THE GOLD COUNTRY.

New Zealander, Volume 5, Issue 412, 27 March 1850, Page 4

THE GOLD COUNTRY.

I'iX tell thee now a st o ry like a fahy talo of old, Of a fair and fragile city that was built for storing gold, For like the work of fahy hands it started into life, And rapidly it flourish'd, till the very streets were rife With luxury of other climes, the sunny and the cold, (For well we know earth's farthest spots can feel the pow'r of gold.) . „ i Methinks I see the busy crowds press hurriedly along ; Thcie's but one ruling passion in all that eager throng ; They come from many distant lands to this enchanted shore, To seek amid its mountains a rich and glittering store ; They have heard of golden tre .sines on many a loify height, That oft the rushing waters of the torrents bring to light : And some have been already and won a dazzling prize, And some have sunk untimely — and when a miner dies Ho friendly hand his eyes shall close, and wipe away the tearNo friendly voice breathe hope and peace into his failing ear. Oh, who can tell the dark despair that fills his bosom then, To perish thus unknown, unwept, far from the haunts of men ! 'Tis terrible. But let us hope the phantasy is o'er, That lured so many victims to that bright but fatal shore. » * * * One night when all the city h«d sunk in slumber deep, Save here and there the watchers a lonely vigil keep. 'Twas a still and lovely night, not a breeze disturbed the air, As if it paused in pity to the crowds that slumber'd the ■>. Oh, little think the dreamers of the cry that bids them rise, Before the tints of morning shall biighten o'er the skies. It conies, at length, a fearful cry— fire ! fire ! is echo'd loud, And soon it mock'd the puny strength of that affrigh'ed crowd ; Then madly flew the raging flames those fragile homes among, And learful were the shouts for help that o'er the city rung. From roof to roof the fiery flood roll'd on with rapid flash, And one by one hotels and stores came down with suddpn crash. No church was burn'd, for there are none on that unhallow'd spot, For in the eager search for wealth the Giver is forgot ; And where the love of worldly good within the bosom glows, They love not the Creator, who all their wealth bestows. And as those piles of worldly pelf in wild confusion blazed, Methinks 'twas like an offering on Mammon's altar rais'd. It ceas'd at length,— and wearily the crowds have flung them down, And sadly view'd the ruin'd heaps in that unholy town. Then came the hour of deep regret, and thoughts of distant home, And wonder at the restless hopes that tempted them to roam ; And those who left a woodland cot 'mid hill and valleys green, Will think, with many a bitter sigh, of sens that roll between The home they fain wou'd reaoh again, and [that unfriendly shore Where they must rest a homeless head, peihaps to rise no more. Then pause, ye heedless voyagers, and shun the golden snare j Oh, listen to the warning voice, that cries^beware ! beware ! Mara.