PAUL KRUEGER.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 274, 18 November 1899, Page 1 (Supplement)

PAUL KRUEGER.

- t ■ ;•;.■■ -- ■.;-■... Deer>, mournful -eyes-that'seek, the ground, The devious"path to trace;" • J The «*ant form of Lincoln, crowed By Cromwell's grosser face; Coarse, rustic garb, of .uncouth cult, That masks each mighty limb,1. Its shapeless folds-'the- ready butt j. • : : Of Europe's jesters trim. . !>;

So much the crowd can see; the rest Asks critics clearer-eyed; ; So rough a scabbard leaves unguessed How Keen the blade inside, ■"■ The trenchant will, the subtle, bram, So strangely doomed to wage , With Destiny's still climbing main The hopeless war Of Age.

His kindred are a rugged brood - That nurse a dying fire—; '"'•■''■ The sons of Calvin's bitter mood, . And sterner than their sire. . ■ >■ By faith through trackless deserts steered, Lost miles of lonely sand, Far from the intruding world they feared They found their Promised Land.

By such grim guardians tutored well His Spartan childhood grew. \ . The wind trail'of .the fleet gazelle, The lion's path he knew; The camp surprised at dawn, the rush Of feet, the crackling smoke, When on the sleeping laager's hush . The sudden Kaffir broke.

Nay, once, 'tis said, when Vaal in flood ■ Had barred the hunter's way, And. 'mid its swollen current stood A wounded buck at bay; . ■ While some before the brute drew back, And some before the wave, Striding that torrent's foaming track The mercy-stroke he gave.

A stream more rapid and more wide ■ His strength has stemmed since then; Called from the plodding team to guide The starker wills of men;. Oh\ance-prenticed to so new a trade, Unlettered and unschooled, The clod-bred, clownish peasant made JSfo less a realm and ruled. .

Yet though that realm he still sustains Against an empire's might, And wrth untiring skill maintains . The so unequal fight, He buys his victories all too. dear Whose foes have Time for friend;Each fatal triumph brings more near, The inevitable end. ■<■ ;,_,

Haply the hoarse-voiced guns must close The long debate at last, Ere the young Future can compose Its quarrel with the Past; Nathless, our England unashamed May greet a foeman true Of her own stubborn metal framed, For sbe is iron, too. ' , —Edward Sydney Tylee in London "Spec tator." ■