead
That's because 'e’s speculatin
Of the time w’en 'ell be dead
For ’e knows the chanst of battles
An’ the risks V as to run
An’ 'e’s old enough to figure
Modern fightin' isn’t fun!
But the band is playin' lusty
\n’ the Diggers’ ’eads is ’igh,
An’ they ’ardly think a moment
Of the time to say ’’Goodbye
An' they aven't started thinkin
Of the thing that seems so plain
That a number of those Diggers
Won't come marchin’ ’ome again
Can you see the transport lyin
Dazzle painted at the pier
She is waitin’ for the Diggers
An’ she'll get ’em, never fear
An’ as soon as they’re aboard ’er
She will turn ’er ’ead to sea,
An’ she’ll take them to the fightin
Just wherever that may be
There are some who think that fightin
Is a glorious career
But they little know the ’errors
Of a battlefield that's near.
But whenever I see soldiers
Marchin’ out to meet their fate
Struth—l realise 'ow dreadful
Is the crime of ’uman ’ate
16
17
W’en the bands are playin’ rag time
An’ the marchin’ crump I ’ear
I never want to sing an’ shout
An’ I never want to cheer.
But just to myself I w’isper
Fho’ it almost makes me cry
Gord! I ’ope you come back—Diggers
Best o’ luck! My lads! Goodbye
The Yacht Windward
January, 1931
In the fabric of the Nation
Be the texture broad or fine
There’s a bright thread interlacing
As a slender golden line
Thus the spirit of adventure
Always shines within the race
No rewards are its objective,
Though it finds an honoured place
It will seek in face of danger
For the secret unrevealed
Or will fare in spite of hardship
To explore an unknown field.
Twas in search of high adventure
That the “Windward” sailed the sea,
With a youthful yachting skipper
And an active crew of three.
They had studied navigation
And the sailing master’s craft
I heir little ship was stable
And in order fore and aft.
And they made their cast in safety
O'er the hazard of the deep,
Where the lonely Chatham Islands
Watch the crested billows sweep.
18
Thence they quit in happy sunlight
Near the closing of the day.
Wafted out by gentle breezes
With the dancing waves at play.
With her sails all set and drawing
She was swiftly out of sight
And beyond the dim horizon
In the glowing summer night
Never message came thereafter
To assuage the anxious strain
Though the air was quick with calling
And the sea was searched in vain
A steamship passing inwards
Claimed to sight a little yawl
Standing Sou’West, off the coastline—-
Name unknown—and that was all!
Aye the silence broods unbroken
While bereavement can but weep,
For the sea gives up no secrets
It has buried fathoms deep!
She had sailed an unknown traverse
Through the yeasty tidal rips,
To the haven where she anchored
In the port of missing ships.
Let it not be held against them
That the task remained undone
They essayed a brave endeavour
And they very nearly won
The “Windward” left Wellington December 25, 1930; arrived at Chatham Islands January 1, 1931, leaving January 6, 1931; not since been heard from. Supposed to have been sighted by S.S. “Enton” about thirty miles off Coast, but contact not verified.
19
The South-East Wind
My home is in the snowclad waste
Where all is white and chill
Where bergs of shining ice are launched
To wander as they will
Where Frost is King to reign supreme
With none to say him nay
With Hail and Sleet as satellites
To illustrate his sway
When the gates are flung wide open
And a frenzy drives me forth,
Who shall dare to stem the onslaught
When my course sets roaring North
The stoutest sails I rive to shreds
In gusts of wanton ease
And harried ships engulf beneath
The greybacked creaming seas.
But in the broader spaces where
The latitudes are long,
My roaring wanes to murmur,
And my shrieking dies to song
The incense from the forest
I can waft as scented breath
And none who feel my zephyr
Can account my hand in Death
But whether cyclone whirling
As a hurricane set free,
Or a frolic o’er the cornfield
As a laughing child in glee,
I can stimulate the weary
And refresh the tired mind,
With my ozone from the snowfield
Of the Polar South East wind
20
Memories
By the fire’s uncertain flicker
In the slow descending gloaming,
When the glory of the daylight
Has gone down behind the hill
When the busy hum of commerce
Leaves the city, and the droning
Of the breakers on the coast line
Makes the silence deeper still
Then our thoughts go out adreaming
In the years so far behind us,
7 hat it seems another life when all
Was fresh and green and young:
And we wander on in mazes
Of the woodland to remind us,
When we heard the blythest music
That the birds have ever sung
And around the hearth beside us
Gather old familiar faces:
And we hear again the voices
That we heard so long ago,
When in friendship, that from memory
No lapse of time effaces,
Hand in hand we roamed together
In the summer fields aglow
In a flood of recollection
Falls the silent tear unbidden
At the shrine of all we loved in Youth
So long since passed away
And we blankly view the future
With its destines deep hidden
As the night draws close her mantle
And the past has gained a day
14
Alone
There are folks whose occupation
Is a whirl of song and jest
There are those who fare sedately
In a home with children blest.
