DESTINY

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XX, Issue 239, 27 September 1930, Page 9

DESTINY

Where rune the river? Who can say Who hath not followed all the way By aider) green and sedges gray And blossoms blue? Where runj the river? Hill and wood Curve round to hem tho eager flood; It cannot straightly as it would > Its path pursue. Yet this we know: O'er whatso plains Or rocks or waterfalls it strains, At last the Vast the stream attains; And I, and vou. —Francis William Bourdillon, in •Poems.” TO ONE AT HOME Oh! take you still the moorland paths When tramping days come round, And are the ways by Linton’s hills, A loved and memoried ground? Twixt Flotterstane and Loganlee, Do vet your footsteps turn, And up the moors, then o'er the Kip, And down by SUverburn? Ohl climb you now Caerkelton’s steep, And take the view to north, To watch the gray and silver tides, Come ripplino un the Forth? Say, have you tramped Bonaly's ridge ’Neath moonlit skies again? And do you ever nosv, for love, Go walking there in rain? And oh! the love of little things— My heart is fain to know, If still so blue on Harelaw moor, Tho clustered bluebells blow? And if the vears have left unchanged, Our pool beyond the mill, Our fallen tree, our bank of thyme, Our cairn atop the hill, Our little house of boulders grey, ■Where Esk leaps down in foam? And oh 1 does holv quietude still Enwrap the hills of Home? These hills we two have kqown of yore —And loved them passing well, Tis only I can ask these things, And only vou can tell. —D.D. (Hawke’s Bay), in the 'Auckland “Star.” THE ROBIN’S NEST What mean those flights that end just where The trellis holds a rambler rose? Can that close thicket of green leaves Conceal a secret bower? Step softly, now the birds have flown. Look sharp. Yes, deep within I see A robin’s nest, quite near completion, safe From all marauders: even a curious eye Could scarce spy out a thing So cunningly concealed. Could human mind have builded with A nicer sense of privacy, Or found with nicer care a spot So furnished with all requisites? A firm support, a sheltering roof. Soft-blowing breezes, fragrance of fresh flowers, And flickering sunlight shining through green leaves. We will not, you and I, disclose The secret; we will not point out That tiny dwelling, soon to be The birthplace of that gay, Redbreasted bird we know so well and love so dear. —May Tomlinson. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ NEVADA By ZANE GREY. (Hodder and Stoughton). Those who read “Forlorn River” will welcome “Nevada,” the sequel to the former book by this prolific writer. It is an exciting tale of rustlers, ranchers and romance in the beautiful, wild setting of Arizona, whence Ben Ide has moved his family, partly for the sake of his mother’s health and partly to find his old pard, Nevada, alias the famous—or infamous—gunman. Jim Lacy. Then Hottie Ide is in love with the vanished Nevada, so the stage is all set for a Wild West bustpp. Come on! Bring on vour murky villains and cattle-thieving desperados! How Nevada (who has reformed) turns rustler in order to crush the real cattle thieves makes breathless reading, and however black his outlook, you know that probably on the last page (or last but one) the villains will all have been despatched, the hero's fair name restored to hjm, and the heroine in his arms. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ BY SOOCHOW WATERS By LAWRENCE JORDAN MILN. (Hodder and Stoughton;. This is another of Miss Miln’s books wherein she endeavours to bring the East and the West together. Wung Caroline—white widow of a wealthy Chinaman—and Miriam Carew, authoress — lived opposite each other in fair Soochow. but neither met, until a mutual relative, in the person of young Margaret Rivers, came to stay with each in turn, and succeeded in creating turmoil in their placid lives. For Margaret, left a great deal alone, as the authoress was in the throes of writing a novel and Wung Caroline resented having her widowed grief disturbed, became very friendly with Man Ling • youn>r Chinaman with a European education. It was he—known as the Spellbinder—who showed her all the wonder and beauty that was Soochow. and gradually liking developed to something more between the English daughter of an artist and the voung Chinese widower with his small children. How the difficult problem of reconciling Eastern and Western ideas and customs to the satisfaction of all remains to be read. Certainly, the authoress knows her China from A to Z, and writes vividly of the many quaint customs and wonderful **f ulia) strung® laud.