New Zealand Verse/The Passing of the Forest
XXVI.
The Passing of the Forest.
All glory cannot vanish from the hills,
Their strength remains, their stature of command,
Their flush of colour when calm evening stills
Day’s clamour, and the sea-breeze cools the land.
Refreshed when rain-clouds swell a thousand rills,
Ancient of days in green old age they stand
In grandeur that can never know decay,
Though from their flanks men strip the woods away.
Their strength remains, their stature of command,
Their flush of colour when calm evening stills
Day’s clamour, and the sea-breeze cools the land.
Refreshed when rain-clouds swell a thousand rills,
Ancient of days in green old age they stand
In grandeur that can never know decay,
Though from their flanks men strip the woods away.
But thin their vesture now—the restless grass,
Bending and dancing as the breeze goes by,
Catching quick gleams and cloudy shades that pass,
As shallow seas reflect a wind-stirred sky.
Ah! nobler far their forest raiment was
From crown to feet that clothed them royally,
Shielding their mysteries from the glare of day,
Ere the dark woods were reft and torn away.
Bending and dancing as the breeze goes by,
Catching quick gleams and cloudy shades that pass,
As shallow seas reflect a wind-stirred sky.
Ah! nobler far their forest raiment was
From crown to feet that clothed them royally,
Shielding their mysteries from the glare of day,
Ere the dark woods were reft and torn away.
Well may these plundered and insulted kings,
Stripped of their robes, despoiled, uncloaked, discrowned,
Draw down the clouds with white enfolding wings,
And soft aerial fleece to wrap them round,
To hide the scars that every season brings,
The fire’s black smirch, the landslip’s gaping wound;
Well may they shroud their heads in mantle grey,
Since from their brows the leaves were plucked away.
Stripped of their robes, despoiled, uncloaked, discrowned,
Draw down the clouds with white enfolding wings,
And soft aerial fleece to wrap them round,
To hide the scars that every season brings,
The fire’s black smirch, the landslip’s gaping wound;
Well may they shroud their heads in mantle grey,
Since from their brows the leaves were plucked away.
Gone is the forest world, its wealth of life,
Its jostling, crowding, thrusting, struggling race,
Creeper with creeper, bush with bush at strife,
Warring and wrestling for a breathing space;
Below, a realm with tangled rankness rife,
Aloft, tree columns, shafts of stateliest grace.
Gone is the forest nation. None might stay;
Giant and dwarf alike have passed away.
Its jostling, crowding, thrusting, struggling race,
Creeper with creeper, bush with bush at strife,
Warring and wrestling for a breathing space;
Below, a realm with tangled rankness rife,
Aloft, tree columns, shafts of stateliest grace.
Gone is the forest nation. None might stay;
Giant and dwarf alike have passed away.
Gone are the forest birds, arboreal things,
Eaters of honey, honey-sweet of song,
The tui, and the bell-bird—he who sings
That brief, rich music we would fain prolong.
Gone the wood-pigeon’s sudden whirr of wings;
The daring robin, all unused to wrong.
Wild, harmless, hamadryad creatures, they
Lived with their trees, and died, and passed away.
Eaters of honey, honey-sweet of song,
The tui, and the bell-bird—he who sings
That brief, rich music we would fain prolong.
Gone the wood-pigeon’s sudden whirr of wings;
The daring robin, all unused to wrong.
Wild, harmless, hamadryad creatures, they
Lived with their trees, and died, and passed away.
And with the birds the flowers, too, are gone
That bloomed aloft, ethereal, stars of light,
The clematis, the kowhai like ripe corn,
Russet, though all the hills in green were dight;
The rata, draining from its tree forlorn
Rich life-blood for its crimson blossoms bright,
Red glory of the gorges—well-a-day!
Fled is that splendour, dead and passed away.
That bloomed aloft, ethereal, stars of light,
The clematis, the kowhai like ripe corn,
Russet, though all the hills in green were dight;
The rata, draining from its tree forlorn
Rich life-blood for its crimson blossoms bright,
Red glory of the gorges—well-a-day!
Fled is that splendour, dead and passed away.
Lost is the scent of resinous, sharp pines;
Of wood fresh cut, clean-smelling, for the hearth;
Of smoke from burning logs, in wavering lines
Softening the air with blue; of cool, damp earth
And dead trunks fallen among coiling vines,
Brown, mouldering, moss-coated. Round the girth
Of the green land the winds brought hill and bay
Fragrance far-borne, now faded all away.
Of wood fresh cut, clean-smelling, for the hearth;
Of smoke from burning logs, in wavering lines
Softening the air with blue; of cool, damp earth
And dead trunks fallen among coiling vines,
Brown, mouldering, moss-coated. Round the girth
Of the green land the winds brought hill and bay
Fragrance far-borne, now faded all away.
Lost is the sense of noiseless, sweet escape
From dust of stony plains, from sun and gale,
When the feet tread where shade and silence drape
The stems with peace beneath the leafy veil,
Or where a pleasant rustling stirs each shape
Creeping with whisperings that rise and fail
Through labyrinths half-lit by chequered play
Of light on golden moss now burned away.
From dust of stony plains, from sun and gale,
When the feet tread where shade and silence drape
The stems with peace beneath the leafy veil,
Or where a pleasant rustling stirs each shape
Creeping with whisperings that rise and fail
Through labyrinths half-lit by chequered play
Of light on golden moss now burned away.
Gone are the forest tracks, where oft we rode
Under the silver fern-fronds climbing slow,
In cool, green tunnels, though fierce noontide glowed
And glittered on the tree-tops far below.
There, ’mid the stillness of the mountain road,
We just could hear the valley river flow,
Whose voice through many a windless summer day
Haunted the silent woods, now passed away.
Under the silver fern-fronds climbing slow,
In cool, green tunnels, though fierce noontide glowed
And glittered on the tree-tops far below.
There, ’mid the stillness of the mountain road,
We just could hear the valley river flow,
Whose voice through many a windless summer day
Haunted the silent woods, now passed away.
Drinking fresh odours, spicy wafts that blew,
We watched the glassy, quivering air asleep,
Midway between tall cliffs that taller grew
Above the unseen torrent calling deep;
Till, like a sword, cleaving the foliage through,
The waterfall flashed foaming down the steep,
White, living water, cooling with its spray
Dense plumes of fragile fern, now scorched away.
We watched the glassy, quivering air asleep,
Midway between tall cliffs that taller grew
Above the unseen torrent calling deep;
Till, like a sword, cleaving the foliage through,
The waterfall flashed foaming down the steep,
White, living water, cooling with its spray
Dense plumes of fragile fern, now scorched away.
Keen is the axe, the rushing fire streams bright,
Clear, beautiful, and fierce it speeds for Man,
The Master, set to change and stern to smite,
Bronzed pioneer of nations. Ay, but scan
The ruined beauty wasted in a night,
The blackened wonder God alone could plan,
And builds not twice! A bitter price to pay
Is this for progress—beauty swept away.
Clear, beautiful, and fierce it speeds for Man,
The Master, set to change and stern to smite,
Bronzed pioneer of nations. Ay, but scan
The ruined beauty wasted in a night,
The blackened wonder God alone could plan,
And builds not twice! A bitter price to pay
Is this for progress—beauty swept away.