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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>M'Gillviray's Dream</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A Forest-Ranger's Story.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">JUST nineteen long years, Jack, have passed o'er my shoulders<br>Since close to this spot we lay waiting the foe;<br>Ay, here is the mound where brave Percival moulders,<br>And yonder's the place where poor Norman lies low;<br>'Twas only a skirmish — just eight of our number<br>Were stretch'd on the sward when the fighting was done;<br>We scooped out their beds, and we left them to slumber,<br>The bold-hearted fellows went down with the sun.<br>The month was October — young Summer was peeping<br>Through evergreen forests where Spring, still supreme,<br>Spread all the rich tints that she had in her keeping<br>On tree, shrub, and bush, while each brooklet and stream<br>With babblings of joy ran along to the river —<br>But, hang it, old man, I am going too far;<br>I talk as I used to when from Cupid's quiver<br>Flew darts of affection my bosom to scar.<br>I'm not much at poetry, Jack, though I've written<br>Some nonsense in verse when my heart was aglow<br>With what they call love — have you ever been smitten<br>By some artful minx who deceived you? What, no?<br>By Jove, you've been lucky; but, Jack, I'm digressing.<br>Our quarters were here, under Lusk, and we made<br>Our camp in the church without asking a blessing;<br>This place is still known as the Mauku Stockade.<br>I'd fought with Von Tempsky along the Waikato;<br>I'd seen the green banks of that fair river dyed<br>With British blood, red as the plumes of the rata<br>When Spring scatters scarlet drops thick in her pride.<br>I cared not for danger, and fighting was pleasure,<br>The life of a Ranger was one of romance —<br>A dare-devil fool ever ready to measure<br>A savage's length with my rifle. 'Twas chance<br>That sent me among them; I lived but for glory;<br>My comrades were all of good mettle and true,<br>And one was a hero; I'll tell you his story —<br>God rest poor M'Gillviray — brave-hearted Hugh!<br>I knew him for years, Jack, and shoulder to shoulder<br>He stood by me often when swift leaden hail<br>Whizzed close to our ears. Ah! old man, I was bolder<br>In those valiant days than I'm now. To my tale: —</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The morning was gloomy, and Hugh sat beside me;<br>We'd chumm'd in together for two years or more;<br>I found him a brick, and he said when he tried me<br>In front of the foe, “Dick, you're true to the core!”<br>Enough — we were friends, and in trouble or danger<br>We stuck by each other in camp and in fray.<br>How often we find in the breast of a stranger<br>The heart of a kind brother throbbing alway<br>With warmest affection, responsive and tender —<br>Hugh's breast had a tenant like this, and I knew<br>In him I'd a brother, a friend, a defender,<br>Prepared for whatever a brave man might do.<br>The morning was dark, and the outlook was dreary;<br>I noticed my comrade was sitting alone,<br>All thoughtful, disconsolate, pallid, and weary,<br>“Why, where has the gladness of yesterday flown?<br>Come, tell me, Hugh, why you are gloomy this morning;<br>What change has come over my light-hearted mate?<br>You've not” (and I laughed) “had a Banshee's death-warning,<br>Have Brownies or Goblins been sealing your fate?”<br>He turned his pale face, while his eyes, full of sorrow,<br>Met mine, and it seemed like the gaze of the dead;<br>I spoke once again: “Hugh, we'll meet them to-morrow,<br>Fierce Rewi is coming this way.” Then he said —</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Why am I sad? Ah, comrade kind,<br>We cannot tell why shadows fall<br>Across the soul and o'er the mind;<br>We cannot tell why dreams recall<br>Old scenes endeared by mem'ry's spell,<br>Old haunts where love and sorrow met,<br>Old spots where airy castles fell,<br>And Hope's young sun for ever set;<br>We cannot tell why thought should leap<br>Across the ocean's wide expanse,<br>And through the telescope of sleep<br>Review the dead years at a glance;<br>We cannot tell—— But why should I<br>Philosophize? We know we're here,<br>And for the wherefore and the why,<br>That problem suits the sage and seer,<br>But not the soldier. Listen, mate —<br>I'm not a coward, for I've stood<br>Full face to face with death, and fate<br>Has led me safe through scenes of blood;<br>But now my hour is drawing nigh,<br>Life's battle now is nearly done,<br>For me to-morrow's arching sky<br>Shall canopy no rising sun.”