SELECTED VERSES.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 8279, 21 October 1905, Page 2

SELECTED VERSES.

"THE TOWN CHILD AND THE

COUNTRY CHILD."

Child of the town! for thee, alas! Glad nature spreads nor flowers nor grass; Birds build no nests, nor in the sun Glad streams come singing as they run; A maypole is thy blossomed tree, A beetle is thy murmuring bee; Thy bird is caged, thy dove is where The poulterer dwells, beside the hare; Thy fruit is plucked, and by the pound Hawked clamorous o'er the city round; No roses, twin-born on the stalk, : Perfume thee in thy evening walk; No voice of birds—but to thee comes The mingled din of cars and drums, And startling cries such as ar.e rife When wine and wassail waken strife. Child of the country! on the lawn I see thee like the bounding fawn, Blythe as the bird which tries its wing The first time on the wings of spring; Bright as the sun when from the cloud , _ He comes as cocks are crowing loud; 4___t Now running, shouting, 'mid Now groping trouts in lucid streams, Now spinning like a mill-wheel round, Now hunting echo's empty sound, Now climbing up some old tall tree — For climbing's sake—'tis sweet to thee To sit where birds can sit alone, Or share with thee thy venturous throne. Child of the town and bustling street, What woes and snares await thy feet; Thy paths are paved for five long miles, Thy groves and hills are peaks and tiles ; Thy fragrant air is yon thick smoke, Which shrouds thee like a mourning cloak; And thou art cabin'd and confined At once from sun and dew, and wind Or set thy tottering feet but on Thy lengthened walks of slippery stone, The coachman there careering reels, With goaded steeds and maddening wheels ; And commerce pours each prosing son In pelf's pursuit and hollos " Run! " Men rush from darkness into day. The stream's too strong for thy small bark; There naught can sail save what is stark. Fly from the town, sweet child! for health Is happiness, and strength and wealth. There is a lesson in each flower, . A story in each stream and bower ; On every herb o'er which you tread Arc written words, which, rightly read, "^r" Will lead you, from earth's fragrant sod, To hope, and holiness, and God. Allan Cunningham.