Part 43 (1/2)

-- * Suggested by one of John Bright's speeches on Electoral Reform.

A morning crowns the Western hill, A day begins to reign, A sun awakes o'er distant seas-- Shall never sleep again.

The world is growing old, And men are waxing wise; A mist has cleared--a something falls Like scales from off their eyes.

Too long the ”Dark of Ignorance”

Has brooded on their way; Too long Oppression 's stood before, Excluding light of day.

But now they've found the track And now they've seen the dawn, A ”beacon lamp” is pointing on, Where stronger glows the morn.

Since Adam lived, the mighty ones Have ever ruled the weak; Since Noah's flood, the fettered slave Has seldom dared to speak.

'Tis time a voice was heard, 'Tis time a voice was spoken So in the chain of tyranny A link or two be broken.

A tiny rill will swell a stream, A spark will cause a flame, And one man's burning eloquence Has help'd to do the same.

And he will persevere, And soon that blaze must spread, Till to the corners of the earth Reflecting beams are shed.

The ”few” will try to beat it down, But can they stop the flood-- Bind up the pinions of the light, Or check the will of G.o.d?

And is it not His will That deeply injured Right Should overthrow the iron rule And reign instead of Might?

The Old Year

It pa.s.sed like the breath of the night-wind away, It fled like a mist at the dawn of the day; It lasted its moment, then backward was hurled, Another increase to the age of the world.

It pa.s.sed with its shadows, its smiles and its tears, It pa.s.sed as a stream to the ocean of years; Years that were coming--were here--and are o'er, The ages departed to visit no more.

It pa.s.sed, but the bark on its billowy track Leaves an impression on waters aback: The glow of the gloaming remains on the sky, Unwilling to leave us--unwilling to die.

It fled; but away and away in its wake There lingers a something that time cannot break.

The past and the future are joined by a chain, And memories live that must ever remain.

Tanna

(The Kanaka's Death-Song over his Chieftain.)

Shades of my father, the hour is approaching.

Prepare ye the 'cava' for 'Yona' on high; Make ready the welcome, ye souls of Arrochin.

The Death G.o.d of Tanna speaks--Yona must die.

No more will he traverse the flame sheeted mountain, To lead forth his brothers to hunting and war; No more will he drink from the time honoured fountain, Nor rise in the councils of Uking-a-shaa.

His voice in the battle, loud thunder resembling, Has died like a zephyr o'errunning the plain; His whoop like the tempest thro' forest trees trembling, Shall never strike foemen with terror again.