5 6i 1 i 7 7! 6! VERSES FROM MAORILAND VERSES FROM MAORILAND BY DORA WILCOX LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN 156, CHARING CROSS ROAD 1905 [All rights reserved] Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON A* Co. At the Ballantyne Press r TO MY MOTHER 960695 NEARLY all these Verses have already appeared in the Sydney Bulletin, the Australasian, the Christchurch Weekly Press, or the New Zealand Illustrated Magazine. My thanks are due to the Editors of these periodicals for permission to reprint. DORA WILCOX. CONTENTS PAGE ONAWE I LOVE 4 THE LAST OF THE FOREST .... 7 FREEDOM . . . . . . . .12 AVE, CAESAR! . . . . . . -13 DEATH, IN YOUTH 14 SERENADE FROM ITALY . . . . -IS A SONG OF GOLD . . . . . -I? ST. VALENTINE'S DAY . . . . .20 THE SPLITTER'S SONG ... . . .21 IF LOVE WERE ALL ! ..... 24 SUSPIRIA. 25 AFTER THE HONEYMOON . . . . . 27 FORSAKEN . . . . . . -31 IN AN OLD GARDEN 35 THE THREE FRIENDS . . . . . 36 BY THE SEA 39 ix TWO SONNETS ....... 43 PRATER AVE ATQUE VALE . . . -45 LIEBESWEH 47 AFTER THE FLOOD . . . . . -49 WHEN LILAC BLOOMS . . . . . 56 AT EVENING 57 DUTY AND LOVE 59 TWO SIDES OF A QUESTION . . . -65 LULLABY ........ 70 IN LONDON -72 Verses from Maoriland ONAWE PEACEFUL it is : the long light glows and glistens On English grass ; Sweet are the sounds upon the ear that listens; The winds that pass Rustle the tussock, and the birds are calling, The sea below Murmurs, upon its beaches rising, falling, Soft, soft, and slow. All undisturbed the Pakeha's herds are creeping Along the hill ; On lazy tides the Pakeha's sails are sleeping, And all is still. A Here once the mighty Atua had his dwelling In mystery, And hence weird sounds were heard at midnight, swelling Across the sea. Here once the Haka sounded ; and din of battle Shook the grey crags, Triumphant shout, and agonized death-rattle Startled the shags. And now such peace upon this isthmus narrow, With Maori blood Once red ! these heaps of stones, a greenstone arrow Rough-hewn and rude ! Gone is the Atua, and the hillsides lonely, The warriors dead ; No sight, no sound ! the weird wild wailing only Of gull instead. 2 Come not the Rangatira hither roaming As once of yore, To dance a ghostly Haka in the gloaming, And feast once more ? Tena koe Pakeha ! within this fortification Grows English grass Tena koe ! subtle conqueror of a nation Doomed, doomed to pass ! LOVE FROM out the wonder-country He rides, whose name is Love, And recks not whether sunlight glows, Or shy stars show above ! From out the wonder-country He travels far and fast, And joy there is in hut, or hall, When Love comes home at last. His reins are Pride and Prudence, His spur it is Desire ; His horse's hoofs are shod with Hope Well-wrought in Passion's fire. No matter what the colour be, Or white, or black, or roan, There's not a steed Love will not mount, For he is Lord alone ! 4 There is no lock can stay him, He laughs at bolt and bar ; The winds are but his messengers, The waves his servants are. He climbs the white Sierra, He clears the convent wall, He clatters up the palace steps, For Love is Lord of all. Alas, alas ! the many Who linger, even as I ! Who wait, and watch, the livelong night, And hear him hurry by ! And drear is life for ever, And sad the looking back, For come what may, by dark, or day, Love turns not on his track. Ah, Love ! from out the distance I hear the ring of hoofs, Now loud, now low, now fast, now slow, But sure towards our roofs ! 5 And comes he here to tarry ? Or will he gallop past ? O royal Love, O Master, Come home to me at last ! THE LAST OF THE FOREST HAST thou not heard, O White Man, through a troubled dreaming On some still night when all the world lay stark, Sharp through the silence, moaning of the sea, and screaming Of night-birds in the dark ? Hast thou not said, O White Man, shivering when the shrieking Wild voices thrilled thee in a mystery of pain : " Peace ! 'tis the Ocean calling ! 'tis the Dead Tree creaking ! Hush thee, my heart, again ! " 7 Are they but birds ? is it the sea in lamentation, Or is it Ghosts of Earth, and Air, that cry, Moaning a requiem, in their utter desolation, For old worlds passing by ? Is it the wind that howls ? The Dead Tree thou ignorest, Speech hath, and Spirit, though a shadow grey. Hearest thou not the voice that mourns the vanished Forest, That was, and passed away ? " White Man, behold me ! ghastly in the Spring's sereneness, Battered, and bruised, by ceaseless storm and strife ; I am the Spectre of a mighty forest's greenness, I, who am Death in Life ! Late, and with lingering footsteps, Spring draws near, revealing Love, and new life, to every passer-by ; Angel beloved ! in thy touches is no healing, No balm for such as I ! Dawn after dawn, I, sleepless, wait the first faint flushes, Then, as the cloud -gates of the East un- fold, Over the world the red flood of the sunrise rushes That leaves me white and cold. Heaven in her pity rains her tender tears upon me, Me, who shall never bud nor bloom again, There is no quickening in the sunshine lavished on me, The dew drops all in vain. Shattered by lightning, tempest-tossed, and torn, and broken, Storms had no power to shake me till this last, When, at the coming of the White Man, doom was spoken, Now live I in the Past ! 