Original Poetry.

Marlborough Express, Volume III, Issue 103, 22 February 1868, Page 4

Original Poetry.

LINES ON THE FLOOD AT SPRING CREEK, February 4th and sth, 1868. The sun shines'sweetly o’er the verdant leas. And gardens fair, where richly blooming trees Do fling their incense to the breezes mild, While silvery streamlets ripple through the wild. Behold the farmers busy with their grain From bright sunrise, until the day doth wane, And cattle grazing on the meadows green. Are basking in the sunlight’s silvery sheen. But lo ! a change comes o’er the rich blue sky— Dark watery clouds are gathering up on high ; The soft wind freshens to a whistling breeze, And sweeps across the richly scented leas.

Fierce blows the wind. The rain in drenchjng showers Sweeps o’er the plain, and all its leafy bowers; The sea’s loud roar and ominous looking sky. Sure sign that now the angry tempest’s nigh ; The gale increases, the furious wind and rain, With ruthless hand, doth sweep across the plain, Uprooting trees, destroying gardens fair, While screaming seab-irds wing the stormy air; The swollen rivers, creeks, and mountain rills, And rapid melting snow from off the hills Unite, and form a mighty foaming sea,

Surging and lashing with demoniac glee, The raging torrent, with remorseless hand. Sweeps o’er the rich green verdant land, — O’er fields where lay the new cut golden grain, Round smiling cots where nought but peace did reign, Too frail, alas ! to stand the furious wash

Of angry waters which around them lash,

Soon totter, fall, and then are borne away. And round the wreck the flood doth wildly play, The sheep and cattle as they trembling stand, Behold the heaving flood on every hand ; Filled with dismay, they know not where to flee, The once rich plain is covered like a sea ; Hard do they strive and battle with the storm, With failing strength as onward they are borne— With moans that mingle with the flood’s loud roar, They helpless sink—their cries for ever o’er. Slowly the floods subside, the rivers and the streams [gleams Once more resume their course, while sunny Burst through the yet o’er clouded sky, And curling mists ascend on high. The heavens clear, the golden sun doth shine On ruined crops and heaps of soddened kine, — On spots where once fair homes did stand, — On wreck, and ruin, o’er the land. Spring Creek, Feb. 17th, 18G8. T. A. D.