Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 26, 26 June 1912, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

The Searchers. zryM IT H started out, in answer to yjk, : * -A write-up of; a distant land, sVlw‘ re fruits and flowers always. ~U grew And south winds warmed a coral strand;

But soon a letter came along— He had not been away a year— And this the burden of Smith’s song: “You have to earn your living here.”

Again Smith moved, and he was most Enthusiastic o’er the view; ’Twas where, to quote the agent’s boast, The easy money bushes grew; But back a postcard winged its flight To those at home who held Smith dear; And this was all he cared to write: “You have to earn your living here.” Poor Smith! in vain his restless feet Shall fare beneath the rainbow arch; In vain through lands of cold and heat Shall he, and kindred searchers, march; For there has always been one sign To greet man’s vision, dull or clear; E'en in Utopia it shall shine: “You have to earn your- living here.” © © © Herndon. [On September 12, 1857, the Centfai America .was lost at sea in a great storm off Cape Hatteras. Captain William Lewis Herndon, of the Navy, was in command. His tranquil courage preserved discipline up to the last, and until his passengers, officers, and crew were all in the boats. Seeing that the last boat was already overloaded, Captain Herndon refused to add to its danger, and, ordering it off, went down with his ship.]

Ay, shout and rave, thou cruel sea, In triumph o'er that fated deck, Grown holy by another grave— Thou hast the captain of the wreck

No prayer was said, no lesson read, O’er him; the soldier of the sea: And yet for him, through all the land. A thousand thoughts to-night shall be.

And many an eye shall dim with tears. And many a cheek be flushed with pride; And meu shall say, There died a man, And boys shall’ learn how well he died.

Ay, weep for him, whose noble soul Is with the God who made it great; But weep not for so proud a death, — We could not spare so grand a fate.

Nor could Humanity resign That hour which bade her heart beat high, And blazoned Duty's stainless shield, And set a star in Honour’s sky.

O dreary night! O grave of hope! O sea, and dark" unpitying sky! Full many a wreck these waves shall claim Ere such another heart shall die.

Alas, how can we help but .mourn When hero bosoms yield their breath! A century itself may bear. But onee the flower of such a death;

So full of manliness, so sweet With utmost duty nobly done; So thronged with deeds, so filled with life, c As though with death that life begun. It has begun, true gentleman! No better life, we ask for thee; Thy Viking soul and woman heart Forever shall a beacon be, — A starry thought to veering souls, , To teach it is not best to live; To show that life has naught to match Such knighthood as the grave can give. —S. Weir Mitchell.

First Pathways. Where were the pathways 'that your childhood knew?— In mountain glens? or by the ocean strand? . . , Or where, beyond the ripening harvest, land, • < . The distant hills were blue? Where evening sunlight threw a golden haze Over a mellow city’s walls and towers? Or where the fields and lanes were bright with flowers, In quiet woodland ways? And whether here or there, or east or west, That place you dwelt in first was holy ground; Its shelter was the kindest you have found. Its pathways were the best.

And even in the city’s smoke and mire I doubt not that a golden light was shed On those first paths, and that they also led To lauds of heart's desire. And where the children in dark alleys penned Heard the eaged lark sing of the April hills, Or where they dammed the muddy gutter rills, Or made a dog their friend; Or where they gathered, dancing hand in hand, About the organ man, for them, too, lay Beyond the dismal alley’s entrance way The gates of wonderland. For ’tis my faith that Earth's first words . are sweet To all her children —never a rebuff; And that we only saw, where ways were rough, The flowers about our feet. —From "Horizons and Landmarks,” by Sidney Royse Lysaght.

HlacKttirda. Sailing, sailing, sailing over the treetops

high, When the light is red in the west, a low, lone bar— Wheeling and drifting and whirling

across the sky Till out of the day comes night and the evening star.

Sailing, sailing, sailing careless and reckless as Youth! Nons of the wild March winds and the untrod way— Buccaneers black that chatter and inock at ruth, Wanderers asking of Time but a song and a day. .Sailing, sailing, sailing! .Strike elf these shackles of mine! chains of convention, links that are all-fool’s gold—■ And it's up and away! with never a bond to confine While the sea and the heavens are wide and the heart is bold! —lngram Crockett. © © ©

The Poet from His Garret. Arrogantly, Above the dazzling city, darkness zoned, 1 look down on the fools that seoff at me, As one enthronedSadly the street Its never-ending monotone uplifts. Across the silent heavens, fearing-fleet, The pale moon drifts. Long, long ago A maiden watched from every storied tower, And to the . meanest churl that sighed below Might cast a Howel Canst thou hot see Mv deen-red fiose that lies beneath the lamp? Nay, o’er the luckless petals, wantonly A thousand tramp. —From "Hard Labour, and Other Poems,” by John Carter.