THE REAL AND THE IDEAL.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume I, Issue 24, 11 October 1873, Page 13

THE REAL AND THE IDEAL.

J-ne^ author of the following is an Irish poetess, blind from early childhood. 'Tis long ago ! we have toiled and traded, Have lost and fretted, have gained and grieved, Since last the light of that fond faith faded : But friends — in its day — what we believed ! The poet's dream and the peasant's stories — Oh, never will time that trust renew ! Yet they were old on the earth before us, And lovely tales — had they been true ! Some spake of homes in the green wood hidden, Where age was fearless and youth was free — Where none at life's board seemed guests unbidden, But men had years like the forest tree ; Goodly and fair, and full of summer, As lives went by when the world was new, Ere ever the angel steps passed from her — Oh, dreamers and bards, if that were truo ? Some told of a proud and stainless standard — Of hearts that only in death grew cold,Whose march waß ever in freedom's vanguard, And not to be stayed by steel or gold. The world to their very graves was debtor — The tears of her love fell there like dew : But there had been neither slave nor fetter This day in her realms had that been true ! Our hopes grew strong as a giant-slayer ; They told that life was an honest game, Where fortune favored the fairest player, And only the false found loss and blame — That men were honored for gifts and graces, And not for the prizes folly drew ; But there would be many a change of places In the hovel aud hall, if that were true ! Some said to our silent souls, what fear ye ? And talked of a love not based on clay — Of faith that would neither crave nor weary, With all the dust of the pilgrim's day : They said that Fortune and Time were changers ; But not by their tides ouch friendship grew j Ob, we had never been trustless strangers Among our people, if that were true ! And yet, since the fairy time hath perished With all its freshness from hills and hearts, Tho last of its love, so vainly cherished, Is not for these days of schools and marts. Up, Up ! for the heaven still circles o'er us ; There's wealth to win, and there's work to do, There's sky above and a gnve before vs — And, brothers, beyond them all is true !