There are some by nature restless
Such as neither toil nor spin
None of these is ever lonely
Till old age comes creeping in
But when bleak old age comes nodding
When “the wild swan Youth” has flown
What a prospect greets the friendless —
One who plods on his way alone
Then the past in endless vistas,
But recalls a rainbow youth.
Where the mind may go adreaming
Down the avenues of truth.
And the forms so long forgotten
Take their places on the stage.
Where they re-enact their record
As remembered page by page.
It was then the future counted
In a present racing fast
Now the vision, looking backward,
From the hill tops, is the past
15
Childhood
The tussock hills are calling me
Are calling me in vain
To leave the city’s toil and smoke
And be a child again
To wander on the breezy slope
And watch the thistle blow
Her downy children everywhere—
Ah! Wouldn’t I like to go
The skylark nearly out of sight
Is trilling all day long,
High overhead on flutt’ring wing
His deft chromatic song.
The soaring kestrel wheels aloft
In stately sentry-go
His watchful eye on all that moves—
What wouldn’t I give to go
To wake again the child’s amaze
At Heav’n’s great vault of blue
To fashion fairy palaces
Of wondrous shape and hue —
To live a single hour that’s gone
And never a sorrow know
In childhood’s vanished land of dreams—
Dear land, I shall never know
23
The Passing of Day
The daylight is laying its tired head
As a little child on its downy bed
On clouds that have gathered to greet the sun
In another land where the day’s begun
\nd ever the dew as a tear is shed
f\t the shrine of day that is passed and dead
The night wind is crooning a sad refrain,
From the cooling shore to the breathing main
And high overhead as a lamp afar
In the boundless vault is a shining star
The light of whose torch in its depth is born
To behold the earth when the sun has gone.
Beyond in the distance and far away.
Is the strife of sound that awakes the day;
And the trembling leaves are all whisp’ring low
To the creeping shadows that darker grow
Till all is enwrapt in a silence deep
A.nd the day has passed—as a child to sleep
24
Friendship.
When the Earth no longer holds me
And my shell is laid aside
Where shall the mind seek refuge?
Where may the spirit bide?
If a spirit leaves the body
In flight no eye can see,
What value has the present?
What can the future be?
The bias of tradition
In countless ages past
Cries vision of a palace
Where spirits fare at last
Where all is rest and peaceful
Beyond the reach of woe
Where love and truth abiding
In trust forever go.
A softened neutral sunshine
On all around is bent
Where disembodied spirits
Are said to be content
But purpose all so lacking
In heritage thus bound
Creates (in understanding)
Antipathy profound.
25
Could destiny be guided
By aspiration’s hand
A fairer mansion rises
In a future Fairyland.
I he home remembrance offers
To friendship’s sacred ties
Is princely habitation
No spirit need despise.
My spirit’s sole ambition
To dwell (by friendship led)
In the mind of friends still living
As a picture of the dead.
26
Zaccheus
Zaccheus stood forth and said: “Lo! If I have done
wrong to any man I restore him fourfold.”
Zaccheus, as we’ve summed him up
Was just a vain conceited pup
His "standing forth" could only mean
An urge to spout, and thus be seen!
The while to noise his boast abroad
Of restitution for a fraud.
Of fourfold capital repaid
On claims (if any) justly made
He must have known each thing he’d done
When he had swindled anyone
If so what need to qualify
Or compensations multiply?
Hysterical excitement gains
Support from all such shallow brains:
And opportunities arise
For those who love to advertise
And so, like scum from Devil’s broth
We see Zaccheus "standing forth!”
27
Taiko Bay
(Arapawa Island, Queen Charlotte Sound.)
There’s a daily bath of sunshine
Always glowing on the strand.
Where the shrill cicadas chorus
Swells a never ceasing band
And the breezes waft a perfume
That is borrowed from the glade,
Where the music of the brooklet
Plays beneath the forest shade.
Let the breezes hear your troubles
They have heard such tales before
In the chanting of their courses
O’er the ocean and the shore.