9 What is there left, O White Man, what is there remaining ? What is there flees not from before thy face? Wonder thou not to hear the Spirits' loud com- plaining For flower, forest, race ! As the worn body by a lingering breath is haunted, So is my Ghost withheld from final peace ; While these strong roots thus firmly in the earth are planted, Am I denied release. Hast thou no mercy, Storm-wind ? let thy fury hound me ; Let loose thy Fiends, and bid them work their will, Till in Earth's bosom snaps the link that bound me! Then shall my soul be still ! " 10 Dost thou not hear, O White Man, through thy troubled dreaming On this calm night when all the world lies stark, Sharp through the silence, moaning of the sea, and screaming Of night-birds in the dark ? What ! dost thou say, O White Man, shivering when the shrieking Wild voices thrill thee in an agony of pain : " Peace ! 'tis the Ocean calling ! 'tis the Dead Tree creaking ! Hush thee, my heart, again ! " They are not birds ! the sea wails not in lamenta- tion They are the Ghosts of Earth, and Air, that cry, Moaning a requiem, in their utter desolation, For old worlds passing by. ii FREEDOM You speak of Freedom ; believe me all the same, There never yet was actual Liberty ; There never yet was mortal man so free That he could win, of his endeavour, Fame, That Crown of Honour, or choose the Cross of Shame. Each treads the path towards Infinity As best he may, such power alone hath he, Himself he cannot make nor mar his name. Man is not free to hasten, nor to wait, Nor walks he unattended to his doom, Behind him in the silence, and the gloom, Those Powers stand, and watch remorselessly, Who are his Masters : one, Heredity, One, Circumstance, whose other name is Fate. 12 AVE, CAESAR! LONG live the King ! for lo ! the Queen is dead ! Bring her in state, that all the world may know This was the Queen who now lies here so low, Wrap her in samite, and soft flowers, and shed Incense and odours round her quiet head ; Bring her in state, and let the city show A last long reverence, a splendid woe. This was the Queen, whom Death hath van- quished. Ay thou, O Death, art Conqueror and King ! Thou claimest at the humblest cottage door Thy homage due, and thou demandest more, And hast no mercy on the arms that cling ; And at thy word the haughty Emperor Lays down his sceptre, and the Pope his ring. DEATH, IN YOUTH DEATH, thou art cruel! Take the weak, and old, The worn, and weary ! Clasp them to thy breast, That they may find an everlasting rest, And thee no ghoul, no spectre grim and cold. But take not us ! our Spring hath but unrolled Her tender blossoms, and to us the zest Of Youth, and Love, and Living still are best, And we would see our Summer's green and gold. Ah ! who could wish to leave this pleasant earth, And all she yields of sound, and sense, and sight, With books, and friends, and all the simple mirth, And beauty, and divinest melody, To enter worlds unknown of mist, and night, The home of doubt, and gloom, and mystery ? 14 SERENADE FROM ITALY I THINK of thee all day, my beloved, I think of thee all day ! The brown sails swing as the fisher-folk sing And the boats slide over the bay With sunshine, and tinkle of mandolines, But thou art so far away ; And I think of thee all day, my beloved, I think of thee all day ! I dream of thee all night, my beloved, I dream of thee all night ! When on city walls the moonlight falls So cold, and calm, and white ; When sea, and sky, and the earth are still, I am with thee, Heart's Delight, For I dream of thee all night, my beloved, I dream of thee all night ! My heart is all thine own, my beloved, My heart is all thine own ! Whether sunlight glows on the lips of the rose Or the Queen-moon's on her throne. In the land of laughter, and light, and love, I linger alone, alone, For my heart is all thine own, my beloved, My heart is all thine own ! 16 A SONG OF GOLD OH, there's great exhilaration in the bosoms of the boys Who are sailing for the gold-fields in the West ; There's a roaring time ahead though the dear old days are dead, And the bonny birds are flying from the nest ; Let the old folk bide alone, for the whole wide world's your own, And there's yellow gold in plenty in the West ! For it's gold ! bright gold ! And it's yours to handle, to have, and to hold! Will you sell your lives, as they have been sold, For the bright, hard gold? Oh, there's grief and tribulation for the mothers of the boys, For the sisters and the sweethearts left behind ; 17 B Ah, the good old times are dead ! ah, the weary wait instead, When the ship is scudding on before the wind ; For it's well for those who go to the gay new life you know, But it's cruel hard for them that stay behind. But it's gold ! bright gold ! And it's yours to handle, to have, and to hold! Will you sell your hearts, as they have been sold, For the bright, hard gold? Oh, there's mighty jubilation in the hearts of all the- boys Who are drinking in the grog-shops of the town ; And the lamps flare overhead till the gay carouse is sped, And the jolly dogs have knocked their last sous down; What with billiards, dice, and gin, you can make the money spin, When you chance to leave the diggings for the town. 18 A nd ifs gold ! bright gold ! It's yours to handle, to have, and to hold / Will you sell your souls, as they have been sold, For the bright, hard gold? Oh, there's strange inanimation on the faces of the boys Who went gaily to the gold-fields long ago : Though the parched earth is their bed, very peaceful are the dead, Very quiet are the sleepers lying low. They are scattered here and there, does it matter why, or where, When their mothers' hearts were broken long ago? It was gold ! bright gold ! It was yours to handle, to have, and to hold ! Did you sell your lives, as they have been sold, For the bright, hard gold? ST. VALENTINE'S DAY RED clover bloweth Subtle and sweet ; The calm river floweth Close to my feet : Ever and onward The dark