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THE SONG OF THE WINDMILL.A variant of this poem, that swapped a few verses, lines and words around, was published a few years later Otago Witness, Issue 2608, 9 March 1904
"Ask of me if you would know Stories of the long ago; I, the watcher on the hill," Softly sighs the old windmill. "I have heard the ringing cheer From the coign, of Wynyard Pier. When the good ship o'er the foam, Made the port from home, sweet home. "I have seen the settlers' hopes Planted on the titree slopes, Push their sturdy British way, Hour by hour, and day by day. "I have heard the night winds yearn, For the hunting ground of fern, Where they wandered wild and free, From the mountain to the sea. "I, that heard the tui sing, Saw these dual cities spring, Of the living, and the dead, Lying now beneath me spread. "Words are weak to point the change, Far and near, within my range; Domes, and spires, and chiming bells, Roofs on roofs o'er vales and fells. "Ye may wake, and ye may sleep; Ye may laugh, and ye may weep; In the present work your will, I, the watcher on the hill. "Lose these noises, for, behind, Ever whispers on the wind, Music from the echoing vast, For my youth lies in the past. "Ask of me if you would know, Stories of the long ago; I, the watcher on the hill," Softly sighs the old windmill. ROSLYN. Auckland.
THE SONG OF THE WINDMILL.ROSLYN was a pseudonym used by Miss Margaret Anne Sinclair.
"Ask of me if you would know Stories of the long ago: I, the watcher on the hill," Softly sighs the old windmill. "I have heard the ringing cheer From the coign of Wynyard pier, When the good ships, o'er the foam, Made the port from home, sweet home. "I have heard the night winds yearn For their hunting ground of fern, Where they sported, wild and free, From the mountain to the sea. "I have seen the settlers' hopes, Planted on the titree slopes, Push their sturdy British way Hour by hour and day by day. "I, that heard the tui sing, Have seen dual cities spring, Lying now beneath me spread, Of the living and the dead. "Words are weak to point the change, Far and near within my range, Countless spires and chiming bells, House roofs over hills and dells. "Ye may wake, and ye may sleep, Ye may laugh and ye may weep, In the present work your will, I, the watcher on the hill. "Lose these noises, for behind Ever whispers on the wind Music from the echoing vast, Where my youth lies in the past." ROSLYN Thames, N.Z., February, 1904.
THE STEEL MILLAn abridged version of The Steel Mill is reprinted in "The Story of Early Dunedin" by A H Reed. Other poems appear in Poems and Songs, Descriptive and Satirical from 1861.The mill, O, the mill, O, The weary, weary mill, O; O' the steel mill I've had my fill, And wish it at the de'il, O. We grind the corn twice a week; But sure am I the truth I speak, I'd rather cook and eat the wheat Than drive the weary mill, O. I'd rather work at felling trees, Or dig in ditches tae the knees, Or work the mornin's after sprees, Than drive the weary mill, O. It tires my body when I driv'd Mair tan onything I've tried, And mak's me feel as I were fried - The weary, weary mill O. But what I hate the warst o' a', Although it's horrid ill tae ca', The flour's the coarsest e'er I saw That comes frae oot the mill, O. It's true that ye can mak' it fine, But then it tak's a precious time; A single happer fu' tae grin' Wad tire ye o' the mill, O. They say it saves a little cash, But this is only idle clash; 'Twad pay tae ca' the thing tae smash - The weary, weary mill O. I only wish a' Britons fair Were doomed tae drive for twenty days; They'd bless the queen, and mend their ways, And curse the weary mill O. I've driven lang, I've driven sair, But sure my name is Robin Rare, I'll drive the hated thing nae mair - The weary, weary mill, O.
HIS HONOUR HE SAT IN HIS CHAIR OF GREAT STATE.Tune - The Laird o' Cockpen. His honour he sat in his chair of great state, Surrounded by courtiers that fain would be great, He sat in his chair and right sternly said he, "All the land in Otago it taxed shall be." The wheat is now threshed and it's sent to the mill, To be ground into flour by Peter M'Gill; It's ground into flour, and it's then sent away. So the tax upon land they are able to pay. The roads they are bad, and the flour it is dear, I'll tell you the reason and make it quite clear, Until we get roads you must pay for the hire. Of hauling your produce through oceans of mire. So his honour he cried, "Come down with the dust, To-day you must pay, and to-morrow get trust. For roads we must have thro' the length of the lan', So sell off your wheat, lads, and live upon bran."
THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.There are other mentions of mills inOur Johnnie's o'er the lugs in love, Wi' Meg the Miller's dochter, And day nor nicht he wouldna rest Till he had gane and socht her. She scorned at Jock, and tell'd him sae, His lugs rang like a bell; And noo he wanders like a ghaist. The laddie's no himsel'. The callant's fairly gane frae meat; He canna sleep at nicht; 'Twas just yestreen he gied a roar, I waukened wi' a fricht; He roared out, Mother, oh my head! My brain is in a lowe; Gie me a drink, I'm in a bleeze Like ony tap o' tow. He rings his hauns, he tears his hair, He wanders by his lane ; His een are red wi' greetin' sair, He's perfect skin and bane. He winna plough, he winna thrash, Puir Johnnie's sairly wrang; He puts his left hand to his heart. And sighs baith loud and lang. But Meg 'll maybe rue the day She vexed sae braw a lad, Her turn may come to be in love, And be as sairly thrawed; And then she'll feel the burnin' pain That water canna quench; Just what our Jock is feelin' noo For her, the saucy wench. If Johnnie wad tak my advice. He'd gie her tit for tat; He's better come than her indeed. For a' her pride and chat. Nae doubt she has a pickle kye. And Jock has nae much siller; But my gudeman was college bred, - Her father's but a miller.
At Oamaru, down by the sea, An old mill chimney stands, Tall and stately, all alone, Where the waves beat on the sands. The mill has long since been pulled down; Alone, the chimney stands, Where once was such a busy scene, Of big machines and eager hands. At evening, when the sun sinks down, And we in shadow lie, She sends a last bright golden gleam, To kiss that chimney high.BEVERLEY STOOP, A.B., L.B.H. (aged 10), 48 Orwell street, Oamaru.
Along a little zigzag
And up a daisied hill,
There, at the very top,
Stands an old windmill.
And a little bit behind it
And a little bit below,
Is the old miller's cottage,
Where he lived long ago.
And the wind keeps turning
Round those sails so red,
But the old mill is empty
And the miller's long been dead
But the mill it has its secrets,
Secrets, great and small;
And it has seen the summer come,
The winter and the fall.
And it has seen the spring-time
Merry, bright and gay;
And it has welcomed gladly
The dawning of each day.
It has weathered mighty storms,
It has stood to driving rain -
But now I must be creeping
Down that crazy path again.
Leaving the old, old windmill,
To dream at the lop o' the hill.
Original, by Jean McKinnon (14)
So the Governor's coming! We'll show him the town, With all the parade and display that is due To the Queen's representative - whether a Browne, A quieter Grey, or invisible blue. We'll receive him with honour, and carpet the stairs Of the jetty, which, lined by our brave Volunteers, Will be filled by the swells at the head of affairs, Who will welcome Sir George while the populace cheers. No four-in-hand carriage or coach will await him, But of that we'll not give him much cause to complain, For in omnibus snug on the railway we'll seat him, And start him to town by the first special train. We'll show him our lions, and he'll be admonished To judge for himself, and not be misled; But on reaching Trafalgar-street he'll be astonished To find the ditch gone, and a fine sewer instead. The engine-house, then, and its fixings all ready, Will, after inspection, be praised — " very well;" While the fire-engine keeper, in joy quite unsteady, Will run up the ladder and sound the fire-bell. The windmill, of course, will receive passing notice The foundry Soho, and the Market-place too; This latter, no doubt, in arrangement is "so nice," But, so far from of use, is a regular do. The church on the hill, with its recent additions— But still much too small for the numerous flock— May suggest to his Excellency's mind the conditions Of promise once made for a certain town clock. Then we'll take him towards the outskirts of the city, Where the Government Buildings in dignity stand; And, as he surveys them, he'll think "What a pity "There is no better use for a fabric so grand ! "I must try and persuade Fox to move the shop down here; "There's a nice site for Government House near the sea: "I know that some people tried hard to get Browne here, "But if I take a fancy — ah! well, we shall see !" He must go by the rail to the famous Dun Mountain, Although at the risk of his blessed old bones; But he'll breathe the free air, fresh as spring from a fountain, And have it explained, which is copper - which, stones. At Islington, then, we will show him our College, Where teachers accomplished now teach and reside; While the Nelson boys climb up the ladder of knowledge : We shan't take much pains to conceal our just pride. But these are but trifles to what we can show him : I've not mentioned the Castles, in Waimea-east, Nor the Cole, up at Wakefield; for, until we know him, He may not care for us or our wonders the least. Let him hold a levee, and I'll summon before him, Not only one Adam, but Adams galore; An Eden, a Kent, and, if not feared to bore him, More than one East and West, a York, and one Mo(o)re. A Crossman and Dedman will both walk his presence, As also a Dulman, and one always Sadd; A Goodman, a Badman, yet both good in one sense; A Jellyman too, and a fifty-year Ladd. We have Bakers and Butlers, a Fisher, a Leech, A Coleman, a Collier, a Cook, and a Page; We have Parsons who never were yet known to preach, And, what's curious enough, a Young man in old age. We've a Day that no almanac columns include; May, Winter, and Snow, are here all the year round; We've Bachelors married, and (don't think me rude) A feminine Mann may likewise be found. We've of printers a Nation, of shipwrights a Million; Men Bright, Crisp, and Lusty, and one all Askew; Yet most of them are ready to dance a cotillion, If 'twere not out of date, and they like something new. King James and King Charles will of course give attendance, King Solomon, too, will most likely be there; King Richard will also, with strict independence, Make all of his presence most fully aware. And then there's the ball, what immense preparation; What sudden extension of milliners' bills; What very nice partners, what lovely flirtations, What pressing from fair ones a "yes" 'gainst their wills. But Governors' visits, though very impressing, Must come to an end like all matters terrene; And Sir George, when he goes, will perhaps leave his blessing, So prosper fair Nelson, and "God Save the Queen."Citoyen. Nelson, June 9, 1862.
