Not Understood and Other Poems/How Von Tempsky Died
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HOW VON TEMPSKY DIED.
BRAVE young land, thy roll of glory shines with many a gallant name,
Thou hast many a thrilling story dear to honour, true to fame,
Thou canst boast a band of heroes whose undying deeds shall blaze,
When thy chronicles of valour shall be read in after days.
We are busy with the present, and we seldom glance behind—
Busy building up a nation, we seem thoughtless and unkind,
Sentiment is out of fashion, gratitude is fast asleep,
We have little time for thinking, little time to sing or weep—
Little time to sing their praises, or to weep for those who bought
Peace for us and for our children, with their life-blood; men who fought
With the hearts and souls of lions, ’gainst a fearless, savage foe,
Trusty rifle against rifle, hand to hand, and blow for blow;
For the nonce they are forgotten, but the time is close at hand,
When the men who saved our country shall be honor’d in the land.
Then, among the line of heroes, one shall take a foremost place,
One who was not of our people, one who was not of our race;
One who followed Glory’s beacon from his boyhood, till he fell,
Dying like a valiant soldier, after fighting long and well,
List the story of Von Tempsky—master of the sword and lance—
Brief the record, yet it seems like some wild legend or romance:
Born in the Germanic nation, in a martial cradle nursed,
Gallant son of gallant soldier, glory claimed him from the first;
For the blood of ancient Poland filled his veins and made his heart
Leap with a desire to play in freedom’s cause a leading part.
His a breast that knew not danger, his a stalwart arm and bold,
His a nature far too tameless to be cribbed in cages old.
All the narrow ways of Europe, all the selfishness of caste,
All the tyranny of custom, all the serfdom of the past,
Roused his eagle soul to anger, and the soldier fled afar;
To the wild Mosquito region, where the hurricane of war,
Blew away the Old World cobwebs from his eyes and from his brain,
As he led the untamed Indians ’gainst the troops of Sunny Spain;
Then again his love of ’venture took him to the Golden Gate,
Swept him back once more to Europe and from thence his wayward fate
Tempted him across the ocean to the land of cloudless skies;
Where the hunters after fortune madly sought the precious prize.
Not for him the golden treasure, not for him the yellow corn:
He was doomed to die a soldier, for a soldier he was born.
On the plains of fair New Zealand, savage war was in the air:
Plucky yeomen wanted leaders, and Von Tempsky’s place was there.
Are there any Forest Rangers—any of his comrades here?
If there are, then they can tell us of the hero’s bright career;
How he with the flying column drove the rebels from their lair—
In the wild Henua Ranges; how his rifle’s flash and flare
Mark’d the van in every movement; how his aim was firm and true;
How he always was the foremost where the bullets thickest flew;
How he with McDonnell venteured boldly into danger’s teeth,
Moving up at Paparata to the very mouth of death.
They could tell of Mangapiko, and of famed Orakau’s fight,
Where Von Tempsky won fresh laurels by his valor and his might.
Peace came in and spread her mantle all along Waikato’s shore;
And the hero briefly rested, till war’s demon shriek’d once more—
Through romantic Taranaki—then again he sought the front,
Ready to protect our banner and to bear the battle’s brunt;
Ready at the call of duty, ready to fill honour’s post;
Quick to grapple with the foeman, very slow to count the cost.
Self with him was next to nothing, bravery was all in all:
If we need the proof ’tis furnished in the picture of his fall.
Here it is:—Behold the forces, marching boldly through the bush;
Rurarua must be taken—must be taken with a rush.
This is fierce Titiko Waru’s stronghold, and it must come down.
Hunt the rebels from their fastness; onward, lads for Queen and Crown!
“Onward, lads!” a storm of bullets whistles through the Rata trees,
And a yell of fierce defiance swells on the September breeze.
“Back, lads, back! the swarthy devils are invincible, ’tis vain;
We can’t storm the Pah, while bullets fall among us thick as rain;
Back, lads!” See the troops retreating with their wounded and their dead,
While the gallant Forest Rangers, with Von Tempsky at their head,
Fill the gory gap of danger, covering their friends’ retreat,
While Death’s leaden messengers continue flying sharp and fleet.
Safely hidden in the Ratas are the rebels; vanished hope
Leaves confusion close behind her; open courage cannot cope
With the foes who lie in ambush; chances of success are past.
“Under cover, comrades!” cries he, while exposed the leader stood,
Whizz’d the bullet, and the green grass turn’d to crimson with his blood,
As the gallant soldier’s spirit vanished from the soldier’s shell.