currents sweep Steadily downward, Silent and deep. So my heart ever Turns to its mate ; Say, can we sever, Is it not Fate ? As the great river Sweeps to the sea, So my thoughts ever Flow, Love, to thee ! THE SPLITTER'S SONG THE long day's nearly over, and the quiet night's at hand, It's time for giving over work, 1 know ; Peace is creeping down the valley, stillness settles on the land, The shadows they are lengthening here below. Far away, the sun is shining on the Southern headland still, On rugged rocks, and sheets of shining foam, Here the wekas 'gin to answer one another from the hill, And the wood-splitters are making tracks for home. For day is done, and night's begun, And dreamless sleep is coming ' 21 As the last man stumbles wharewards, the more- porks harshly hoot, And sleepy bell-birds flutter in the Bush ; From out the tangled supplejack, convolvulus, and tutu, 1 He hears the creek's unceasing roar and rush. Now stars begin to twinkle in the clear sky, one by one, All's silent save for plaintive cry of sheep And the bleat of young lambs answering, at setting of the sun, It seems that all our world must fall asleep. When day is done, and night's begun, A dreamless sleep is coming ! There streams a flood of firelight from the whare's open doors, The cook's had supper ready long ago : Fling the logs upon the hearth till the iron chimney roars, Black pine, manuka sticks, and matipo ! 1 Pronounced " toot." 22 Supper over, smoke begins; with a yarn or song maybe, And the splitter tumbles early into bunk ; Before the break of dawning, far across the hills is he, So soon in depths of slumber he is sunk, When work t's done, and night's begun. His dreamless sleep is coming ! O my brothers, O my sisters, by the bitter bond of " graft," By sweat of brow, by salt of scalding tears, Who needs must travel for'ard, while the loafers journey aft, Who needs must toil and struggle all your years ; This know I : night comes down on the longest, hardest day, And deep and sweet is sleep when life is past ; There is rest for every worker, and the landlord asks no pay For the bed that welcomes weary bones at last. When day is done, and night's begun, A dreamless sleep is coming ! 23 IF LOVE WERE ALL! IF Love were all, I should not hesitate ; But I should lay at thy beloved feet My crown of life, secure to find my fate Perfected, and mine own self made complete,- If Love were all ! If Love were all, how simple it would be To sit apart from storm, and strife, and stir, In some old garden, rare with rosemary, And redolent of dainty lavender, If Love were all ! But Life has many voices, Dear, and we Hear Duty's ringing clarion, and pass Out from our fairyland of fantasy, Out from the old-world loveliness, alas, Love is not all ! 24 SUSPIRIA CLASPED in the clinging arms of Death she lies, All robed in white as best befits a bride, In solemn state amongst her draperies, The mirror by her side. The deadly crystals glitter in the glass, The last late roses glimmer on her bed, The sunbeams steal between the slats, and pass To greet her who is dead. She will not sin, nor suffer, any more, She heeds no comments from the curious crowd, She does not hear it buzzing at the door ; Peace wraps her in its shroud. 25 And I ? I have no sighs of vain regret For dear lost love, for fair hopes vanished, No passionate tears her poor pale fingers wet Even now, when she is dead. Nay, deeper, deeper than the deepest Hell, Stranger than life, sadder than friend forgot, My grief, who grieve not that I loved too well, But that I loved her not. 26 AFTER THE HONEYMOON WAKE from thy sleep, O Husband ! I am here Who am the Soul of her thou callest Wife : Look thou upon me, Husband ! have no fear, I am thy Chosen, bound to thee for life. Thou hast the right to look on me unveiled By that fair covering of warm white flesh ; Gaze on me calmly, Husband ! unassailed By glance of eye, or gleam of silken mesh Of hair, or bosom, or rose-red mouth, or cheek,- See ! I have laid my loveliness aside, And here, my Self, I stand before thee, weak, Ay, weak as water, I who am thy Bride ! 27 Yet long ago, when, I remember not, There was no whiter soul the whole world round, And I was free as any ; but the lot Fell unto me in artificial ground. They weighed me down with iron bonds of rule, They bade me bow to Custom's slightest nod, Until I learned to love the gilded fool And hailed Conventionality as God. They set my feet upon a beaten way And bade me wander not to right or left, "Thus far, no farther, shall thy footsteps stray," Early was I of liberty bereft. Time was when I rebelled against my fate And would have thrown my fetishes aside ; Cut mine own path, but for my irons' weight, And, crushed at birth, my new-born longings died. And now I cannot move without these stays And props ; since wish for Freedom's dead, I care not now to walk untrodden ways, Nor have I strength to walk unfettered. 28 Nature sets bounds, but Nature I defied, And Nature hath revenged herself on me ; For all her laws I learned to lay aside, Poor slave to artificiality ! Dost thou still wonder I am weak and small, Deform'd, diseas'd, beyond physician's skill ? Wonder that I had strength to live at all, Wonder that any life is in me still ! I am thy Wife : flesh of thy flesh, that's well, Since flesh is flesh, and I, if foul, am fair ; Soul of thy soul ! Ah Husband, what if Hell Were sweeter to thee than thy Life's despair ? For thou shalt live, and I shall still endure, A loathsome thing that hath no member whole, Until the friction of a mind impure Create a canker in thy healthy soul. Wouldst thou soar upwards ? I shall drag thee back To mine own footing on Gehenna's slope, Killing thy finer fancies as the black And nipping frost cuts down the heliotrope. 