Page:Ainsworth's Magazine - Volume 1.djvu/341
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THE LANDING OF THE PRIMROSE.
The Author of the subjoined poem is indebted to Dr. Oke, M.D., of Southampton, for the very interesting relation which gave rise to it. That relation (given also by the Doctor at one of the meetings of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel) ran as follows:—
"It has been discovered that the best method of conveying plants to distant regions is by means of a wide-mouthed bottle, so covered up as to allow only of a smalt aperture for the admission of air.
"The exhalation of the plant, being condensod beneath the roof, or shoulder, of the bottle, falls down, or rather distils again upon it, and constantly refreshes it with the results of its own evaporation, whilst it enjoys the rays of the sun through the transparency of the vessel in which it is confined.
"In this way a primrose was conveyed to New Sydney, a clime where it is exotic. It so happened that at the very time the plant was landed it had begun to bloom; the sight of a Primrose, and from England, in full blossom, carried with it such intense interest, that crowds саше to welcome its arrival. Indeed, so great was the eagerness to catch a glimpse of the stranger, that a guard was placed over it to protect it from injury."
Australia's strand was swarming
With myriads, tier on tier;
Like bees they clung and cluster'd
On wall, and pile, and pier.
The wanderer and the outcast,
Hope, penitence, despair,
The felon and the free man,
Were intermingling there.
There ran a restless murmur,
(A murmur deep not loud,
For every heart was thrilling,)
Through all that motley crowd.
And every eye was straining
To where a good ship lay,
With England's red cross waving
Above her decks that day.
And comes she deeply freighted
With human guilt and shame?
And wait those crowds expectant
To greet with loud acclaim?
Or comes she treasure-laden?
And ache those anxious eyes
For sight of her rich cargo,
Her goodly merchandise?
See! see! they lower the long-boat,
And there—they man the barge—
Trick'd out and manned so bravely
For no ignoble charge.
Gold gleams on breast and shoulder
Of England's own true blue;
That sure must be the Captain,
Salutes his gallant crew.
And that the Captain's Lady
They're handing down the side—
"Steady, my hearts! now, steady,"
Was that the coxswain cried?
"Hold on!" She's safely seated.
"In oars!"—a sparkling splash—
Hats off on deck—one cheer now—
"Pull, hearties!"—off they dash.
And now the lines long stretching
Of eager gazers, strain
(Converging to one centre)
The landing place to gain.
"A guard! a guard!" in haste then
The Governor calls out—
"Protect the Lady's landing
From all that rabble-rout."
Her foot is on the gunwale—
Her eyes on that turmoil—
She pauses so a moment,
Then treads Australia's soil.
With looks of humid wonder
She gazes all about;
But oh! her woman's nature,
Calls that no "rabble-rout."
For well she reads the feeling,
Each face expressive wears;
And well she knows what wakes it—
That precious thing she bears.
That precious thing—(Oh, wondrous!
Oh, spell of potent power,
From English earth transported!)—
A little lowly flower.
Bе blessings on that Lady!
Be blessings on that hand!
The first to plant the Primrose
Upon the Exile's land!
The sound had gone before her—
No eye had closed that night;
So yearn'd they for the morrow—
So long'd they for the light.