THE WEATHER IN VERSE

Press, Volume XLVIII, Issue 14406, 13 July 1912, Page 10

THE WEATHER IN VERSE

An anonymous rhymer once complained ■that tho Canterbury climate was too uncertain for song. If he had written this winter ho would havo said that s-.i least the week-ends were consistent in their badness. July, for instance, had led him into over-statements most rapidly repented.

"I sang, 'Of all sunshiny graces, Our gloricua winter is mode'; How primroses bloom in hid places, _And wiilows forget they should fadeWhile warm from the far-«way ranges Belated nor'-westors may blowWhen a voice, 'They are sudden, theso changes, I shall scarce bo surprised if it snow!" Soon at 40 degrees, or below it, Tho eJTort, half frozen, to sing, Convinced mo much wiser the poet Or primrose, that waits for the spring." As a matter of fact, when weather does creep into colonial Terse,' it is generally had -weather. The earliest climate song in Canterbury celebrated tho horrors of nor'-westers and sou'westers, and there has been a constant stream of tributes to those elemental visitations ever since. In "An Old Chum on NewZealand Scenery," tho Late Mr G. P. Williams discusses climate. * "I havo lived among the ranges, on a rough back-country run, Seen the weather's frequent changes, feed all scorched by summer eun, Floods in all tho snowy rivers, floods in all the rainy creeks, I Lave known tho snow in winter wrap tho country up for weeks; I am -U3od to hot nor'-wcetera, I am used to wet oses, too, And tho cold sou-wester knowa mo, it has often soaked mo through." So, too, Mr W. P. Reeves makes tho "Colonist in his Garden" reflect, "Wow when at midnight round my doors Tho galo through sheltering branches roars, What ia it to the might ; I Of that mad gorge-wind that o'erthrew My camp—the first I pitched—and blow Our tents into tho night." Take the poems of our newly adopted New Zealand daughter, Miss B. E. Baughan, and tvo find the sarno winds blowing. Her despondent settler meditates, in "Tho Old Plaoo," "Oh, it's a bed old place! Blown out o' your bed half tho nights, And in summer tho grass burnt shiny and bare an your hand on tho heights, The creek dried up by November, and in May a thundoring roar Thet carries down toll of your stock to salt 'em whole on tho shore." With less personal bitterness, yet still speaking the truth in love, Professor Wall addreeses sonnets to the j nor'-wester and the south. If a good opinion of tho climate is to bo found in verse, it must be looked for rather in incidental references. "Wonderful ' what a difference sunshine makes I You almost _ seo. I'm sure you feel, things • grow this glorious woather." Thus Miss Baughan's heroine, in "The Paddock," contributes on© happy phrase; and for Mr Seaf orth Mackenzie amongst tho cocksfoot, "The hour-glads fills with weather Liko the wino of alow content/ That is tho weather to which even in these damp and dripping days wo look forward with feelings of mingled hope and confidence. Fato -cannot surely deny ua a summer that is summer in inoro than name.