29 Pity me, loathe me, still my place is here, Beside thee, with thee, close to thee for life, Look thou upon me, Husband ! have no fear, I am the Soul of her thou madest Wife ! FORSAKEN (A Modern Woman speaks] I CANNOT blame you, though a passing-bell Toll in mine ears, and deaden other sound, And stars seem dimmer as the years roll round ; I cannot blame you ; you have chosen well. I loved you, love you ; but I am not weak ; You would not know it, looking in mine eyes ; My heartache is not proved by tears or sighs, Nor has the colour faded from my cheek. When first I heard, I did not start, nor cry, I think I smiled ! we did not stand alone, And though my heart seemed stiffened into stone, No keen-eyed watcher guessed my agony. How should I blame you ? never definite word, And never promise passed between us two ; You never said you loved me, true, so true ! But what your own heart whisper'd, my heart heard ! Did you not love me ? Ah, the passionate bliss Of sudden meetings when we feared to speak, For strongest feeling ever makes us weak, Being too strong for spoken word or kiss. Did you not love me ? Ah, the joys and sorrows Of those past days ! the silent walks, the rides. Down the long valleys, up the steep hill-sides ; Ah friend ! the sadness now of these To-morrows ! I know you loved me in those days of old, But Prudence bade you pause a little while, And so you waited, and your look, your smile, Entranced me still, although your love grew cold. And then you saw my soul was made to roam Above convention on a wild- bird's wings ; I could not give my heart to humdrum things, The little sordid cares of house and home. 3 2 Did you not love me ? much against your will ! I was too bold, too modern, and too free ; Outspoken as a woman should not be, You disapproved, and yet you loved me still ! One of the twain must conquer, one submit : Which were the harder, which more full of rack ? For me to rein my fiery spirit back ? For you to spur your soul to roam with it ? I know it all ! A lifelong fight for me To stand without forbidden fields of thought ; Perhaps some peace at last, too dearly bought At cost of individuality ! Far better as it is, and yet, the pain ! Not even the Modern Woman can conquer Fate It is so hard to work alone, and wait ; I love you, Dear, so dearly ! all in vain But you who choose the well-worn path of life, And wish no straying from the beaten track, Not even you could call my wild soul back, Or mould me to your will, the model wife. 33 c I cannot blame you, for I love her too ; Graceful she is, and gracious : pure, and sweet ; A fitting mate ; from dainty hands and feet To shining hair, tender, and kind, and true. Go to her, and be happy ; fare you well ! While I must walk alone, and wait, and pray For you and yours ; but on your wedding-day I hear no sound but of a passing-bell. 34 IN AN OLD GARDEN THIS was a shrine that held one sweet Saint only, This was a haunt an Angel form did bless ; Drear is the Garden, and the rosewalk lonely, Now that she's gone with light and loveliness. Thou, who wast very spirit of this pleasance, Breathe on me with thy lilac's faint perfume ; Come ! make the garden gladder with thy pre- sence, Come ! move a sunbeam thro' the orchard- gloom ! She will not come ! Night's shadow creeps, and crosses The splendour of the Springtide's opal skies ; Heedless of me, and earthly loves, and losses, She walks the Garden of her Paradise. 35 THE THREE FRIENDS I WANDERED far with Youth, And Life, and Love, Three merry friends in truth ! Blue sky above, Buds breaking at our feet Pleasant to see ; Life, Love, and Youth were sweet Comrades to me. Though peaceful were our days By sun, by moon, The parting of the ways Came soon, too soon ! " Farewell ! " said Youth in glee Turning aside, " Love, wilt thou follow me, Or Life, as guide ? " 36 "Ah, stay ! dear Love," said I ; " Hast thou forgot ? Even though Youth go by, Love, leave me not ! " " I follow Youth," said she, (Fickle, false Love !) " Old friend, farewell to thee Where'er thou rove." Fain would I follow too, Life held me back ; " Comrade, I tell thee true, Here lies our track." So we two wander on, This Life and I, Sad 'tis now Youth has gone, Love passed us by. Often I say to Life : " Go thou thy way, Weary am I of strife, Long night, dull day." " Ah no ! " says Life to me, " The Sun shall shine In some sweet day to be, Comrade of mine ! " 37 Life tells of flowers ahead, Fields, quiet streams, I reach no violet bed Save in my dreams. " Vain are thy words, false friend, Leave me, I pray, Sweeter it were to wend Lonely, my way." " Ah no ! we will not part," Says Life to me ; " Somewhere beyond, Dear Heart, Death waits for thee. There I shall leave thee for He, in his ruth, Leads thee to meet once more, Lost Love, and Youth." BY THE SEA A SULLEN sky, a dull dark sea, An angry sea-gull screaming, No gleam of light to left or right, And I alone and dreaming ! A sweep of sand, a ridge of rock, A line of billows breaking Against the shore with muffled roar That sets my poor heart aching. For so against a vessel's prow, The self-same sea was beating, The self-same sea, but then to me A sweeter song repeating. For then it sang that Love is long, But now that Life is lonely ; There's little music in the song That falls on my ears only. 39 Ah me, ah me ! that summer sea, Those days of sunny weather, Those moonlit nights upon the deck, And you and I together ! Whilst steaming down the rocky coast We watched the red sun sinking, And like a kindly eye almost One star was twinkling, blinking ! The golden glory faded soon, That night in sweet December, And then there rose the mellow moon, My friend, do you remember ? We talked of books, we talked of men, You with sarcastic jesting ; Till, falling into graver strain, Some thought your sneer arresting, You dropped your cynic's mask outright, Your words were true and tender ; I think I saw your soul that night, That night of moonlight splendour ! 