Church 
 
 The West Wind
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Hubert Church 
 
 9he West Wind. 
 
 She Bulletin

 
 Che Bulletin BooRlcts.-no, U, 
 
 The West Wind 
 
 Sydney, 1902 : the Bulletin newspaper Co., Etd.
 
 No.
 
 ClH 
 
 Ulest Wind 
 
 C- 414 i 
 
 If one rose should creep 
 
 To bow herself upon the grass 
 
 Where Thou art buried (ah, too deep I) 
 <And tremhle *ft>hen the angels pass, 
 
 She could not reach Thee, Dear, asleep. 
 
 'But my heart shall -wind 
 
 cAbout Thee in this secret place, 
 
 To leave all shadows far behind, 
 cAnd gather all thy sweetness, Grace, 
 
 Into the chambers of the mind.
 
 tftC THE WEST WIND 
 
 Ulcst Ulind 
 
 OM out the city's maelstrom 
 To thee with thankfulness I come, 
 For thou dost scatter in thy breeze 
 The treasure of a thousand seas I 
 
 Thou hast the breath of spicy gales 
 From islands of unfurling sails, 
 And, scarce above the tide, the shores 
 Irradiate of madrepores. 
 
 There thou, perchance, hast blown athwart 
 Some mouldering fabric all amort, 
 Whose heart, dear God ! may even be 
 A sepulchre amid the sea ; 
 
 Like some despairing man outworn, 
 Who carries in his breast forlorn 
 The ghosts of faith no more enjoyed, 
 Love, hope, and conscience unalloyed. 
 
 Yet in thy strenuous harmony 
 Methinks I hear the threnody 
 Of surging continents that roll 
 In sable terror to the pole. 
 
 There thou thyself in pain dost go 
 Through sleet and lightning, hail and snow, 
 Impetuous for the azure main 
 Where thou canst rock to sleep again. 
 
 Pour on me tke magic thralls 
 Of old cathedrals, in whose walls 
 A thousand years of praise have given 
 Their sanctuary the peace of heaven. 
 
 iv.
 
 And let your whisperings disclose J)< 
 
 The secret of the norland rose, UJcst 
 
 Who waves her long white life to sleep 
 Beneath some scarred, embattled keep, 
 
 "Whose twilight elfin bugles blow 
 Unearthly music that does flow 
 To where the cataract is poured 
 Within the eremite fiord. 
 
 Where'er my early footsteps strayed 
 Thy wild companions too have played, 
 And here upon this Southern shore 
 Have sent with thee my youth once more. 
 
 And as I watch thy trailing cloud, 
 My heart beneath the verge is bowed 
 To where the casement of the boy 
 Oped every morning into Joy. 
 
 I hear a sound, I feel a touch : 
 The ocean's depth it is not such, 
 The dawn of an intenser day 
 Beyond the sunset, far away.
 
 the ROSALIND 
 
 West Wind 
 
 OSALIND has come to town ! 
 
 All the street 's a meadow, 
 Balconies are beeches brown 
 
 With a drowsy shadow, 
 And the long-drawn window panes 
 Are the foliage of her lanes. 
 
 Rosalind about me brings 
 Sunny brooks that quiver 
 
 Unto palpitating -wings 
 Ere they kiss the river, 
 
 And her eyes are trusting birds 
 
 That do nestle without words. 
 
 Rosalind ! to me you bear 
 
 Memories of a meeting 
 When the love-star smote the air 
 
 With a pulse's beating : 
 Does your Spirit love to pace 
 In the temple of that place ? 
 
 Rosalind ! be thou the fane 
 
 For my soul's uprising, 
 Where my heart may reach again 
 
 Thoughts of heaven's devising : 
 Be the solace self-bestowed 
 In the shrine of Love's abode ! 
 
 vi.
 
 AT HER GATE tbC 
 
 West mind 
 
 i. 
 
 OW blest the wandered bird that sings 
 With such a woodland ecstasy, 
 Till song is Sorrow's self, and he 
 Folds on thy roof his fretted wings, 
 All pain forgotten when with thee 1 
 
 Thus would my wandered heart achieve 
 
 (So far outborne on wayward tide) 
 
 A still roof in thy heart, to hide 
 Shielded from lonely Night, and weave 
 
 Youth's dream again, and there abide ! 
 
 One bird upon the roof, 
 
 A chorister forlorn, 
 
 Sings to the cloistered Morn, 
 Hid in her cloudy woof, 
 A song that doth unfold 
 Itself in plaited gold. 
 
 Sing what I ne'er can say 
 The wave may love the shore, 
 The flowers the dews that poor, 
 The tired winds love to stay 
 On cliffs where moss has lain, 
 Spent with the toiling main. 
 
 Dearer to me one heart 
 Where I would love to dwell, 
 Woven with magic spell 
 
 Into its inner part, 
 
 Sunk in its secresy 
 
 Like a star in the sea. 
 
 viU
 
 TO MY DOG 
 
 UlCtf Ulinfl ft^^S^oOK ! my Tasso, where the smoke 
 
 Rolls beyond the clouds austere, 
 Far above the kea's stroke, 
 And the lightning of the drear 
 Cliff-embattled atmosphere. 
 
 Somewhat we have dwelt apart, 
 Yet the smoke above the strife 
 
 Pictures with a vivid art 
 Sepias of the dizzy life 
 On the keen edge of the knife. 
 
 When the fire was in the brain, 
 Facile love upon the lips, 
 
 Splendid Passion threw the rein 
 On the fiery coursers' hips, 
 Scourged by Youth's unsparing whips. 
 
 Hard Ambition vainly glozed : 
 Ours the moment, ours the bliss ; 
 
 Love in loving scarce reposed 
 For a moment, for a kiss, 
 O'er satiety's abyss. 
 
 Oft the mazy-spinning blood 
 Lifted to the merry horn, 
 
 Many a leap athwart the flood 
 Let us see that Joy is born 
 Best above the earth forlorn. 
 
 Sabres flashed when we were young, 
 And the sparkle of the blade 
 
 Round our heads an aureole flung : 
 Death himself might be afraid 
 Of that Paladin brigade! 
 
 viii.
 
 All are vanished : they are dust, ftf 
 
 As a lute whose fingers lie ttkst UJitld 
 
 Curled about a poniard's thrust, 
 Alien love whose anthem high 
 Waked one chamber, but to die. 
 
 Here upon the giant hills, 
 
 Far from fretting of the sword, 
 And the grinding of the mills 
 
 For the harvest of the Lord, 
 
 Thou and I make one accord. 
 
 Underneath a stunted branch 
 
 Evermore our sleep shall be, 
 Waked not by the avalanche 
 
 Or the huddled revelry 
 
 Of the cataract to the sea. 
 
