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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 37
Second Part
Second Part.
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Rise with the morn,—the early morn
Of a December day,
And climb that bold and rugged height,
That overlooks the bay.
Look backward, and beneath thee lies
The shipping at thy feet;
The Port, a snug romantic town,
There terraces the steep.
Away, beyond the rolling hills
(The wreck of former fires),
Lend to "The Bays," which they enclose,
Whate'er romance requires.
Far to the east, the slumbering main,
Unshadowed by a cloud,
Begins to sparkle as the lark's
Clear song is heard aloud.
Turn to the westward. From afar
Grey mountains greet the eye;
While o'er the fertile boundless plain,
A generous fog does lie.
Far to the north, the unseen sun
Just tips, with rosy light,
The rugged bold Kaikoura chain,
That first throws off the night.
Now, quivering on the furthest line
Which distant ocean leaves,
The god of day in glory leaps
From mid'st the tumbling waves.
Shoots his clear rays o'er the expanse
Of Pegasus' wide bay;
Catches the mountains of the west,
That flash beneath his ray.
Now, as the sun invades the sky,
Stirred by his generous warmth,
In broken clouds the fog, dispersed,
Melts 'neath his gathering strength.
Now keep thy perch, and view the scene
Without a shadow's stain;
Withhold thy praise, no praise can paint
The Canterbury Plain.
Nor I; and if my reader hath
So very luckless been,
Then haste thee to the vantage whence
This paradise is seen.
For thou may'st tell of glorious alp,
Chill with an epoch's snow;
Or castled crags that watch the Rhine,
'Neath thy romance may glow;
And thou may'st vaunt the champaign fields,
That Frenchmen do delight,
But hast reserved for thine eye
A yet more glorious sight.
Beneath the eye the distant plain,
On the horizon lost,
Lies bounded by the Southern Alps,
And by the reeking coast.
Nearer and nearer in the view,
And more and more distinct,
Hamlet and hut embossed by trees
Do town and country link.
Fields, waving now with richest
green, Unbounded promise give,
And these with flocks and herds
display How well the farmers live.
Now thickens 'neath the nearer view
The groves which taste set there;
Studding the plain are country seats,
Wealth built with wealth to spare.
Now gardens gay and cornfields rich
Please and bewitch the eyes;
While gracing the suburban towns,
The spires of churches rise.
The Avon and the Heathcote glide
Like shining serpents on;
Now east, now west, unseen or seen,
Past many a happy home.
As one within their estuary,
They mingle without war,
And thence their flashing waters roll
Across the Sumner bar.
Fair of itself, this glowing scene
Might long the eye detain;
And every spot, that holds the eye,
Might share of rapture claim.
From morn till noon thou there might'st sit,
And skim the landscape o'er—
But no, thy glance already set
Forgets to wander more.
Now, if thy tongue hath eloquence,
Rocks shall record thy speech.
Ah! thou art silent, but thine eye
Thy ecstasies doth teach.
That's Christchchurch, and need I say more,
Christchurch is widely known.
Trees, houses, gardens, palaces,
All blend to form the town,
Beset with rural towns, as is
Some landscape known to fame,
By less yet charming views embossed
Upon the golden frame.
'Tis noon, and heed'st thou not the ray,
Hot beaming on the hill.
There thou might'st sit till close of day,
And yet not gaze thy fill.
O beauteous queen of the vast plains,
That round thy outskirts wide,
Stretch to the mountains of the west,
And to the rolling tide!
O grand conception of thy sires,
Who did thy site reclaim
From mud and mire, from bog and swamp,
And gave thy sounding name!
They planted seedlings in thy streets,
And clothed thy Avon's banks
With willowy shade, and thus have earned
The lovers' grateful thanks.
City, whose streets whichever way,—
Must with a garden end;
Whose fountain-wells, from far below,
Cool crystal waters send.
City of squares, thy wide domain,
All blushing fair with flowers,
Deserves all praise as they deserve
Who tend thy fairy bowers.
If Nature here but little gave,
True taste with art combined
Has made for thee a paradise,
The grief of all the blind!
Thy youth and beauty here are seen.
Like poppy flowers are these!
Most tempting fruits in ripeness hang
On not forbidden trees.
But Wisdom lords it o'er the scene.
We mark those sober halls,
Within whose precincts no gay words
Re-echo from the walls.
Cathedral City! here would I
In quiet choose to live,
And watch thy towers that slowly rise,
From whence reproach cries "give."