40 The waters flow, the wild winds blow, Those halcyon days are over ; 'Twas long ago, I do not know If you were friend, or lover. The waters come, the waters go, Whose constancy derides us ; For here am I, and where are you ? God knows what sea divides us ! And you who are so far away, Forget that sweet December ; For men forget with scant regret, It's women who remember ! Well, shipboard is the place we know For holiday flirtation ; You only did as others do In such a situation. But fun to you, was pain to me, Changed is my whole existence ; There haunts me yet a wild regret With shadowy persistence. I linger in the sullen South, This dreary sky above me ; Regret, and pain, and dreams are vain, For, friend, you did not love me ! O angry sky ! O dull dark sea ! seagull, wailing, screaming ! There is no light to left or right, 1 am alone, and dreaming ! 42 TWO SONNETS I ALAS, that quiet graveyard on the hill ! Thither the mourners with their burdens go, Their heads bow'd down, their footsteps sad and slow ; There lie my dead ; and yet beside the rill, Young children laugh their loudest as they will, And happy lovers wander to and fro : Life has no break in its continuous flow, And on these mounds the sunshine streameth still. But what avails it that the glory lies Upon the hill ? what pleasure can it give Unto my dead ? or unto me who live Bereav'd ? Alas, I find no solace there, Nor have I any comfort anywhere, The race endures, the individual dies ! 43 II THE lilies bud and blossom, droop and die ; The apples redden, mellowing to decay ; The noiseless years steal on, and glide away ; And here the living leave their dead, while I, I know full well mine own time draweth nigh. Yet welcome we the New Year as we may, And Spring shows fairer flowers, day by day, And fresh fruits ripen as the months roll by. Ah, what avails it that we leave our love With our lone dead upon the quiet hill ? Time brings at last a medicine that cures All heartache ; and the wide world's life is still Eternal as the silent stars above, The individual dies, the race endures ! 44 PRATER AVE ATQUE VALE WE sailed away that sweet Spring day, And out across the harbour-bar ; The sun shone bright, the foam gleamed white, The snowy mountains glittered far. A careless kiss, a gay good-bye, We only part to meet again ! Upon the sand he waved his hand, We waved to him in merry vein. The cliffs gloomed grim, the pier grew dim, And dim the line of bush-clad shore ; O idle laughter ! light farewell ! We part, who meet not any more. We sailed again in vain, in vain ! Across the angry harbour-bar ; The sun shone bright, the foam gleamed white, The snowy mountains glittered far. 45 No greeting word that day we heard, Nor any welcoming we had ; Across the pier a funeral bier Was borne in silence slow and sad. His bed is deep, and sound his sleep ; The bush-birds sing him lullabies ; Beneath his own dear forest trees In God's own solitude he lies. Farewell, farewell ! no passing-bell Disturbs their rest who sleep like thee ; Sleep, brother, sleep ! thy bed is deep, Thy face is towards the open sea ! LIEBESWEH AH, my heart, the storm and sadness ! Wind that moans, uncomforted, Requiem for Love that's dead, Love that's dead ! Leafless trees that sough and sigh, Gloom of earth, and grey of sky, Ah, my heart, what storm and sadness ! Ah, my heart, those sweet Septembers ! Ah, the glory and the glow Of the Spring-tides long ago, Long ago ! Gleam of gold, and glint of green On the grassy hillsides seen, Ah, my heart, those sweet Septembers ! 47 Ah, my heart, on sweet soft pinions, Spring, the lov'd one, hovers nigh, She shall settle by-and-by, By-and-by ! But the hills shall shine in vain, Love, alas, comes not again, Ah, my heart, on sweet soft pinions ! 48 AFTER THE FLOOD HERE, in this bend of the creek, in the rushes, and long lush grasses, Wild white violets nestle, and musk in the water-weeds ; Here there is stillness and shelter, for the wandering wind as it passes Is caught in the tall green flax, and dies in the rushes and reeds. Only the roar of the creek, half-hidden in flax and toi, Swirling in darksome pools under the Maori- head, Only the bleat of sheep, and a drover's distant cooee, Only the bark of dogs to break the sleep of the dead! 49 D Silence and stillness else, and westward across the plain, Over hedges, and homesteads, and paddocks of wheat and rye, Shoulder, and glacier, and peak, range upon range again, Blue rise the Alps in the distance kissing the soft blue sky. This is the place where we found him, here, with his face to the skies, Cast by the whirl of the creek, like a broken straw, on the bank ; Here, at the pitiless sun he stared with unseeing eyes, Neither despairing, nor pleading, but horribly, hopelessly blank. Snow? we had plenty of snow, that winter of seventy-one, Snow on the lowlands, and snow on the high- lands, and snow on the range ; Never a month of Spring, for all with a rush and run, Winter turned into Summer ; folks called it a cursed change ; 50 For a warm nor'wester raged the whole of a windy week, Melted the Alpine snow, and, after a day of doubt, We woke in the dead of night to the roar