 Torrents from eternal snow 
 
 We alone have ever seen, 
 Shall leap over us below, 
 
 Sanctifying the ravine 
 
 In our sepulchre serene . . .
 
 A SWALLOW IN MAORILAND 
 Ulind 
 
 Swallow from a fonder sky ! 
 Why do you leave your happy mate 
 Within the golden lands that lie 
 
 Beyond the evening's shadowy gate ? 
 Ah, tender wings ! you bear a load 
 That only Memory may see, 
 The fragrance of my Youth's abode, 
 The ecstasy of life to me ! 
 
 It may be that their beat has weaved 
 
 A path by Childhood's starry creek, 
 Where jealous ferns droop interleaved 
 
 To hear the whispering waters speak ; 
 And thou, perchance, hast flown aloof 
 
 Athwart the garden sweet and wild, 
 And rested on the sheltering roof 
 
 Where tender Love and I have smiled ! 
 
 Already thou on ceaseless wings 
 
 Art bidden to thy loved return ; 
 To all thy flight my vision clings, 
 
 For far-off home like thee I yearn ; 
 And through the warm, unfolding tears 
 
 I see the sacred fount again 
 That poured the Joy of Childhood's years 
 
 The still, supremest heart of Pain !
 
 ASLEEP Cfoe 
 
 ,, , , Ul$t Wind 
 
 HE bird that bears the Spring, 
 
 Throwing her to the bud, 
 And winnows with his wing 
 
 Her cloister solitude, 
 May be your soul's escape 
 In a delicious shape ! 
 
 Is it the wind that blows 
 
 Dreamily down the brook, 
 Or tangled in a rose 
 
 Beneath the rainbow's crook, 
 Where she her love has told 
 Into its starry fold ? 
 
 Whithersoe'er it flits, 
 
 Beauty and love are there ! 
 Only thy soul admits 
 
 Only the true and fair . . . 
 Waken I and let me be 
 Chosen to d<well c wtth thee I 
 
 XT.
 
 ON THE CLIFF 
 
 UleSt UHlld ^=^^^ OME, let us sit and watch the flowing ships, 
 
 Here where your foot has touched a 
 shivering stone 
 
 To leave the merry sunshine for eclipse, 
 Down, down, for ever, darkened and 
 
 alone, 
 
 Beneath the cozening ripples smooth and cool . . . 
 "What 's Life but a poor stone flung in a pool ? 
 
 The lying waves ha-^e lapped it oh, poor Stone ! 
 
 Earth has no dearer sight than a warm sea, 
 Braided with isles, forgetting the far moan 
 
 Concealed in the dim Ocean's agony : 
 But, dear, there lie beneath these shallow waves 
 Christ knows how many unattended graves. 
 
 The waves are all about us we are one 
 With the unstable waters and the tides, 
 
 Symbols of ever-varying threads bespun 
 By Fate that never in a mood abides ; 
 
 "We leave our fretful image here, or go 
 
 Without a fateful scion : better so ! 
 
 We know the motion of a molten star, 
 We weigh the rapture of the rushing wind, 
 
 Unweave the light, but know not what we are, 
 Nor whose the fetters that intently bind : 
 
 Why we do sorrow, joy, or smile, or weep, 
 
 Scatter a little fragrance then a sleep. 
 
 If I were as a shell upon the beach, 
 The virgin calyx of voluted flowers, 
 
 The utter magic of a song to teach 
 Sorrow a solace in belated hours, 
 
 I should be more than I can ever be : 
 
 Beggared of doubt, nor wistful all to see. 
 
 xii.
 
 So be it, dearest ! watch the great Son die Cft{ 
 
 In marvellous thunder, to our ears unknown, Uk$t UHlHl 
 
 Music of equal planets that do lie 
 In the full plane of knowledge : we are thrown 
 
 By a capricious hand, the wise, the fool, 
 
 Like a poor stone that 's flung into a pool ! 
 
 RETROSPECTION 
 
 F there were any of the sons of men 
 
 Could win from Fate to hold their youth 
 again, 
 
 Would any travel more 
 The paths they trod before ? 
 
 Would any vex those hyacinthine days 
 For love of woman, or the many's praise ; 
 The vain delights that trend 
 To the abhorred end 
 
 cAge, that discovers there is nothing worth ? 
 God, when He flung this unessential earth, 
 Spun it with bias given 
 To sunder it from Heaven ! 
 
 xiii.
 
 TO A SEAGULL 
 
 ttPCSt UMttd IS&S^FERE the hollows are wave-enchanted, 
 
 Here the winds that are scourged through 
 
 zones 
 
 Blow with trumpets an anthem haunted, 
 Dreams of coral and dead men's bones. 
 
 Over the bars, the foam, the thunder, 
 Purple delights and sluiced lagoons, 
 
 Over the reefs that shatter asunder 
 Fiery waves in million moons, 
 
 Over the ships that move untiring, 
 Lovely as floating madrepores, 
 
 Here they lull, like a soul desiring 
 Ultimate slumber on these shores. 
 
 Here away from the World's endeavour 
 I, the gull, and the cloud are three, 
 
 Two the same for ever and ever, 
 Inaccessible unto me ! 
 
 They from dawning of Time have floated 
 Careless over the earth and sea, 
 
 Ne'er like mortals in darkness moated, 
 Dungeoned spirits that would be free* 
 
 Bird like music, and love, and morning, 
 
 Day's forerunner, eternal joy ! 
 Thou and all wings that beat are scorning 
 
 Man, too heavy with sad alloy. 
 
 Thee no sorrow old age is bringing, 
 
 Joy for ever from bowy lips 
 Throws thee kisses, and Ocean's singing 
 
 Thrills thy pennons' tremulous tips.
 
 Thou art the same as birds that folded j^ 
 
 Wings on the wave of a winsome world ; UlfSl UMrtd 
 
 Thine delirious motion moulded 
 Under the winds at dawning hurled. 
 
 And for ever thy path is Fancy's, 
 
 Seas, the sun, and the clouds thy peers ; 
 And like echoes of old romances 
 
 Thou recallest our careless years. 
 
 FAVONIUS 
 
 AVONIUS from the setting sun, 
 
 Sigh, sigh not so upon her tresses ! 
 What though thou diest in the dun, 
 She trembled at thy mute caresses. 
 
 The rose shall lose her diadem, 
 
 The nightingale shall weep his singing, 
 And Love shall hear his requiem 
 
 From bells that Sorrow sets a-ringing. 
 
 Delight is alway in the earth, 
 From soul to soul a meteor flying, 
 
 And as some spirit gives it birth 
 Some other spirit feels it dying.
 
