ORIGINAL RHYMES.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume VII, Issue 24, 27 January 1872, Page 4

ORIGINAL RHYMES.

THE MOON. ; 'Tis night — and night is beautiful ; The sky is clear from east to west Meek silence seems the hour to rule, And nature's pulse appears to rest — At least to -very lowly beat j In this still hour and lone retreat. Around, stupendous mountains lie, Whose peaks appear to pierce the sky. And greet the stars as forth they come To spangle midnight's spacious dome, And slowly trace their heav'nly way Ere they be hid again in day. The big broad moon looks smiling on The world, to drowsy slumbers gone. She smiles to Bee it as it lies Freed from the glare of noontide skies, Enveloped in the arms of night, But silvered with her own pale light, Till everything more lovely seems Than while beneath the sun's hot beams; For gentle peace, the most profound, Reigns through the wide expanse around. Except the aU but silent play Of Motupiko on its way, Whose waters, now that summer hours Entangle them amon^ the Sow'r*, Fall with a sound more softly mild Than was their wont in winter wild. Well may the moon thence smile to see The world so like a beauty laid Entranced in such tranquility As only moonlight hours pervade. But ah ! she cannot penetrate The human heart, so ill to know; Nor can she know the love or hate, Or hot ambitions, which o'erflow It — oft to reason's overthrow. Thence kindly may she smile to see The sleeping world's tranquility, And spangle with her silent beams The ripple of its mountain streams. Yet people say she governs mind When it becomes to reason blind, And acts upon the poor insane Whose troubles swell, or sinking, wane As tides of Ocean ebb or rise Beneath the influential power Of her, the mistress of the skies And Empress of the midnight hour. And 'tis affirmed she rules our dreams Of subsidies and railway schemes — Steam carriages for common road use — High prices for our farmers' produce — Of higher prices by protection — And land acquired by free selection— Of Maoris quitting such vagaries As dining off cook'd missionaries — Of honesty in politicians, At least, in our own State-physicians — Prosperity that cannot end — And borrowed millions, just to spend — Bright, borrowed money in galore, Which, when expended, plenty more, Till happiness hop-stepping comes To dwell in all New Zealand homes. Of Yogel long to reign and rule us, And not a wretch to ridicule us, Till we have all become officials "Vy ith salaries and nice initials — Got immigrants to pay our taxes— To till our lands and tend our flocks, To lubricate the clotted axes Of our political machine ; To make us all fine gentlefolks, The proudest people ever seen — With pockets full ot yellow clinkers, And drink to satisfy all drinkers — (Even those— our thirsty legislators Who voted, while on committee, That parliamentary debaters Should be supplied with elevators Of sparkling noblers, duty free). Of sumptuous snppers, better dinners, With tea and tart for young beginners To stretch the tripes of greedy sinners — Of pleasure-trips to distant places— Of great variety of races — Picnics by day, and nightly dances, Yen, all that manifest advances To honor, riches, fame and glory, To charm New Zealand's future story. The moon must be of queens the Queen ! To bless us so with pleasant dreams — Of millions bright, and monster schemes, Without a cloud to intervene To hide her while she on us beams To gild the glories of our dreams. If she's the giver of such bliss — While circumstances almost prove We live in her especial love — Thanks to the wonderful Old Miss ; Her ways and wisdom both are suited To rule a land of dreamers well And cheaper, far, were she deputed Than those who talk to Dillon Bell, Or, do not talk, but only vote, Or act, in Bellamy's, the sot. This lovely night she seems to be Great in her heavn'ly sovereignty, Does sweetly smile, and brightly beam As watchful eye could wish to view, For all above is azure blue, On which ten thousand beauties teem, In twinkling stars of every size, Which spangle gloriously the skies; And not a cloud is there to mar The beauty of a single star . Man cannot look on such a seene — So grand, so spacious, and serene, Design and order infinite — Without acknowledging the Power That blesses earth with such an hour. Most truly 'tis to taste of bliss To look on moonlight like to this; More pleasant than to contemplate New Zealand's very doubtful fate; To contemplate her 'neath her loans, Slow trudging on with aching bones, And, as a dernier resort, Get coop'd up in the Bankrupt Court — Of wiser colonies the sport. O. W.H. Nelson, Jan. 1872.