1854 - Richardson, J. The First Christian Martyr of the New Zealand Church - CHAPTER III, p 23-32

---------------Again we pause. --
What multitudes are these which throng the path
So lately trod by men deep dyed in blood?
What sounds are these whose solemn notes contrast
So strangely with the tones which once we heard?
Why this elastic step? this buoyant look?
This living joy in ev'ry thought and act?
Oh! for a thousand hearts in freedom bath'd,
A thousand tongues with eloquence divine,
Fully to feel, and fitly to describe
The thrilling sentiments of boundless joy
Which vivify, irradiate, consume,
The slave to freedom given, to home restor'd.
O what astounding miracle was this
Of Christian love; what responsive beat
Of hearts belov'd by love's embodiment!
Themselves set free from fetters forg'd in hell
They could not, dare not, hold their brethren bound;
Freely had they receiv'd and freely gave;
No compensation sought nor e'en desir'd;
'Twas love's spontaneous gift. When Britons,
Once benighted, firmly held in iron grasp
Her slaves by millions; when eloquence
Of more than mortal pow'r had ceaseless thrown
Her polish'd shafts of deeply reason'd thought;
And when for years the good and wise had toil'd

In freedom's cause, and almost toil'd in vain,
Forth went the edict, that where'er the flag,
Whose cross is dyed in blood, wav'd in the breeze,
The slave was free and fetters were unknown.
'Twas not a doubtful act, a partial deed,
If Afric's sons receiv'd from Britain's hands
Their restituted rights, their vested claims,
No taint of wrong the noble act defac'd;
Her coffers yield a compensation full,
And rigid justice holds a balanc'd scale. --
But, let us join the throng, in silence walk
Observing, unobserv'd. Experienced
Though we be in Christian truth, and vers'd
In liberty's most perfect law, perchance
A sound may reach our ear, a thought occur,
Rekindling faith, revivifying love.
Among the host is one whose massive brow,
And deeply seated eye, and lofty mien,
Instinctively attract; his snow-white locks
Wave in the balmy breeze: his trembling hand
Fast holds a beauteous child, remaining link
Of earth's affection, concentrated beam
Of all that once illumin'd and endear'd.
Though full six hundred miles, a weary way,
Stretch forth between him and his childhood's home,
No dark foreboding dulls his lustrous eye,
For, bound in truth's bright panoply, he leaves
The morrow's care to One who cares for him.
Diverging from their route, are joyful bands

Who live on Waiho's banks; or dwell hard by
Where Rotoru'a's lake by boiling springs
Encircled lies: or, where, piercing the chain
Of lofty hills, a stream convulsive flows
Towards the south. Passing by Taupo's lake,
But circling round when night's dark shades are cast
On all below, the old man, now alone,
Pursues his way, absorb'd in thought. How oft
He glances looks of tenderness and love
On her who follows hard the lonely track,
At times but dimly seen from tangled roots
Or wide extended trees, or emerald fern;
How carefully he breaks the pendant bough,
And bears her scatheless through the deep morass,
Her heart enliv'ning by some merry tale,
Or soothing by some act' of beaming love.
----------------Just as the setting sun
On Tongariro sheds his parting ray
They reach the summit of the lofty hills,
Beneath which flows, like molten silver stream,
The far fam'd Whanganu'i. The old man
Bows his head, in deep dejection cast:
Tears course their way along that furrow'd cheek,
And bursting sighs escape that heaving breast
As he recalls the past, and dimly views
The ruin'd relics of his happy home.
A gentle call, a mild and loving glance
The spell dissolves. Entwin'd in fond embrace
The tablets of the mind are reeras'd

And, from his ruin'd to his heav'nly home,
He turns in faith's sublime and calm repose.
With haste descending through a dark ravine
They reach the spot where once Petoni stood;
Glancing around they spy, not far remote,
The curling smoke, and soon they see reviv'd,
As if of old, the houses of their tribe.
Though many a year had pass'd, no less
Than centuries would suffice to wipe
From off the village mind Ewana's name;
In council, as in war, the proudest gave
Their willing homage; and, among the bands
Of merry buoyant youth, his smile was view'd
Their richest recompence, their best reward.
Seen by dim twilight's magnifying pow'r
He seem'd no denizen of earth; they gaze,
Affrighted yield, incredulous return.
The well known form when nearer view'd, the voice
Whose tuneful accents never fail'd to soothe,
Conviction bring. The distant hills receive
And quick transmit a welcome shout of joy.
Scarce leaving time for necessary meal,
And none for rest, they eagerly demand
Minute account of each succeeding year
Since that disastrous hour when first they turn'd
From overwhelming hosts, and, first, they ask
Of Erow's fate, and of his only child,
The lovely E'show. With quiv'ring voice
And agitated look he sternly tells

How in the thickest of the deadly fight
His brother's prowess bore down all around.
Each blow inflicting death, until, at length,
Exhausted nature fell an easy prey.
He tells, 'mid trickling tears in vain repell'd,
How E'show, resolutely bent in life or death
To be but one with him to whom she ow'd
Her birth, nay more, her momentary life,
Disdains to fly. A captive she becomes
To him by whom her father met his fate.
A pause ensues; but looks inquiring ask
For more details: he tremulously tells
Of E'show, deep in sorrow's darkest gloom,
Alone, 'mid strangers: the boisterous mirth
Of savage bands unheeded strike her ear;
Herself the destin'd bride of him than whom
Earth's vilest incarnation far more dear.
If any scene could move the human heart,
Subdue to softness, or inspire with love,
Such scene were here; but hearts there are 'gainst which
The waves of woe may beat, and beat in vain.
With feelings more than blunt, intensely dyed
In more than demon's cruelty refined,
The wretch, in passing, casts her father's head
Before her feet, and gloats upon the sight.
Oh! with what agony intense she clasps
The precious relic to her heaving breast,
What burning words of deep endearment flow
From out that bursting heart; what vivid looks

