Oxford Book of Australasian Verse

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Oxf ord Book

Of Au stralasian Verse

Chosen by

Walte r Mu rdoch

Humph rey Milford

Oxf ord Uni versity Press

London Edinburgh Glasgow New York Toronto Me lbourne Cape Town Bombay

I 9 I 8 P in e d Ox o d En l nd r t at f r , g a Fre derick Hall Prin ter to th e Unive rsity AL FRED DEAKIN

G T U OU T O T SA ES OF CO NSELLORS , S NDES F CRI ICS , AND

K T F RI END S TH B K I S I INDES OF , IS OO OFFERED N THE HO P E THAT HE W I L L FI ND ON I TS P AGES N OTHIN G U NWORTHY OF THE COUNTRY HE HAS LOVED SO FERVENTLY AND SO FAITHFU LLY SERVED

PREFA CE

of HAD thought of making, by way introduction

to this volume , a critical survey of Australasian

poetry ; but I have decided to refrain . After all , the anthologist must needs play the critic from begin ning to end of his work of selection and rejection : what

of of h is need , then , any further airing likes and dis l ? ikes Besides , the book is mainly intended for readers

w orld re ade rs in other parts of the , interested in Australia

Ze and New aland , but as yet unacquainted with the literatures of these countries ; and it seems to me de cidedly best to allow such readers t o come straight to the poems themselves , Without the intervention of is as any editorial prosings . Here a selection , fairly

to representative as I knew how make it , from the mass of verse written by Australians and New Z e a ~

or so — landers during the last hundred years , arranged , roughly, in chronological order , beginning with Went worth , whose vigorous rhetoric has an eighteenth

on century ring in it , and ending a very distinct PREFACE

- twentieth century note . From this gathering the — — reader Will or so I he pe b e able to get a fair idea of the kind of poetry these lands have been fashioning .

It sa h ow is for him to y he likes it I , at least , will not commit the impertinence of telling him how he

ought to like it . As for Australasian readers W h o already know and

ow n 0 value their literature, I cannot h pe that the book

of will please many them . They will blame the editor

both for his exclusions and for his inclusions . They

are old certain to miss many favourites . Apart from

ff on e the established fact that tastes di er, I have but excuse to off er for my misdeeds : my omission of certain names—and those among the most widely — popular in their ow n land is due neither to negligence ’ nor of on to a lack appreciation the editor s part , but simply and solely to the inexorable necessities of

For the most part , however , both publishers and

authors have been kindness itself, and my last duty, before standing aside and letting the poets come forward , is to record my indebtedness . The Lothian Book Publishing Company has kindly allowed me to

cull What I would from the books of William Gay, ’ e h cot t O D owd Sydney J p , Bernard , M . Forrest , wf c R . Cra ord , Frank Williamson , Dorothy Mc rae ,

c . . . . . t t Hugh Mc rae , E J Brady, M E J Pit , Huber PREFACE

Church , J . Le Gay Brereton , and Louis Esson . Messrs . Whitcombe 8c Tombs gave similar permission with

regard to Arthur H . Adams and Jessie Mackay ;

Co . . t o Messrs George Robertson , With regard

H . C . Kendall , Mary Gilmore , and Elsie Cole ; the

Co Bulletin Newspaper . , with regard to Roderic Quinn ,

James Hebblethwaite, and Louise Mack ; Messrs .