There's a line of shining wavelets
Always breaking on the strand
Where you rest your weary body
Lying prone upon the sand
For the sun is high above you
In his vault of tender blue,
And the wavelets’ undulations
Are Obeisances to you,
Tell your sorrows to the ocean
It will understand your plight
For the sea has many secrets
That will never see the light
28
29
There’s a whisper in the forest
In the rustling of the leaves,
Where the breezes sway the tree tops
And the sunlight interweaves.
There is sanctuary sacred
In the dimly shaded nook
For the grievously afflicted
Whom a callous world forsook
Breathe your travail to the forest
For its sympathies are deep
It will offer you protection
And your secrets ever keep
The Muse
A poet kneeling to the muse
Thus penitently craved
For inspiration to enlive
The verses that he graved.
“The Characters I mould in verse
And deck with raiment fine,
Seem not to palpitate with life
Nor glow with light divine.
I see them strut upon the stage
To play their settled parts,
As images of wood or stone,
That have no human hearts.
They move with stiff and palsied limbs
As if all hope had fled,
And scarcely seem to be alive—
They might as well be dead!
“I long to see the blood of life
Flow redly in their veins:
To guide the play of love and hate
Where deep emotion reigns.
“The blush that dyes the maiden's cheek
I fain would paint in part
That sympathy would recognise
As evidence of art
30
“The pain of Death that wrings the heart
With grief, no hand may still-—■
Portrayal of such agonies
But yet evade my skill
“How may a strain of melody
Be tuned to greet the ear
To set the pulses mad with joy
Or cringe in abject fear
(The Muse Speaks).
‘Without the breath of living fire
No art can point the way—
The marble cold as marble stays—
The clay is always clay
‘The midnight oil you vainly burn
To limn your deeds of worth,
Will mesh you in the pedant’s coil
A stage devoid of mirth
“The soul in travail supplicates
A grief that you have known
The pain that wracks your creatures mind
Is anguish all your own.
You cannot bring the dead to life
The dead are always dead
The tears that dim your puppet’s eyes
Are tears that you must shed
Unfettered flight on passion's wing
Must stand in high reveal
Such breath of life must be your own
Such joys be those you feel
31
Not always may the saintly win
Immaculate renown
The weak who falter by the way
May often wear the crown
If you would ultimately find
With life the art to blend
The joys—the griefs—e’en Death itself
Must guide you to the end
25
The Inner Harbour Lights
(Somes Island, Wellington
If you look across the water
You may see me ev’ry night
Where I keep the faithful watches
As the Inner Harbour Light
I am not a constellation
As all mariners should mind,
For I flash two brace of seconds,
Then for single six I’m blind
When the haughty liner passes
With her blazing lights aglow
Or the sturdy little coasters
Nose their way into a blow
Then my beam will make a pathway
As a guide toward the main
"May good fortune smile upon you
’Till you venture back again
When the Winter gales are roaring
When the waves are lashed with foam
And the frightened little coasters
Are all scurrying for home
Then I flash my light in greeting
As I show them where to steer
You may drop your anchor safely
For no harm will reach you here
When the long long day has ended
When the night is falling fast
And we’re steering for the haven
Where the ships all come at lasi
May the friendly beacon flashing
Call a welcome from the deep.
You may safely ride to anchor
For the time has come to sleep.
26
The Starlings
There's a pair of happy starlings
That have built themselves a nest
Whereon the patient mother sits
With eggs beneath her breast
All through the weary hours of day
And the dreams of lonely night
She steadfastly maintains her watch
To hatch her brood aright
And everyday at intervals
The husband comes to see
That all is well; and then he calls
To her most plaintively
I’m waiting here,” he seems to say
‘Good cheer! my love. Good cheer
The moment you can leave the nest
You’ll find me waiting here
He greets her from the chimney top,
The highest point of all
He knows that she will hear him
And will understand his call
I love each day to contemplate
Such joyous married state
The mother’s sense of duty
The devotion of her mate
34
The Abominable Consonant
What ghastly fiend obsessed by hate
Invented consonants, that fate
Might hold such curse inviolate
These crackling sounds—this devil’s brew—
I hat strains the tongue and larynx, too
What service can such scullions do?
Unnecessary, harsh, and hard
Despair of scribe—-the bane of bard
And all who simple sounds regard
An alphabet that far exceeds
All bounds of reasonable needs
A garden choked with noxious weeds
Does nature in her wisdom teach
The use of consonants in speech
Or otherwise such fact impeach?
The modest sheep out in the wild
Communicates with mate or child
In purest vowels undefiled
The lion’s roar—the donkey’s bray
Expresses what they wish to say
No consonants for such as they
The mournful owl proclaims his woes
As down the forest vale he goes-
The vowel sounds are all he knows.
