CLIMBING.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 242, 18 February 1888, Page 8 (Supplement)

CLIMBING.

I shall win fame's richest honours," Thus the poet proudly said, In the hours of hfe'B fair springtime. With the sunihiue o'er his head. "I will sing of love's achievements, And of freedom for the slave, Till the maiden's eyes shall glisten And the timid hearts grow brave. " Shall my tuneful harp be silent, Ana my dreams remain untold. When the wavelets softly murmur. And the hills are tinged with gold ? Shall I watch the white-robed billows, Shall I listen to their roar, Heedless of their wondrous beauty As they break upon the shore? " Why the crimson glow of sunset. Why the ocean's glorious lay, Why the gleam ot gems unrit ailed As the twilight fades away. Why th« nierry tones of childhood, Or the music of the lea. If I may no/, sing to others That which oft is sung to reel" Poor, unknown, and unbefriended, Boasting not a noble name, How shall he, the humble minstrel. Climb the rugged steep of Fame ? Tortured by the shafts ot malice, By the thrust a brother gave. Now he sleeps beneath the willows, With the roses o'er his grave. • ***#** » By his easel sat the artist, And bis cheeks were all aglow. As he scanned his own bold mountains. And the pleasant scenes below. There were crags, and falls, and rivers, And the rays of evening fell On the mountain's hoary summit, And the fairy-haunted deil. "These are mine," the artist murmured Radiant with life's sunny beams, For the glow was o'er his landscape, And the love-light o'er his dreams. " With the gifted and the noble, Men will link my humble name." But the sneers of jealous rivals Banished all his hopes of fame. Do we scorn the lowly sir gar? Yet the birdling in it a nejt, Soon shall warble songs of freedom Far above the mountain's breast. Shall we reverence the worldling, Who, perchance, our homage spurns, Whilo we shun the tuneful stripling Who may prove another Burns 1 Shall we chide the humble artist For the hopes which cheer him now. Till the venomed shafts o' malice Leave their marks upon his brow 1 In his struggles let us point him To the glistening fane above, For the Turner of the future Needs our sympathy and love. E. S. Husband. Auckland.