O Christchurch! glory of the South,
And worthy to remain
The great emporium into which
Is poured the yellow grain.
Since that great day when through thee rode
Victoria's second son,
Wonders indeed thou hast beheld,—
Like this day sawest thou none.
Nor had'st thou ever yet a morn,
That breaking smiled like this,
Nor yet a noon so richly charged
With every form of bliss.
The tools of labour everywhere
Aside neglected lie;
The bee itself keeps holiday,
Disporting through the sky.
The sunshine playeth in thy streets,
The wind toys with thy trees;
Thy sons and daughters shout for joy,
Bright heavens laugh at these.
The gay and joyous, here they come
Their holiday to keep;
The wicked and the worldly shun
Their foul or dark retreat.
Thy children's children with them bear
Wherewith to weave a crown;
'They bend their steps to Market Square,
And still they crowding come.
Here he, in all but regal state,
Who ne're saw fortune's frown,
Yet further favours did await
To swell his great renown.
Now sober sage philosophers,
For which this town is famed,
With bright-illumed address, stood forth,
Which they had jointly framed.
And there was one the phalanx led,
And who the missive bore;
The plumage of the Tui speaks
The garments which he wore.
Approaching there the middle space,
In view of all around,
Before the Moa-riding Sage
They bowed them to the ground.
Expectant silence hung o'er all,
Attention bowed the Sage,
The parchment-roll one moment took,
Its string to disengage.
Up rising all with head erect,
They thus a paean sang;
In powerful tones, clear and distinct,
Around the square it rang.
They sang the labours of their friend,
And blazoned his reward,
A name which far posterity
Would reverently regard.
Thus, "We, who circle round the sun
Of science that doth shine,
The light of this yet sends it rays.
To many a distant clime;
"And who as satellites reflect
A secondary ray,
Would here in public, at this time,
Desire to convey
"Our sense of what we do believe,
All men already know;
And by our platitudes we would
Our estimation show.
"The orb of day's a satellite
To a yet greater sun;
But thou in thy peculiar sphere
Art second unto none.
"Rivals indeed there may have been,
Who for a moment shone,
But 'neath thy glory so they fade,
They scarce are looked upon.
"Thy triumphs since we all have shared,
So be our fate like thine;
We never harboured any doubt,
But trusted still to time.
"We still believed when thou foretold.
The time for doubt is past.
Thou sitst on the prophetic beast
Discovered at last.
"Now let the sceptic go and burn
His hypothetic stuff;
We always had, and now the world
Has had of his enough.
"And now, we here with pride would point
To thy career that's gone,
And paint that future which thou art
Just entering upon.
"You found us many years ago
Secluded and unknown,
Possessed of qualities that make
A people wise and strong.
"With'raw material that proved
Too oft of little use,
Thy schemes for future benefit
Met sometimes with abuse.
"And ever ready at all times,
False prophets raised the cry,
Thou only did'st pollute the spring,
Or thou did'st drain it dry.
"And, this when thou but deeper sank
For more abundant store,
And if of this thou claimed'st thy share,
Thy merits claim yet more.
"Now flows the fountain strong and clear,
And near the muddy wells
Of false report, both North and South,
Delusion only dwells.
"And thou, with ample honours bless'd,
Forget'st what thou hast done;
Abeyance seizes on the past,
Thine eye's on what's to come.
"We and a grateful people raise
This our triumphant strain;
We honour thee, and future time
Our verdict shall sustain.
"Thou only, of this mighty throng,
Art honoured so to ride;
So wear thine honours. May thy foes
Shame and confusion hide.
"Thy name adown the centuries '
As household-words' shall be;
And thy remembrance yet shall live
With all posterity.
"We, by direction, on behalf
Of all assembled here,
Present thee with the people's gift,
Whose interests you hold dear."
Their duty done. Then borne away
(As crowds are often swayed)
By eloquence, the wild impulse
No mortal man had stayed.
Broke from the dense excited crowd
A shout that breathed their soul,
First like a thunder-clap at hand,
Then faint as distant roll.
The murmer hushed, all eyes beset
The centre figure there,
Our hero—his hot joy proved more
Than silent he could bear.
* * *
page 34
O happy, honoured, much loved man,
Enjoy while yet you may.
Thy cup of nectar's full! enjoy
The honours of the day.
Heed not yon lowering thundercloud,
It cannot fall on thee,
But drain thy cup, it hath no dregs,
It holds no misery.
Why should it? Hath not hitherto
Fair breezes set thy sail;
And thy expectancy hath
seen Fruition without fail.