<br>“Why, comrade, you but jest,” I said;<br>“You shouldn't joke with me, you know;<br>To-morrow's sun shall shine o'erhead,<br>And see us watching for the foe.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Nay, comrade, we must part to-day,<br>A hand has beckon'd through the gloom,<br>And signalled me away, away<br>To brighter realms beyond the tomb;<br>You smile and count me as a slave<br>Of superstition — be it so;<br>My vision stretches o'er the grave;<br>I travel where you cannot go.<br>Ah! friend, you were not nursed beneath<br>The Highland hills, where every glen<br>Is filled with those who've conquered death —<br>Is tenanted with ghosts of men.<br>Ah! friend, your feet have never trod<br>The mighty Bens, whose summits grim<br>Approach the starry gates of God,<br>Where heaven grows bright and earth grows dim.<br>The legendary lore that clings<br>Round Highland hearts you have not felt,<br>Nor yet the weird imaginings<br>Which stir the spirit of the Celt.<br>Well, hear my story — listen, pray,<br>And I'll explain why I am sad<br>And in a downcast mood to-day.<br>You smile again and deem me mad —<br>Last night I was again a boy<br>Light-hearted 'mong my native hills,<br>Filled with a bright, ecstatic joy,<br>And pure as my own mountain rills;<br>I stood beneath old Monagh Leagh,<br>Nor far from rugged Dumnaglass,<br>And in the distance I could see<br>Wild Farracagh's romantic Pass;<br>A monarch proud, a youthful king,<br>Alone with nature there I stood,<br>At peace with God and everything,<br>For all His works seemed fair and good;<br>But best and fairest of them all<br>Was she who came to meet me there, —<br>I little thought dreams could recall<br>Those silken waves of sunny hair,<br>That tender smile, those eyes of blue,<br>The magic of whose flashing glance<br>Inflamed my soul with love, and threw<br>A glamour round me, — joyous trance!<br>We met last night just as of old,<br>And Elsie nestled by my side,<br>While playing with each tress of gold<br>I whispered, ‘Lassie, be my bride.’<br>The sweet soft answer came — why dwell<br>On that dear moment of delight?<br>Our heaven was in that Highland dell,<br>Where all seemed beautiful and bright.<br>We parted, and my dreaming soul<br>On Fancy's pinions forward flew<br>O'er five short years, and reached the goal<br>That love and hope had kept in view.<br>Oh, joyous day! a merry throng<br>Were gathered on the Clachan green;<br>The villagers, with dance and song,<br>Held jubilee; that happy scene<br>Is treasured in my memory still.<br>I hold again that little hand;<br>I hear the whispered word, ‘I will!’<br>I lead her through that cheerful band,<br>While Donald Beg, and Fergus Mohr,<br>And Angus Dhu — the pipers three —<br>Strike up, while marching on before,<br>The pibroch of M'Gillviray.<br>Oh! how the wild notes brought a flood<br>Of mem'ries bright and glories gone,<br>When, for the Royal Stuart blood.<br>Our chief led great Clan Chattan on<br>To famed Culloden's field: — 'Tis past,<br>That marriage scene with all its charms<br>And winter comes with freezing blast,<br>To find my young wife in my arms,<br>And all the villagers in tears<br>Assembled round us — she was gone;<br>The prize was mine a few short years,<br>And I was now alone, alone.<br>Oh! what had I to live for then?<br>One clasp, one look, one fond caress,<br>And flying far from each proud Ben,<br>With sorrow deep as dark Loch Ness,<br>I left my humble Highland home,<br>To gaze on Monagh Leagh no more.<br>With blighted heart I crossed the foam<br>And landed on New Zealand's shore;<br>You know the rest——”<br>“But what has all<br>This home-sick dreaming got to do<br>With death, my friend?”<br>“I've got a call<br>To meet my Elsie.”<br>“Nonsense, Hugh!”<br>I laughed, but still his brow was sad;<br>“Cheer up and chase this gloom away,<br>There's pleasure yet in life, my lad.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I tell you we must part to-day;<br>I have not told you all that passed<br>Before me in my dreaming hours.<br>This day, with you, shall be my last.<br>True friendship, Dick, has long been ours.<br>And we must part in love, my friend, —<br>You smile again — well, time will prove<br>My premonition true; — The end<br>Is drawing nigh; — Behold my love,<br>My life, my Elsie, on you hill, —<br>Ay, yonder hill is Monagh Leagh —<br>Just listen, friend, she's calling still,<br>And still the dear one beckons me<br>Away — the sun upon the peaks<br>Is blushing crimson o'er the snow.