AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13501, 27 July 1907, Page 1 (Supplement)

AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.

BY PENSYL VANIA. 0, sweet and far from cliff and »ear, The horn» of Elfland faintly blowing: Blow ; Jet us hear the purple glens replying. The long light strikes along the lakes - And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes" flying. From the Princes*. This is haunting music, so sweet, and so caressing that the mountaineer upon the "rosy height" i.s held in thrall. The ranges are so purple, the echoes so beguiling; the whole surrounding an enchanting poem. Do not those horns of Elfland persuade the lotus-eating dreamer that he is listening to the dying fall of fairy music? and those wilder, sterner echoes, evoked by dashing torrents as they smite the rock" do.they not wake the spirit of energy itself, thrilling, touching, inspiring to follow the arrowy lightning, to leap with the wild cataract, to scale those unseen summits, or those far-off castle walls while their splendour is upon them? In yon rich sky those echoes should be lost in nobler music, which, for the listener, should "roll from soul to soul, and grow for ever and forever." The soft reply of " purple glens" might leave his ear unsatisfied; but he would climb the heights and hear peak pass to peak the. wild reveille that should rouse his soul to action. He would fain " know those blissful palpitations in the blood stirring 1 a sudden transport." For was it not upon the' mountain-side, that the Castaliau draught was tasted, and on far-famed Parnassus that the Muses were inspired? Pretty myths, no doubt, but there is more in myths than, some imagine, and looking round upon the beatific scenes one can understand the promptings and emotions which have.given us the mythology of Greece. Springs as sweet and potent as those of Helicon itself, fountains a~s pure as that of Hippocrene run down our ferny mountain-sides, and gush with thermal fury from many a fiery vent, and in time may well be haunted by humble successors of the Sacred Nine; some winding horn or bugle faintly blowing may set free the far echoes of the old, old songs of love; and death, and fealty. ', •: . Know you no song of your own land "'— not such as moans about the. retrospectmight well be questioned, of our, herds. For wo sadly want the song.that carries on its lilting lips the hope of tho heart, the joy of battle, the song, that runs merrily, and i cheers • the weary mile; ; the song * that will cure the pessimism of to-day. ■ And what air so exhilarating as that of the eternal hills, .lift the soul and- set the music! Time was when this Mountain of Love resounded, to. the solemn .death-chant, the lover's passionate appeal, or the true warrior's joy of hoary chieftains. -. ■'■: '. Of these tribal poets it might well; be said;. that they sang " Valkvrian hymns,'' that into rhythm they had dashed the passion of the prophetess, brooding and tender as the stars, calm and deep as the lake that holds, the fabled monster; • mighty as Ruapehu, or rapid as Arateatea are these woodnotes of the savage, these-sea : songs of the uncivilised, in their fore© and flow. Stark in naked ignorance and childlike in simplicity the Maori may be, but that he has. grand conceptions and.; true < reverence for , Nature, the . poetjc outflow of his race attests and his nomenclature declares: " Mahutu," mother : of mountains; " Karioi," garden of rest; "Te Aroha.,". mountain of love. , How beautiful they are! Sonorous yet muted to a gentle pathos- with syllables so richly vocal that they melt upon the ear. Without monotony, however, for the. Maori language is very comprehensive: often marked by uneouivocal expressions of disgust, offended pride, or righteous indignation, and emnhasised by appropriate gesture—gesture that is almost Celtic : it may be in momentary abandonment to grief: the drawn-out misery, sacred to the tangi, or the hurried stamp announcing decision and set purpose. Stand, if you will, upon this point of vantage, and regard that tribal party as it slowly traverses the highway, stretching from Shaftesbury'to Paeroa. and mark the patriarchal chief, grizzled by time and tattooed with the mystic blue; the sacred poenamu dangling in his ear. The mat, so like a toga, which should signify his rank, is nowadays too seldom seen; but nothing in his attire- superabundant or deficient can detract from the dignity which; garbs him royally and marks his everv gesture. So mifrht the greatest of the McGregors, or the most handsome of the Tudors have led his clan; so might a C'pcsar have bestrode the war. - • . Fascinated, we watch the motley multitude as following their rangitira on horseback or on foot they travelthe Maori does not hasten—to the tangi. Old men and I young women and girls: infants, pigs and puppies, care-freed, mild-eyed, en fete to the funeral; a gay laugh, a bright sally, sometimes, alas! a hollow cough, accentuates the underlying harmony, the rhythmic tramp of hoof and naked foot. And there is pomp, sad pomp about it all. in this kaleidoscope of moving colour, this procession of the simple.to the Mecca of their dead. Do thev realise, one wonders, as they wend their lingering way. that they also are on pilgrimage to the extinction of their rac^? But we. too. have travelled, far. from Parnassus to Te Aroha. from Helicon to Waihou, the river that runs between the willow-bordered banks, winding here and looping there, meandering through , ; the meadows and trend in like a silver ribbon the widespread plain that on its far horizon holds fascination scarce- second to the sea. Oh.'the sen the deep, blue sea, so wide and beautiful. But just now we sawit from the heights, gleaming in the opal distance, and forgot Old Ocean's terrors, its icebergs and its burning sands: its greedy, never-sated depths. Was it not Ulysses, who. "roaming with a hungry" heart, when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades "„- - Beset the dim sea: , -~*.. ■ ■ .."-'■ Ulvsses. who had drunk delight of battle with his peers, and called himself a part of all that he had met. whose "gray snirit yearned to follow. knowledge, like a sinking "star?" How reminiscent is this ofLaridotv who, like the Greek in temperament, having "warmed both hands at . the &V of life had seen it sink." As the sun flashes dving radiance and laps the plain in lustre, the " barren crags" re-echo the music of Ulysses. " There lies the port; there gloom , the dark, broad seas . ..... my mariners." Souls that have toiled and wrought and thought with me, you and I are old -. . but something ere the end, some work of noble work may yet be done. . . The long day wanes'. ". ■: The reverie, for it realy is such, of our Homeric mariner, was only the prelude to his purpose, "to sail beyond the sunset," to touch, if possible, the happy isles. " Come, my friends," be says, and the far-sounding call rings out with sharp reveille.- — 'Ti» not too late.'to seek a newer world, Tut.li off, and sitting well in. order, smite The sounding furrows. . . strong in will To strive, to jeek, to find, and not to: yield.