Mr. Oseba's Last Discovery

by George W. Bell

LEO BERGIN’S REVERIE.

Sweet home, adieu! With vent’rous crew,
I’m sailing o’er the ocean blue.

As on we leap, the eye doth sweep
The curving borders of the deep.

The days glide by, I gaze and sigh,
But nought appears, save sea and sky.

Behold! there rise, ’neath Southern skies,
Green Isles that greet our glad surprise.

Oh! lovely Isles, where Nature smiles,
And beckons to the “afterwhiles.”

Here fancy drew, from old and new,
To give the soul extended view.

With air so mild, and scenery wild,
The Fates persuaded, led and smiled.

O! craggy peak! O! Earthquakes freak,
Had I but words of you to speak.

Our course we take, through broom and brake,
To view the fern-embroidered lake.

Those lakes, so sweet, at mountain’s feet,
Where weary strangers, strangers meet.

The waters blue, with swift canoe,
We skim, for glimpses weird and new.

We lift the eye to mountain high,
To where the snow-peaks kiss the sky.

O’er gorges deep, where shadows creep,
dark clouds cluster, pause and weep.

In dreamy mood, we pause and brood,
’Midst awe-inspiring solitude.

We list—a roar, that cometh o’er,
From danger scenes we would explore.

For ah! the spell! the geyser’s well,
That hurls the sulphurous fumes from hell;

That flings on high, with thund’rous sigh,
Huge rocks, that smite the cloud-flecked sky.

But list, ye bands from other lands,
This monument of splendor stands,

In South Seas hurled, with flag unfurled,
“The scenic wonder of the world.”

As here we scan old Nature’s plan,
We seek her last, best work—a man.

Lo! he appears! nor hopes nor fears
Have vexed his soul through all the years.

With haughty pride—nor priest nor guide—
He ruled the land, as warrior tried.

Here chieftain brave, here King and slave,
Their lives to war and foray gave.

Here, dusky maid was ne’er afraid
To join the fray, in copse or glade.

With waving hair, and beauty rare,
Brave hearts these maidens did ensnare.

When beauty wild a chief beguiled,
He gazed in liquid eyes, and smiled.

Love makes amends, and often blends,
Wild warring factions into friends.

But strong the will, with tribesmen’s skill,
The Maori was unconquered still.

Where Nature, kind, unfolds the mind,
Man is to nobler thoughts inclined.

Though brave, he’s meek; he aids the weak,
And high companionship doth seek.

In social train, by hand and brain,
He wins and holds a vast domain.

He builds a State; ’tis weak or great,
As based on love, or fosters hate.

If Wisdom’s eyes survey the skies,
Before their magic touch arise

Industrial arts, where loyal hearts
May rear and fill commercial marts.

If strong and just, and true to trust,
The coin of Truth can never rust;

And wise men see that none are free,
Save where there’s large equality—

Where Law commands, that sturdy hands,
Shall freely cultivate the lands;

No coward slave, but free and brave,
Shall ever ready be to save.

Thus honest worth, o’er all the earth,
Conditions make, e’en more than birth.

’Twas said by Fate, these Isles must wait,
The builders of an ideal State.

Then with the breeze, ’cross Southern seas,
The Briton came, with high decrees.

New scenes arose, old wounds they close,
And friendship reigns ’mong ancient foes.

For Maori hate, by skill and—“fate”—
Was merged into the British “State.”

United, free, they now agree
To dwell in peace,—“So mote it be.”

Then of this man, and if we can,
We’ll follow out his mystic plan.

For wise it seems, e’en in our dreams,
To build, with care, prophetic themes.

Then let us gauge the Seer and Sage,
As pass they o’er Life’s mystic stage.

First, of the dead, it may be said,
While warm of heart and cool of head,

They saw the new, and though but few,
They laid foundations, strong and true,

On which to rear, without a fear,
This temple,—so imposing here.

By words sublime, in prose and rhyme,
They taught, for all-enduring time.

Then Seddon came, without whose name
This temple were unfinished frame.

But in his care, with graceful air,
The structure rose, with finish fair.

His sturdy stroke the times awoke,
As from Tradition’s rules he broke.

Upon the land he scattered bands,
With willing hearts and sturdy hands.

To those once rent with discontent,
He even-handed Justice sent.

Now o’er the State, nor fear nor hate
Could find companion, small or great.

Look o’er the land, from peak to strand,
There’s happiness on every hand.

Here Cities rare, exceeding fair,
Zealania boasts, with modest air.

At eve or dawn, we gaze upon
The busy, “blowy” Wellington.

Here, products great for ships await,
And here repose the powers of State.

Here, founding laws, for mighty cause,
The statesman long the session draws.

Here modest worth and homely mirth
Find more respect than rank or birth.

There’s Auckland, too—’twixt me and you—
A beauty spot, excelled by few.

Round this fair cove, old Nature strove
To show the fickle feats of Jove.

Volcanic smoke in fury broke,
Until the heavens all awoke.

When cleared the skies, there did arise
A seat for earthly Paradise.

At mountains’ feet, where lavas meet,
There Auckland sits, serene and sweet.

With seas afore, just off her door,
Where proud ships ride for evermore.

We note with care, with Christchurch, there
Are few that safely may compare.

For pride of race, for social grace,
She holds a high and honored place.

