THE PADDOCK
And the homestead all but done,
And the battle all but won:—
Came the big Bush-fire! So then
All was to begin again.
Well, again it was begun.
What you paddocks lack’d in luck
Was made up to you in pluck,
Oh, it was! and patient skill,
Yes, and splendid, stubborn will.
’Twasn’t long from that, when first
Mother, and then Father, died.
All the rest were off and settled,
Janet, just, was left beside.
Then: “I’m warning you; think well!”
Andrew said, “I’m still behind,
But—O lassie! should you mind?
Could you manage? ’Twill be tough....
Could you live in half a home?”
“Yes!” I told him—if ’twas his,
‘Half of half would be enough’;
And he answer’d, “Thank God! Come!”
Aunt took Janet for a while,
And I came,—came here! The track
Lost itself in rocks and bogs,
And through grass less green than black
With the pell-mell stumps and logs.
Suddenly it stopp’d—I saw,
Thro’ the whips of driving rain,
And a blasted Rimu’s boughs,
—Oh! so naked, rough and raw,
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