THE PHANTOM CREEK,

Otago Witness, Issue 2674, 14 June 1905, Page 78

THE PHANTOM CREEK,

Weird and wild was the stranger land,

The home of the barren hills, Where the rugged rocks in their grandeui

fiown, And blows the bleak wind that chills ; Where the snowy wreaths in their spotless "white On the breast of Nature lay, To sadden and chill the wanderer's heart

From morn till the dusk of day; And the snow clouds in their wild career

Encircle the mountain's breast, Borne on the wings of the blinding storm, Sweeping along the crest. And there seems a joy in the feathery flakes. As they fall on the frozen waste, To lay Vvith ]oy in the frozen arms

Of the frozen snow's embrace; And the freezing wind in its frozen warmth. Blows on o'er the frozen snow, Freezing the hearts and the blood of men In the freezing town below. From the far-off chmas came the wanderer wild, From the cities of pleasure and sin, Filled with the snare of the golden hope-, The yellow metal to win. B\it his life had always been easy; He knew not the heartrending pain Of thoss who strive for the treasure. The bright, yellow gold, in vain. He knew not the cold of the rivers, Which carried the yellow diist; He knew not of coid, wsary nighlwork, Which work he, the goldseeker, must. And his heart drooped low with anguish, As he thought of his own fond home, With mother and sisters around him, His swoetheart, o'er the foam. He had left them all in a, moment

To join in the hunt for gold, To work in the land of the freezing wind-— The land of the frozen cold. They told him of a river Which lay in the frozen hills, Whose wocer was the Gnow wind, Whose touch the touch that kills; Whose bed with yellow rnaf,a,l Was covered thick and wide, Its water never frozen,

I*s wooe- spared its tide. They told him if he reached it His toils in life were done — A far-famed golden fortune In a day was surely won. The river-bed was golden; Gold lay upon its shore, And legends said a, stranger Would find it onee — no more. He pictured his love, his family all, Waiting the boy's return, Enriched by the famous wealth he'd won. Whose wild soul Fortune spurned. And he went with joy and a gladsome heart

To the river in the hills, Whose wooer was still the snowy winds, Whose touch the touch that kills. He travelled on through the barren waste,

Throusfh the cruel frozen snow ; He reached the pass to the river-bed

Just as the sun sank low. In his dreams that night he saw the track

Of the river near at hand, And the yellow metal shone with glee

In the gravel and the sand. And at morn he rose, and he wandered on

To the river rich with gold, And the sun shone out to give him warmth,"

Far up in the snowy cold. He found the river, and there it lay,

Mixed with gravel and sand. Ah! God, how his heart then yearned to be

With the gold in his own bright land. He gathered the gold with a beating pulse.

He filled his pannikins o'er — In a single day he had wen enough

To sail for his native shore. The sun sank low in the western sky,

And the snowstorm once again Spread with delight o'er the frozen waste,

O'er the frozen pathless plain. He sank to sleep with the blizzard's arms

Wound o'er his doubting soul, And he slept the sleep of the frozen snow:'

As the snow — he had found his goal. He laid his breast to the Mother Earth

With the joy of new-found life; He had won the prize that his heart had yearned, That would end Ms worldly strife. But the '-frozen snow in blinding sheets

Had spread o'er him where he lay, And there, with the wealth of the golden

The hope of his future day, He wag wooed by the love of the snow wind,

By the touch of the river that kills. And" he lay a frozen corpse in the arms

Of the snowclad frozen hills. They found him lying, weighed down with.

gold, Flush in the path he trod; And they bared their heads to his frozen corpse, Commending his soul to God. And the frozen corpse in the frozen air

Was borne by the snowclad men, And the gold was shared by the faithful" few Who "stood by" a stranger's end. But they tell no more of the river Which lies in the frozen hills, Whose wooer is the snow wind, Whose touch the touch that kills.

For the toils of the lonely stranger

Who reached it in life were done, And" a far-famed golden fortune

In a day he had fairly won. But the legend spoke true — a, stranger Would find it onee — no more! He would find it no more; for ever

He'd crossed to ihe golden shore. But the snowy wreaths in their spotless whit© Still circle the mountain's breast, And the frozen wind in its bitterness

Still sweeps along the crest. But the stranger who came to £h© freezing

Had found with the land — his goal: The home where no snowy storm clouds toss-^

The land which stayed his soul. He had lain down his life for the s;old dust

Which lay 'midst the frozen snow, But the frozen snow proved master — In the chase it had laid him low. And the cress which marks where he r-esteel

Was a joy to the snowy waste — > tribute of power to the snow clouds Which clasped him m their embrace. — Edgab Bush.

Dnnedin, June, 1905.