New Zealand Verse/In Town
XXXVIII.
In Town.
We came from the hills where the hot winds blow
And the yellow tussocks wave,
From the long, bright plain where the titris grow,
From the land of the sun, and the frost, and snow,
Where the hearts are strong and brave.
And the yellow tussocks wave,
From the long, bright plain where the titris grow,
From the land of the sun, and the frost, and snow,
Where the hearts are strong and brave.
We had kept the lines in the winter-time
On the wing of the poisoning gang.
From rock to rock in the mountain climb,
When the frosts were keen and the air like wine,
And the shingle faces rang.
On the wing of the poisoning gang.
From rock to rock in the mountain climb,
When the frosts were keen and the air like wine,
And the shingle faces rang.
When the speargrass fire was burning bright,
We had sat in the magic ring—
When the knives were swift and the hearts were light,
With a thousand skins to clean at night,
And one had a song to sing.
We had sat in the magic ring—
When the knives were swift and the hearts were light,
With a thousand skins to clean at night,
And one had a song to sing.
We’re in town, and we met in the noisy street,
And the old strong days came back—
The wind in the tussocks waving sweet,
The mountain ridge, and the plain at our feet,
And the winding rocky track.
And the old strong days came back—
The wind in the tussocks waving sweet,
The mountain ridge, and the plain at our feet,
And the winding rocky track.
The bustling town, with its pink and green,
And its hoardings of red and blue,
To our open eyes was poor and mean
As we thought of the long, bright days that had been
In the old fair world we knew.
And its hoardings of red and blue,
To our open eyes was poor and mean
As we thought of the long, bright days that had been
In the old fair world we knew.
The church spires climb to the dreary sky,
And the bells ring peace from Heaven;
But the joy of God’s rich fields that lie
Wide to the winds and the wild bird’s cry
May never again be given.
And the bells ring peace from Heaven;
But the joy of God’s rich fields that lie
Wide to the winds and the wild bird’s cry
May never again be given.
Yet here in the clasp of a friendly hand
That wrought with me side by side,
I feel the thrill of the mountain land,
The life of toil that was strong and grand,
Old Memory’s rich flood-tide.
That wrought with me side by side,
I feel the thrill of the mountain land,
The life of toil that was strong and grand,
Old Memory’s rich flood-tide.