A Name.

A full score years ago, the curving harbour line,
Rising to the westward, by the bridged and tunnelled way,
Led then, as now, thro' sheltered dales, and on again, to twine
Its twin and gleaming threads, endlessly the day.
And first from town came Crofton Downs, which were as free to roam
As was the tang of Nicholson that drifted up the track;
And city folk knew Crofton as a journey far from home,
The goal of carefree, sunny days, with the night train back.
But the days of Crofton's fields have almost passed
And broad, tarred highways carry
human freight
Away beyond the flowery plots of homes, which risen fast,
Have placed its newly-given name within the city's gate.
But memories are welded with the Ngaio of to-day;
The rush to reach the “Manawatu”; the happy picnic train;
The fresh keen air upon the Downs; the sense of far away;
So Crofton cannot really pass, while we recall again.
—“Maryden.”