 CDC DOUBT 
 
 West Ulind 
 
 AJNTLY I hear forgotten bells 
 Upon the mountain side where dwells 
 The secret brook that poured for me 
 An oracle of days to be. 
 
 Ah! bells that trembled holy joy 
 Into the soft heart of the boy, 
 Ah ! brook that whispered of a God 
 Where'er you melted through the sod: 
 
 Come to me with your ancient dower, 
 Dew me with the mysterious power, 
 Restore the melody of faith 
 That once to me was more than death! 
 
 In vain I call ye cannot tell : 
 
 And I no more from brook or bell 
 
 Take to my soul delicious rest 
 
 And find a God within my breast . . . 
 
 xvi.
 
 AKAROA HEADS tft* 
 
 I ! what a solitude is all around W<$t M 
 
 The hermit sea, the splintered cliff that falls 
 In altars on eternal pedestals 
 That make the wilderness a holy ground ! 
 Yet surely do I hear an ancient sound, 
 
 Barbaric worship in these massy walls, 
 
 Souls bared to heaven where now the seamew calls, 
 
 Wild rapture where is now a death profound. 
 
 Oh ! may my spirit never fail to soar 
 
 Far from the foamy fabric of the brine 
 
 And all the shallow coil that cumbers Life, 
 
 Lest I be like this desolated shore, 
 
 For ever fretted, and for ever strife, 
 
 A soul whose altars are no more divine. 
 
 CAPE RAOUL, TASMAN'S PENINSULA 
 
 CAR, ever frowning to the Southern pole 
 Over a sullen ocean, thou hast seen 
 Splendour of God and devilry of men, 
 
 Earthquake and tempest, and the stubborn 
 
 soul 
 
 Of the oppressor ; now thou art a scroll 
 Where Time has writ the fury that has been, 
 And thou for solace on the clouds dost lean, 
 From their full utterance gathering a soft toll. 
 
 The surges at thy base for ever thunder, 
 The piping winds like haggard spirits wail, 
 And from afar the melancholy main, 
 Tinged as if Sorrow's palace was thereunder, 
 Yearns to thee for its solitary pain 
 Unsoothed by the magic of a sail.
 
 the SINCLAIR HEAD, COOK STRAIT, M.L. 
 
 <^-^ HE waves come flawless from the hand of 
 
 God, 
 
 Fresh and for ever new, and all the Ocean 
 Folds from the orient ecstacy's emotion 
 As if Divinity for ever trod 
 Upon the infinite purple deep and broad ; 
 And every billow pours its one devotion 
 To die upon the shore in perfect motion, 
 White, chaste, and shadowless in its last abode. 
 
 We, miserable, fallen on a time 
 
 Too much o'erwrought and prematurely old, 
 
 And only knowing Grief is each day's friend, 
 
 Do but despairingly adore the chime 
 
 Of the wild surges, chanting without end 
 
 Secrets of joy to human ears untold. 
 
 HUSH! 
 
 ILENCE, for slumber of the children's eyes : 
 Let not a footfall or a voice be heard, 
 Nor any sound break on the muffled word 
 That babbles of their dreaming mysteries 1 
 Far, far beyond us, in a land that lies 
 Round infancy, their tender souls are stirred, 
 Flushed with the rapture of a soaring bird 
 Escaping heavenward with a wild surprise. 
 
 Thus would I sleep at last beneath the turf, 
 A temple by the ever-sounding sea, 
 All else a stillness, while my soul should be 
 Showered with the flame of a celestial light 
 Beyond the farthest constellation's curve, 
 Encompassed only by the infinite. 
 
 xvfii.
 
 A DIRGE 
 
 ' OME not with sundered flowers to strew her 
 
 grave ; 
 
 Nor be there any curtain but the grass, 
 Dewed by the Night and by the winds that 
 
 pass 
 
 Tranced with the slumber of the level wave ; 
 Or if one cloud of the empyrean nave 
 Shall float a shadow on her shrouded face, 
 Be it the shrine of this mysterious place, 
 Bestowing shelter she for ever gave : 
 And if the anthem of this holy rood 
 Fall from the throat of some forgotten bird, 
 Faint with the press of heaven upon his wings, 
 Be it the bruised fragrance that is stirred 
 In the sad heart, remembering happier things 
 That are the angels of this solitude. 
 
 $ 
 
 TO A SEA-SHELL 
 
 RJEND of my chamber O thou spiral shell 
 That murmurest of the ever-murmuring sea ! 
 Repeating with eternal constancy 
 Whatever memories the wave can tell j 
 Whatever harmonies may rise and swell, 
 "Whatever sadness in the deep may be : 
 They are the Ocean's, and desired of thee ? 
 Thou treasures! what thou dost love so well. 
 
 So all my heart is one voluted fold, 
 Shielding one face, and evermore it seems 
 Upon the threshold of the prying Day, 
 Hid in the tangle of reluctant dreams ; 
 And in the noontide, and the evening grey, 
 Its light illumines secresies untold. 
 
 xix.
 
 BOWEN FALLS, MILFORD SOUND 
 
 *,* -*-^-^ WATERFALL that fallest to the sea, 
 
 Falling for ever to white virginals 
 Of olden melody ! thy voice I hear 
 In molten moments of the summer stars 
 When the great sun is dead in majesty. 
 
 From the white fields of home like thee I came 
 Impetuous to the cliffs, and I have poured 
 Treasure of love on altars cold, as thou 
 Hast showered thy rainbow on the icy rocks, 
 That have not felt thy kiss, and I would die. 
 
 Athwart the hollows of the moon-fed air 
 Come eider tremors of thy dying plunge, 
 Surceasing as child-tired eyelids droop 
 Upon a wavy bosom, rocked with love 
 Poured from the heaven for ever like thy song. 
 
 The moon is kissing thy keen diadem, 
 Sick for her barrenness, and all her face 
 Creeps to thy white arc down the precipice, 
 As I have nestled, yearning with wild eyes, 
 Into the umber chancels of a soul.
 
 SPRING IN MAORILAND 
 
 HOU wilt come with suddenness, 
 Like a gull between the waves, 
 
 Or a snowdrop that doth press 
 
 Through the white shroud on the graves ; 
 
 Like a love too long withheld, 
 
 That at last has over-welled. 
 
 What if we have waited long, 
 
 Brooding by the Southern Pole, 
 Where the towering icebergs throng, 
 
 And the inky surges roll : 
 What can all their terror be 
 When thy fond winds compass thee ? 
 
 They shall blow through all the land 
 
 Fragrance of thy cloudy throne, 
 Underneath the rainbow spanned 
 
 Thou wilt enter in thine own, 
 And the glittering earth shall shine 
 Where thy footstep is divine.
 
