RHYMES FOR THE TIMES

Observer, Volume 3, Issue 59, 29 October 1881, Page 100

RHYMES FOR THE TIMES

THE PROCLAMATION OP WAR, A MEDLEY Awake ! my harp, with warlike five ! Resound with mighty strains my lyre ! To deeds of valour tune your strings, Such as old Homer's genius sings ! Oh, for a touch of magic skill, To make the hearts of heroes thrill ! Some meed of poet's praise to claim, That fills the glowing scroll of fame. The die is cast ! The flag of war Has been unfurled along the shore ! On Rolleston's coat they dared to tread, They hurled defiance at his head ; They woke the sluinb'ring lion's ire, And now the fat is in the fire. Te Whiti's insults, borne no more, Must be wiped out in floods of gore. •Air—" The Tigld LitUe Island." Johnny Bryce one fine day to his colleagues did say, "You know, boys, I don't care to buy land; But the spot I'd attack, ah, would be Parihaka." Says Te Whiti, " Ka kino, that's my land, My friends, its a nice bit of dry land, For spuds it is excellent soil, and All the globe round, None could be found, So happy in this Northern Island." Sir Arthur the Gordon, he sat with his sword on, In Cab'net in vice-regal style, and "With New Plymouth's Majah, an old warlike stager, And Bryce, Hall, and Rolleston awhile, and Discussed the affairs of the Island — They all had their views on the Island. Bryce said " Adopt mine, Or I will resign, And leave you to manage the Island." Then a very great nilly, nicknamed " Dismal Billy," Cried " Hang it, I'll manage the Island : It will be much more handy to go to Normanby And tackle Te Whiti with guile, and Try my diploumtical style, and Settle the peace of the Island." Hop, step, and jump, There he was plump, And he kicked up a dust in the Island. Says he to Te "Whiti, " There's land that will fit ye, Big reserves I will give you of my land, Just stop conferencing, and spouting, and fencing, And disturbing the peace of the Island ; We've had quite enough of your style, and Your work will the settlers rile, and Cease now to rail, Or we'll clap yoii in jail, And stop all this fuss in the Island." Then Te Whiti, the Prophet, his hat he did dofE it, 'Twas a shocking bad hat of its style, and The rim was all torn, and the crown of it worn Like an old Paddy's caubcen in Ireland. Says he, " If you wanted a style grand. Would you choose such a shocking bad tile ?" and Says Kolleston, " No," And Te Whiti, " Just so, But you want all the rim of my Island." Then Roily got shirty, began to look hurt, he Put on a most dignified style, and Did threaten and mutter, went off in a flutter, And they then declared war in the Island. John Bryce had his way in the Island, He mustered the rank and the file, and Marched forth in his might To conquer in fight, And settle the peace of the Island.; Sir Arthur the Gordon, a warship aboard on, Came hurrying back to the Island. He'd gone to Fiji, his dear niggers to see, And stir up more bile in the Island, The planters once more just to rile, and He returned rather late to the Island. He couldn't prevent Proclamations being sent, Declaring a war in the Island. After (long ibay) " CMlde Harold." Ah \ then and there was hurrying to and fro Of aide-de-camps, and looks of some distress In Ministers, who but an hour ago Laughed at the thought of their own craftiness ; And there were memorandums. Such a fuss Was never seen in Wellington before — In fact a hubbub quite ridiculous — When Governor Gordon hastened upon shore, In hopes to be in time to stop a war. And there were meetings in hot haste, to talk ; The mustering Cabinet and the men of law Went np to Government House with solemn walk, Their faces bearing- looks of dreadful awe, All doubtless wishing they could well withdraw; And Rolleston's countenance was looking glum, While Atkinson's a trace of anger bore, And Hall said, " Why the deuce did Gordon come, To try to meddle in our little war ?" Air — " We met — 'twas in a crowd." They met, 'twas in a pet, And Sir Arthur was haughty ; He reproached the Cabinet, And they looked very naughty. But they laughed in each sleeve As they thought of the euchre, ■ When Sir Arthur did leave To go to Levnka. Air — " Hurrah for our Riflemen." Hurrah for our riflemen, men of the land, With martial ardour all yearning ; Not willing or eager to kindle war's brand, But to guard what that brand might set burning. They will readily march, if you ask them to go, To the Plains, and will speedily win them, And will handle their rifles in front of the foe, And. prove the trne Briton is in them. Then here's to the grey, and the red, and the blue, Never heed in what colour you meet them ; They're enough for Te Whiti and all his dark erew — If they meet they will conquer and beat them. They will come from the shop, from the plough, from the forge, To face the blue smoke of gunpowder ; From street and from farm, and from deep forest gorge, Proving labour makes valour the prouder. They have long dwelt in peace since the Waikato war, Rolled back from their homes the fierce rattle ; But their courage still shines like a bright beaming star, They will never give way in the battle. Then here's to the grey, &c. AtTTOMATHES. [N.B.— lt was thought a medley (French, melee), with its varying numbers and confused harmony, would most appropriately represent the jar and discord with which the existing state of affairs on the West' Coast was ushered in.— Ed. Observer.]