II.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume 1, Issue 8, 1 May 1900, Page 610

11.

Years went by and still the poet was fast in the shackles of the primitive necessity that bound him to sheep and beeves, seed time

and harvest. Only rarely did he look on his own people; they were as lonely, but as bound and busy as he. He had half come to himself, and standing on the mountain of his desire, he set his foot firmly on the flowers of illusion, and spoke again to his own soul. " I have not bought — the world — not yet, not yet. Fool that I was to take mj handful of early whin blossom for the everlasting gold that buys Hertha's love and Hertha's secrets.

highway of life. And still in my breast I feel the flame that consumes mo trying- to unite with its own mighty oasonco — tho aconian flame at tho heart of Hortlia. Woo is me for the Thrall - guarded walls of flesh that hold the spark pent. ! Woe is me for the invisible bonds that hold tho sons of a new land from tho etluTeal essence of beauty ! Beauty wo have ever before us, the face of tho Nalure-

But I have the gold here, hei'e in the mines of my spirit. The sordid Thralls of poverty, care and barren world-cla.tter, sit mouthing by the caverns, guarding against light and grace as of old ; but they shall be scattered yet. It is long waiting. ' Iron sharpeneth iron,' but where are they whose spirits should strike fire on mine like flint on tinder ? No living spark yet out of the cold, common

nyni|)l), unnwuke, unaware ; but nowhere are wo touched with (ho pregnant nit* of tlii! ancient Kingdoms, palpitating \vil.l) I. lie Imi^ si^lis of the naturi! - lovers ;unl n at v re-s i ti xv, rs who have made one oiofions company from l,he world's dawn till now. Woe \h me, straining in the unfruitful, cold s pilot) that broods over mi uustoried land ! "