Alexander Marjoribanks’ poem on arrival in New Zealand
A poem written on arrival in New Zealand
The first place at which we landed was at D’Urville’s Island, on the west entry of Cook’s Straits; but not finding, as we had reason to expect, any of the Company’s officers to give us directions in regard to our future operations, we remained there only two hours. During that time, a family of natives paid us a visit in their canoes, the first we had seen, but a worse specimen of them cannot well be imagined. It was when off this Island that I composed the following poem, under these circumstances. Mr. M‘Farlane offered a prize for the best poem, and though I believe that mine, upon the whole, was considered the best, yet our reverend friend contrived to keep the money in his own pocket in a very ingenious way; asserting that it did not come up to what, according to his views, a prize poem ought to be. But though rejected by this eminent divine, who must have been a bad judge of poetry, it does not follow that it must also be rejected by you.—
Scene—On board of the Bengal Merchant, at Ten o’Clock at night, off D’Urville’s Island, Cook’s Straits, New Zealand, on 11 February, 1840.
The night watch sings “let lights extinguish’d be;”
Save where the cuddy darts its glimmering ray
The only light that now remains at sea.
No more the dancers trip the highland fling;
No more the Doctor* banishes our cares,
With stories told amidst th’accustom’d ring.
Thou only refuge from the children’s scream;
Thou only leveller of friend and foe,
And emblem of thyself without a dream.+
Awakens those still lull’d in “Murphy’s” arms.
And chance of finding breakfast boards laid bare,
Soon rouses those quite dead to other charms.
Once more the sextant fills the Captain’s hand;
Once more the gallant Lawyer# mounts his guard,
Prepar’d for fight in yonder savage land.
’Midst pigs and fowls that know full well his tread;
Or stopping, listens to some story droll,
Tho’ not before his num’rous flocks are fed.
And feels the pulses of his children dear;
And tells them that the best relief is found
In soups and salts, and sicklike good old cheer.
To him who doth the mighty deep command;
That he would bless the friends we’ve left so dear,
And guard us still through our adopted land.
How eager all that land were to explore;
Though some shed tears on scenes for ever past,
Far, far away on Caledonia’s shores.
And anchor’d safely on a foreign strand,
Let’s sing the praises of the gallant ship,
That’s wafted us unto this smiling land.
Alexander Marjoribanks: Travels in New Zealand (London: Smith, Elder, and Co., Cornhill; Oliver and Boyd, Edinburgh; James Tegg, Sydney. 1847), pp.21-23.
