Lo! Arcady and Argoli
Unfold before our ravished sight,
And still the magic influence grows
And time moves backward in its flight.
There lies the ancient Argive plain
Where chiefs in angry council met,
When Paris took the Spartan frail,
The insult they did n’er forget.
Then fled in haste with her to Troy,
And Nemesis the pair pursued,
For calling all their braves to arms
Greece vengeance vowed to Priam’s brood.
And n’er will a magician weave
Their tales of prowess and of skill
As Homer—none so deft as he
Could thus the imagination thrill.
Lo! Delphi, where in darkness sat
The sacred priestess, while in wrath
’Mid clouds of incense serpent wound
The Oracle would issue forth.
Oh! Athena, the “violet crowned,”
Thy crystal founts and cypress groves,
Where Daphne and Minerva walked,
Leave but memory of their loves.
AURELLE.
I would frame a lyric sweet
To ma belle Aurelle;
Tresses rippling to her feet,
Laughing lips as well.
She hath hands as lilies pure,
Head of beauty’s mould,
Eyes like great brown pools so clear,
Sparkling depths enfold.
On a grassy knoll she stands,
Clasping wattle bloom—
Golden flower of Austral’s lands,
With its rich perfume.
Roses grace her cheeks so fair,
And she knoweth well
That she doth my heart ensnare—
Ma belle Aurelle.
And she singeth like a bird
At heaven’s gate,
When its swelling notes are stirred
By its mate.
And I know that Cupid’s dart—
Sharp, yet slender—
Some fine day will pierce her heart,
Oh, so tender.
But this stately maid of mine
Loveth none as me:
For her summers are but nine—
Aurelle mine, you see!
THE TALE OF THE GREAT WHITE PLAINS.
Day by day and night by night,
Till the great white plains in sight—
Speeds the “Terra Nova” on;
Britain’s laurels must be won,
So they press to reach their goal:
Point they to the Southern Pole.
What a tale thou dost unfold,
Far surpassing deeds of old.
Shades of Spartan heroes these
Mightier see in southern seas,
Mountain pillars gleaming white
In the lone Antarctic night.
Dazzling peaks, all tempest riven;
Shrouded ghosts, which gaze at heaven:
There, majestic, grand and free,
Towering o’er that frigid sea,
Terror, Erebus, look down
From their smouldering fiery throne.
Sunken eyes and cheeks so pale,
Still the stout hearts do not quail,
Though they pay a heavy toll
Yet, at length, they reach the Pole.
Lo! The Union Jack unfurled,
Britain’s finger leads the world.
Glory gained, they may not stay,
There is danger in delay.
Back o’er that wide trackless plain,
Mighty Scott with all his train
Passed, while death the white steed rode
Side by side the way they trode,
Through the blizzard’s freezing blast.
Will he claim his prey at last?
Buoyed with thoughts of northern skies
Oft’ their drooping spirits rise.
Where fond loved ones’ hopes and fears
Mingle with their prayers and tears—
So they struggle weakly on,
Strength and courage almost gone.
On, until with grief they find
Evans they must leave behind.
Ah! The other hut in view,
Will they see the blizzard through?
Yes! The camp at last they reach
Cold exhaustion numbing speech,
And brave Oates! Oh! Gallant heart,
Nobly doth he take his part
In this awful tragedy
Of the icy polar sea.
Facing death ’mid ice and snow
See the loyal comrade go;
Knowing nought his life could save
Sought he thus a lonely grave.
Silently we draw the veil
And his mournful end bewail.
Months elapse—what is their fate?
Wilson, Bowers, alas! Too late:
With their chief at length they find
In their sleeping bags enshrined,
Fresh as when their parting breath
Froze within the embrace of death.
Saintly looking in their sleep,
Only angels o’er them weep;
There in royal robes of snow
Lie our glorious heroes now.
And the message Scott would send:
“Guard our loved ones to the end.”
Britain’s, Austral’s hearts will be
With their dead in that white sea,
And their children, not in vain,
Oft will read the tale again,
And immortal memory shelve
Nineteen hundred years and twelve.
Not unmarked the way they trod,
For it led them up to God.
Lo! A cairn above them stands
Raised by gentle, loving hands
And a cross upon the spot
In that grand Antarctic grott,
While for aye they will remain
Martyrs of the Great White Plain.