35
The purest messages of love
Are chastely murmured by the dove,
As echoes from the Heav’n above.
I he jungle knows no wildest spot
Where consonants may be begot
Giraffes and Zebras need them not
If nature’s great vocab’lar
Accepts the vowels as they be
Oh! Cursed fate! Then why can’t we
36
Tempus Fugit.
We saw, when we were very young
The world through childish eyes
Each morning’s sunlight as it came
Brought us a glad surprise
No day was ever long enough,
No night but came too soon
And pulsing life sped all day long
From morn till afternoon.
But though the days were crowned with joy,
And silent nights held sway,
The gala days and holidays
Seemed all too far away
Our birthdays tarried over long
Youth found it hard to wait
Our great ambition, at a bound
To climb to man’s estate
Thence through succeeding middle age
The years slipped nimbly bye
Distractions came with daily needs
Our thoughts to occupy
The mind in each appointed task
Was all we had to spare—
None saw beyond the passing days
The road we had to fare
At last the final stage is set
Where time, that used to crawl
Now gallops on at headlong speed
When-as the seasons fall
No striving now to spur the jade
No future to unlock!
Our only friend the byegone years
Our enemy the clock!
30
Boy Scouts
“The Boy Scouts have resolved that it is their duty to warn every woman seen smoking of the evils of the practice, and to ask them politely to desist.” —Press telegram.
In the motley crowd of people
Aggregating many sorts,
There’s a troop of little heroes
Who parade in khaki shorts,
With the colours of the Boy Scouts—
We shall see what that imports.
In their military duty
They have vowed a solemn pact
That each one of them will daily
Seek to do some useful act
You may think that I’m romancing,
But I’m merely stating fact
Now a deed may be quite humble
Or spectacular, or great
Just a simple act of kindness,
Or a scheme more intricate.
But a Scout who does his Duty
Must score one upon the slate.
So quite recently it happened
That when meeting for review,
They had pondered long and deeply
In the search for something new—
Good deeds, it seemed, had petered out
There were no more to do!
38
After grave deliberation
On occurrences they’d seen
They resolved to give attention
To the vice of nicotine:
Because it was increasing,
And was worse than it had been.
So forthwith the order issued
That the Scouts should cast their net
Over every female smoking
Either pipe or cigarette
Their duty to these smokers
Was to warn them when they met
One may face the lion rampant
Or the charging buffalo,
These be doughty acts of courage
As each one of us may know
But to beard a woman smoker
Holy Moses! What a go
But its Boy Scouts to the rescue
And they needn’t look for thanks
For the matrons will berate them
And the flappers kick their shanks.
They would slap the face of Colonels
Or of any other ranks
So their faces may be battered
And their shins be black and blue
And their uniforms be tattered
In the battles they’ve been through.
But the Scouts have done a duty
That I’m blowed if I could do!
32
Words
When the sun is slowly sinking,
When the lamp is burning low,
And the mind is feebly groping
In its last expiring glow
Then regret stands unavailing
As a wraith beside the bed,
For the speech too freely spoken,
And the words that were left unsaid.
For the sting concealed in satire,
For the jest that dripped with gall
For the shaft barbed green in venom
That was loosed beyond recall
For the wound—half healed—reopened
For the rent veil torn aside,
And a wretched secret blazoned
As dust on the face of pride.
For unuttered words to comfort
Bereavement’s cruel stress.
For the words to greet misfortune
As balm in grim duress.
And the words for love to harvest
In Love's exalted plane
Unuttered words! Unspoken words!
They never come again
40
41
Temper
Oh. It’s all very well to pretend
That you’re ever my very best friend
Though you say so to-day
As you’re always away
It is plain that you mean to offend
And it’s all very well to unbend
And to try for neglect to amend
When the magical spell
As you know very well
Has been broken—And that is the end!
Vale
(M.E.F-G., December sth, 1928)
Her place is vacant. And the end she craved
Came gently as the falling dew to earth.
fV peaceful drifting from anxiety
In dreamless sleep, without a waking thought
Across the shallows on a calm ebb tide
Out to the ocean—And the Great Unknown
For her the tyrant Time that knows no end
Had ceased to vex with importunities.
The subtleties of living show had passed,
The clamour of the pageant stilled to naught
Bhe day had ended, and a pallid moon
But saw the coming of a perfect rest
42
In Memoriam
W.A.S., Aug. 29/28
The bell is tolling—ln the vibrant air
Each mournful stroke chimes sadly to the ear
For thus is tolled the knell of one who goes
Beyond the gate of life which all must pas:
But those to whom the gift of friendship mean
Affectionate regard returned in full
Are left bereaved to face an empty world-
A marble tombstone, and a mound of eartf
The end that death has sought to make is not
An end that memory consents to know
While recollection keeps undimmed the shrine
Wherein the lamp of friendship ever glows.