 A DUET 
 
 UlCSt UMllfl &CtfQE: If I should say- 
 
 44 It may be in the dreamful past, 
 A shadow land, some cloudy bay, 
 
 Upon the utmost verges cast, 
 Our spirits had ethereal play." 
 
 She: I should say, "Nay." 
 
 He : If I should say 
 
 " Sweetest and fairest, we have been 
 
 Communicate in fairy lands 
 Where drowsy winds do lull between 
 
 The tangled hours of silken strands, 
 And all the magic we have seen 
 
 That Love has folded in his hands." 
 
 She: I should say, "Nay." 
 
 She : And this to you 
 
 " The Morning from her gossamer woof 
 
 Throws on my heart her innocence, 
 And bids the stars that fade aloof 
 
 Leave me their flamed magnificence, 
 Molten and evermore serene 
 
 In a mysterious depth profound, 
 For my woman's heart that late hath been 
 
 By Love's soft-searching plummet found j 
 And when the evening clouds arise, 
 
 Scarlet and threaded with the gold, 
 
 They are the sphered land unrolled 
 Within my happy-haunted eyes ; 
 
 And when the dews are on the flowers 
 
 For thee, for thee, my heart embowers 
 A spiritual paradise, 
 
 That ne'er has floated on a sea." 
 
 If you should say all this to me, 
 As I to you, 
 It would be true. 
 
 xxii.
 
 "AS YOU LIKE IT" CftC 
 
 REAMS in the glamour of an old romance 
 Woven around a perilous love forlorn ; 
 Fond eyes that yearn upon the waves' expanse 
 For a wan sail in shadowy gulfs outworn ; 
 A sad princess immured long vacant years, 
 Waiting for love in some forgotten keep 
 Untenanted by anything but tears, 
 Unvisited by anything but sleep. 
 
 Where are ye fled, O passionate, wild days ? 
 
 Where is your magic that was wont to be 
 Flushed on the summits in the morning rays 
 
 And in the twilight of the western sea ? 
 Where are the hearts that thrilled for Rosalind ? 
 
 Where are the eyes that Celia has blest ? 
 Why do we beat the air for ever dinned 
 
 With the great anguish of a great unrest ? 
 
 Return, O Time ! the jewels thou hast thieved : 
 
 Though Shakespear come not (he is a caress 
 For the fond spirit) surely we have grieved 
 
 Even enough to move a god's distress : 
 Return the ark of life, the large domain 
 
 Over all gaiety, the wine, the song : 
 Even if Pan shall never rule again, 
 
 May we not smile at life, alert and strong ? 
 
 If every leaf within the wild Ardennes, 
 
 If every brook that babbles to the deer 
 Murmurs the charm that lulled the forest glens, 
 
 Shall we not sit, and dream, and love, and hear ? 
 Sweetness and light to spirits that are dim, 
 
 Sad with the whole of querulous excess, 
 Float with the music of the sylvan hymn 
 
 Lost in Joy's rosy-tangled wilderness. 
 
 xxiii.
 
 the TRYST 
 
 West Wind 
 
 F it be foul or be fair 
 
 If the wind has bewildered the hours 
 With eternal despoil of the flowers, 
 Or a calm has encompassed the air 
 
 Like the moon rising slow over towers, 
 It is tryst-day, and I shall be there. 
 
 As I pass by the moss-girdled posts 
 
 A butterfly wavers beyond, 
 Slow piloting green shoals and coasts 
 
 Of branches whose blossoms respond 
 To the glance of my soul with a scent 
 That for Love its arcana has spent. 
 
 If Love's shadow lay over the Rose, 
 Then the sun were no more her desire : 
 
 So my Heart with its melody goes 
 
 From the world to the shade of the briar, 
 
 Where a bird that has fluttered the field 
 
 In his flight folds of joy has unreeled. 
 
 O Heart ! so full of sunshine and of rain, 
 
 Joy and pain, 
 The cloud pavilions of the gods are strewn 
 
 With the moon, 
 A canopy for Love that trailing bends 
 
 Tasselled ends ... 
 
 All the light that palpitates through fretted waves 
 
 Into caves, 
 All the songs the mermaids sing where the weeds 
 
 Are their bredes, 
 All the magic of the turret cliffs that sleep 
 
 In the deep, 
 
 xxiv.
 
 All are gathered in the cloudy tents above, &>* 
 
 Dear, and Love lUCSt Wind 
 
 Who irradiates the lowliest and least 
 
 Is their priest ; 
 And he beckons down his blessing if we twia 
 
 Enter in . 
 
 FIDELIS 
 
 IDELIS was the word, 
 
 A rosebud smile the wand 
 
 To touch my soul that stirred 
 All ecstacy beyond, 
 
 Like a soaring bird. 
 
 The bird is in the skies, 
 My heart was even there, 
 
 Where Summer's cradle lies 
 Rocked by a secret air 
 
 Slipped from Paradise. 
 
 The Summer light it goes, 
 The bird away it flies, 
 
 And Love is one with those : 
 The rose that never dies 
 
 Never was a rose. 
 
 xxv.
 
 Che TO AN OLD FRIEND 
 
 UlCSt Ulind ^&*S3ZZSg. STATELY tree, 
 
 Where ivy wanders round the bole, 
 
 And you may hear the midnight sea 
 Moan in its caverns like a soul 
 Chastened by adversity. 
 
 Old storms have swept 
 Fair branches of a younger day ; 
 
 The melancholy wind has wept 
 The homeless hours in tears away 
 
 While the timorous birds have slept. 
 
 But in the Spring 
 Come feathered warblers from the sound 
 
 Of coral foam, and many a wing 
 Waves nestling sympathy around, 
 
 To their old home twittering. 
 
 And as each bird 
 Pipes the full treble of the South 
 
 The branches tremble in a blurred 
 Faint echo, as a human mouth 
 
 Falters notes by memory stirred. 
 
 So I, a youth, 
 Come to you with a Spring-tide voice 
 
 To whisper an endearing truth : 
 The aged heart may best rejoice 
 
 Knowing clearer heavenly roth. 
 
 And I will take 
 From my full cruse a placid balm 
 
 To scatter on pale Memory's wake, 
 And you shall feel a summer calm, 
 
 Happy for the giver's sake.
 
 And you shall be ClK 
 
 My shelter from Youth's troublous wind: Ult UHlUt 
 
 When all my soul is agony, 
 Deeptrustful I shall ever find 
 In your heart a roof for me. 
 
 BY THE SEA 
 
 AY is at noon, and one cloud, 
 A glory of snowy rings, 
 
 Over the city is bowed, 
 Poised on ethereal wings, 
 
 Like a stainless spirit and proud 
 Scorning earthly things. 
 
