J. SEL E C T POETRY.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 190, 5 October 1871, Page 7

SEL E C T POETRY.

DICKENS IN CAMP.

Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting : The river sang below ; The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting Their minarets of mow. The 'roaring .camp-fire, with rude humour, painted The ruddy tints of health On haggard face and form that dropped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth ; Till one arose, and from his pack's scant

treasure A hoarded volume drew, And cards were dropped from hands of listless

leisure, To hear the tale anew. And then, while round them shadows gathered

faster, And as the firelight fell, He" read aloud the book wherein the Master Had writ of " Little NelL" Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy— for the reader Was youngest of them all.— But, as be read, from clustering pine and

cedar A silence seemed to fall. The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shndows, Listening in every spray, While the whole camp with "Nell" on English meadows Wandered and lost their way. And so in mountain solitudes— Vertakeu As 1»y aome spell divine - Their cares dropped from 'Win like the needles

shaken < ■ . From out the guj>*J E«ie. Lost « that camp, aid wasted all its fire : And h<* who wrought that spell ! — Ah, towering pine anl stately Kentish spire, Ye'have one tale to fell ! Lost is that camp ; hi let its fragrant story Blend with the breat&hat thrills "With hop- vines' incene, all the pensive glory That fills the KentislnjUls. And on that grave 'here English oak and holly And laurel wreaths enfejme, De«n it not all a too pisuinptuous folly, — Tbi»'k»ray of Western inc.

Bret Habte.