SELECT POETRY.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 188, 14 September 1871, Page 7

SELECT POETRY.

A. VISION.

Sweet was the night, serenely fell The moons pale beam on down and «lell And Bnowy mantled mountain, And stole enamored through the trees, That sighed responsive to the breeze, To kiss the crystal fountain. Oh, what a lovely night was this ! To feel't in all its balm and bliss I sallied from the portal Alone, while ev'ry moment brought The rush of feeling or of thought That stamps the mind immortal. I had not wandered far, when lo ! I saw a prey to war and woe— A graceful goddess lying ; A bard (the harp beside him swung Declared his calling) o'er her hung, • And soothed her with his sighing. I scanned the goddess o'er and o'er, And, ah ! her beauteous bosom bore The marks of many sabres ; Kent was her picturesque array ; Stained were her limbs with gore and clay,' And faint with fruitless labours, Her lip retained the curve of pride (Ah that the alchion at her side Had done its sacred duty) ; Though worn with famine and with war, Her eye beamed like an ev'ning star In brilliancy and beauty. Grand was her brow -her pallid face Still wore a soft ethereal grace Of which no foe could rieve her ; And, breathing languidly and low, She lay all lovely in her woe With no one to relieve her. I saw the minstrel at her side, Disturbed with pity and with pride And lofty indignation, > Unloose his harp, and, drawing near, I hear him pouring in her ear A song of consolation. " O, Gstllia, Gallin, star of morn ! Why art thou fallen and forlorn, And reft of all thy glory ? What plague, what dark domestic woe, What desolating f oreign foe Hath left thee pale and gory ? " What royal drunkard poured his slaves, His plumed chiefs, and beai-ded braves Like torrents from the mountains, Till nothing now of thine remains But ruined, towns and ravaged plains, And blood-polluted fountains ? "He triumphs now, but times shall change. Lo ! where the spirit of revenge Majestic'lly advances— Resplendent in his war array, And pointing to a future day, With lightning in his glances. " And see behind him, where appear With pennon, cannon, lance, and spear, Thy yet unborn redre&sers ; Behold their stern, indignant mien ; Hark how they shout ' Berlin ! Berlin !' — The seat of thy oppressors. " Berlin ! Berlin 1 beware the hour ; For neither craft, nor pelf, nor power, Nor prayer shall avail thee When Gallia's future sons, elate With valor and a-fl»me with hate, In unity assail thee. "That hour of retribubion past, • Oppression never more shall blast God's beautiful creation ; But peace, and liberty, and love, ' Shall shower their blessings from above On ev'ry land and nation." He ceased, and, like a lustrous light That rushes down the vault of night In wild erratic gladness, The vision vanished from the eye, And I was left to muse and sigh Jn silence and in sadness. John Christie.