8c . . Melville Mullen , with regard to J L Cuthbert ’ son ; and the Australasian Authors Agency, With

regard to Dorothea Mackellar . Mr . A . G . Stephens kindly agreed to the inclusion of poems by Shaw

. . S . . Neilson , C H outer, and J P Bourke, the copyright

of which he controls . To most of the living writers

represented in the book, I am indebted for permission

. . 8: to quote their poems . To Messrs Geo Allen

8: Co Unwin , Messrs . Constable . , Messrs . J . M . Dent 8c . . 8: Sons , Mr William Heinemann , Messrs Macmillan

Co o . . C . , and Messrs Sampson Low, Marston , I am ’ of indebted for conﬁrmation authors permissions . In some few cases I have had to take the permission f or

e granted , not being able to discover their pres nt e whereabouts . Som where in France is, in this

ou r present year of war , the address of a good many of

t o younger poets a fact which, though satisfactory

f or the patriot , is awkward for the anthologist . If

or this reason , through an oversight , I have infringed

0 any copyrights , I h pe the writers thus sinned against PREFACE will forgive me . In conclusion , I Wish to thank the various friends wh o have helped me With advice and

. of information ; especially Mr . J Le Gay Brereton , wh o Sydney, has given me ungrudging and

assistance . WILLIAM CHARLES WENTWORTH

‘ From A urtmla ria ELESTIAL poesy whose genial sway C ’ Earth s farthest habitable shores obey Whose inspirations shed their sacred light of Far as the regions the Arctic night , And to the Laplander his Boreal gleam ’ Endear not less than Phoebus brighter b e am on n Descend thou also my native la d , And on some mountain summit take thy stand Thence issuing soon a purer fount be seen ’ ’ Than ch arm d Castalia or f am d Hippocrene ;

And there a richer, nobler fame arise on Than Parnassus met the adoring eyes . ’ th o on And , bright Goddess , those far blue hills ,

That pour their thousand swift pellucid rills , ’ Where W a rragamba s rage has rent in twain ’ th u nd rin to Opposing mountains , g the plain , i No ch ld of song has yet invoked thy aid , ’ Neath their primaeval solitary shade, ’ Pow r Still , gracious , some kindling soul inspire ’ To wake to life my country s unknown lyre , ’ e That from creation s date has slumb ring lain , ’ Or only breath d some savage uncouth strain O ‘ B v Vo B WILIiIAM CHARLES WENTWORTH

‘ ‘ ‘ ’ fh at yet arf Austral Milton s song - ﬂow Pactolus like deep and rich along,

An Austral Shakespeare rise , whose living page ’ To Nature true may charm in ev ry age

And that an Austral Pindar daring soar, ’ re ach d Where not the Theban Eagle before .

0 And , Britannia shouldst thou cease to ride ’ Despotic Empress of old Ocean s tide ; ’ — Should thy t am d Lion spent his former might of No longer roar , the terror the ﬁght ’ Should e er arrive that dark, disastrous hour, ’ ’ h ield st When , ow d by luxury, thou y to power of When thou , no longer freest the free , ’ To some proud victor ben d st the vanquished knee May all thy glories in another sphere e R lume , and shine more brightly still than here

— - — May this thy last born infant then arise , To glad thy heart , and greet thy parent eyes ’ u nf u rl d And Australasia ﬂoat , with ﬂag , A new Britannia in another world SIR HENRY PARKES

Wa v y

EARY of the ceaseless war ﬂ Beating down the baf ed soul , Thoughts that like a scimitar n Smite us fai ting at the goal .

Weary of the joys that pain

Dead sea fruits whose ashes fall , Drying up the summer’ s rain Charnel dust in cups of gall l

Weary of the hopes that fail , Leading from the narrow way Tempting strength to actions frail

to . Hand err , and foot to stray

of Weary the battling throng , False and true in mingled ﬁght of of Weary the wail wrong , And the yearning for the night

Weary, weary, weary Heart ’ c ru sh d Lacerated , and dumb . None to know thee as thou art When will rest unbroken come 3 SIR HENRY PARKES

Fou r Score

COUNT the m e rcif ulle st part of all ’ o God s mercies , in this c il of eighty years , Is that no sense of being disappears —I se e Or fails , the signal , hear the call, Can calmly estimate the rise and fall Of moth - like mortals in this vale of tears

And all His glorious works , the heavenly spheres , ’ The ocean , and the earth s unyielding wall Remain for thought and wonder ! Marvellous ’ Is God s creation , with its endless space , law And those inhabited , bright worlds , by ’ ove rn d Divinely g , as they shine on us , Still keeping through all time their ordered place I bow my head in rapture and in awe !