<br>Behold! how bright its rays and streaks<br>Are dancing on Loch Ness below;<br>Rich violet and purple clouds<br>A tabernacle form on high,<br>Behind whose folds the starry crowds<br>Lie hidden in the silent sky —<br>'Tis there, 'tis there, the same fond face,<br>Which, but a few short hours ago,<br>Pressed close to mine; just in this place<br>My Elsie stood, and, bending low,<br>She whispered in an icy breath,<br>‘Oh! Hugh, behold thy spirit-bride.<br>I'm here for thee; prepare for death.<br>Thy soul to-morrow, by my side,<br>Shall trace the scenes we loved of yore.<br>Again, my Hugh, my husband brave,<br>We'll watch the Highland eagle soar;<br>We'll see the heath and bracken wave.<br>Ah! Hugh, the spirit-sight is keen;<br>We cross the ocean with a glance;<br>We know not time — ' She left the scene,<br>And I awakened from my trance;<br>But let us change the subject, mate;<br>Let's have a smoke; — Hark! there's a shot —<br>One, two, three, four! we mustn't wait —<br>Where are our rifles? Ah! we've got<br>The darkies now. See, see, they dance<br>Before our eyes; hear how they yell!<br>There goes the order for advance —<br>There's Norman out and Percival.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">M'Gillviray ceased, and we ran to the door,<br>Prepared to advance where our officers led;<br>Both Hill and O'Beirne were well to the fore,<br>While Norman and Percival rushed on ahead.<br>Flash! flash! went our rifles; we followed their track,<br>And in through a gap in the timber we broke;<br>We loaded again, and they answered us back —<br>The rebels, I mean — as they plunged through the smoke.<br>“Now, back to the camp, lads; we've scattered the swine;<br>They've tasted enough of our metal to-day!'<br>Twas Percival spoke, and we fell into line,<br>And back through the break in the bush took our way.<br>We reached but the centre, when out from the bush<br>That skirted each side with its branches and logs<br>The Maoris in crowds, with a yell and a rush,<br>Encompassed us: — “Boys, give the treacherous dogs<br>A taste of our true British pluck!” — a wild cry,<br>As a tomahawk's stroke cut the sentence in twain,<br>Went in through the woodlands and up to the sky,<br>And Percival lay in the front of the slain.<br>Oh, God! in my ears still rings yell after yell.<br>I see the bright tomahawks dripping with blood;<br>The wild demons looked as if painted in hell;<br>They leaped through the thicket and burst from the wood.<br>Outflanked and outnumbered, our officers dead,<br>A handful of men in the grasp of the foe,<br>What could we have done in such stress? so we fled<br>When Norman and Wheeler and Hill were laid low.<br>We reached the old church, but the savages stay'd<br>To butcher the wounded and mangle the slain;<br>They vanished ere night in the forest's dark shade,<br>To steer their canoes o er Waikato again.<br>At daybreak we went to the scene of the fray,<br>To bury our comrades and bid them adieu,<br>And near a small mound where five savages lay<br>We found brave M'Gillviray sleeping there too.<br>Five warrior chiefs proved the work he had done;<br>They fell by his hand ere his soul went to God;<br>He smiled in the face of the bright morning sun<br>That shone on the purple streaks o'er the green sod.<br>I planted a wattle to mark where he sleeps —<br>I wonder where is it? — Ah, there stands the tree!<br>By Jove, it's in blossom, too! See how it weeps<br>Rich tears of bright gold o er the hillock where he<br>Is resting in peace. Is he dreaming there still<br>Of Elsie, his bride, and his dear Highland glen?<br>This life is a puzzle, Jack; fight as we will,<br>We're nothing at last but the shadows of men.<br>The substance soon blends with the blossoms and weeds<br>That spring to the surface; and as for the soul.<br>Perhaps it may flourish or fade in its deeds,<br>Or find in some other bright planet its goal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Bracken">Thomas Bracken</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529215" data-title="M'Gillviray's Dream de Thomas Bracken" data-description="A Forest-Ranger's Story.

JUST nineteen long years, Jack, have passed o'er my shoulders
Since close to this spot we lay waiting the foe;
Ay, here is the mound where brave Percival moulders,
And yonder's the place where poor Norman lies low;
'Twas ..."></div>
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