Of more than earthly love irradiate
Her now expressive face. But transient
As the warm sunny gleam, or lightning's flash
In winter's darkest hour which adds a shade
To densest gloom, so evanescent prov'd
Affection's loving gaze. Her heart had yet
One fearful shock to stand. T'annihilate
The soul and bar its passage to the sky,
Or with desire the glories to attain
Of him o'er whom he triumph'd, he, than brute
Far more degrad'd, the eyes removes,
And with a savage gluttony devours.
Arrested in its fall a crystal tear
Pendant from silken lash, like Cynthia
At her full in 'mid air gently poised,
Though unlike her, transparent, receives
From E'show's troubled eye the darken'd thought
Of deep malignity, and fiercely glares
A proud defiance and a deathless hate.
She views a shell hard by; with frantic rage
She grasps it firm; and, now, not e'en a trace
Of beauty's lovely lineaments remain;
The gaping wounds, the streaming scarlet blood
Too truly tell that sorrow's mimic farce
Has here proficient deep, and nerv'd the hand
To thwart the tyrant in his cherish'd plan. 1
No sound that list'ning crowd escapes; revenge,
For utterance too deep, pervades each breast.
Quitting the mournful theme he now narrates

The progress of the cross, no, not of it,
But Himwho died that man might ever live;
He tells the wond'rous tale that angels hear
And ceaselessly admire. When he recounts
A Triune God engag'd in forming man
He speaks in strict accordance with their faith.
And not less so, when he minutely tells
Of helpless infants' face by holy priest
With water freely sprinkl'd: and when they hear
That after three days pass'd in death's domain
The blessed Jesus burst his rock bound bonds,
Their minds recall the fact that they believe
The soul's emergence after three days' sleep
Beside its once associated clay. 2
Entranc'd they hang, enamour'd of the strain,
Upon his flowing words; intently watch
Emotion mirrour'd on his beaming face.
With rapid touch he tells how to the poor
The gospel tidings came with healing balm;
How proud disdainful chiefs the thought despis'd
Of such a heav'n, and scornfully decried
A soul subsisting on the fires of hell. 3
But, when he trac'd their haughty spirits bow'd
Beneath the Spirit's all subduing grace,
And portrait drew in glowing tints of slaves
Spontaneously releas'd from love to Him,
Who came to set the captive free; and prov'd
What instinct might have told had it to fight
With less than human foes, that 'mid the worlds

Unbounded space contains, one spot alone
Pre-emptive title has to fetter man,
The gloomy regions of sepulchral hell,
One hand alone the Captor's keys may hold
His, on whose neck the Saviour set his heel,
They list'ning, wond'ring, wept. --We pause;
Ourselves, and not our theme, exhausted rests;
For who can drain truth's fathomless abyss?
When man by Satan's aid, had well nigh hid
All elemental Christian truth beneath
An opaque mass of fond inventions;
When, film by film, he gradually obscur'd,
In sixteen centuries and more, the work
Which none but heaven's own Architect
Could have design'd and trac'd; when that blest Book,
The sun from which we light and life receive
As by an instrument divine, was found,
Not in the heart of man, its holy fane,
But buried deep beyond his longing search,
Its truant rays well tinted as they pass'd;
When hope had well nigh fled the human breast,
And dark despair sat brooding o'er the mind,
The fiat issued forth, the sun shone bright,
The tracery divine cast, off its coil,
And truth long hidden reassum'd its sway.
God interpos'd; and at His bidding rose
The printer's press, the mint where human thought
Its currency receives, than gold more dear:
Fragments of holy writ, whose priceless worth

Thought cannot compass, nor can speech express,
Were thus increas'd, and darkness fled dismay'd
Before the radiance of its heavenly light.
Once more we join the village throng and gaze
At early dawn, long ere the sun's bright beams
Had gilt the mountains' tops, Ewana kneels
Before the God of grace: no cold dull form
Of heartless pray'r, no visionary flight
Of undevelop'd thought escapes his lips;
The upturn'd eye, the earnest look, the tone
Of filial love with holy awe combin'd
Speak of a soul in commune with its God.
Rising, he now unfolds, with jealous care
From out it's triple well mark'd leaf
Of evangelic truth, and, while he reads,
The gaping crowd bewilder'd close around,
And, wondering, ask what cabalistic signs
Now fix his earnest gaze? He, replying, shows
How thought may thus in distant lands produce
Its thought coincident; how wisdom's words
From ages far remote may still retain
Their pristine truth; and how, by increase, feed
The longing myriads of benighted man. --
What thoughts are these which agitate the frame
Of yonder aged man who strains each nerve
To catch the fleeting sound; his years exceed
Probation's usual term; his sighing soul
Has sought in vain for rest, has often mourn'd
To mark tradition's ever changing voice;

Assurance, almost clasp'd, eludes his grasp,
And hope deferr'd has yielded to despair.
At length his feeble falt'ring voice ia heard,
"Oh that our sacred truths had been convey'd
"In symbols like to these, then had I known
"Beyond a doubt God's sacred will; but now
"The lengthen'd shades of even close me in;
"Strange fancies haunt my brain and dimly speak
"Of some resemblance in our warlike tribes
"To Israel's chosen race: but, reason fails:
"Oh for onesimple truth, onesingle fact."