GOOD-BYE, NEW ZEALAND!

New Zealand Tablet, 16 October 1919, Page 33

GOOD-BYE, NEW ZEALAND!

' Vv : ' v ' Vt- ■£ ;'■■■ -———-s ■ r). (Lines written by the late Father Taylor, S.M., on leaving ■' ; d. ' Now Zealand as a boy.) \ I. My island home, dear land of peace and joy, My childhood's nurse, my youth’s wild passionate love, Thy scenes which gladdened, soothed me as a boy Are not to cheer my manhood —doomed to rove. Too well I loved thee, something like a mother — Death early tore her from my lonely heart, It searched in vain the wide world for . another Its filial love to thee it did impart. I well remember, even as a- child, How close I clung, and even loved to be In some lone spot of beauty green and wild, Or else in rapture by the queenly sea. There’s not a leaf, a tree, a flower that blows Upon thy bosom, natural garden fair, But round my heart has wound a tendril close To rend ——sever —which 1 cannot bear. 11. Fond isle, the stout ship bears me far away, Thy blue line fades before me like a cloud; Can’st thou, departing child of Maui,* stay Tears and sighs lor home or wailings loud? My tongue be loosed, my thoughts, heart, soul be thrilled, Spirit of home of tender life awake, Breathe through these strings and let the air be filled. Love's departing grief a dying dirge doth wake. My sense grows dim, I sink as in a trance, Accept, oh, Ocean’s pride in sight a while The teal's of Scotland Queen for lovely fiance, Childe Harold’s fond good-night to Albion's isle. I will not weep, 1 dare not even sigh. Such outward grief is bind, but early fled; Love’s keenest sorrows wrapt in silence lie. Around the heartit throbs as though it bled. 111. The patriot's love at times to frenzy burns, The poet’s lyre re-echoes from the sea,' No heart for island home too fondly yearns, The siren’s song is music sweet to me. Each clime with charms is full in Protean hue, Rare beauty blooms where man has never trod, But all Earth's glories, in condensed review, Reflect thine image—noble work of God. Oh, bitter doom! we ne'er shall meet again. Perhaps souls haunt the scenes beloved of yore; In dreams, in thought, in death I’ll cross the main, My spirit freed shall hover round thy shore. c Farewell! a long farewell; for I cannot Say tin I'cvoiv, such hope doth fear to bloom; If I forget thee let me be forgot, Inscribe one word, “ungrateful,” on my tom J. T. (A roll a.) (*North Island.)