This is how the hero left us, this is how Von Tempsky fell.
Thou hast many a thrilling story dear to honour, true to fame,
Thou canst boast a band of heroes whose undying deeds shall blaze,
When thy chronicles of valour shall be read in after days.
We are busy with the present, and we seldom glance behind—
Busy building up a nation, we seem thoughtless and unkind,
Sentiment is out of fashion, gratitude is fast asleep,
We have little time for thinking, little time to sing or weep—
Little time to sing their praises, or to weep for those who bought
Peace for us and for our children, with their life-blood; men who fought
With the hearts and souls of lions, ’gainst a fearless, savage foe,
Trusty rifle against rifle, hand to hand, and blow for blow;
For the nonce they are forgotten, but the time is close at hand,
When the men who saved our country shall be honor’d in the land.
Then, among the line of heroes, one shall take a foremost place,
One who was not of our people, one who was not of our race;
One who followed Glory’s beacon from his boyhood, till he fell,
Dying like a valiant soldier, after fighting long and well,
List the story of Von Tempsky—master of the sword and lance—
Brief the record, yet it seems like some wild legend or romance:
Born in the Germanic nation, in a martial cradle nursed,
Gallant son of gallant soldier, glory claimed him from the first;
For the blood of ancient Poland filled his veins and made his heart
Leap with a desire to play in freedom’s cause a leading part.
His a breast that knew not danger, his a stalwart arm and bold,
His a nature far too tameless to be cribbed in cages old.
All the narrow ways of Europe, all the selfishness of caste,
All the tyranny of custom, all the serfdom of the past,
Roused his eagle soul to anger, and the soldier fled afar;
To the wild Mosquito region, where the hurricane of war,
Blew away the Old World cobwebs from his eyes and from his brain,
As he led the untamed Indians ’gainst the troops of Sunny Spain;
Then again his love of ’venture took him to the Golden Gate,
Swept him back once more to Europe and from thence his wayward fate
Tempted him across the ocean to the land of cloudless skies;
Where the hunters after fortune madly sought the precious prize.
Not for him the golden treasure, not for him the yellow corn:
He was doomed to die a soldier, for a soldier he was born.
On the plains of fair New Zealand, savage war was in the air:
Plucky yeomen wanted leaders, and Von Tempsky’s place was there.
Are there any Forest Rangers—any of his comrades here?
If there are, then they can tell us of the hero’s bright career;
How he with the flying column drove the rebels from their lair—
In the wild Henua Ranges; how his rifle’s flash and flare
Mark’d the van in every movement; how his aim was firm and true;
How he always was the foremost where the bullets thickest flew;
How he with McDonnell venteured boldly into danger’s teeth,
Moving up at Paparata to the very mouth of death.
They could tell of Mangapiko, and of famed Orakau’s fight,
Where Von Tempsky won fresh laurels by his valor and his might.
Peace came in and spread her mantle all along Waikato’s shore;
And the hero briefly rested, till war’s demon shriek’d once more—
Through romantic Taranaki—then again he sought the front,
Ready to protect our banner and to bear the battle’s brunt;
Ready at the call of duty, ready to fill honour’s post;
Quick to grapple with the foeman, very slow to count the cost.
Self with him was next to nothing, bravery was all in all:
If we need the proof ’tis furnished in the picture of his fall.
Here it is:—Behold the forces, marching boldly through the bush;
Rurarua must be taken—must be taken with a rush.
This is fierce Titiko Waru’s stronghold, and it must come down.
Hunt the rebels from their fastness; onward, lads for Queen and Crown!
“Onward, lads!” a storm of bullets whistles through the Rata trees,
And a yell of fierce defiance swells on the September breeze.
“Back, lads, back! the swarthy devils are invincible, ’tis vain;
We can’t storm the Pah, while bullets fall among us thick as rain;
Back, lads!” See the troops retreating with their wounded and their dead,
While the gallant Forest Rangers, with Von Tempsky at their head,
Fill the gory gap of danger, covering their friends’ retreat,
While Death’s leaden messengers continue flying sharp and fleet.
Safely hidden in the Ratas are the rebels; vanished hope
Leaves confusion close behind her; open courage cannot cope
With the foes who lie in ambush; chances of success are past.
“Under cover, comrades!” cries he, while exposed the leader stood,
Whizz’d the bullet, and the green grass turn’d to crimson with his blood,
As the gallant soldier’s spirit vanished from the soldier’s shell.
This is how the hero left us, this is how Von Tempsky fell.