’Mid fertile plain of waving grain,
We search for lovelier spot, in vain.

Here, soul and brain; here, maid and swain,
A pure companionship maintain.

Dunedin stands, on favored lands,
’Twixt mountains high and ocean sands.

On beauty’s spot, the “Canny Scot”
Has cast his ever happy lot.

With taste and skill, from rock to rill,
Dunedin reaches ’long the hill.

With vision free—upon the lee—
Dunedin gazes o’er the sea.

Full many more, ’tween hill and shore,
Are worthy of the poet’s lore.

Though hard I seek, the words are weak,
Of nobler beauties now to speak.

While cities were, with beauty rare,
Contrived by man, with studied care,

The vale, the glen, the lake, the fen,
Were made by Him who maketh men.

The fields of grain, where honest swain
Earns honest bread, wave not in vain.

For West and East, both man and beast
Await to join Zealania’s feast.

And from all lands, by skilful hands,
White sails are bent for Austral strands.

Here, finest wheat, by many a fleet
Is sent, the foreign marts to meet.

And finest fleece—in war or peace—
They shear, that wealth they may increase.

With choicest meat, both rare and sweet,
In “Merry England,” they compete.

In farm or mine, with food or wine,
To lead the leaders they incline.

By skill they coil the threads of toil
Around the riches of the soil.

And, for the sake of gain to make,
Great enterprise they undertake.

Well, far and near, we’ve gathered here,
And all in all it doth appear

That higher goals and nobler souls
Are here, than elsewhere ’tween the poles.

Now wake, my Muse, do not refuse
To pay “my hostess” honest dues.

For ladies fair, with beauty rare,
Zealania boasts, beyond compare.

And smiles more sweet we’ll never meet
Until we bow at Peter’s feet.

Awake again and listen, when
Beholding strong Zealania’s men.

’Tis writ by Fate, men only great
Could constitute this noble State.

Then sing for all, both great and small,
Each in fit place, that none may fall.

The dreams of seers, the hopes and fears,
Have gathered ’long the silent years,

And on these Isles, with radiant smiles,
Were cast the hoarded “afterwhiles.”

Zealania fair, thou art the heir
Of all the cries of ancient prayer.

Here sturdy bands, with gen’rous hands,
Are guardians of these favored lands.

Then hail thee thrice—let this suffice,
Thou art Creation’s Paradise.

Oh! float away—like mist in May,
Or rainbow tints ’mid ocean spray.

“I wake to sense—please, no offence,—
Forgive my drowsy indolence.”

Well, indeed that is pretty; but let us down from Leo’s fancies to Mr. Oseba’s facts, and while I shall strive to retain a seasoning of Mr. Oseba’s richness, time and the love of ease whisper persuasively of the virtues of the blue pencil.

With more animated eloquence, Mr. Oseba resumed his oration. “The audience,” says Leo Bergin, “gave the most profound attention.”

“Knowledge,” said Mr. Oseba, “is a priceless treasure, but,” with a smile he continued, “many a good story has been spoiled by over-inquisitiveness. Poetic fancy suffers from flirtations with cause and conscience. Unless inquiry has been thorough, my children, it is wiser, in most cases, to note impressions than to assume to record facts, so I shall give you but a ‘bird’s-eye’ view of these enchanting isles, with the characters as they appeared before the visual camera when I made my observations.

“Had I gone fossicking among the weary ones of Zelania, I should doubtless have found many excellent people who, in some phase of the inquiry, would have questioned the correctness of my conclusions. I might have heard some sighs, amid the almost universal joy—some smiles with the general congratulations, and some discordant groans mingled with the generous applause—but where there is not sufficient diversity of interest to produce mental friction, there is more danger from decomposition than from revolution.

“Yes, I incline to think had I stood on the corner and listened I would have met some well-to-do gentlemen who disliked the land tax; some business men who disliked the labor laws; some farmers, who wanted a free ride and no rent; some patriotic men who failed to admire many of ‘Richard’s’ taking ways. I might also have found healthy gentlemen from ‘Home’ who, though their conditions were bettered by coming, have little love for ‘the colonials,’ and who, by virtue of their unwillingness to grasp the true situation, regard every statement of a fact as an extravagance, and every forward movement as a revolution. Then, I should have felt it necessary to inquire how much of such criticism was due to private interest, to defeated ambition, to party or factional prejudice, or to differences in opinion as to who would best grace the conspicuous chair.

“For this I had neither time nor inclination. Man can equivocate, can even lie, ’tis said, but visible conditions never deceive an observing stranger, and when I considered the brief history of that country and compared its early social and political policy with the present free, happy and prosperous situation, I had little care to banquet with private grievance or public criticism.

“I was concerned, not in the salaries of the public servants, but in the character of the public conscience; not in who, for the time being, guided the ship of state, but how the passengers and the crew were being brought to their destination.

“On a lonely elevation, far removed from the murmuring crowd, I levelled my glass, and, without sampling the fluids from which the stage actors drew their inspiration, I noted my ‘impressions.’ They were favorable, and if I’m guilty of nothing worse than failing to note the faults of those chosen by themselves as ringmasters of the performance, I feel that the Zelanians will not regret my having ‘discovered them.’

“As the beauties of Zelania so far transcend the powers of the painter’s brush and the poet’s metaphor, I pay her homage of my admiration, in modest speech.”