ORIGINAL POETRY. A NEW ZEALAND MONODY. TO THE WORSHIPFUL THE MAYOR.

New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 589, 6 December 1851, Page 3

ORIGINAL POETRY.

A NEW ZEALAND MONODY.

TO THE WORSHIPFUL THE MAYOR.

The subjoined lines must be considered merely a paraphrase of a literal translation (by Mr. Davis) of a Maori Lament, introduced by the Rev. T. Buddle in his Lectures on the Aborigines of New Zealand. It occurs at page 18. The extreme beauty and poetry of the language tempted me to render it in English verse, as the form most likely to make Maori literature acceptable to the multitude. I have to ask both the indulgence of Mr. Davis and of the author of the Lectures for the use I have made of their work. Now wanes the evening star*— In brighter skies afar, To rise where loving thousands wait its birth; Sole treasure thou of mine, On me unheeded shine, The wonderful, the beautiful of earth, When through the waving palm, Or on the waters calm, Bright glancing sunbeams lightly danced and play'd We lov'd to sit and see Thy young and sportive glee On Awapoka's sandy shores displayed. Oft at the dawn of day, In haste to be away, The girding of thy garments thou didst speed, And with companions fair All hastily repair, Where Mawe's ripe fruits were gather'd for our need. Whilst heaving surge and wave Tikaro's maidens brave, Where on the rock the lazy muscles sleep, And as they linger still To feast and sleep their fill, Entrap those finny stragglers of the deep. And when at red sunset The tribes assembled met, Their evening meal in concert to partake. Fondly each young compeer Would rise and hasten near, Off'ring some dainty for thy sweet smiles sake. Oh! absent one, where now! Oh! where, oh where art thou? Ye ocean tides that changing ebb and flow, Let no more change appear! Be still—she is not here Whose power through all your waves was erst to flow. Still does the feast of joy The summer eve employ, Still-scatt'ring on each side the white sea foam, Still does the swift canoe Cut the strong breezes through ; Still, like a cloud, sky-dark'ning sea birds come, Hov'ring with long wing o'er The steep rock, as of yore, But she, the lov'd one, cometh not again— We have not e'en a tress Of waving hair, to press Unto our bosoms rack'd with grieving pain; All natural things as they were wont, remain, But she, the lov'd one, cometh not again. St. George. Auckland, Nov. 1st, 1851. * The deceased person is addressed as the evening star, which is supposed to rise in another world, the inhabitants of which world recognise their relation in the star, and hail its arrival among them with great delight.

To your Worship I would mak' My 'plaint.—Will ye but hear my crack? I've read about the grand display That took place on St. Andrew's day,— Professor Wilson, Burns, and Scott, 'Twould tak o'er lang to name the lot, Of warriors bold, and statesmen true As ever wore the bonnet blue, That were remembered on the occasion And toasted wi' a lang oration. Yet I must own I think it queer That WATT, the famous engineer, Should be forgotten i' the classing (Though noticed by yoursel' in passing)— By countrymen will he be slighted, The man wham strangers wad hae knighted? It maistly drives a bodie mad, To miss him 'mang the enlightened squad. We'll hae to look wi' clearer e'en For ane mair worthy to be seen, Placed at our Saint's right hand, than he Who's engines sweep o'er land and lea; — We speculate in railway shares, And Commerce spreads her tempting wares, Treasures and gems, and Turks assail us In crowds to view the Crystal Palace. The tale o' enchanted lamp, 't would seem Is realized now by the steam; Annihilating time and space, It plants us on the wished-for place; Assimilates far distant lands, And bids the nations all join hands.— He saw the future prospect grand, And pointed out the promised land. Now as we make our first essay To sail by steam on New Year's Day, The Mayor and Council might receive Solicitations kind to leave Their civic cares, and turtle soup, To take a trip among the group Of isles; and chat of steam and freights, Of gold, in glittering hundred weights. But next time when ye dine or sup, Just get the steam a wee bit up, And set WATT in his proper niche, And mak on his deserts a speech, To show the advantage and the honour Of which he was the great forerunner— By gracious providence designed, The benefactor of mankind. I'm yours, with every due regard, A Burgess of the Middle Ward, Auckland, December 3rd, 1851.