of the angry creek, Woke in the wild, wild night to know that the floods were out. We in the homestead watched after that weary night, Watched through the weary day, while the water rose to the door; Watched, while the children shouted, and wel- comed the flood with delight, Sailed their paper boats, and paddled about on the floor. On rushed the yellow flood, crashing, and dash- ing, and hurling Timber, and logs, like straws in the foam of the angry deep, And, as the day wore on, we heard through the roar of its swirling, Piteous, the low of cattle, and the cry of terrified sheep. Then when the flood went down, paddocks and roads were strewn With timber and broken branches, half-buried in oozy mud ; Carcases hither and thither, palings and posts torn down, Flax and toi uprooted, traced the course of the flood. This is the place where he lay with his wan white face to the skies, Caught here against a gorse-stump amongst the reeds on the bank; Here, at the merciless sun he stared with un- seeing eyes, Neither despairing, nor pleading, but horribly, hopelessly blank. And here we stood in silence ; the shepherd Jim and I, Stood, and stared at the stillness in the staring face of the dead ; And Jim knelt down in the rushes, and closed the expressionless eye, And covered the corpse with his coat ; " For the sake of the Mother," he said. 52 He had but a pipe in his pocket, and matches sodden and damp, Never a mark, nor word, to trace his home or his name ; "Only a swagger," they said; and nobody misses a tramp, Houseless, and nameless, who cared whither he went, or came ? We buried him here where we found him, a glorious summer day, With the wild wind rustling the flax-blades, and the scent of gorse in the air; Here, with the thyme and violets, we laid the stranger away, And left him there in the stillness with never a plaint nor prayer. Gentleman, swagger, clown what difference, dying thus ? In the face of the pitiless Present, what were the things of the Past ? Gentle, or simple, what matter ? it was nothing to him or to us, We are all of us gentle enough, and simple too, at the last ! 53 Yet the shepherd Jim, and I, had looked on the face of the dead, Looked on a dogged jaw, and forehead solid and square; There was will in that iron jaw, and force in that massive head ; Drowned, like a rat in the creek, with that power and intellect there ! And somewhere out in the distance was there a mother, or wife, Waiting, and watching, and praying as only women can pray ? Waiting, and watching, and praying in vain for a wasted life, And a nameless tramp who perished, how many miles away ? Aye, you may wait, ye women, and pray, and weep again, Weep for the wasted talent, weep for the wasted life ! The whole wide world weeps with you, the whole world's tears are vain, Even as yours, O Mother, even as yours, O Wife! 54 O Life ! thou art riddle of riddles ! for lo, as the years roll by, We also have vexed our spirits since the human epoch began, Who live, eat, drink, and are merry, who suffer, and sin, and die, Content to be amongst many ; then how for the hundredth man ? Might he have risen to lead us, the many, the common crowd, To leave his mark upon us by right of a powerfuller brain ? Was he with higher feeling, and keener thought endowed, This tramp, this nameless swagger, whose life was void and vain ? Ah well, let him sleep in peace, while the water- weeds and mosses Nestle under the raupo in the quiet bend of the creek ; Life is a difficult thing with its longings, its loves, and its losses, May Death be an easier matter to all of us strong or weak ! 55 WHEN LILAC BLOOMS WHEN Lilac blooms, what gambolling In Hawthorn boughs ! what whirr of wing ! And in sweet-peas and mignonette, On window-ledges quaintly set, What hum of bees ! what murmuring ! And as the lindens sway and swing, This slow blood moves with everything ; The pulses throb with fume and fret When Lilac blooms ! For old Love stirs, and fain would sing, And revel with the lusty Spring, Old Love who lingers with me yet In this, my Garden of Regret, Ah Love ! too late thy wakening When Lilac blooms ! 56 AT EVENING To break the stillness of the hour There is no sound, no voice, no stir ; Only the croak of frogs, the whirr Of crickets hidden in leaf and flower. The clear-cut outlines of a spire Spring from a mass of eucalypt Sharply against the sky, still tipped With one last gleam of lingering fire. So solemnly the shadows creep ; On dovelike wings Night flutters down ; Lights twinkle in the little town ; The valley lies in quiet sleep. So comes the dark, so fades the light, On all those leagues of tossing sea That lie between my home and me, And glimmer to the stars all night. 57 And so, beloved, silently In thine own land the shadows fall On grassy lawn, and garden-wall, On shining sand, and troubled sea, On paths thy feet shall never tread, On fields thine eyes shall never see, And on thy new home, strange to me, That silent City of the Dead ! Yea, stillness rests, O Tried and True, On hand and heart, on lips and eyes ! On thee eternal silence lies, On thee is utter darkness too. We lost too much in losing thee, Yet we who knew and loved thee best, Wish thee an everlasting rest, Night came on thee so quietly. Peace with the Shadows ! Peace to all Who work and weep, who pray and wait ; Till we and thou are one with Fate, And on us too, the Night shall fall ! 