POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1730, 5 September 1879, Page 3

POETRY.

LINES ON THE DEATH OP THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. They Lave laid him in an alien grave, in his manhood’s early dawn, And with him all tho brightest hopes of a dynasty are gene. Ah ! had he fallen in battle keen before a foeman’s lance. On the field of honor combating for glory and for France, How had his land re-echoed then through all her vales his fame. And chivalry embalmed in tears bis consecrated name! How would that warrior name have stirred, even from his reeking grave. Have braced the dastard’s doubting arm and made the coward brave ! But now, instead, deep sounds of woo float o’er that pleasant laud. And brave men droop the nerveless arm and veterans wring the hand. He fell; but where is glory’s meed? and where is honor’s claim ? Oh, glory, hide thy blushing face! and honor weep for shame! He fell; but not for France ho fell. Slain in a distant clime— The victim of a savage hand, avenging England’s crime. He fell; and o’er his early tomb hot tears must ever fall. But what avails? The crime—the past—not hlood can e’er recall. Alas ! Well may thy lilies droop, fair France, in every vale— On river marge and vine-clad hill thy maidens raise the wail. Let England, to atone for wrong, high heap his costly shrine; We’ll; mix our burning tears, fair France, with glory’s and with thine. J.J.M. Christchurch, 4th September, 1879. THE THAMES RAILWAY. The following song, written by Mr, John John Qrigg, was sung by the children at the Thames on tho turning of the first sod of the Grahamatown railway:— I love my home, my happy home. In fair New Zealand’s isles Tho glory of the South, where all The face of Nature smiles ; Where noble forests crown the hills, And streamlets thread the vales. And mighty ocean circles round And breathes refreshing gales. I love to stroll on summer’s morn. Before the sun ia high. And gather flowers, and ferns, and moss, And chase the butterfly; At noon to shelter ’neath the trees. And hear the iai’s song, And then, ere ev’ning spreads her veil. Homeward to speed along. Chobtjs— My happy home, my happy home. My own New Zealand home. I love to wander by the shore— Beside the flowing tide— And watch the seabird’s graceful flight, And ships with sails spread wide. The pleasant school and bnsy town Are full of charms for me. While on this British southern soil I dwell content and free. Chorus— My happy home, my happy home, My own New Zealand home. The "New Zealand thinks that much more appropriate lines might have been written for the occasion, and suggests the following, whioh might have been sung by the Thames electors with great effect THE GRAHAMSTOWN RAILWAY. We love our Grey, our darling Gray; His name we will engrave On every cabin door around. He’s such a daring knave. We Thames electors bullied him. The big pump it was jammed; “ Give us a railway quick,” we said, “ The river may be dammed.” Out darling Grey, our gallant Grey, Our own dear wily Grey. “ To drive a mill or work tho pnmp, A railway’s what we want. Give it at once, we’re sure you can. While you’ve got such a slant. As Premier now you rule the roast. And bounoo each Governor ; Give ua the line, and yon shall bo Our member evermore.” We love to hear our Premier say He hates the plutocrats. Although he wants their money here. To waste on our mud flats. We want a train, confound steam boats, They “ muddify” our stream. It is too good, it makes no work. Give ns a railway scheme. Upon the river there are no Good contracts to he let. No compensation claims for us. You must the railway get. We want a good big slice of Loan, We don’t care how it’s got; Ton represent the Thames, old man. And we’re a rowdy lot. A vote of thirty thousand pounds The House agreed to pay For Aroha not Grahamatown, But this did not suit Grey. The Act declares tho engineer The route shall first decide. But Grey let all the contracts first ; The law he set aside. The canny Scot, who Grey had got To falsify the map TTaa ta’en an oath Grey’s innocent, Mac docs not care a rap. And Johnny Knowles has hacked him np And sworn it is all right,_ That Richardson made a mistake. For Knowles will swear black’s white. The clerks have laughed amongst themselves And said, “ The swindle’s clear,” But thongh it has leaked out at last. We’ve pot the railway here. The navvies’ cash, tho noisy train. Are full of charms for us ; And how the Premier managed it Wo do not core a " cuss.” Grey’s tamed the sod upon the mud At onr deserted doors, Another London soon will rise On these our dirty shores. We love oar Grey, oar darling Grey, Who rules o’er Kawau’s Isle ; He’s prigged for us a railway here. And now we'll make our pile. Our darling Grey, our gallant Grey, Our own dear wily Grey.