We see in the pallid face—like moulded wax
The dignity and silence of the dead
No semblance of the image we recall
When radiant life and movement filled the scene
The kindliness and joy of life that dwelt
Abidingly through all the passing years
The facile wit that never stooped to hurt—
The sympathy for wounds that ever healed
A generosity that never failed
When tales of pity claimed attentive ear
Such is the picture that the mind will keep
Alive in all the future to the end
And if another life should be our lot
And recognition be a right therein
How gladly should we clasp the welcome hand
And once again reclaim affection’s friend
43
Milestones
Last night when I was sleeping—
My vagrant thought astray —
I dreamt that I was plodding
Along a shining way
Till sore of foot and weary.
For the way was long and hard,
I paused beside a milestone
And lay down upon the sward.
Then looking all around, and on
The milestone close at hand
I tried to read the figures
Which I failed to understand
For no matter how I read them
While they seemed to be quite plain
I could never grasp the meaning
Though I tried and tried again.
Then looking back I noticed
Outspaced in plain review
An endless row of milestones
Each like the one I knew
And some were bright and shining
In the light the sun had made
While others grey and gloomy
Stood enwrapt in sombre shade
44
And anon I tried to count them
As each came within my sight
But refraction set them dancing
And I could not count aright
But however many milestones
I thought there must be more—
I'd passed all those behind me
How many were before?
So then I gazed intently
On the road I had to fare
To see how many milestones
Had been erected there
And here a strange dilemma
Confronted my essay
I saw no far horizon
Nor any shining way
Nor were there any milestones
To be counted as I wist
And everything before m
Was concealed in veils of mist
And then I saw the answer Thus:—
The PAST stands in array.
The FUTURE’S eyes are sightless
We only know To-DAY.”
And so the night departed
I\ s another morning broke
My dream grew faint and vanished
And with the day I woke
45
Work and Recreation
The able man who does no work
And ev’ey day contrives to shirk
The daily tasks all men must meet
Forfeits thereby the right to eat
The ancient writ ’’Root Hog! Or die!”
To all such cases needs apply
Such common sense is there to scan;
For who would feed an idle man?
But work of all and ev’ry kind,
Although it elevates the mind
Must not, because of business strife,
Absorb the whole of daily life
Both mind and body now and then
Have need of change from desk and pen
Relief from Stress of sordid things
A meed of recreation brings.
Then it’s Hey for the staff and the knapsack load
The sunlit hill, and the winding road
For the dancing boat in the white capped seas,
And the bellying sail in the salted breeze
And its Hey for the camp in the starlit night
With the scented smoke when the fire’s alight
For the tales of the day, and the next day’s quest,
The welcome couch, and the well earned rest
46
And there's time to recall when the day is sped,
The friends of our youth who are long since dead.
As the past is unrolled to our saddened gaze
In the light and the laughter of former days.
Then it's back once more to the desk and pen
And the work to be done in the tasks of men,
With the suntanned face, and the care free mind
To shoulder the wheel in the daily grind.
47
The Reaper
When the race has nearly ended
In the tale of added years,
How-so may we greet THE REAPER
When he finally appears?
Will there be a time for protest?
Will excuses reach his ear
Will the stage resound with anger
Or the mind be chilled with fear?
When a knightly monarch passes
With his courtiers round the bed.
And a nation waits in silence
While the prayers are being said
If his life and acts are blameless,
And he leaves a happy land,
Then with lofty resignation
Will he take THE REAPER’S hand?
When the night is black with anger
And the shrieking storm fiends ride,
Then the sailor feels the presence
Of THE REAPER by his side.
All traditions of his calling
Keep the sailor to his task;
Just a glance his recognition
Never question his to ask
48
In the clash and din of battle
That obscures the light of day
Ev’ry soldier knows THE REAPER
Is not very far away
But the discipline of ages
With the soldier ever stays
Calm salute—his only greeting
Tis an order! He obeys!
When the advocate has spoken
And his brief is laid aside
He may contemplate his labour
As a fast receding tide.
Well he knows that special pleading
Though it be by Master Mind
Will not influence THE REAPER
From the path that is designed
Though the sleek and crafty trickster
Who has grasped a meed of wealth,
May attempt in vain concealment
To escape by means of stealth.
