ORIGINAL POETRY.

Pahiatua Star and Eketahuna Advertiser, Volume 1, Issue 18, 10 August 1886, Page 4

ORIGINAL POETRY.

AND WHEN THK SUN SET WHERE . WERE THEY. Tile noise of angry hosts had tied 1 j. mi savage pass, and bloodstained shore, | Front where the dying and the dead 111 many a woeful heap were flung, no j more l’ierv holts wrought deadly scars; Whilst* night above the -Ega-au hung its thousand stars! A Greek prince lay wounded sore; The delicate symmetry* Thom noble* anguished lcaturc.s bore, Cun etl by the sculptors of Ins land ; : Ami torn and staiiu.il his velvet raiment flowered with gold. ! And now he hears a stealthy sound, Ru • .;it n< ar win r« in pain ho lay, Like one who crawls along the gi nund , Then through the darkness with dismay ■:■ - • Flash h.tte’s indomitable hell —hate that would not die !• i . And red from light, and Hutchins tight, A murdert us d igger, —to where The young chit 1 b%y ; lde fr 5 ish ot light, It aimed a weakly faltering blow, Which missed its mark and left the assassin King low. And he that saw the baffled crime, Half cureless of his life’s release, Turned oil his h e a smile sublime, With pity, and forgiveness: Greece, Father of poetry, lyre and lay, The bright slur ot Greece beiield him y. Through the long night quite close they lay, . All night long the Turk moaned with thirst ; Save when his dagger crept to slay The prostrate Greek, and failing-curse-1 ! IK wandering ineffectual way, Oft crept his dagger to the young chief he yearned to slay. At early morn a band of men Climb inland past a beetling height, To lind him they adored : and when Tliev found their chief, one held a light Above his head —a ruddy shine— And one placed b» Ins resisiting lips a gourd of wine. His thirst was great; Ins soul was r great; He turned to where the prostrate lurk ‘ Lay thickly breathing, clogged with hate. And gazing on the uimdcrous dirk ; Mot,oiled hi* gathered band aside, And pointing to the Turk, ' Let this man drink,' ho said, and died. All >■*• wh *r« a 1.1 • alow ' juUp I Yo critics ! you vvho've faihd in art 1 scorn tin- praise you’re aid to grudge, 1 halt* your soured, bouibiv tic heart; 1 He died a prince ! admit, and then Say. iiriiv-os, leptiles, ap and kings, like us are gentlemen. Dt* K SwIVKLLKB. Woodville, August 8, 13 <*•