The Spike: or, Victoria College Review, October 1908
See how the Tararuas stand
All glistening in their robes of snow,
Nor winter rules with iron hand,
And winds Antarctic bleakly blow.
Build high the fire and thaw the cold,
Of fuel there's an ample store;
Bring forth that jar of whisky old,
O Harcus, and we'll drink once more.
Leave all else to the gods, for they
The warring winds on seething seas
Have laid to sleep; no longer sway
In strife the venerable trees.
To-morrow's lot seek not to know,
But count it as a profit won,
What day soe'er the fates bestow,
Nor, what love offers, ever shun,
Nor ever spurn the dance, so long
As crabbed old age shall hold aloof,
And in thy veins the blood run strong
To put such pleasures to the proof.
Now to the gardens or the park
Return at the appointed hour
Of Dulcet whispers after dark,
When hidden in some secret bower.
A frolic laugh betrays the maid
Indulgent to the foolish boy,
Of stealing kisses half afraid
Though lips are but demurely coy.
Lucy, fond votaress of clairvoyance,
Thou shalt not know, in crystal though thou gaze,
What end the gods ordain of all my days
And thine, sweet witch; not all thy necromance
Can tell our destinies; whate'er bechance
'Twere best to bear; whether th' Almighty weights
Thee out more years, or this thy last, naught stays
The wave-like motion of the years' advance.
Wisdom accepts, be wise; thy longing hope
Trim to the straiter limits of thy sphere
Of homely duty, for what must be, must;
E'en now, while thou wouldst read my horoscope,
The jealous hour is sped; to-day is here,
Seize it and to the morrow little trust.