 The sea is about my feet, 
 
 Folding in shallow waves 
 Music as sad and sweet 
 
 As a bruised spirit craves, 
 Like voices when angels meet 
 
 Over children's graves. 
 
 But the flower of my soul's content 
 
 Not the cloud, nor the sea, 
 With all their loveliness blent, 
 
 Can restore unto me ; 
 For the flower of my soul with its scent 
 
 Is with thee with thee ! 
 
 xxvii.
 
 tfte 
 Ulcst mind 
 
 A QUEST 
 
 F old a King of Tempe, 
 The garden of the blest, 
 
 Who wooed and won the Naiads 
 Where sun and shade caressed, 
 
 Of full fruition wearied, 
 Like reeds that never rest. 
 
 O, all my trusty sages ! 
 
 My soul is parched as brine 
 That spouts above the daggers 
 
 Of reefs where palely shine 
 The bones of men and galleys 
 
 That greenly intertwine. 
 
 And all my soul is weary 
 Before the Sun is hurled 
 
 Upon the azure arches 
 
 That span the sovran world, 
 
 And ere he dips his splendour 
 My sail of Hope is furled. 
 
 Go ! seek a magic potion 
 Repeating all the boy ; 
 
 The music of the surf-beat 
 No more is perfect joy, 
 
 And scarce my blood can tingle 
 To hear the song of Troy ! 
 
 In vain Thessalian leaders, 
 The captains of the sword, 
 
 Have turned the Sibyl pages 
 Where all that is is stored ? 
 
 No shining of contentment 
 Illumes the sacred hoard. 
 
 xxviii.
 
 Through all the groaning ages, 
 The travail and the fret, 
 
 The path to Joy's dominions 
 No mortal foot has met . . . 
 
 Still, for all despairings, 
 Lcfbe is seeking yet ! 
 
 TO AN OLD NORSE BROOCH 
 
 HEART has throbbed beneath thee, thou 
 
 hast felt 
 
 A baby's fingers shadowed by the lips 
 That shed a mother's love on lips that spell; 
 Soft cooings lost in exquisite eclipse ; 
 And thou hast seen the Norseman on the wave, 
 And heard the echo of his magic horn 
 League-floated from some cloud-begirt fiord, 
 
 The monumental grave 
 Of paladins who faced the foe with scorn, 
 And perished by the lightning of the sword ! 
 
 But now to alien eyes in thine old age 
 Thou art on Time's long strand a shell forlorn, 
 Cast up beyond the travail and the rage, 
 Whence to the spirit ear soft sounds are borne : 
 Dumb oracles of phantasy that break 
 Through all the rank, cold world into the sou!, 
 To teach us that the meanest thing may be 
 
 A parable to take 
 Our being to its visionary goal, 
 A symbol of love's immortality !
 
 Che THE SICK MAN IN HIS GARDEN 
 
 -*---' HIS happy realm, this pleasant fief, 
 
 Where summer suns and winter snows 
 Come without tallage or relief, 
 
 And free to everything that grows, 
 Beneath the unwavering rule and wise 
 Looks up to the benevolent skies 
 Like children to their mother's eyes. 
 
 Withdrawn from all the motley rout 
 
 In lassitude's delicious rest. 
 My grateful eyes do move about 
 
 This little kingdom of the blest: 
 I watch some windy-troubled stem, 
 And think of sorrows that Condemn 
 Pale men without, and pity them. 
 
 Aloof the tireless city's hum : 
 
 Only a wandering bough is heard, 
 
 Or haply when its note is dumb 
 The plaint of a monastic bird : 
 
 It is my very soul awakes 
 
 This solitude, a light that shakes 
 
 Infinite glory in its flakes. 
 
 Remembrances of regions dim 
 
 Before this lower life was known, 
 Of music neither song nor hymn, 
 
 But sensuous loveliness alone ; 
 Splendours that played about my head, 
 Twined with the love the mother shed 
 And sanctified it ere they fled. 
 
 Here is no fretfulness or grief : 
 The violet and rose are twins 
 
 In happiness : the dulcet leaf 
 At dawn her ecstacy begins ;
 
 For ever as the seasons roll jj^g 
 
 Unburdened by the mystic dole, ^ s j UMmJ 
 
 The sad endowment of the soul. 
 
 Oh, placid, sweet encouragement ! 
 
 I gather from your fond parterre 
 A treasury of solace lent 
 
 That ye do scatter every where ; 
 The perfect fulness that I see, 
 The showered music all may be 
 An echo of eternity ! 
 
 REVERIE 
 
 IVE me a reed from lyric Arcady 
 
 Of softest music : bid the birds to sing 
 
 Of all that is divine, the flowers, the sea, 
 Dim glades of forest for the weary wing, 
 
 Murmurs of rivulets : and let me be 
 
 One of the choir, that I may pour a song 
 Ripe from a heart that is untouched with Age, 
 
 Rich with the perfumes that to Youth belong, 
 Of what is never writ in lettered page, 
 
 But only whispered with a faltering tongue . . . 
 
 And as I conjure up one fairest face 
 No more the birds and forest shall be there, 
 
 No more the rivulets shall flow apace, 
 I shall forget all other, everywhere 
 
 Ever shall see her eyes in sunny place ! 
 
 xxxi.
 
 the 
 
 lUcst Wind 
 
 PARTED 
 
 T was not in the morning 
 
 Or evening that we met, 
 No land the world adorning 
 Was round about us set, 
 But we remember yet ! 
 
 Wild roses were the border 
 That girdled all the land : 
 
 Dear Love in sweet disorder 
 Had dropped them from his hand, 
 Like Timt/s deceiving sand. 
 
 Were dryads tryst a-keeping ? 
 
 Were fauns afoot with Pan ? 
 Were Pain and Sorrow sleeping 
 
 As when the world began, 
 
 As Love itself began ? 
 
 The swans have flown asunder 
 
 On Love's secluded lake, 
 His star is muffled under 
 
 Clouds that will not break . . . 
 
 Oh! Sweet, for old love's sake ! 
 
 xxxii.
 
