Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2471, 12 May 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

WOOL IS UP.

Earth o'erflows with nectared gladness, All creation teems with joy : Banished bo each thought of sadness, Lifo for 1110 has no alloy. Fill a bumper, drain a measure, Pewter, goblet, tankard, cup, Testifying thus our pleasure At the news Mint " wool is up.'' 'Thwart the empires, 'neatli the oceans, Subtly speeds the living fire ; Who shall toll what wild emotions Spring from out that thridden wire; "Jute is lower, copper weaker," This will break poor neighbour Jupp ; But for mo, I shout " Eureka ! " Wealth is uiino—for wool is up. What care I for jute or cotton, Sugar, copper, hemp or flax, Reeds like these aro often rotten, Turn to rods for owner's hacks. Fortune, oh ! I have thee holdon In what Scotia calls a "grup," All my fleeces now are golden, Full troy weight—for wool is up. I will danco the gay fandango, . Though to me its steps be ttrange, Doubts and fears you all can hang go, I will cut a dash on 'Change. Atra Cura, you will please me Ay dismounting from my crup, For, you no mora shall tease me, Pray got down—for wool is up, Jane shall have that stylish bonnet, Which my scanty purse denied ; Long she set her heart upon it, She shall wear it now with pride. I will buy old Dumper's station Reign as king at Gerringhup, For my crest a bunch of Jason, With this motto, " wool is up." I will keep a stud extensive ; Bolter, here, I'll have those greys, Those Sir George deemed too expensive, You can sond them —with the bays. Coursing ! I should rather think so : . Yes, I'll take that " Lightning " pup : Jones, my boy, yon needn't wink so, I can stand it—wool is up. Wifey, love, you're looking charming, Years with you are but as days ; We must have a grand house-warming When these painters wend their ways, Let the ballroom be got ready, Bid our friends to dance and sup; Bother, how can I go steady ? I'm worth thousands—wool is up !

WOOL JS DOWN. Blacker than e'er the inky waters roll Upon the gloomy shores of sluggish Styx, A sense of sorrow laps my leaden soul, F;>r that which was at "two" is now " one—six." " Come, disappointment couio," as has been said By someone else who quailed 'neatli Fortune's frown. Stab to the core the heart that onca had bled, For " heart" read " pocket"—wool, ah wool is down. " And in the lowest deep, a lower deep," Thou sightless seer, indeed it may be so, The road too well we know is somewhat steep, And who shall stay us when that road we go ? Thrice cursed wire ; whose lightning strikes to blast, Whoso babbling tongue proclaims throughout the town Tho news, which being ill. has travelled fa»t, The dire intelligence—that wool is down. A rise in copper, and it rise in .jute, A fall alone on wool—but what a fall ! Jupp must have made a pile this trip, the brute, He don't deserve such splendid luck at all. Tho smiles for him —for me the scalding tears ; He's worth ten thousand if he's worth a crown, While I—untimely shorn by Fate's hard shears — Feel that my game is up when wool is down. Bolter, take back these prancing greys of thine, Remove as well the vanquished warrior's bays, My fortunes are not stable, they decline ; .Aye, even horses taunt me with their neighs. And tlii,\i, sweet puppy of the " Lightning" breed, Through whose fleet limbs I pictured me renown, Hie howling to thy former home with speed, Thy course with me is up—for wool is down. Why, Jane, what's this ?—this pile of letters here ? Such waste of stamps is really very sad. Your birthday ball, oh couio not twice a year, Good gracious me ! the woman must be load. You'd better savo expense at once, that's clear, And send a bellman to invite the town ! There—there—don't cry, forgive my temper, dear, But put these letters up—for wool, is down. My station " Gerringlmp," yes, that must Its sheep, its oxen, and its kangaroos, First 'twas the home of blacks, then whites,

wo know Now is ib but a dwelling fur " the blues," With it I leave the brotherhood of Cash Who from Australian i'ashion's tinsel crown ; I tread along the devious path of Smash, I go whoie wool has gone—down, ever (lown. Thus ends wy dream of greatness, not for mo The silken couch, the banquet, and the rout, _ They're flown —the base residuum will bo A mutton chop, and half a pint of stout — Yet will I hold a corner in my soul Where Hope may nestlo safe from Fortune's frown, Thou hoodwinked jade! my heart remaineth whole I'll keep my spirits up—though wool be down. (TAUNKT WAT.CII. Vroin Ausi.-al'"" B