He will writhe in futile anguish
To recall his shameful past
When the unrelenting REAPER
Stands before him at the last
After weary years of sickness
When vitality is low
And the time that passes quickly
Seems interminably slow
Then our arms are raised in greeting
As on welcome friend bestowed
When we see THE REAPER comin;
Limply slowly down the road
49
When the vital forces leave us
As we share the common fate.
And we rest behind the rampart
With the sentry at the gate
We can hear the footsteps coming
As along the path they wend,
'Who goes there?” The sentry’s challenge
Back the answer comes—"A friend.”
Friend advance. The countersign give,
E’er I deign to let you pass.”
Here the countersign is TEMPUS,
And I bear the scythe and glass.”
“All is well. You’ve been expected.
Thus we hear the sentry say
“Pass in, friend, (in joyous welcome).
“You have now the right of way.”
50
The Coronation.
EDWARD VII, 1902.
I
Edward—the King, whose crown awaits him her
Whereto in welcome rolls this tide of men
From every corner, every clime and land
As young birds winging to the parent nest
To hail the passing of a great event
And found tradition for the years unborn
Welcome and greeting! Aye, and thrice again!
II
Son of that gentle sire, who years agone
Came to our shores a stranger, to a land
Of strangers, but as homeward coming, stayed
And won the people’s love, and kept it safe
Until the end came, as it comes to all
Heir to that noble Queen who reigned from youth
To age, whose sway was firm, but just and kind,
Lhan whom no ruler yet won more regard
Who watched her country’s giant strides to fame
And passing, waked a sorrow deep and wide
That held the land, and yet is scarce allayed
Welcome! Thrice Welcome
111
Should this mighty throng
Turn its gaze onward through those misty years
That hold the secrets of all future time
Seeking the nation’s destiny beyond
To them might come this thought
Our King! Our Lord!
44
How bends his mind on this? and how on that?
Will he support the People, or the Class
And then for guide roll back the tide of years
To scan the scroll that tells their nation's tale
IV
When once the people murmur'd, overwrought
By stern demands for tax to feed some war,
And goaded, broke at last beyond restraint
And marched—a sullen horde—to right their wrongs,
Their leader blundered—in his pride—and fell
Slain from his horse before the youthful king
Who, great in courage bred from proud descent
Rose up to face the mass, crying aloud
lam your King—your Leader! Follow me!
And so fared on to peace, and promises
In which bad counsel made him almost fail
Would this King keep such pledge the other broke
V
And once anon the land became convulsed
By strife of creeds—the old against the new
And bigots rent a breach by cruel zeal
Until religion fell a blighting curse,
And fear smote all men, e’en beside their hearths.
Would this King hold the scales of justice firm
Check persecution; break the pride of priests
VI
And when fanatical intolerance
Once launched a mighty host against our race
And when the ocean’s rim gave up to view
A cloud of giant sails in crescent form
That swept our seas—a devastating horde
Until the vanquished almost felt the yoke
52
Would this King fling aside the gripping fear
To launch a pigmy fleet in our defence
To cheer those valiant souls who fought such odds
Until the storm cloud burst, and scattered wide
The Great Armada, ’mid the wrack of night?
As when a bird of prey, to hazard all
In one descent, swoops on his shrinking prize,
And, missing clutch, but beats his wings in vain
VII
The tale is told in sorrow and in shame
How sov’reign will and popular mistrust
Wrought mischief ’twixt the Parliament and Throne,
Till each thought evil of the other’s mood,
And strove in arms to vent their bitter hate
Close kindred fought upon opposing sides,
Making the nation’s cleavage absolute,
While fire and sword ran riot in the land
And, when such spiteful fiends had done their worst
The King fell—victim to the People’s will
Would this King, calm and dignified as he
Whose life was forfeit to his broken pledge
Abate or abrogate his Royal will
To let his People probe their narrow creed
And, finding error, turn them back again
With chastened mind to aid the common weal
VIII
Or when that scourge more terrible than war
Fell like the hand of an avenging god
Until the narrow streets and grimy stalls
Reeked with a pestilence: and thousands passed
Beneath that sombre pall of foetid breath
To nameless graves
53
As when some vampire brute
Unleashed springs madly on the quarry s throat
To bury fang and muzzle in the feast
And drain its life's blood, till the frenzied lust
Of slaughter wanes —
So passed that dreadful curse
And then, as if to cleanse the final taint
Of sickness from the land, a mighty wall
Of flame swept hall and cottage into ash
And blackened ruins made the mournful scene
Would this King, when such ills as these befell.
Stand firm beside his race, with heart and hand
To give that aid the strong must give the weak
Or see them fail; or, cause arising, lead
As one has led before, and marshal force
To battle with and quench the holocaust?