 MY ROSE ClK 
 
 West mind 
 
 FT in a garden I have found 
 
 A rose that nestled to the sound 
 
 Of waterfalls from shadowy hills, 
 
 Flown across the hidden rills, 
 
 Music that has sweeter been 
 
 That its cradle is unseen. 
 She upon her slender perch 
 Wavers to bird bills that search 
 In her coronet for beads 
 Showered from Eve's dusky bredes, 
 While some coppice-hidden bird '11 
 Scatter round her for a girdle 
 Tangles of his throbbing soul 
 For some poet to unroll. 
 From her petals I have drawn 
 Incense waiting for the dawn, 
 Or to float upon the rain 
 If the South wind come again. 
 To my lips each petal lies 
 Limpid as my dearest's eyes, 
 Eyes more beautiful by far 
 Than the glow of evening star, 
 When her aureole is strewn 
 Underneath the sickle moon ; 
 Then I leave her in the gloom, 
 Swooning to her own perfume. 
 Ah, my Spirit ! when I come 
 As the next day neareth home, 
 And my rose, of all the brood, 
 Hath been plucked by fingers rude! . . 
 Thou, that art an opening bud, 
 By each spirit to be wooed 
 That cherisheth the ancient lore, 
 To love, and to love evermore, 
 
 xxxiii.
 
 tftf The beautiful ! oh, that I could 
 
 UlCSt Wittf With thee inherit solitude ! 
 
 But afar my steps must go ; 
 Thou, perhaps, wilt never know 
 The fullness of my quiet pain, 
 Aching, that when I come again, 
 Thou, of all rosebuds diadem, 
 Mayst have been taken from thy stem 
 
 ADRIFT 
 
 HE weary, slow, unfolding wave 
 Lips the dim softness of the cave, 
 "Whispering the chancel of the sea 
 How sweet it is in peace to be. 
 
 Ah, witchery of dying hours ! 
 Oh, pain of adamantine powers ! 
 That draw the full, reluctant tide 
 From where its slumber would abide. 
 
 Thus have I dreamt to dwell with thee, 
 But thou hast said it may not be, 
 And now I drift for evermore 
 Far from thy soul's secluded shore. 
 
 For thine could never make return : 
 Love's lonely vigil did but learn 
 To show thee, dearest one, in vain 
 Its incommunicable pain. 
 
 xxxiv.
 
 MAORILAND CDe 
 
 West mind 
 
 FAR in some forgotten wood 
 
 "Whose only worshippers, the clouds, 
 Poise in a stately interlude 
 
 Above the topmost leafy shrouds, 
 To listen to a waterfall 
 That winnows slumber thro* the pines . . . 
 There was thy cradle placed, and all 
 Thy radiance around them shines. 
 
 To thee no Naiad oaring pressed 
 
 The rich reeds of a sacred stream, 
 Nor ibis of revered nest 
 
 Sailed in a melancholy gleam 
 
 Of moated stillness, like a dream 
 "Wherein a swarthy queen lay hid 
 In blood-cemented pyramid : 
 
 Nor any wreath of cannon-smoke 
 
 Clung to old palaces and towers ; 
 But, best for thee, the Forest spoke, 
 
 To tell the secret to the flowers 
 That thou wert born, and evermore 
 The wave that wandered to the shore 
 Was free as thou wert, and no more. 
 
 Ah 1 something of their sap has crept 
 
 Into thy being : thou hast grown 
 Where balmy sun and winter kept 
 
 A shadowy tryst with thee alone : 
 Thou hast the wildness of the wood, 
 
 The dim enchantment of the creek ; 
 And surely somewhere thou hast stood 
 
 Where God himself vouchsafed to speak . . .
 
 Cl){ Thy sweet elusive spirit dwells 
 
 UfWt UHltd Amid the far-suspended South, 
 
 And there thy lonely passion tells 
 
 Its pain upon thy dreamy mouth : 
 For ever on the mountain side 
 The snow imprisoned, and the tide 
 That is eternally denied 
 The shore, aloof with thee abide. 
 
 Perhaps on thy revealing face 
 
 The shadows of the unforeseen 
 Have left too deep for joy their trace ; 
 But ah ! thy tender heart may lean 
 To those that bore the storm and stress, 
 But soothed from Sorrow all her grace 
 Thy land of fading tears to bless ! 
 
 KITTY TO MADGE 
 
 ADGE ! " said Kitty, with a sigh, 
 
 " Yesterday my fancy led 
 Life of careless tyranny, 
 Soft to everyone but Ted. 
 
 Rose a moment of white flame 
 When his eyes looked into mine, 
 
 And my heart said with acclaim, 
 4 Love I for ever I am thine.' " 
 
 So the river runs a-cold 
 Many a morrow, but to be 
 
 Snowy elements unrolled 
 In the warm heart of the Sea. 
 
 xxxvi.
 
 "AT EVENTIDE IT SHALL BE LIGHT" ClK 
 
 Ulest Wind 
 
 i S daylight fading, Margaret? 
 
 Are those the bells of eventide ? 
 Does Darkness gather in her net 
 The stars that in the sunbeams hide ? 
 
 The children's voices, are they not 
 
 Hushed in the garden's dewy breath 
 To whisper in some far-off spot 
 
 The simple things of love and death ? 
 
 Your hand is cold, my Margaret, 
 
 Your eyes are dim through stealthy tears, 
 Ah, all my soul with grief is wet 
 
 To know you not in all these years ! 
 
 Sweet, now too late I see in vain 
 
 Your heart was poured to shallow mould 
 That could not hold it : once again 
 
 Kiss me, and let me lie a-cold . . .
 
 TO A ROSEBUD 
 OMBM _ -ISING.faUing, 
 
 All the azure day upon the wind, 
 Tripping to the note-betangled calling 
 Of the birds and rivulets entwined 
 As they would pour their spirit to the 
 fairy kind. 
 
 Ever growing 
 To the girdled fullness of a bloom, 
 
 With odours of tfce elfins overflowing, 
 Petally cascades of faint perfume 
 That fall upon the mould and thread the violet's tomb. 
 
 Comes the swallow 
 With a lullaby from the sleepy brooks, 
 
 Shaking from his pennons echoes hollow 
 Snatched ere they could leave the lotus nooks 
 To lull the vigil gleaner flitting through the stocks. 
 
 He will never 
 Twitter of the languor and the pain 
 
 That from the light we never can dissever, 
 And all a-night the sob-subdued brain 
 Twines in a fevered mesh day's agony again. 
 
 On the mortals 
 Is the darkness of a molish way, 
 
 Unfathomed the secret of the portals 
 That bar the vista of the fruitful day : 
 We pine for other light, we loathe our pallid ray : 
 
 And we ponder 
 On the time to be, and we would fain 
 
 Lay down the yoke we bear, afresh to wander, 
 As thou wilt shed thy fullness in the rain 
 To sleep a little while, then be a bud again. 
 
 xxxviii.
 
 THE THREE ISLANDS tfte 
 
 OW blest these islands of the morn, We$t M 
 
 The diadem of lonely seas 
 Where the Almighty's smile is born 
 
 To follow westward with the breeze : 
 For first on us the light of God 
 
 Each matin from the heaven is bowed, 
 Swift as the fury of the sword, 
 
 Soft as the rainbow in the cloud ! 
 
