ORIGINAL POETRY. GOLD.

New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 541, 21 June 1851, Page 3

ORIGINAL POETRY. GOLD.

Gold ! Gold ! the famed enchanter's wand, The sov'reign balm for mortal ills! Hark, how they shout it o'er the land From Sacramento's sunny rills On to the far Tasmanian hills. Gold ! Gold ! the lover leaves his bride— The pallid student's pulses glow — The old man lays his age aside, And dark upon the youthful brow Life's fierce desires are written now Gold ! Gold ! the tales of old romance Of fiery love, and gorgeous war, They scarce can win a passing glance Beneath our cross formed Southern Star, Darkling no more we set afar. Gold! Gold! and rushing at the sound On— on the eager myriads press To find, perhaps, as most have found, In sorrow, danger, or distress, Of gold the almost uselessness. Ah, happier they whose eyes can gaze Through all the fairy scenes of light— Nor dazzled by the unwonted blaze, Nor wishing the return of night, Who hold "whatever is, is right." Not here at least, within our isle, Whose wealth is in its fertile lands, Should such delusive dreams beguile, In search of fabled golden strands, The hardiest of our hardy bands. We need not roam for wealth or power, To other scenes, or other climes, Labour, and patience, bring their dower, And men may use, in fairer times, Such words as these to grace their ryhmes — "We do not scorn to work, and toil, "Our fertile fields no jewels hold, "Our names— 'The tillers of the Soil,' "Our birthright, spirits true, and bold "These are our treasures, these our Gold!"

ST. GEORGE. Auckland, June 18, 1851.