THE OLD ARAWATA.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXII, Issue XVI, 22 April 1899, Page 525

THE OLD ARAWATA.

(This steamship—in the seventies one of the finest intercolonial boats—has been for years in Auckland, and latterly in Wellington Harbours, lying idly at her moorings. ]

The sluggish harbour-roll, with languid motion. Lifts my encrusted cable’s gleaming weight; The softened pulses of the distant ocean Lap round each weed-fringed plate. My holds, once crammed by competitition’s fevers, By commerce’ busy strife. Are empty now. rusting the cranks and levers That gave me power and life.

Yet, on quiet nights, save for far breakers roaring. Or creak of beam or chain, Borne upon Mem’ry’s flood-tide, ghosts come pouring— The old ship wakes again. My sevenfold furnaces devour their coal. My boilers breed vast forces multiplied; Thrilled to my keel I feel steam's quickening soul, My engines gleam and slide.

Once more with thousand horse-power pent, I’m lying With roaring steam-pipes at the crowded quay; My thrice-freed syren shrieks. Blue Peters flying To cross the Tasman Sea. Hand grips fond hand, the grave will soon dissever; Burning the hot tears start; Face looks on face for the last time for ever; Heart turns from pain-wrenched heart.

Once more my unseen ocean path I’m steering— Vainly the foam-laced rollers tower and comb; My quivering iron stem’s resistless shearing Smites acres into foam. The tireless churning of my screw’s gyrations Hurls spouting torrents hissing at each turn, My whirlpool wake with creaming undulations Roars swirling far astern.

Through oily noons, through midnight tempests scathing— Pitched, rolled, or driven as a tortured soul— By science calm I’m handled as a plaything With grip of cool control. Through crowded fogs,with dangers close beside me, Or warned by lighthouse flare of reef or strand, The steadfast figures on my bridges guide me With steel-nerved practised hand.

Once more I glide from Ocean’s mighty heaving Through Auckland’s lovely harbour lake of blue, And island-studded bays, too quickly leaving Each heaven-disclosing view. Again the yelling wharves are shrieking —swearing. With slackened screw I surge into my place. Suspense, joy, sorrow, wrench the hearts I'm nearing, Face seeks long-parted face.

The past departs—its striving memories grieve me; The present owns dull desolation's sway; The world-bound vessels cross my bows and leave me Abandoned to decay. The sluggish harbour-roll with lazy motion Lifts dripping lengths of crusted cable’s weight; The softened pulses of the distant ocean Sob round each weed-fouled plate.

Crowded with human life, with human treasures, With patient labour I worked out man’s will; Slave to his hopes and fears, his crimes and pleasures. Triumphant by his skill. He in his turn awaits his hell or heaven In Destiny’s inexorable grip; The appointed course is set, the time is given Alike to man and ship. The sluggish ground swell with its lazy motion Lifts gleaming length of dripping cable’s weight, The tides and ripples from the restless ocean Slide past along each plate. MARSHALL NALDER. Papanui, March. 1899.