 Around us are white-woven waves 
 
 That ne'er have felt a tyrant's keel, 
 That roll above old heroes' graves 
 
 To thunder in a breaking peal ; 
 And overhead the snowy scars, 
 
 Where never foot of man hath clomb, 
 Point to the everlasting stars 
 
 That lustre all the Southern dome. 
 
 Glad rivers from the forest flow 
 
 Or fall in frolic from the peaks, 
 In myriad flowers our spirits know 
 
 The sweetness of Jehovah speaks; 
 And through the woods low murmurs run, 
 
 Blent voices from the circle sea 
 That whisper we and they are one, 
 
 Bred of the ocean, and as free ! 
 
 The thunder of the moa's gorge 
 
 Shall be our answer to the foe ; 
 As sparks that feather from the forge 
 
 Our souls shall rise in battle's glow : 
 So Peace shall wreathe our iron capes 
 
 That frown defiance to the foam 
 That smites with fury and escapes 
 
 In hissing ruin to its home !
 
 CDC MYRA 
 
 Ulcst mind 
 
 SAW you by the border of the ocean, 
 
 Seated upon a rock in pensive mood, 
 Lulled by the anthem of the mind's devotion 
 
 To the enamelled beauties of the flood 
 Swaying itself in tesselated motion 
 With lips that sang a Spring beatitude, 
 Foam notes awakened by the virgin seas 
 Sent to you by the Oceanides ! 
 
 What do they murmur on the pebbles' umber ? 
 
 What is the vision of your steadfast eyes ? 
 Planets that rest them in half-lidded slumber 
 
 Poised to the spirit's wayward melodies 
 Songs of the soul, where Memory loves to number 
 
 The white- waked days long lost beneath the skies 
 That drop no more their balmy overflow 
 That bathed our very being, long ago. 
 
 What are you weaving to the foamy pealing 
 Ten thousand wavelets ring about your feet ? 
 
 Are you beneath the emerald curve concealing 
 The paven grotto where the mermaids meet ? 
 
 Or is your fancy with the seagull wheeling 
 In a white wealth of cloud, where he may greet 
 
 The steepy sun-shower from the empyrean hurled 
 
 Ere it has kissed and warmed the torpid world ? 
 
 Can the grey-pennoned cares of life embarrass 
 Your sunny soul, sweet Myra, this fair morn ? 
 
 Did all a-night the dead Day's travail harass 
 
 Till the tired eyelids lashed themselves outworn ? 
 
 Has Sorrow's breath bestirred the silken arras 
 That sheltered from the outer bleaks forlorn, 
 
 And do the wavelets murmur on the shore 
 
 That flawless ecstasy returns no more ? 
 
 xl.
 
 Look downward, Myra ! to the veined flitting CbC 
 
 Of kisses of the Sun upon the Strand : Ule$t Wind 
 
 Dark is the ooze, but ever intermitting 
 Swim the gold tangles o'er the furrowed sand ; 
 
 So the dread Fates a double thread are knitting, 
 Weaving for each a parti-coloured band 
 
 That shall unroll itself, as Time shall flow, 
 
 Into a ravelled skein of joy and woe. 
 
 Look, Myra ! how the little waves are creeping 
 
 About the rock you linger on bemused : 
 Do you not see the little fishes peeping 
 
 Into your eyes with reverie infused ? 
 Do you not hear the tiny breakers cheeping 
 
 About the granite in a whirl confused ? 
 While the blue crystal eddying about you 
 Mirrors your face, and cannot move without you. 
 
 Myra, melilla, see therein a token 
 
 Of the still mirror fixed in my soul : 
 Where'er thou art, thine image falls unbroken 
 
 On my delighted spirit, as a knoll 
 Of solemn curfew through the shadows spoken 
 
 Trembles upon the fields in drowsy dole, 
 Bringing the slumbrous calm of tranquilness, 
 As thou dost ripe my heart with blessedness. 
 
 List, Myra ! to the little breeze that bloweth 
 
 Round thy soft-conched ear : oh ! hearken still 
 To my fond secret that Favonius knoweth, 
 
 And whispers with his own soft-tongued skill : 
 Come shoreward, Myra 1 where the seaweed floweth 
 
 Into a font of granite-curven sill, 
 And by its waters mirroring the skies 
 Pour on me the deep heaven of thine eyes ! 
 
 xli.
 
 CDC 
 West Ulind 
 
 A VIGIL 
 
 NE bird upon the roof, 
 A chorister forlorn, 
 Sings to the cloistered morn 
 Hid in her cloudy woof 
 A song that doth unfold 
 Itself in plaited gold. 
 
 Sing what I ne'er can say 
 The wave may love the shore, 
 The flowers the dews that pour, 
 
 The tired winds love to stay 
 On cliffs where moss has lain, 
 Spent with the toiling main . . . 
 
 Dearer to me one heart 
 
 Where I would love to dwell, 
 
 Woven with magic spell 
 Into its inner part, 
 
 Sunk in its secrecy 
 
 Like a star in the sea.
 
 SAINT HUBERT the 
 
 OMRADES, to the woodlands come ! Wc$t Winfl 
 
 Thrice afar the tasselled horn 
 Pours a soul's elysium 
 Thro' the white wake of the morn. 
 
 Thrice the buck has hearkened still, 
 Buried in the umber shades ; 
 
 Thrice the gleby-wandering rill 
 Answers ere the bugle fades. 
 
 Over yonder granite peak, 
 
 Circled with a fleecy film, 
 Leaps the glad sun's flaming streak, 
 
 Kissing all his verdured realm. 
 
 Unpremeditated hymns 
 
 Pour from feather-throated choirs, 
 Every note with joy o'erbrims, 
 
 Every heart to soar aspires ! 
 
 Thrice afar the tasselled horn 
 Pours a soul's elysium 
 
 Through the white wake of the morn- 
 Comrades, to the woodlands come ! 
 
 xliii.
 
 tftc DEAD! 
 
 West Ulind 
 
 ILENT, silent, when the dawn 
 Through the ashen room is drawn, 
 And it lingers on thy face, 
 Counterfeiting a fled grace ! 
 
 As the shadows slip away 
 To the meadow of the day, 
 Does not thy persistent heart 
 Yearn to all its wonted part ? 
 
 All the fond, vibrating bars 
 From the flame of viewless stars 
 Will not ope the fretted lid 
 Where thy lovely soul was hid. 
 
 Though thou liest there so still 
 God has shown thee all His will, 
 And His universe is whole 
 Unto thy expanding soul. 
 
