The Ships.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 933, 17 January 1890, Page 4

The Ships.

Look seaward, sentinel, and tell the land What you behold. sentinel. I see the deep ploughed furrows of the main Bristling with harvest funnel, and keel, and shroud, Heaving and hurrying hither through gale and cloud, ■. Winged by Iheir burdens; argosies of grain, Flocks of strange breed and herds of southern strain, Fantastic stuffs and traits of tropic bloom, Antarctic fleece and equatorial spice, Cargoes of cotton, and flax, and silk and rice, Food for the hearth and staples for the loom ; Huge vats of sugar, casks of wine and oil, Summoned from every sea to one sole shors By Empire’s sceptre ; the converging store Of trade’s pacific universal spoil; And heaving and hurrying hitherward to bring Tribute from every zone, they lift their voices, And as a strong man revels and rejoices. They loudly and lustily chant, and this the song they sing: CHORUS OF HOME-COMING SUET. From the uttermost bound Of the wind and the foam, From creek and from sound, We are hastening home. We are laden with'tceasure From ram sacked seas, To charm your leisure. To grace your ease. We have trodden the ’ s: lloW3, And tracked the ford, To soften your pillows, To heap your board. The hills have been shattered The forests scattered, Our white sails tattered, To swell your board. I 9 it blossom, or fruit, or Seed, you crave ? Tbe land is your suitor, The sea your slave. We have raced with the swallows, And threaded the floes Where the waltus wallows ’Mid melting snows ; Bought regiqns torrid And realms of sleet; To gem your forehead, To swathe your feet, And behold now we tender, With pennons unfurled. For your comfort and splendour, The wealh of the woild. —Alfred Austin, in the National Review.