So, if a morning bright and clear
Gives promise for the day,
Hope should be thine, and thou may'st still
Rejoicing keep thy way.
Ah! life hath many turnings short,
Beyond which and unseen
A blacker prospect opens out,
Than what the past hath been.
And many a sunny morning-sky
With clouds has been o'ercast
Long 'ere 'twas noon, betokening
The coming stormy blast.
And I have seen all heaven ablaze
Beneath the tropic sun,
And darkness blotting out the light
Before the dread cyclone.
But, since no shadow falls on thee,
Still give the hour to joy;
Thou hast no cares to fling away,
Enjoy thyself, enjoy.
* * *
page 35
While to his brethren in reply
The rider still held forth,
It happened, (how was then unknown,
And I but state the truth).
Freed from his fetters stood the bird,
And in that moment free
His frame was nerved, and his bright eye
Glowed with intensity.
He saw again his mountain home
Rise up before his sight;
And, stirred by hope of freedom won,
He gathered all his might.
His rider quickly realised
His was an awkward plight,
And speedily he aid
besought, So that he might alight.
But suddenly a mighty rush,
And pell mell all around
Philosophers were strewed about,
Upon the dusty ground.
Like thistle-down among tall grass,
They stoutly did resist
The furious bird, and sought to save
Our hero at their best.
But terror, rising like a flood,
And self, proved far too strong
For their resolve, and so they lie
Confusedly piled or prone.
Ye gods! what sad misfortune now
Swells the big womb of fate?
What dread calamities arise
Upon the wings of hate?
What eye of evil on us now
Throws its malignant glance,
Making our highest joys collide
With this accurs'd mischancc?
A moment hath sufficed to change
Bright hope to black despair,
And blanche the face when almost yet
The set smile lingers there.
Who could foresee this fated hour,
Which late did smile so fair?
Quicker the lightning through the night,
Leaves not a blackness there.
In grief, O Christchurch, now behold
Thy mighty overthrown,
Thy talent in its aggregate,
As senseless masses groan.
A huge collapse of moving flesh
Piled in confusion lies;
Each, brave, behind his neighbour's bulk
To hide his body tries.
I had a simile that would
Just here have suited well,
But decency pronounces it
Too horrible to tell.
Thus suddenly this rapid change,
In less time than 'tis read.
A plague of terror seizes all.
The stoutest heart is dead.
A moment more, then horrid yells
And shouts of murder rose;
Ye powers! from what? must I say men
From men we must suppose.
On sped the bird, and what so fleet!
I might in vain essay
The lightning's flash, a hyperbole,
As is the sunlit ray.
The Derby winner; that's too slow.
Well, then, what can be done?
There's nothing left, and, so I say,
He ran as Moas run.
O'er fallen foes, but what of that,
He spurned them with his feet,
And at a bound he strode along,
And cleared the fallen heap.
Horror of horrors yet await
The great illustrious———;
Fate, or his own mismanagement,
Had bound him doubly fast.
Shall words suffice for his dismay?
Apollo answers, no!
In vain to Dante I appeal,
He can no equal show.
Say, what is terror in the night
To one who waits his doom?
And counts the moments as they fly,
Lest morn should come too soon.
Say, if this wretch hath heap on heap
Piled higher human woe,
Yet with a craven heart must keep
Appointment with the foe?
Not yet enough—"all hell in arms"
Must shrink in horror back,
The livid hue that paints' his cheek
Hath deepened to a black.
With wild contortions, struggled there
The giant figure, borne
Light as a babe on such a back;
Yet Fate but smiled in scorn.
O what a prize, in such an hour,
Hath he who still must own,
If life her lease begin anew,
He'd do as he had done.
But ah! frail man, 'tis but a few
This high estate can reach,
Which even for a fallen foe
A sympathy should teach.
Yet so it is; but such is life;
And, far too surely, there
Are but a few whose honest heart
Them scatheless thus would bear.
And yet, O God, why should it be,
That death so seldom comes
Without repentance? while in life
We all are chosen ones.
Yet still the tide of life rolls on,
No man knows how or where;
Each in his own heart best can judge,
What conscience sayeth there.
But we return. The Moa fled,
Disdained to cross the bridge,
But sprang across the Avon's tide,
As 'twere a two foot hedge.
Waked from the stupor of surprise,
With a tremendous roar.
The frantic multitude gave chase;
In vain, in vain they bore
Down on the bridge, where crushed in heaps
With rear still pressing on;
Ensued a tumult which the like
Had Christchurch never known.