IX
When commerce lured our pioneers abroad
To found a state beneath a tropic sun.
And battle for existence with a race
Of aliens, dark and treacherous, whose caste
But served to breed fanatical dislike;
As well to strain for foothold 'mid assaults
From foreign neighbours jealous for their trade.
Our race upheld their ancient claim to rule.
Through scant encouragement, and cruel acts
Of foes who warred outside our nation’s code;
Yet won to greatness as the sum of all,
And swelled our commerce with a vast reward
Would this King, wiser than his peers of old,
Hail trade expansion as his Empire’s due,
And hold in honour those undaunted souls
Who crossed the seas to make a wider home?
54
X
When growing from a sparsely peopled coast
I o claim the rank of continental state.
Emerging from the weakness of the child
I o feel the bounding pulses of the man,
When restless native races had been quelled
And foreign foes had ceded every claim
A sad mistake in government oppressed
The greatest land abroad we ever owned
To meet necessities that elsewhere grew
A tax imposed offended freedom s right
Insistence brought rebellion, and a war
That drained our vital forces to the dregs;
Till at the end the patriotic cause
Rose up triumphant as a free born state,
And yet so rankled recollected wounds,
That war again blazed out to mar their peace,
And show to all the hideous countenance
Of hate between two peoples of one race
And, though long years have passed away since then
But now has friendship made those twain as one
Would this King, beating down the iron pride
That brooked no answer to its arrogance
Forsake the might to press injustice home
And freely grant their rights to free born men
Accepting, as the certain consequence
Such meed of love and dutiful support
As just affection wins from every child?
XI
The pride of every honest man is shocked
Who recollects that not so long ago
Our country plied its trade in human lives—
Both bought and sold to cruel bondage those
Whose very helplessness should have appealed
To us to keep such outrage from their race
48
And, like all customs rooted deep in gain
T his blot upon humanity died hard.
But, thanks to single hearted sacrifice
By one or two, our nation roused itself
At length to understand and right the wrong
And ever since has worked with heart and brain
To stamp such evil out from all the world.
Will our King forward press this noble work.
Until our nation may with pride declaim
That sordid aims are trampled underfoot
By unrewarded succour to the weak?
XII
Such thoughts as these can answer find but one
When age had crept with silent, stealthy tread
Upon that noble Queen who has but left
Her throne to seek in peace that stately rest,
Which forms such fitting sequel to her reign
Whose hand became her guide? Whose counsel smoothed
The weighty cares of office, till they pressed
No harder than her strength could so endure?
What son, whose watchful eye and ready hand
Were bent on service in a mother’s aid
But owns a heart that beats as true as steel!
And when the outer ramparts of the state
Who knew but proxies for the Royal Form,
Had craved that one should see their distant home
And greet his loyal subjects, what reply
Was flashed to them across the rolling seas?
Like Israel, who loved his youngest born
Beyond the pow’r of words to frame such case,
And yet, when urgent need arose, said, “Go
My son!” So said our King. And all the land
Held festival to greet the Royal guest
56
What father, who entrusts his son and heir
To bear his greeting out beyond the seas,
But wins the confidence and trust of all
In whom such ample faith has been reposed
XIII
Such answer being made, what need for more?
I he King is called to sit upon his throne
By right of national inheritance,
But free from theories of the Right Divine,
Apart from holding as of strength assured.
Where it not fitting that the people’s love
Should follow in the wake of state entailed?
Bringing to men that rest which keeps them strong
Giving to nations peace to make them great
Holding the needle of our progress true
Hiding swart marbrows of contending arm
But hear if this be true! Rise up, and speak
O Peoples! All whose lands securely sleep
Beneath the ruddy folds of that great flag
Whose red reflection stands for freedom’s gauge
Speak out! Shall this King reign?
