Musings in Maoriland
The Brooklet in the Glen
The Brooklet in the Glen.
Its mellow song
The whole night long
Is borne around the tranquil vale,
And through the day
In cheerful lay,
It chants a never-ending tale,
The hist'ry of its life and birth,
The secrets of the valley, when
From the effusive pores of earth,
God called it down the glen.
The tui's trill,
Upon the hill,
Is answered by a thousand notes,
Till one grand swell
From nook and dell
Upon the morning æther floats;
But in a voice subdued and low,
Which tells of things beyond our ken,
The brooklet's gentle accents flow,
Meandering down the glen.
And as it flows
It larger grows,
Until it merges in the sea;
And thus the boy
From childish joy
Runs into man's anxiety;
The fairy towers we loved to raise,
Are swallowed in life's whirlpool then—
There's food for thought in all thy lays,
Sweet brooklet in the glen.