Upon the land he scattered bands, With willing hearts and sturdy hands. To those once rent with discontent, He even-handed Justice sent. Now o'er the State, nor fear nor hate Could find companion, small or great. Look o'er the land, from peak to strand, There's happiness on every hand. * * * * * Here Cities rare, exceeding fair, Zealania boasts, with modest air. At eve or dawn, we gaze upon The busy, "blowy" Wellington. Here, products great for ships await, And here repose the powers of State. Here, founding laws, for mighty cause, The statesman long the session draws. Here modest worth and homely mirth Find more respect than rank or birth. * * * * * There's Auckland, too--'twixt me and you-- A beauty spot, excelled by few. Round this fair cove, old Nature strove To show the fickle feats of Jove. Volcanic smoke in fury broke, Until the heavens all awoke. When cleared the skies, there did arise A seat for earthly Paradise. At mountains' feet, where lavas meet, There Auckland sits, serene and sweet. With seas afore, just off her door, Where proud ships ride for evermore. * * * * * We note with care, with Christchurch, there Are few that safely may compare. For pride of race, for social grace, She holds a high and honored place. 'Mid fertile plain of waving grain, We search for lovelier spot, in vain. Here, soul and brain; here, maid and swain, A pure companionship maintain. * * * * * Dunedin stands, on favored lands, 'Twixt mountains high and ocean sands. On beauty's spot, the "Canny Scot" Has cast his ever happy lot. With taste and skill, from rock to rill, Dunedin reaches 'long the hill. With vision free--upon the lee-- Dunedin gazes o'er the sea. * * * * * Full many more, 'tween hill and shore, Are worthy of the poet's lore. Though hard I seek, the words are weak, Of nobler beauties now to speak. While cities were, with beauty rare, Contrived by man, with studied care, The vale, the glen, the lake, the fen, Were made by Him who maketh men. The fields of grain, where honest swain Earns honest bread, wave not in vain. For West and East, both man and beast Await to join Zealania's feast. And from all lands, by skilful hands, White sails are bent for Austral strands. Here, finest wheat, by many a fleet Is sent, the foreign marts to meet. And finest fleece--in war or peace-- They shear, that wealth they may increase. With choicest meat, both rare and sweet, In "Merry England," they compete.