The Exhibition Poem.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 2372, 23 October 1880, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Exhibition Poem.

[As it might have been,"] Daughter of liberty ! to ihee we raise This pile industrial, and this song of praise. Commerce ! of Freedom still the guiding star, Victoria welcomes thee from isles afar. Here trade, art, science have their tributes brought, And each new product speaks a living thought; Labour, with magic touch, will deftly range O’er Protean matter, ever ripe for change ; As lifeless marble, shaped by artist hands, Before onr eyes, revealed, a Goddess stands ; While kindred workers, from a further shore, Will plough the deep, their valued gifts to pour On neutral ground, where each will play his part, And, artless else, will practice but his art; Seeking, in competition’s bracing strife, The prize of merit and the spring of life. Chorus of Shepherds. Behold ! o’er hill and dale, From wide extending plain, By river, mere, and vale The white-robed flocks regain, Slow-paced, their pastures fair, And fleck the distant scene With moving forms, that bear Their fleecy treasures with a grace serene. Victoria. Not least in merit, nor in numbers few, Our flocks, ovisian, brush the morning dew While roaming peacefully the verdant plain ; No toil more easy—but ’tis ours the gain : To clothe the nations their appointed task, And “ Golden Fleeces” no fond favours ask. Chorus of Farmers and, Wine Growers. Pile high the golden grain, The purple wine outpour; We live and work amain These goodly gifts to store. Reward will yet be found For labours true and bold ; Ceres and Bacchus, crowned With native fruits, behold! Victoria. The eye of Faith now turns, with pride, to these; And Hope, expectant, waits a favouring breeze ; Not on Dtedalian wings they soar on high, For Nature’s pinions taught them first to fly ; The bursting wine-press and the groaning mill Attest their labour and proclaim their skill: Such the result of well directed toil, Works all redolent of their native soil; Kind Nature gives increase—’tis ours to see That Nature’s children shall, at least, be free. Chorus of Miners. In darkness, all alone, With torch in hand, we grope; Concealed in rugged stone Deep lies the miner’s hope : By shift and shift about Toil we, both day and night; The hearts are true and stout That bring the gold to light. Victoria. These also hope—nor deem their hope in vain— That well-proved toil will reap a well-earned gain; Nor pay, in tribute, what their toil has won, To Sisyphean labours, best undone, Whose endless strivings stand, at length, confessed As never being—“ always to be blessed.” Chorus of Manufacturers and Artisans. These lofty walls, And far-extending aisles, Where music falls, And beauty’s form beguiles— The chastened beauty of a plastic art— Show that we, also, well have played our part; Now, scorning all support, on bended knee, We join in praying that all trades be free. Victoria. Blest consummation of this favoured hour, When thoughts of duty wake to living power Our pleasing labours now are well bestowed, This gorgeous palace points a common road ; Where Graziers, Farmers, Miners, Tradesmen, all With Freedom are resolved to stand or fall; Freedom for each to gain the busy mart— The World’s Emporium—and his wealth impart; Nor seek from toiling merit to estrange Minerva’s gift divine of Free Exchange. Favonxus.