XIV
He shall indeed
For we—the motherland—whose well-knit frame
Has borne the burden of the byegone years
Will have no other King. Our travail brought
The outer wards of Empire forth to light
We stand upon tradition—honour bound-
To see right government and justice held
Inviolate. The interwoven strands
That make the meshes of our endless web
Of commerce girth the world, to all men free
As is the air they breathe. The ties of kin
57
And memories of unforgotten days
Are strong within us, and we stand to-day
\s humble subjects stand to greet their King
XV
And we, on whom the sun unclouded beats:
Whose land of temples, shrines, and divers creeds
Has bred for generations in our blood
Those ancient mysteries and mystic rites
That none but oriental minds can feel
For us the Empire keeps an honoured place
A brilliant jewel in the diadem
That marked his Royal mother’s rank and stat
On us the eyes of envy from abroad
Are always fixed, yet never in return
Have we bestowed one single ardent glance
So vainly has our secret wooing fared
And yet we stumbled—once—and, though our fall
Has been forgiven and in part forgot
The lesson served: we stumble not again
No strangers, for the endless sweep of main
Once bore him from his Island home to ours
And there we rendered homage to our Lord
For, though our race be alien—as our speech
This Emperor is ours, and we say “aye
XVI
And we, whose snow clad plains and inland seas
Sweep Northwartls to the silent Arctic floe
Whose birthday fell beside the clang of arms,
And wild disorder wrought by foreign foes
The boundaries that mark our vast estate
Are said to rule an inconvenient line
And point to new allcgience as a gain
And other laws as better than our own
But we, whose hearts and minds arc in accord
Have paid scant heed to speech that prates of change.
58
Our silken bonds nor chafe, nor yet restrain
As fetters drag the slave’s unwilling heel
Our pride is yet to prop the Motherland
To beat her foes aside as they were ours.
E’en now our sons uphold the common cause
In lands far distant from their native home
And fight beside their brothers from your halls.
For us the Empire stands as one. We hail
This King of ours-—no other king we know
XVII
And we, whose arid soil but now has drunk
Full deeply of the blood your sons have shed
Whose dire humiliation has not yet
Been quite atoned. On us the wilting curse
Of anger has been placed, and none may know
What day this sin of sickness may be shrived.
The base ingratitude of treachery
In part was ours. The blame we bear in full
But this we off*: In the future years
When rasping irritation fails to rouse:
When racial hatred dies the death well earned
Our course will set to greatness, and our strength
Will help to keep the empire undissolved
What king but this had soothed our malady?
Had any other Rule our plight discerned
The rod of retribution had been laid
In earnest, and the two-edged gleaming sword
Had bitten deeply in the traitor’s flank,
But he who rose in dignity to hold
The place of petty tyrants now disgraced
Is King for us; such King our country needs.
XVIII
And we, whose island continent outstands
A watch-tow'r on the flanking Southern seas.
Beneath the tropic of the Capricorn
Where ardent sunbeams yearly claim their due
59
Our birth, albeit humble and in shame
Presaged the lusty growth of later years,
Until to-day none question our repute
For have we not as Federated States
Been just baptised? And our certificate —
On which the ink is yet scarce wholly dry—
Does it not bear the sign ‘Victoria ?
Her last great act of state! No firmer bond
Could bind us to the land from which we sprung.
Our sons have died with yours, and dying won
The right to live in memory with those
Who fell in battle for the cause of right
Who fell to bruise oppression’s iron heel
And break the might of tyrants. Thus we say
Our King is he who rules the Motherland
XIX
And we, upon whose lonely sea-girt isles
The billows of the great Pacific sweep—
The youngest born, whose story scarce outruns
The ordinary span of one man’s life
Whose lofty crags, whose lakes and steaming cones
Are remnant of a greater land submerged.
A stalwart native race with us contrives
To live in perfect amity and peace
No whit less loyal to the Throne than we
And ripe to put their honour to the test
Our sons have journeyed to a distant land
To fight beside your own—and some to die;
But recking less of patriotic death
Than jealous of their honour's deep affront
If laggard in their nation’s call to arms.
Unhampered by the taint of feudal right
And free to mould our destinies anew
We hail this King as champion of our cause,
And swear to none allegiance save to him
60
XX
In such wise thus the peoples’ lot is cast
And one stands forth to give their choice effect
This crown is yours: so, too, that sacred trust
To guard your subjects’ lives and libertie
When discord dims good counsel’s light, be calrr
In great responsibility, be strong
If doubt with blinded eyes should take your hand,
Turn back, and ask the People what they wil
f he massive weight of Empire's proudest throne
Is founded on the rock of Peoples' love.”
And at these words a mighty burst of sound
Goes forth, proclaiming that a King is made
The King! The King!”
And each remotest earth
Vibrating feels that concord of acclaim
61
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/books/ALMA1932-9917504753502836-Verses--II
Bibliographic details
APA: Fitzgerald, Gerald. (1932). Verses. II. C.M. Banks Ltd., Printers.
Chicago: Fitzgerald, Gerald. Verses. II. Wellington, N.Z.: C.M. Banks Ltd., Printers, 1932.
MLA: Fitzgerald, Gerald. Verses. II. C.M. Banks Ltd., Printers, 1932.
Word Count
8,380
Verses. II Fitzgerald, Gerald, C.M. Banks Ltd., Printers, Wellington, N.Z., 1932
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