Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 18, 27 May 1871, Page 18

Poetry.

TO THE WELLINGTON HIGHLAND BRIGADE. Hail! to the Highland corps, now about forming! Honour’d and bless’d be the braw tartan plaid ! Long may the esprit de corps, in their bosoms now burning, Flourish, the pride of the Highland Brigade! , Heaven send it strength and life, And ever guard it from all strife, Proudly to conquer, and bravely to fight! No more shall the Maoris then Murder or boast again, Check’d by the Highland corps, dismay’d at their might! Shout, loudly shout, for the pride of the Highlands! Long life to the gallant, the braw Highland corps! Oh! that the men of the New Zealand islands Would,like the highlanders,rush to the fore! Oh ! that some diadem, Worthy such noble stem," Honour’d and bless’d in their tartan might glow! Loud should New Zealand then Ring from her deepmost glen, Long life to the Highland corps, death to their foe! Hail then to the Highland corps! long may it flourish ! Honour’d and bless’d be the brae tartan plaid! The Maories no longer their hatred shall nourish, Scar’d and dismay’d by the Highland Brigade! Hurrah! for the Highland corps ! The brae gallant Highland corps ! May victory smile on the brae tartan plaid! While every Maori man Quakes, as he hears again. Long life to that gallant corps, the Highland Brigade! Shout, loudly shout, for the pride of the Highlands! Honour’d and bless’d be the braw tartan plaid! Fight, bravely fight, for the cause of these islands, And prove yourselves as a braw gallant Brigade! Chieftain and Maori man Shall, both of them, quake again, Shall look on your corps with fear and with dread ! And every Maori foe, Stricken with grief and woe, Shall tremble to face the brae Highland Brigade! Wit. Elias Taunton. May 1, 1871. THE PARTING HOUR. [The following exquisite poem, says the Portland “ Evening Commercial,” was written by the late Edward Pollock, the gifted Californian poet, on the 6th January, 1857, and has never been published. It was given by the poet to a friend who was about to depart on a steamer for Oregon, Pollock, saying, “Take this ; you may perhaps read and appreciate the sentiment long after I have ceased to be among the living.”] There’s something in the “ parting hour” Will chill the warmest heart— Yet kindred, comrades, lovers, friends, Are fated all to part ; But this I’ve seen —and many a page Has pressed it on my mind— The one who goes is happier i Than those he leaves behind. No matter what the journey be, Adventurous, dangerous, far, To the wild deep or black frontier, To solitude or war— Still something cheers the heart that dares In all of human kind, And they who go are happier Than those they leave behind. The bride goes to the bridegroom’s home With doubtings and with tears. But does not Hope her rainbow spread Across her cloudy fears ? Alas ! the mother who remains, What comfort can she find, But this—the gone is happier Than one she leaves behind. Have you a friend —a comrade d£ar— An old and valued friend ? Be sure your term of sweet concourse At length will have an end. And when you part —as part you will— O take it not unkind If he who goes is happier Than you he leaves behind ! God wills it so —and so it is; The pilgrims on their way, Though weak and worn, more cheerful are Than all the rest who stay ; And when, at last, poor man, subdued, Lies down to death resigned, May he not still be happier far Than those he leaves behind ?