Fa therla nd

e old of HE brav land deed and song ,

Of gentle hearts and spirits strong , e Of qu enly maids and heroes grand , - ! Of equal laws , our Fatherland

a bri h te r su n Though born beneath . g , w e Shall forget the marvels done ,

By soul outspoken, blood outpoured ,

By bard and patriot , song and sword SIR HENRY PARKES

e h ow Forg t ﬁrm and true our sires , - ﬁres Still lighted by their battle , ’ w e Gainst kingly po r and kingly crime, Long struggled in th e darken e d time

How in se a e a rolling th y stood , ’ e e f re em en s Wh re ev ry wave was blood , l th e of i e Sha l we forget time str f , When freedom’ s only price was life

’ ’ Shall Cromwell s memory, Milton s lyre , ’ Not of kindle mong us souls ﬁre , Not raise in u s a spirit strong of of High scorn Shams , quick hate wrong

e Shall we not l arn , Australians born To on ou r smile tinselled power scorn , ’ l e to At east , a fre man s pride try, When tinselled power would bend or buy

old of The brave land deed and song , ’ We ne er will do her memories wrong ’ For freedom here we ll ﬁrmly stand , As stood our sires f or Fatherland JAMES LIONEL MICHAEL

The Eye of tbe Bebo/der

F , as they tell in stories old , ’ I The waters of Pactolus roll d Over a sand of shifting gold

If ever there were fairies , such so As those that charm the child much , ’ With jewels growrng neath their touch

’ - If , in the wine cup s sweet deceit , l There ies a secret pleasant cheat , That turns to beauty all we meet

The stream , the fairy, and the wine , In the ﬁrst love of youth combine

To make its object seem divine .

’ of f abl d No golden sand river , No jewel glittering for ever, ’ —bo V No wine rn ision s melting quiver,

In vivid glory can compare With that which we ourselves prepare To throw round that we fancy fair .

Never such beauty glittered yet , In golden beams of suns that se t

On cupola and minaret . JAMES LIONEL MICHAEL

’ N ever such beauty met men s eyes In silver light of moons that rise ’ ’ O e r e lonely lakes neath tropic ski s .

Th e of world holds nothing such worth , ’ e s so on Th re nothing half fair earth , As that t o which the heart gives birth

External beauties pall and fade ; ow n But that which my soul hath made , To my conception , knows no shade .

To every ark there comes a dove , To every heart from heaven above of Is sent a beauty born love .

The moonlit lake , the waving trees , It is the eye which looks on these

That makes the loveliness it sees .

of Out myself the beauty grows , Out of myself the beauty ﬂows e That decks the petals of the ros .

’ So, when at Ada s feet I lay, saw a s And her glorious the day, ’ own Twas my heart that lent th e ray. CHARLES HARPUR

ORDS are deeds . The words we May revolutionize or rear

A mighty state . The words we read May be a Spiritual deed ﬂe shl one Excelling any y , As much as the celestial su n

Transcends a bonﬁre , made to throw

- A light upon some raree show . A simple proverb tagged with rhyme May colour half the course of time The pregnant saying of a sage May inﬂuence every coming age A song in its effects may be

More glorious than Thermopylae, And many a lay that schoolboys scan

A nobler feat than Inkerman .

' 7 A Midm mmer Noon i n the A urtm lz a n

OT a sound disturbs the air, There is quiet everywhere Over plains and over woods What a mighty stillness broods All the birds and insects keep Where the coolest shadows sleep 8

CHARLES HARPUR

Tired summer, in her bower

Turning with the noontide hour, Heaves a slumbrous breath ere sh e

On ce more slumbers peacefully .