A printing press in full operation, furnished by the proprietors of the Colonist, distributed amongst the crowds assembled on the line of procession the following verses, written by Mr. William Hogg, which refer very happily to the contrast presented by this province in the early days of its settlement, and in its existing state of prosperity:
The cannon's boom has told the hour is come,
That calls on every loyal citizen,
To leave for one brief day the joys of home,
And join the marshalling ranks of all good men.
Hark ! merry sounds are heard from file and drum.
Lo ; flaunting banners fly in every street;
Crowds in hot hurry from the Waimeas come
With their loved friends on this great fete to meet.
The ships in Port are gaudily arrayed;
The cars and "lorries" deck'd with garlaads gay;
Father and son, mother and child, and maid,
With smiles appear to hail this happy day.
The kind desire to please, as well's be pleased,
Seems truly to have every bosom seized.
A quarter of a century, this day,
Has been enrolled upon the book of time,
Since the old Fifeshire cross'd our placid bay
To land her freight in sunny Nelson's clime.
The Maori on Britannia Heights beheld
The good ship floating o'er the waters blue;
In transports of amaze they loudly yell'd
To see her so unlike their own canoe:
"She comes!" they cried, "in mighty beauty comes,
Laden with strangers from a far off shore,
To seek in Wakatu their future homes,
And with the Maori live for evermore,
Perhaps to make the hills and valleys smile
With the strong arm of all-subduing toil."
A quarter of a century is past!
And what have those who form'd the Fifeshire's freight
Done in that time to make their mem'ries last?
Lo! look around, and say what greets thy sight;
Behold these banners floating on the air,
Surrounded by a thousand happy men;
Behold, still dearer, all these rows of fair
And charming women, all our own, since then;
Behold these streets, in many a goodly row
They tell what willing hearts and hands may earn:
This city's site, some twenty years ago,
Was a wide waste of useless flax and fern;
And now, it is the beauty of these Isles -
A lovely child of persevering toils.
I've stood upon the Grampian mountains' slope,
And look'd adown upon our city fair -
Fair as a new-made bride, and full of hope
As her warm heart - for all is beauty there;
Its "decent Church" upon a little hill;
Its villas bright, embower'd 'mid verdant trees;
Its spacious stores, neat cots, and old windmill,
Lend to the scene a charm, that all must please:
And the low sounds of traffic which are heard
Arising on the noontide breezes, tell
How stalwart labour earneth its reward,
And why its homes with gath'ring comforts swell,
That speak of happiness, of love, and hope -
In this once barren waste - from shore to mountain-slope.
On Jenkins' Hill, I've also stood to view
The rich luxuriance of the Waimea Plain;
'Twas summer, and the skies were speckless blue -
The sun shone brightly on the ripening grain;
Life seem'd to animate the wide expanse -
Flocks cropped the hills, and cattle browsed the fields;
Across the paddock well-fed steeds did prance;
Full of the life that plenty ever yields.
From hill to beach, far as the eye could see
The scene was dotted o'er with homes of bliss,
Where meek content, link'd to prosperity
Secured to honest worth true happiness;
Which seemed a meet reward, for those whose toil,
Have made the wilderness a garden smile.
Go, climb the brow that overlooks our Port,
Behold the congregated fleet moor'd there -
Fine ships of many lands, which there resort
Th' expanding commerce of our town to share.
A few short years ago, the wild birds flew
Around unscar'd, where safe these vessels lie -
But seldom now is heard a lone seamew,
The din of trade supplants its screeching cry;
Cars, carriages, and wagons hour by hour
Increase the bustle of the earnest throng,
Who share the wealth, that trade and commerce pour
Into the laps of all who them belong.