58 DUTY AND LOVE SHE dwelt apart upon the warm hillside, And her soul's home amongst the flowers was set ; There in the sunshine, lilies golden-eyed Bloom'd, and the air was sweet with mig- nonette. Away to westward, far across the plain, She saw the glitter of eternal snow Upon the mountains ; and to East again Beheld the splendour of the sea below. Beneath her, when the wreaths of fog uncurled, She saw a valley where lived other men For ever toiling in a sunless world Of squalid village, weedy waste, and fen. 59 And often, as she watched them from the height, She sighed to think of lives so lost and low : " Poor souls ! how limited the range of sight Of them who pace that valley to and fro ! " And in the glow of golden afterlight, One wandered through her garden whom she knew, And at his step her world seemed yet more bright, Her roses glistened as with fresh-fall'n dew. Then down she stepped from her soul's citadel, And bowed herself, and bending, kissed his feet, Saying: "Ah Love! now thou art come, all's well; How have I lived until thy coming, Sweet ? " There knocked a stranger at her shrine of shrines, Heard, but unheeded there for many a day ; To whom she, opening instinct quick divines ! "Art thou not Duty ? answer me, and say ! " 60 And Duty looked at her with grim, grey face, And as he looked her flowers drooped and died : " Go down ! within the shadow is thy place, Go down ! " he said : " I may not be denied." " Ah Duty ! must I part from happiness, And from my Love ? him must I lose in- deed ? " " Leave thou thy Garden to the wilderness, And thy dear Love, and follow as I lead ! " " And must I leave my flowers all behind ? Lo, I will take this sprig of rosemary, That, growing in the valley, it may mind Me of my mountains, and my mighty sea." So saying she within her bosom set A golden jar that in the sunlight flashed ; Wherein grew rosemary and mignonette ; Then turned she, and the gate behind them clashed. 61 But Duty looked at her with cold, calm eyes, And heavy grew the burden in her breast ; " Throw down," said he, " thy golden memories, Look not behind thee : think not thou to rest. " For I am He who may not be denied, And thou must enter now the shadow-world." Then did she throw her rosemary aside, And round the twain sudden the fog-wreaths curled. There were not any gardens in the vale ; No plant grew well in soil so sour and wet, But sedge, and dock, and darnel; and one pale Immortal on a window-ledge was set. And up and down the valley-dwellers went, Hither and thither on the daily round ; Each on his own small scheme of life intent, One, to the workshop, one, to till the ground. Then said she : " Lo, I will a Garden make, Though only wan Immortals grow therein ; This will I, Duty, for my lost Love's sake, Perchance I some from these dull tasks may win." 62 But Duty looked at her with stern white brow, And she (sweet soul !) read judgment in his glance ; " Go to the fields ! " he said : " What folly now ? Thou needs must toil for thine own sustenance. " Thou shalt not see thy sun, nor feel thy wind, Nor hear the music of thy mountain-streams ; Thy Gardens are for ever left behind, And empty is thine echoing House of Dreams! " So to the fields she went for daily food, As Duty bade her ; till it chanced one morn A woman gleaned beside her, old and rude, Whose palsied fingers scarce could hold the corn. " Thou, of thy mercy, let some little be," (She thus in feeble accents uttered moan,) " Or wilt thou let me garner close to thee, Until the hour when I must die alone ? " The answer came in pity ; " Mother, nay, Thou art not lone ; I will not leave thee more, We two will work together all our day, And thou and I will share our little store." 63 So side by side they gleaned the scanty grain, And housed together through the hours of night, For many a day, till Duty came again, And she beheld him, silent in the light ; And cried : " Thou art not Duty ! thou art mild, And surely there is sunshine on thy brow ; How like thou art to Love ! " " What wonder, child ? Look in mine eyes, and thou wilt know me now ! " 64 TWO SIDES OF A QUESTION IN AUSTRALIA I OH, there's Spring in the dazzling sunshine, and glory in the day, And I, in this noisy city, am throwing my life away; Nothing but walls around me, and pavement under my feet, And it's O for the old bush-life again, and the mountain breeze so sweet ! O for a glorious gallop on Coriander's back Once again, as in other days, along the Uralla track : My gallant horse for company, the bush with its myriad tongues, The Sun, the space, the splendour, and the free fresh air in my lungs ! 65 E Somewhere out to the Northward, there is the place for me, Miles upon miles of white-gum, and, as far as your eye can see, Rolling ranges on ranges, and monarch of them all, Indigo in the distance, the summit of Mount Duval. And the yellow wattle's in blossom, and the bush sarsaparilla Twists and clings, and wreathes and swings from gum-tree pillar to pillar; Soldier-birds chatter and squabble up in a bottle- brush tree, And a solemn old Laughing-Jackass looks down and cackles at me. Ant-hills, red and yellow, gleam thro' the ragged stems, And everlasting daisies show their golden dia- dems, There's maidenhair in the cracks of the rocks where the sly snake basks in the sun, And magpies whistle their sweetest for joy of the day begun. 66 Push, and crowd, and jostle ! jostle, and crowd, and push ! O to be out of the turmoil away in the quiet Bush ! Away from the roar and rattle, away from the dirt and din, The beggar's whine, and the pious fraud, sorrow, disease, and sin. O voice of the Bush that is calling, and calling again, again O many-toned voice of the Bush ! must you call to me always in vain ? Shall I never be able to follow to the land that is far and fair ? O who could bide in the city, who was born and bred out there ? II There's storm coming up the valley, there's rain on the distant ranges, And ever the wind in the gum-trees runs its gamut of mournful changes, All in a minor key ; and there's gloom on earth, and in sky, And of all things dismal, I think there is nothing more dismal than I ! 