’ Oh, tis easeful here to lie ’ Hidden from noon s scorching eye , In thi s grassy cool recess of Musing thus quietness .

PIRIT, that lookest from the starry fold ’ S t Of truth s white ﬂock, next to thy Milton here

Accept my reverence though but feebly told . And oh my heart from thy example rare

Henceforth its being for worthiest ends would bear .

Thy deeds , though plain , were towering all and bold , And like the stedfast columns that uphold

Some awful temple to thy duty were . How much thy story has enlarged my ken Of real greatness Of mere conquerors I or Read but with anger, with shame but when ’ Of thee , uplifted into virtue s sky,

I glory in my brotherhood with men ,

And feel how nobly all may live and die . CHARLES HARPUR

S onnet

HE loves me ! From her ow n bliss - breathing lips

The live confession came , like rich perfume From crimson petals bursting into bloom And still my heart at the remembrance skips

Like a young lion , and my tongue too trips As drunk with joy while every object seen In life’ s diurnal round wears in its mien no A clear assurance that doubts eclipse . And if the common things of nature now old Are like faces ﬂushed with new delight , Much more the consciousness of that rich vow e Deepens the b auteous , and reﬁnes the bright , ’ While throned I seem on love s divinest height ’ Mid all the glories glowing round its brow .

’ A Similztude — AIR as the night when all th e astral ﬁres

Of heaven are burning in the clear expanse , My love is and her eyes like star - depths glance e Lustrous with glowing thoughts and pure desir s , And that mysterious pathos which inspires All moods divine in mortal passion ’ s trance All that its earthly music doth enhance As with the rapture of seraphic lyres I gaze upon her till the atmosphere to Sweetens intensely, and my charmed sight All fair associated forms appear on Swimming in joy, as swim y orbs in light to And all sweet sounds , though common mine ear,

- Chime u p like silver winged dreams in ﬂight . ) l l CHARLES HARPUR

A R egret

HERE S a regret that from my bosom aye

Wrings forth a dirgy sweetness , like a rain Of deathward love ; that ever in my brain Uttereth such tones as in some foregone way Seem gathered from the harmonies that start

Into the dayspring , when some rarest view Unv e ile th it s Tempean grace anew ’ su n— To meet the the great world s fervent heart . ’ Tis that , though living in his tuneful day,

My boyhood might not see the gentle smile, Nor hear th e voice of Shelley ; that away

His soul had journeyed , ere I might beguile

In my warm youth , by some fraternal lay, of One thought his towards this my native isle .

RICHARD ROWE

’ IFE S Angel watched a happy child at play, Wreathing the riches of the blushing M ay

His eye was cloudless as the heavens above, of But there was pity in her look love . The ﬂowers he gathered bloomed their brief bright

hour, Then rained their petals in a silent shower bo The y looked up at her with strange surprise ,

And sadder grew the pity in her eyes .

1 2 DANIEL HENRY DENIEHY

and of e PURE of soul , fond and deep h art wh o e For those dark ned be ,

Lift up thy holy voice , at morn and eve ,

And pray for me ,

’ or wh o h ot F me , for this thronging world s strife A prize hath brought to be — Among the known but sweet too dearly earn e d

f or . Ah , pray me

’ e Not aye the scholar s path a track of p ace , Nor from the dread sins free Hard by the Isles of Truth doth Circe prowl

Oh , pray for me .

’ The spirits hell- gloom and its hurricane Round studious cells may be ; ’ of sk Thou patient Moon Memory s dreary y,

Oh , pray for me .

- When through thy well known window, oped bene ath

The uneasy , whispering tree , w e hi tw o e to Burn stars c ldren have tri d count , f or Then pray me .

At hour of rest , and when the moon makes ple ased The melancholy se a ’ And noon s surcease of happy household toil ,

ra f or . Yes , p y me o DANIEL HENRY DENIEHY f Some solace for this wrung and ri ted heart , ’ That , wheresoe er thou be, ’ Thou wilt , God s holiest gift , thou woman pure ,

Yet pray for me .