God speed the prows that plough the ocean wide,
Till mankind all, by commerce are allied!
And speed the Press that strews these leaves around -
The guardian warder of true liberty!
Where'er the sons of Britain's Isles have found
A home - as the sea-breeze, the Press is free:
Beneath its power, the would-be despot quakes;
Despite the rancour of low grov'lliug souls,
With awful truth the thrones of earth it shakes,
The deeds of proudest monarchs it controls;
And while it is the arbiter of earth,
And boldly throws embodied mind abroad,
May every day behold it grow in worth,
And know no power above it, saving God.
Join'd with the lightning messenger of thought,
And with the power that it call'd into view,
Great are the deeds the Printing Press has wrought,
But it has greater works in store to do
Ere all that's base in man it shall subdue,
And make him only love the good and true.
Such progress shows what earnest men can do
Within the tide of five-and-twenty years;
Progress! which way we turn, enchants the view,
All honour to our brave old Pioneers!
They dared the forests, and have fell'd them down;
They drain'd the swamps, and form'd our splendid roads,
Planted the germs of many a thriving town,
And strew'd the province o'er with men's abodes;
And happily, wherever these exist,
A church and school-house meet the traveller's gaze,
And all his loving sympathies enlist;
Who bade them rise, deserve eternal praise.
All honour to surviving Pioneers;
Blest be the rest of those who fill the tomb.
Much have they done in five-and-twenty years.
Hurrah for Nelson, our adopted home!
By RUTHYN.It's only a ruse and a pose I will own, A play they've enacted for many a year. To wrap themselves up in their bridge coats of brown, And cast off their offspring all passe and sere. The windmill which hails them year in and year out. The neighbouring angels, and brave "Sergeant Dan." They know that the programme is thrilling no doubt, And await the next act as a good audience can. Dear trees. Though you're cast in a part that's austere, You are bursting with promise, I know for I've seen Your mesh of brown branches send out every year. Their tufts and their tassels of delicate green. And little fan-fingers that widen and spread, Till they've caught all the vestments and verdue of spring, Filtering sunlight and green overhead. And our old Grafton Gully's a glamorous thing.
This was followed by a song which did not appear on the programme, but which, nevertheless, was one of the most amusing incidents of the Evening. Mr J. Hardy appeared; and sang in an admirable manner the following original local song :—(Air - 'King of the Cannibal Islands.') I'm asked to sing a song to-night To minister to your delight, And here I am at your service quite; To sing of Tokomairiro. When first I saw its ferny hills, Its grassy glades, its crystal rills, It had no houses, roads, or mills, No churches, doctors' shops, or pills; The men and women were but few, They nothing of gold-washing knew, The grubbing-hoe was then the 'pugh' First used in Tokomairiro. Chorus. The scene is changed, and I maintain, For gold, for wool, for yellow grain, 'Tis rightly called 'The Golden Plain' By all in Tokomairiro. In those old times of which I tell, There's many here who know it well, No boarding-house and no hotel Was known in Tokomairiro. Whene'er we went out for a spree, Instead of grog we swallowed tea, And Steel-mill flour-made scones had we; And wild pigs from the hill so free; But now, if one wants food and rest, He'll find provisions of the best Where Capstick welcomes every guest That comes to Tokomairiro. Chorus - Yet steadily, I will maintain; &c. No portly peeler then was seen, No Court House stood upon the green, No Grovius (you know who I mean) Was Judge in Tokomairiro. No Lawyer Jones (you all know him), Before him tongue-banged Henry Pim, And no J.P. of aspect grim Abused the lot in language dim, No 'Brucian Herald' then would print The yarn so long, with nothing in't But scandal - Gillon, take a hint, For the sake of Tokomairiro. Chorus - Yet after all, I will maintain; &c. But what to me most strange appears, (To mitigate the people's fears), There's Captain Jones's Volunteers, Who train in Tokomairiro. They are a sturdy band and true; Who boast of Adjutant Perdue, Of gallant Tait, and Marryatt too; And active warriors not a few; If Yankeedom should us invade; Bold Jones's banner would be displayed, And show them of what stuff we're made I'm sure would Tokomairiro. Chorus - Yet after all, I will maintain, &c.It is, of course, needless to say that Mr Hardy received a vociferous encore.
I wish I could go back again and roam among the bush,
To hear the bellbird's chiming note at sunset's evening hush.
I'd see the old home on the hill, near by the quaint old mill,
The river murmuring dreamily along a pathway green,
With stately pungas' on the bank, 'mid rata's fiery sheen.
New Zealand shores, for you I long, no matter where I roam;
Oh, land so dear where I belong, in, God's Own Country—home.
Rosa Knight.
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