Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 2662, 3 August 1889, Page 5 (Supplement)

Poetry.

WITH THE VIOLETS. Her hands are old, her face is white, No moie her pulses cmrio and go ; Her eyes are- shut to life and light; Fold the light vesture, anow on snow, And lay her where the violets blow. But not beneath a graven stone, To pload for tears with alien eyes ; A slender cross of wood alone Shall say that hero a maiden lies, In peace beneath the peaceful skies. And gray old trees of hugest limb Shall wheel their circling shadows round, To make the scorching sunlight dun, That drinks the greenness from the ground. And drop their dead leaves on the mound. When oe'r their boughs the squirrels run, And through their leaves llio robins call, And, ripening in the autumn sun, The acorns and the chestnuts fall, Doubt not that she will heed them all. For her the morning choir shall sing Its matins from the branches high, And every minstrel voice of spring That thrills beneath the April sky Shall greet her with its earliest cry.

When, turning round their dial track, Eastward the lengthening shadows pass, Hor little mourners clad in black, Tlio crickets sliding through the grass, Shall pipe fer her an evening mass. At last the rookleta of the trees, Shall find the prison where she lies, And bear the buried dust they seizeIn leaven and blossoms to the skies So may the soul that warms it rise ? If any, born of kindlier blood, Should ask, " What maiden lius below ? S\y only this ; " A tender bud. That tried to blossom in the snow, Lies withered whero thu violets blow." Olivkh WKNDW-γ, Hoi.mksj. A SANITARY MESSAGE. Last night, above the whistling wind, I hoard the welcome rain, A fusillade upon the roof, A tattoo on the pane ; The keyhole piped, the chimney-top A warlike trumpet blew ; Yet, mingling with these sounds of strife, A softer voice stole through.

" Givo thanks, 0 brothers !" said a voice, "That he who sent the rains Hnth spared ynnr fields the scarlet dew That drips from patriots' veins ; I've scon the grass on eastern graves In brighter verdure rise ; But, O ! the rain that gave it lifo Sprang first from human eyes. ■' I come tn wash away no stain Upon your wasted lea ; I niue no barrier save the ones The forest wave to me. Upon the mountain side, where spring Her farthest pickets sets, My reveille awakes a host Of grassy bayonets. "I visit every humble roof: I mingle with the low ; Only upon the highest peaks My blo-sings fall in snow; Until in tncklings of the stream, And draining* of the lea, My unspent bounty comes at length To mingle with the sea." And tliin all night, iib:»vo the winds, I lie-in! the welcome ram, A fusillade upon the roof, A tattoo on the pane ; The key-hole piped, tliecliiinnoy-top A war-like trumpet blew, r.nt, luinglin;; with lha sounds of strife, Thii ii y inn of praise stole through, Hisct Hautu.