 Thou hast fled from love and moan, 
 Little children here alone 
 Stumble for the lamp of love 
 Thou didst bring them from above. 
 
 xlhr.
 
 ODE Cbe 
 
 ?REAK as all vows of love that unabides, 
 Roll on thy strand the slow, smooth arch 
 
 that gleams 
 
 With fettered magic of the girdling tides 
 And the tmgathered glories of youth's 
 
 dreams ; 
 Pierce thy green depths on rocks that are a-cold, 
 
 Touch with thy rainbow curve this lonely shore, 
 But even as thou diest, oh ! unfold 
 
 The voices I have heard, and hear no more. 
 
 O Sanctuary ! whose eternal foam 
 
 Drapes for thanksgiving pedestals profound 
 Sunk in the depths, whose altar tops are home 
 
 For the white clouds, shed on me what was wound 
 In the young years about my heart, and rolled 
 
 Through all my being, a celestial sense ... 
 Love that still lips and shuttered eyes have told, 
 
 Smiles that elude sad Memory's impotence ! 
 
 Then thy too solemn dirge shall softly float 
 
 Upon the muted strings of Memory's pain, 
 As a tired wind that fades upon a moat 
 
 Too still to welcome its secluded rain ; 
 And if one tremor shall recall a throb 
 
 Long buried in old graves, oh ! Lord, how sweet 
 To feel thy benediction in a sob, 
 
 And see thee in the tears about my feet . . . 
 
 xlv.
 
 J\ Cable of tbe Ucw$ 
 
 INTRODUCTORY, page Hi. 
 
 THE WEST WIND, page iv. 
 
 ROSALIND, page vi. 
 
 AT HER GATE, page vii. 
 
 TO MY DOG, page viii. 
 
 A SWALLOW IN MAORILAND, page x. 
 
 ASLEEP, page xi. 
 
 ON THE CLIFFS, page xii. 
 
 RETROSPECTION, page xiii. 
 
 TO A SEAGULL, page xiv. 
 
 FAVONIUS, page xv. 
 
 DOUBT, page xvi. 
 
 AKAROA HEADS, page xvii. 
 
 CAPE RAOUL, page xvii. 
 
 SINCLAIR HEAD, page xviii. 
 
 HUSH, page xviii. 
 
 A DIRGE, page xix. 
 
 TO A SEA-SHELL, page xix. 
 
 BOWEN FALLS, page xx. 
 
 SPRING IN MAORILAND, page xxi. 
 
 A DUET, page xxii. 
 
 " AS YOU LIKE IT," page xxiii. 
 
 TRYST, page xxiv. 
 
 FIDELIS, page xxv. 
 
 TO AN OLD FRIEND, page xxvi. 
 
 BY THE SEA, page xxvii. 
 
 A QUEST, page xxviii. 
 
 TO AN OLD NORSE BROOCH, page xxix. 
 
 THE SICK MAN IN HIS GARDEN, page xxx. 
 
 REVERIE, page xxxi. 
 
 PARTED, page xxxii. 
 
 MY ROSE, page xxxiii. 
 
 ADRIFT, page xxxiv. 
 
 xlvi.
 
 MAORILAND, page xxxv. 
 
 KITTY TO MADGE, page xxxvi. 
 
 AT EVENTIDE IT SHALL BE LIGHT, page xxxvii. 
 
 TO A ROSEBUD, page xxxviii. 
 
 THE THREE ISLANDS, page xxxix. 
 
 MYRA, page xl. 
 
 A VIGIL, page xlii. 
 
 SAINT HUBERT, page xliii. 
 
 DEAD, page xliv. 
 
 ODE, page xlv. 
 
 NOTE 
 
 Of these verses cMyra was published in The 'Press, 
 Wellington. The West Wind, <At Her Gate, To My Dog, 
 cA Swallow in Maoriland, cAsleep, On the Cliff, 'Retro- 
 spection, To a. Seagull, Doubt, cAkaroa Heads, Cape 
 Raoul, Sinclair Head, A Dirge, To a Sea-Shell, c Bo c iven 
 Falls, Spring in Maoriland, " cAs You Like It," Tryst, 
 Fidelis, To an Old Friend, By the Sea., Reverie, 'Parted, 
 My l&se, Adrift, Kitty to Madge, At Eventide It Shall 
 Be Light, The Three Islands, A Vigil, St. Hubert, Vead, 
 Ode, and the Introductory Verses, were published in The 
 Bulletin. The remaining pieces are now first published. 
 
 ERRATA 
 
 It is regretted 
 On page xxvi, To an Old Jriend, line 10, birds should be 
 
 buds. 
 On page xxix, To an Old &(prse brooch, line 4, spell 
 
 should be spelt. 
 
 xlvii.
 
 H Personal Dote 
 
 'UBERT CHURCH was born at Hobart, Tasmania, 
 J3th June, 1857. His father, Hubert Day Church, 
 M.A. and barrister, came from English Somerset, 
 and was a descendant of John Hampden's family. 
 Hubert Church was educated in England (1865- 
 J872) at Guildford, Felstead, and Oxford University. An accident 
 in cricket caused severe deafness, and ended his English school life. 
 He came to Maoriland in 1873, and for several years studied law. 
 In 1879 he entered the Government service in the Treasury depart- 
 ment at Wellington, where he resides. 
 
 The verses included in this booklet represent the greater 
 portion of Church's poetical work; for he writes only at an 
 impulse, and the impulse is soon exhausted. The longest of the 
 omitted pieces is entitled " An Ode on the Decay of the Maori 
 Race," and is not without excellence, though it does not reach the 
 comparative perfection of most of the verses here given, which 
 nearly all have been chosen by the author to represent his talent 
 at its highest. 
 
 The charm of Hubert Church's verse is a charm of slow, 
 unfolding sweetness, of suave and mellow grace. The refinement 
 of his mind attenuates the force of his expression, the force of his 
 emotion, it may be. His poems move quietly and naturally to their 
 close, expanding harmoniously as flowers that bud and bloom in 
 peace to gently fade and fall, scented petal after petal. Without 
 being great poetry, they bring to the Quiet Life many lines, many 
 images which are greatly poetic, in that their influence comes with 
 music and abides like the odours of old balsams, fragrant and 
 
 healing. 
 
 A.G.S. 
 
 xlviii.
 
 RODERIC 
 
 HUBBLE']; 
 
 ^SjS^^jSlSiiSSw^s^mrr 
 
 BY RODKRic QUINN 
 
 BY LOUISE MACK 
 
 EST WIND 
 
 HUBERT < 
 
 tt-aw/e
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-Series 4939 
 
 W ittfc^*
 
 PAMPHLET BINDER 
 
 Syracuse, N. Y. | 
 Stockton, Calif.