Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 14, Issue 714, 2 September 1869, Page 4

Select Poetry.

LONG AGO. i fif'lS long ago—and yet it seems as fresh as yesW torday, t , ..,.. ~ -JBefore the frost of manhood stole my childhood s flowers away; ._ When Hope danced in my sunny breast, and Happiness 'was rife, And Innocence with golden brush portrayed the *"»ath of life, ~,.„, When Spring prepared the meadows for the bridal robe of May, And Summer breathCd warm and soft upon the scented hay, Ana Autumn o'er the hazel woods and fir groves shod aglow ,Of russet gold; 0, how 1 love that dear old Long Ago! In teuder tones, unto my heart, still pensive Memory speaks, . And points to grim old Winter with his weatherbeaten cheeks; His rough but honest visage calls up from the tomb of years . Pear memories of my boyhood's time, sweet smiles ' embalmed with tears; . «„««,„„ Let rural bards in floral song entwine the othei But Winter—surly Winter—has the brightest charms for me— . /Ihe leafless trees and bushes, dressed in silver shocnof snow, Bring back a thousand happy scenes of childhood Loug Ago.

When gloomy-browed November sat upon his throne of storm, . At night what humor beamed around tne mgleside so warm! When mirth lit up each kindly heart, and loosened every tongue, What weirdlike ghostly tales were told, what quaint old songs were sung! •The latest news, the seasons, crops, the market and the fair, Were all discussed around the hearth—a little world was there. Let others praise maturer joys, but I shall never know Such pleasures as that dear old Home presented Long Ago.

Last eve, I watered day's purple chief embrace a giiint wave, Then sadly sink behind its folds to Ocean's yawning cave. .Can this he he, I thought, that to the hopes of childhood lent A roseate tinge?—like him unto a tearful grave they went: Yet not like him, for he will rise to light another day, But they pursued a chimera, and melted all away. He visits still the scenes I loved, and lets his blessings flow As lavishly as when I gazed upon him Long Ago.

.0, say not that this land of ours is fairer than the 'old, Praise if you will its fertile hills, and valleys lined with gold, Ay. even sing of happiness, of plenty, and of peace, 1 grant you these, but still my love of home can never cease. Ambition here with gilded bait oft kills the holy ties ,0f honor, and of friendship true, that man should ever prize, The seeds of love and kindness sown in childhood cease to grow, And Heaven drops a tear above the grave of Long Ago.

But though I cannot break the chain that binds me to the past, /Though recollection steals at night along the f moaning blast, And summons long-lost faces, speaking saduess to my soul, I still can love the golden south, the poor man's happy goal. The bard thinks not as other men—wild fancies fill his brain, He sees strange forms in the clouds and hears theinin the rain. A swell of harmony ascends when wintry breezes blow, The present fades, the past appears, in garb of Long Ago. —Evening Star (Dunedin.) Ossiajj.