Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/140

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Wellington.

LXI.

The River Avon.

“Fies nobilium tu quoque fontium.”—Horace.

I love thee, Avon! though thy banks have known No deed of note, thy wand’ring course along No bard of Avon hath poured forth in songThy tuneful praise; thy modest tide hath flownFor ages on, unheeded and alone. I love thee for thy English name, but more Because my countrymen along thy shoreHave made new homes. Therefore not all unknown Henceforth thy streams shall flow. A little whileShall see thy wastes grow lovely. Not in vain Shall England’s sons dwell by thee many a mile.With verdant meads and fields of waving grain Thy rough, uncultured banks ere long shall smile;Heaven-pointing spires shall beautify thy plain.

Henry Jacobs.

LXII.

Wellington.

Rugged she stands, no garlands of bright flowersBind her swart brows, no pleasant forest shadesMantle with twining branches her high hills,No leaping brooks fall singing to her sea.Hers are no meadows green, nor ordered parks;Not hers the gladness nor the light of song,Nor cares she for my singing.
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