67 Gum-trees, nothing but gum-trees ! miles upon miles of them, With here and there a solitary " box," or a bottle-brush with its stem Stunted out of proportion : Look ! how the loose bark flaps ! Is it the dead in their winding-sheets? is it ghosts of the past perhaps ? Letters? I've had no letters for a weary week, or more ; A month-old paper's a joy to me, I read it o'er and o'er. What do I know of politics, of empires fall'n or risen, Of strikes, or wars, or life, or laws, shut in my gum-tree prison ? Ignorant? I should think so! lost touch with wiser men ; Live in the Bush, like me, a bit : you'd lose your culture then ! It's oh to pace the pavement, rub shoulders with the crowd, Clasp hands again with fellow-men, hear greetings long and loud ! 68 Sometimes indeed I dream a dream of the things I used to prize : The sound of a cultured voice again, the flash of a woman's eyes, The majestic roll of an organ, the wail of a violin, There's something else in the city besides its sorrow and sin ! this is a fair stagnation ! I'm sick of the beastly Bush ; I've had too much of the weird white-gum, and the gloomy bottle-brush ; 1 somehow yearn for a kindred soul in place of a kangaroo, And I reckon they'll see me back in town in the course of a month or two. 69 LULLABY 1 REST thee, my baby, rest, Safe on thy mother's breast ; Hush thee, sweet baby mine, All the great world is thine ! Thou hast thy father's arm To shield thy life from harm ; Friends thou hast, kind and true ; Thou hast thy mother too ! Hush thee, my little dove ! Thine is the sky above, Thine, the green earth below, Thine, all the flowers that blow. Thou hast the free fresh air, God's sunshine everywhere ; Dew for thy flowers, and rain To cool the earth again. 1 Written for a School Magazine. 70 For thee the lilies blow, And morning-glories grow, Weaving a bower so fine, All for this babe of mine ! While we, who love thee, sleep, Hither God's angels creep To guard from midnight fear My little angel here ! So rest thee, baby, rest, Safe on thy mother's breast ; Hush thee, sweet baby mine, All the great world is thine ! IN LONDON WHEN I look out on London's teeming streets, On grim grey houses, and on leaden skies, My courage fails me, and my heart grows sick, And I remember that fair heritage Barter'd by me for what your London gives. This is not Nature's city : I am kin To whatsoever is of free and wild, And here I pine between these narrow walls, And London's smoke hides all the stars from me, Light from mine eyes, and Heaven from my heart. For in an island of those Southern seas That lie behind me, guarded by the Cross That looks all night from out our splendid skies, I know a valley opening to the East. 72 There, hour by hour, the lazy tide creeps in Upon the sands I shall not pace again Save in a dream, and, hour by hour, the tide Creeps lazily out, and I behold it not, Nor the young moon slow sinking to her rest Behind the hills ; nor yet the dead white trees Glimmering in the starlight : they are ghosts Of what has been, and shall be never more. No, never more ! Nor shall I hear again The wind that rises at the dead of night Suddenly, and sweeps inward from the sea, Rustling the tussock, nor the wekas' wail Echoing at evening from the tawny hills. In that deserted garden that I lov'd Day after day, my flowers drop unseen ; And as your Summer slips away in tears, Spring wakes our lovely Lady of the Bush, The Kowhai, and she hastes to wrap herself All in a mantle wrought of living gold ; Then come the birds, who are her worshippers, To hover round her ; tuis swift of wing, And bell-birds flashing sudden in the sun, Carolling : Ah ! what English nightingale, 73 F Heard in the stillness of a summer eve, From out the shadow of historic elms, Sings sweeter than our Bell-bird of the Bush ? And Spring is here : now the Veronica, Our Koromiko, whitens on the cliff, The honey-sweet Manuka buds, and bursts In bloom, and the divine Convolvulus, Most fair and frail of all our forest flowers, Stars every covert, running riotous. O quiet valley, opening to the East, How far from this thy peacefulness am I ! Ah me, how far ! and far this stream of Life From thy clear creek fast falling to the sea ! Yet let me not lament that these things are In that lov'd country I shall see no more ; All that has been is mine inviolate, Lock'd in the secret book of memory. And though I change, my valley knows no change. And when I look on London's teeming streets, On grim grey houses, and on leaden skies, When speech seems but the babble of a crowd, And music fails me, and my lamp of life Burns low, and Art, my mistress, turns from me, 74 Then do I pass beyond the Gate of Dreams Into my kingdom, walking unconstrained By ways familiar under Southern skies ; Nor unaccompanied ; the dear dumb things I lov'd once, have their immortality. There too is all fulfilment of desire : In this the valley of my Paradise I find again lost ideals, dreams too fair For lasting ; there I meet once more mine own Whom Death has stolen, or Life estranged from me, And thither, with the coming of the dark, Thou comest, and the night is full of stars. Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co. Edinburgh & London UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-30m-7,'56(C824s4)444 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 000 561 776 6