CHAPTER XXII
GOOD-BYE TO NEW ZEALAND
If but the kindly years may grant us still
To track the lonely valley to its end,
And view, though from afar, the crag-bound hill
Lift its long greeting—as old friend meets friend
In life's brief rest from labour at the last,
When all that asks the clearer word is spoken,
When heart knows heart, and all the wistful past
Wakes in one glance—then shall this love, unbroken,
Ye mountains, by our striving and your strength.
Find its last pleasure only in the seeing,
And deep beyond all depths of words at length
Pulse with a life more lasting than mere being.
Geoffrey W. Young.
For the next few days I was the victim of my own success. Life was "flat, stale, and unprofitable." All the dreams and plans that had filled my days with speculations and
excitement were over, the "glory and the dream" had passed into prosaic reality. It was useless now to stand and gaze at Sefton's daunting wall: there were no more thrilling moments to be spent scaling it in imagination—an accurate knowledge of its component parts seemed but poor compensation for the old heart-warming illusions, and I could but agree with Browning that, "A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?" Gradually, however, the haunting feeling of loss evaporated. Serene and aloof as ever, the great mountain dominated the valley, unaltered and unalterable, no matter how many defiling feet might touch its white snows.
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