page 47

New Zealand's Jubilee.

I. (1840.)
Children of England! far from the Motherland,
Raise we her banner yet over another land!
Long o'er our heads may it proudly wave!
Long 'neath its folds may the loyal and brave
A guardian phalanx stand!
Oft has it led o'er the hard-fought field
Damp with the dews of death;
Charged thro' the drift when the foeman reeled
Under the cannon's breath;
Or, laid at rest, when the people rejoice,
In the cathedral's gloom,
Stirred by the swelling organ's voice,
It has wept o'er the hero's tomb.
But now, on the wines of a sun-kissed breeze,
Here on this Austral shore,
Wave, brave flag, o'er slumberous seas
That know not the battle's roar.
And brood o'er the land like the spirit of Peace
For ever and ever more!

II. (1890.)
Once more the crimson blossom-showers
Have fallen around the Island Bay,
As wreathed with smiles and crowned with flowers
The year has softly died away.
And there was England's banner set
Fifty golden years ago,
And, while it floats in triumph yet
And loyal bosoms beat below,
In this glad hour shall we forget
The grateful tribute that we owe
To those stout-hearted pioneers,
Who raised it yonder on the hill.
Upheld it thro' the troubled years,
And kept it England's still!

III.
See! how each youthful city strives
To celebrate the natal day.
Lo! there the Southern halls display,
Marshalled in bountiful array,
What Nature gives or man contrives.
See here, and there, and everywhere,
The joyous multitudes that meet
In pleasure-park or crowded square,
Where flowers embower the sounding street
In gay festoon, and verdant arch
With flags and trophies hung;
Hark to the loud triumphal march,
The loyal anthem sung;
The roll of drums, the trumpet call,
The dance, the civic festival,
And the grim voices from the fort
Thundering their jubilant retort,
Till far the city's tumult fills
The land where many;an answering heart
Is listening on the lonely hills
Or in the forest shades apart,
When load her frantic bells proclaim
The morning from her topmost spares;
Or, when the heavens are all aflame
At midnight with her festal fires.
When the night winds call to the ships on the sea,
Rejoice with the land in her Jubilee!
And the voice of the sea, and the voice of the shore
To the voice of the city their answer outpour.

IV.
Is this the inhospitable shore
To which the intrepid Tasman came?
These fertile plains, were they the same?
These glowing fruits, the fruits they bore
When England's greatest Argonaut
Lay anchored in the lonely sound,
Or,' scattering wide his bounty, sought
To dower the waste uncultured ground?
It is the clime! It is the soil!
But fifty years of stubborn toil,
With steadfast heart and tutored hand,
Have tamed the plains and mountains wild,
And charmed the deserts till they smiled,
And changed the aspect of the land.
The conquered forest giants reel,
Cleft thro' by the invader's steel;
While the kind earth, at last set free,
Rejoices in her liberty;
And casts her tribute full and sweet
Before her bold deliverer's feet;
Returns his gifts an hundredfold,
With wealth of herds and wealth of flocks—
Nay, more, her treasure-vault unlocks
And pours him all her gold!

V.
Our children's Land! The Land we made!
A dreaded land ere we subdued
The sagging swamp, the endless shade
Of gloomy, vast, primeval wood,
And sullen pa, with triple palisade,
In every hideous form of savage art arrayed.
Ere yet the city of the plain,
Or cities by the encircling sea,
Like sparkling jewels in the train
Of wonder-working Industry,
Rose, as if Orpheus sang again,
And Nature heard the Enchanter's strain,
And stones moved to his minstrelsy.

VI.
Where drifting down the moonlit bay
The wild chant sank or rose anew—
Where from the inlet, like a bird of prey,
Darted the war canoe, Now, careless of the fickle breeze,
Come the giant argosies—
Fairy, floating palaces—
And, halting scarce a breathing space,
Renew with Time the unwearied race;
Take Summer captive from her place,
And bear her in their cold embrace
To wintry skies and stormy strands,
Whore eager millions stretch their hands
To share the fruits of happier lands.

VII.
Behold the work of fifty years!
Proud of her children, Freedom cries,
Behold! a second England rears
Her stately form to softer skies!
Tho' set in vaster seas, caressed
By freer winds, and strangely nursed
Close to the planet's fiery breast,
She bears the impress of the first.
Daughter of England, you may trace
The mother in her fair young face.
Nor in the outward form alone,
But, with each parent grace imbued,
Be her high lineage ever known
By closer still similitude.
Heir to the ancient memories
That fire the eye and thrill the soul,
Be hers the higher hope that sees
And strives for a diviner goal,
When Wisdom, from her sovereign seat,
Shall sway the world by gracious words;
And earth shall ring, as at her feet
The gathered nations cast their swords,
When kindlier influences mould
The spirit of each growing year,
Till happier eyes than ours behold
The perfect morning drawing near
To that bright goal. O favoured Land!
Heaven be thy conduct day by day
And light thy feet, and lead thee by the hand
Still forward on the upward, arduous way,
Till, in the record of the coming age.
Thine, too, shall be the emblazoned page.
Where noble thought and deed of high emprise
Win thee the name and fame which never dies.