WAIRAU:—OR COL. W—’S DIRGE TO THE MEMORY OF HIS BROTHER.
Tune—“Wallace’s Lament.”
Though pleasing, around thee, thy scenes, Waiarau!
’Tis painful to think on the deeds of thy day;
Though all to their fates, so resistless must bow,
I grieve for the victims who fell in thy fray.
But chiefly I mourn thee, my own dearest brother!
And shrink at the thought of thy mangled remains;
The loss I sustain can be felt by no other,
As long as thy mem’ry my bosom retains.
’Tis painful to think on the deeds of thy day;
Though all to their fates, so resistless must bow,
I grieve for the victims who fell in thy fray.
But chiefly I mourn thee, my own dearest brother!
And shrink at the thought of thy mangled remains;
The loss I sustain can be felt by no other,
As long as thy mem’ry my bosom retains.
The savage may glory in deeds unrepaid,
And cowardly taunt thee, now low in thy grave;
They’ll yet in the balance of justice be weigh’d,
And vengeance shall visit when nought can them save.
But still, I’m depriv’d of thy friendship, my brother!
Which none can replace, as thy worth all can tell;
The cold hand of death now thy ashes may smother,
Thy mem’ry shall live, though I sigh thee farewell.
And cowardly taunt thee, now low in thy grave;
They’ll yet in the balance of justice be weigh’d,
And vengeance shall visit when nought can them save.
But still, I’m depriv’d of thy friendship, my brother!
Which none can replace, as thy worth all can tell;
The cold hand of death now thy ashes may smother,
Thy mem’ry shall live, though I sigh thee farewell.
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