Eheu Fugaces!

O lover of the strident Strand,—
In London's roar imperial,
Dost thou remember Maoriland ?

The combers croon on leagues of sand;
The blue Pacific laughs its thrall :
O lover of the strident Strand!

On ranges Isolation planned,
The sheep bleat, and the wild ducks call :
Dost thou remember Maoriland ?

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The smoke curls where the homesteads stand,
By thatched stockade, and slip-railed stall :
O lover of the strident Strand !

Lost mates of saddle, weather-tanned,
Still line the old red woolshed-wall :
Dost thou remember Maoriland ?

And gifts the Gods held in their hand,—
Their ghosts in camp-fires dance and fall.
O lover of the strident Strand,
Dost thou remember Maoriland?

Seaforth Mackenzie.