MORRIS MAROON AND THE LINDEN MARE.

Evening Star, Issue 13002, 22 December 1906, Page 12

MORRIS MAROON AND THE LINDEN MARE.

A CHRISTMAS POEM. (Written specially for the ‘ Evening Star.’) Australia rings of the “Land of Never,” In the wilds out back in tho molten West, Where rain never falls, and snow is unheard of, And you die of thirst, and rot, and the rest. Where the wallaby reins on the salt plain stretches, And the kangaroo and the dingo dice— A thousand miles up tho “ Never River,” Where tho “ Never men ” tell their “ Never hes.” Let me tell a tale of cool New Zealand'— It’s not of the plains, it’s nearer the skies— Where drought never comes, where tho earth never opens. Where rain ever falls and snow ever lies. It is partly fact and partly fiction, Just weaved into rhyme (for it’s faults allow); If not to your taste, well, you needn’t read it: In fact yon may leave ojf reading it now. It was Christmas time, and the shed near finished. When Morris Maroon did a note receive Prom his wife out West—Mavoura Lake’s way— Directing him homo on that. -Christmas Eve. It was ninety miles by the right road riding, By the ranges the route was half, or less, So he vowed he’d cut out the last day’s shearing— It would mean a gown for the youngster Bess.

So he cut out his pen and rolled up “ bhiey,” Then strolled to the store a purchase to make In tho way of dolls and tops and trinkets. As he’d always done for old Santa’s sake. So the morning dawned—well the lads remember — *Twas the twenty-fourth of December, 100. And the mounts out west were a glow of sunrise—*Twas a “ sight of rights ” that tbo gods might view. And a blood-red ball rose over the ranges That glittered and glinted, and dimmed the eyes; From the snow-capped peaks the mists were rising. All a halo grand were the eastern skies. Then ho squared his bills at the store and shanty— Twas a risky road, and no time to spare— And swallowed a nip, and bade them greetings, And started for home on his Linden marc. And he rod© and steered up Mavoura Valley To the base of tho range at the shepherd’s hut. Where the drovers told him ’twas madness taking The route o’er the r*mge—it was death's short cut!” It was; “ Turn back. Maroon! Take the main road, Morris! By those alpine fields you ate risking your life. You know not the rifts on those rugged ranges. . Think of your children! Think of your wife!”

“Tost night we lay in our bunks in terror When avalanche after avalanche boomed. Like the cannon shot, like the rumbling thunder, Till v;c thought that the mountain and wc were doomed.” With a headstrong man there is no prevailing; Home he would go—he would do it or die; Tho wife and children: would sure expect Ho wished them Christmas, he bade them Good-bye. Then up and up they climbed and clambered, It was three hoars’ climb to the white snow line, Till at last two spots were seen on the mountain , ~ It was man and mare on those holds alpine. They vanished at last o'er tho sunlit saddle (Not a drover spoke but his face was white): Did he reach his home on that Christmas Eve, lads? Did he kiss them all on that summers night? No; his fate was this, if you will believe Where the snowfieids shone on that splintered dome — • , Would he take it- or turn? He was halfway over — Ho was going home —by a short cut hone, An avalanche high on the mountain trembled, Bumbled and roared and reeled and rocked, And over the precipice crashed and thundered, Till bet ore and behind him his way was blocked.

What is a man or a mare on tho mountain When valleys of snow begin to descend? What were the thoughts of Maroon going homeward, , . Scarcely twenty miles from his journey’s end P Deep are the sides of stupendous mountains! Cruel arc the crevices down in the pass! A shiver of horse and a groan of rider, Above them, upon them! Alas! alas. And he reached not home, though the wife late waited ... , , , The long eve through, for she thought he would come, . . . Till her eyes grew moist, and her cheefcs lost roses. _ , , , Sho knew he had ventured inc short cut home. Tho Iritis were retired with their mother's kisses; , ~ . ~ , , They had stayed un later that night because She told them for true that father was coming, And they spoke of daddy and Santa Claus. And tho stockings and socks on that Christmas morning Hung limp o'er their heads, hung limp on the wall. And Bobby with curls, and Bessie with bright eyes Woke calling for father, and top and ball. But. buried down deep in a gorge, untrodden. Save a straying gull or a kea lone, On a distant 'spot in some snowy region Lie father and horse in a rift unknown. Now on Christmas Eve, when widow and children Stand sorrowfully at the. kitchen door, They hear a coo~c o come down from the • ranges, And a filly’s neigh when the icefields roar. Then soon again comes jingle of stirrup. And rattle of hoofs on the frozen snow, A groan, and a crush of a hundred cannon—- “ No echo above, no echo below." And on moonlight nights, when tho mists are creeping Along the steeps of the snow-capped range. They can sec a man on a horse go gliding— A ghost on a cloud —’tis a spectre strange. Still it comforts them, though a one-year vision Of an awful ride on the mountain’s bare, Tlio settler will say it is Father Christmas— Tis Morris Maroon on the Linden marc. Paeeha.