Heedless of all, the flightless bird,
Meanwhile a winged horse,
Steady, but with a frightful speed,
Unwavering held its course.
Dwellers on Papanui Road
Had never seen the like;
The women screamed, the men did stare,
The boys yelled with delight.
To Carleton then the bird sped on,
Where stockmen do abound;
And many a well-trained hack and whip,
Did there the bird surround.
Tumultuous shouts and horrid din
Behind, still urged him on;
Yet due respect seemed to be paid
His giant-limbs so strong.
So plied they fast the good cow-hide,
And shouted one and all;
But louder roared the frightened Sage,
On whom the blows did fall.
O what a plight! methinks I hear
The writhing victim's yell,
As the long serpentine-like
lash A biting fury fell.
"Mercy! in Heaven's name," he cried,
"Is this the aid you give?
I am not rich, but take my all,
Save me, for I would live."
Who in the desert wilderness
Has felt his life decay,
A thirsty madness, he alone
Can picture his dismay.
But now the bird has passed his foes,
And left them all behind,
Their utmost speed was nothing to
"The eater of the wind."
Houses and gardens, trees and fields
In circles seemed to team;
And to the rider's giddy brain,
Seemed mad as round they spun.
And now, as Speed with steady hand
Still urged the Moa on,
Obstruction everywhere gave place,
And thus was freedom won.
Hast thou beheld the reflux tide
Thrown back from either shore,
When doth a steamer, at full speed,
A confined space explore?
Or, hast thou seen an avalanche
Descending from on high,
And, with a scarce diminished speed,
Through waving forests fly?
When southern gales heap up the tide
That toils through the French Pass,
Hast thou then seen it chafe and roar,
Right onward to the grass?
But here, repelled with sullen roar,
Thrown back it boils among
The rocky crags that pile the shore,
While high it's spray is flung.
So yields, so roars, the live gorse-fence,
As back the cloven air's
Impetuous rush stirs all that's loose,
And high its wreckage bears.
Fate seemed averse. The rider's head
Sank drooping to his breast;
But, suddenly, he seized a straw,
A feeble hope at best.
It mattered little that 'twas vain,
It not the less was dear
(In darkness light's contrasted ray
Yet brighter doth appear.)
His consolation and his hope,
The railway gates in view,
O fatal chance! wide open stood,
The fugitives passed through;
And, thundering o'er the open plain,
A steady course did keep;
While from their path, on either side,
Fled far the frightened sheep.
The Sage, in this his trial come,
Unaided and alone,
Had safety only in himself.
To succour him were none.
He seized the Moa by the neck,
And sought its course to turn;
But here he found his strength was matched
As well had he foreborne.
* * *
Now think of all thy greatness,
And now upon thy fate;
Think how thy friends in secret laugh,
And how thy foes in hate.
Think what, with justice from thy hand,
The worthy might have been;
But look not on that grinning ghost,
For thou that face hast seen.
Scan all thy years of honour past,
And pluck the fruit that's there;
I pray thee look not on thy last,
If thou would'st not despair.
Take council with thyself not now,
All counsel is in vain;
Repulse that mockery of regret;
Nor think that thought again.
Wish that thine eyes were blind; but no!
It is thy mind that sees;
What is't that rides upon the wind?
What demons say are these?
Scorn and contempt come from the South;
Hate fills the northern air;
Here, justice hovers o'er thy head;
Full in thy face despair.
And, madly though thou yet art borne
With unremitting speed,
The fearful images unchanged
Are hovering o'er thy head.
A thousand forms come flocking in,
As time and distance gain;
And not an imp can cast one glance
That may relieve thy pain.
No witch-dance this, nor there "Auld Nick"
As piper at their head;
But stern and gloomy, silent all,
Through the thin air they glide.
* * *
page 43
And now, the once far distant hills
Are swelling to the view;
Attempt one desperate effort more,
Else bid all hope adieu.
Yet, as before his struggle's vain,
And this last effort past,
Both hands within a feathery mane
With desperate clutch held fast.
But what avail to tell you more,
Since none but one can tell
The horrors of his further ride,
Or on his fears to dwell.
How he the gods invoked for aid,
And yet no aid was found;
And how his misery lessened not,
From plain to hilly ground.
He sensless now had quite become,
With horror and dismay;
Whither he went he could not tell,
And shall I dare to say.
End of Second Part.
James Hughes, Steam Printer. Etc., Lambtom Quay.