TARAWERA.

Grey River Argus, Volume XXXIII, Issue 5557, 27 July 1886, Page 4

TARAWERA.

Night, Sleep, and Silence brooded o'er the place ; Their dark-brow'd uister, Death, crouched close at hand j The moon gave one sad 'glance, then hid her face Behind the sombre clouds that draped the land. i, Night, Sleep, and Silence fled : A roar ! A quake ! Peal after peal of thunder ! Flakes of , smoke — And strong convulsions made the mountains shake, As If from dungeons deep the Titans broke, j Fierce tonpnes of flame shot up to lap the clouds, Volcanoes belch'd fcheir lava in the air, I Jagged projectiles tore the sable shrouds That veiled the moon j while through the gloom and glare Whirlwinds of meteors shot round and round, And blood-red dragonß, yoked to blazing cars, Bursting from Tartarus, with frantic bound. Plunged out in columns dense Sell's aulph'rous fumes, And over Tarawera's highest steep Enfranchised demons waved their flaming plumes. The water shriek' d, and crashed the mountain's wall In boiling cauldrons, roaring in their rage ; Deep chasm aad vortex yawn'd and swallow'd all The wonders that had lived through many an age. How small is man — how feeble his distress i When nature's evil passions are upstirred, Poor human atoms sink to nothingness, Their agonising cries are all unheard. Unheard by us below ; but far above The earthquake's thunder, there are mansions where The tones of anguish and the notes of love, The cry for mercy, and the fervent prayer, Rise o'er the groans of mountains. God can hear His children's earnest pleadings; He can see The mother bending o'er her darling's bier — The suffring spirit struggling to be free. A flying thought ! Are human souls the : same, j Nathless the hue and texture of the skin ? We prize the picture and regard the frame Just as we do the case for that within, If pure and shapely— be it black or white — It matters not the outside of the mould ; The diamond set in copper shines as bright As that encircled in the finest gold. Upon the morning of that fearful day God's handmaid, Duty, saw brave j spirits shine, She noted not the color of the clay That held such souls ; she Baw the ray divine. Which flash'd in noble deeds and won a crown Of highest worth — a costly diadem — Theirs for all future time is true renown ;" Angels shall praise and men shall honor them. They're with us yet ; but should we mourn the dead ? Weep if you will — tears sometimes bring relicf — Sorrow is ours' to-day, not theirs who've fled— Beyond the grave they know not earthly grief The world will soon forget them ; — race upon race In quick succession move across life's plain. Others shall come, but we cannot replace "* That fwitching scene— it will not come again, Why should we wonder if so sad a change Should call the Taipo vp — the weird canoe With ghastly warriors 1 Ay, the story's strange, But stranger stories still are sometimes true. When ruin hangs above his native earth. The patriot's spirit 'scapes to see once more The hallow'd scenes around his place of birth— The hills and vales and lakes he loved of yore. When Tarawera trembled to her base, And shook the bones of heroes in her womb, The chiefs took mortal shape to warn their race Of coming danger and impending doom. Oh, fairy wonderland of love and light, Where long ago wild cascades fell asleep In Parian beds of sculptured stalactite, \ And dreamed themselves away in curve { and sweep ! i Oh, frescoed fountains ! Oh, prismatic sheen ! ! Oh, irridescent showers ofj*diamond spray 1 Oh. lake cerulean set in richest green ! Oh, glories traced in pink, and white, and grey I Oh, hallowed spot, whose grandeur fills the soul With thoughts sublime — with reverence and awe ; Whose altars grand were carved with many a scroll, Quaint hieroglyphics of some mystic law ! Vanished ! We cannot realise the thought. Has wilful Nature, in a frenzied flight, Heap'd ruin on the lov'linessshewrought— Destroyed her work of ages in a night. Weird transfotmation ! terrible recast ! Where order reigned is heard confusion's roar, Fierce devastation buries all the past — All is chaotic riot— nothing more. Thomas Bracken. Dunedin, June 19fch, 1886.