Original Poetry.

Evening Star, Issue 4149, 14 June 1876, Page 4

Original Poetry.

THE POLITICAL SITUATION,

[a sono,] The valiant George was a warrior bold, And Jephthah-like was'he ; He lived alone on an island cold— An island cold and free. Achilles-like he had fled his post, The hottest in the fray; And moped about on his sea-girt coast For many a lee long day. Bat when the flood of a nation’s woe 1 id roll and tumble down, And the Premier’s hosts in their wrath did go Patroclus straight to drown ; With quivering lips did this son of Mars Spring up from off the sward j Away ho flashed to the cruel wars, Td save ids princely ward. The tocsin’s note it had sounded long, The-echoes had answered back : Ye Southern claps, hurry! muster strong! ■■ And march with crafty Mao. . The beacons gleamed"from the “mountain in great large drops, '■ „ • X*est they’Should lose their lives.

hey wiped their eyes, as they rushed to arms, " And of banquets held a score, I ho roast was good, and the wine had * charms, G And the P.B. many more. ’he Board of War was a lolly thing, As jolly as board could be, tot this they lacked—not a soul could (sing Of all that company. [heir stories told o’er the sparkling wine Were long, and loud, and tough, ( Cheir pathos deep, and their wealth a mine Of—pray stop, sir, ’tis enough. Cheae warriors back to tbeir homes did go ■ To slip the hounds of war, But phantoms dark and as cold as snow. To mock did seem from far. The days passed on and a chill did creep, And tremor through their bones ; I They seemed like men in a troubled sleep, So piteous were their moans. They looked for help from an absent friend, A friend of wondrous jFame, Who might the ranks of the foemau rend. And defeat the Premier’s game. But theP. came back, and a ghastly smile O’erspread his wavy face; ?Tis vain, he said—l’d like for a while Yon croakers had my place. You’re getting old, as I sadly wist; Your eyes are nearly blind— The Auckland heat aud Dunedin mist • Would sap the strongest mind. Then from this time, in a dreadful pet, 1 Despair and dudgeon high, They their troubles took to the free gazette, [ And pen and ink made fly. The Premier’s stood at the wire aud heaved His bolts at the Super’s hat; But Mac, like bear of her whelps bereaved, Did givtf him tit for tat. An ocean deep of the inky flood ■ Did roll o’er paper clean ; But iu that shoreless abyss of mud A pearl could not be seen. They rambled on, at their own sweet will, O’er hill and dale and bog; To cure the State each prepared his pill—- : Results were left in fog. Then Logic died—it was foully slain— And facts with fiction mixed, And things grew dark which were once go plain, The people groaned “ What next ?” Poor Bun. has gone- may he rest in peace! What Bunny yet had grit ? The poor wee beast and a flock of geese Soon graced the Premier’s Spit. Old Fitz a foible for ever had Of playing a wily game, So the Premier swore “ by the rood, egad” And “Speaker” he became. And Milton Mur., in pursuit of game, irom Toko did decamp ; Asneaa-like he with toil aud pain Has reached Piako Swamp. Defections base had become so strong That all was nearly lost. And now they thought of a emp de main, But first they count the cost. So down they sat, and a book of dreams Lay open at their side ; They warmed their toes at the pale moon _ beams .While spectres round them glide. The dreams of George aud the dreams of Mac Explained were by that book; These Sybil leaves, to their very back, Said things did awkward look. Said Mac to George, “ I say, look here ! Keep stiff your upper lip ; OldAfotm tucks in alight of beer— You let the old hag rip !

Just look at some of our Southern braves— They’d beat the very devil; Aud the Premier’s host we shall take as slaves, Unless they grow more civil.

There’s A. J. 8., he’s au honest man— As every man should be j He’ll do for grace to our graceless clau, I’ll work mm, you shall see.

—<• long Las his ardor

There’s * Satan’ burned, And though, his skull is thick. His hated plough to a spear is turned— A Cincinnatus brick.

There’s neophyte Larn—he is rafchor fast, And somewhat over-frisky; His castle reached, though beat at last, Well ‘carnival’ on whisky.

quite a crowd, and my heart is glad j There’s Bob, who lives.by law, Got up quite smart ou a training bad, A perfect Johnny Haw, And yet to me, in the day of strife, An Ajax to my mind. Alas ! how soon a relentless knife May rip his bag of wind. A hero lies on tho Taieri plain, A Hector in our need. One B u felt, though against his grain, This was no broken reed.

Then think who reigns o’er the Clutha vales ; Of Thom the mighty son ; The burden he of a thousand tales Of deeds that ne’er were done.

In brief, you see we can count a horde ; Then why should we repine. The cares of State may go overboard— Come, take a glass of wine.” He ceased to speak, nor a groan nor sigh Escaped his listener’s breast, ° • The hour had come and could not go bv, To him of final rest.

The noble knight had received a call, A call and he must go, His “nine pins " tottering to their fall Had proved a mortal blow, THIS 18 THE END.