THE OTIRA GORGE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume X, Issue 22, 3 June 1893, Page 515

THE OTIRA GORGE.

I stood on Arthur’s Pass ! Above my head Towered to heights sublime, encrowned in red By rays of setting sun, the mountains grand. ’Twas eve ; and in that wild, majestic land I paused entranced ! The rugged ridge, rock-strewn, With bloulders huge, fantastically hewn. Or torn, perchance, from off those summits vast By tempest dire, by lightning’s flash and blast, Lay at my feet. The wildness of the scene Too awe inspiring and intense had been But for the hardy mountain-shrubs and plants, Which drew scant sust’nance from the rocky slants, Yet cheerfully essayed the graceful task With hues of every verdant shade to mask The bare unsightliness of stone on stone, Rough-piled. Amid them all bloomed one alone, In peerless beauty and surpassing grace ; The snow-white Alpine lily here found space To rear its spotless head and leaflets green, Encircling with a fringe of glittering sheen The silent waters of a small morass Which slept in rocky basin on the Pass. From out the Gorge, which cleft the hills hard by Rose filmy mists in columns to the sky. Far-famed Otira ! down thy depths profound My path in curling zigzags sharply wound. At every turn fresh beauties did arise ; At every curve I met some glad surprise. Trees with dense foliage, even now, replace The mountain plants upon the steep cliff face. Erom drooping fern tree to the graceful pine, All, all are there, and branch with branch entwine. Their clinging roots, with many a sinuous coil, Find out each rift in that stern rocky soil. Nourished by countless silvery white cascades, Which bound from rocks o’erhead to darker shades ; Waking the echoes of the wide expanse With the sweet music of their gleeful dance. While, from unfathomable depths below, Rose rumbling roar of mightier torrents’ flow ; The unceasing ever onward splashing Of waters, over rocky barriers dashing I Snow-born Otira ! through thy mazy gorge, Thy troubled waters, e’er increasing, forge Their foaming way. More than all other streams Thou mak’st me muse on Man, and his wild dreams I Through life he rushes with thy blindfold force; Dashing ’gainst rocks, which scarce retard his course— In strange mysterious depths. He shows his wrath Impotently by bubble, foam, and froth, He blunders on to reach—he knows not what; But deems it bright—superior to the lot Of other men ! nor halts the beauteous scene To enjoy, spread out in all its glorious sheen, As in thy bosky cloud-capped Gorge. His end he gains, Perchance —but at what dread infinity of pains I Tiios. Cottle. Auckland.