GEORGE GORDON M c cRAE

’ Morning a t Se a in the Tropz or

NIGHT waned and wasted , and the fading stars Died out like lamps that long survived a feast ,

And the moon , pale with watching , sank to rest

- Behind the cloud piled ramparts of the main .

Young , blooming Morn , crowned with her bridal

wreath , ’ Bent o er her mirror clear, the faithful sea , And gazing on her loveliness therein ,

Blushed to the brows , till every imaged charm on of Flung roses the bosom the wave , botb Then , glancing heavenward , , they blushed again , As Sprang the Sun to claim his radiant bride ; s e a on e of And and sky seemed but rose morn ,

Which thenceforth grew in glory, and the world n Shot back her lesser light upo the day, While night sped on t o seek the sombre shades

se a That sleep in silent caves beyond the . ou r The day grew calmer, hotter, and barque

Lay like a sleeping swan upon a lake , And such soft airs as blew from off the land

Brought with them fragrant odours , and we felt I 4 GEORGE GORDON Mc CRAE

’ That orange groves lay blooming neath the su n so sea Which blazed ﬁercely overhead at . ’ We heard (with Fancy s c ar) a distant bell ’ And thro the haze that simmered on the Main — ’ Pictured a purple shore a convent tow r

- And snowy cots , that from the dark hill side ’ - sk Peeped forth tween plantain patches at the y, of on se a Or smiled through groves cocos the .

ou r Meanwhile ship slid on , with breathing sails Fraught with the melody of murmured song a s Such the zephyr chanted to the morn , And showers of diamonds ﬂashed before the prow — While sternwards whirled unstrung pale beads

foam , ’ loose n d t of Pearls from the chaple the sea . ’ - e e Mid these the ﬂame bright Nautilus , that s em d ’ ﬂow r e t u Itself a cast pon the stream , ou t on Spread its crimson sail and drifted . ’ of Beyond arose a cloud (as twere) birds ,

ou t e That leapt from the wav to meet the sun ,

Flew a short circuit , till their wings grew dry,

And seaward fell in showers of silver rain . ’ - Mid these careered the dolphin squadrons swift , of With mail changeful hue , and Iris tints ’ on - ﬂow r And ﬂoating slowly , a sea passed , ’ A living creature (none the less a flow r) d That lives its life in love, and ies for joy, ’ Unmissed mid myriads in the sapphire sea . ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

’ Tbe Sick S tookn der

OLD hard , Ned Lift me down once more , and

lay me in the shade . ’ t o u Old man , you ve had your work cut out g ide and Both horses , to hold me in the saddle when I

swayed , All through the hot , slow, sleepy, silent ride .

The dawn at Moorabinda was a mist rack dull and

dense,

The sunrise was a sullen , sluggish lamp ’ I w as dozing in the gateway of Arbu th not s boundary

fence , on I was dreaming the Limestone cattle camp .

Carricksf ord We crossed the creek at , and sharply

through the haze , And suddenly the su n shot ﬂaming forth To southward lay Katawa with the sand peaks all

ablaze , And of the ﬂushed ﬁelds Glen Lomond lay to north .

Now westward winds the bridle -path that leads to L indisf arm , And yonder looms the double -headed Bluff of bill From the far side the ﬁrst , when the skies ar e

clear and calm , ’ You see can Sylvester s woolshed fair enough . 1 6

ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

H hi ard be nd them in the timber, harder still across

the heath , Close behind them through the tea -tree scrub we dashed ; - n- e And the golden tinted fer leaves , how they rustl d underneath ! th e 1 And honeysuckle osiers , how they crashed

We led the hunt throughout , Ned , on the chestnut

and the grey, ehi n And the troopers were three hundred yards b d , Whi le we emptied our six-shooters on the bushrange rs

at bay, ' In the creek with stunted box- tre e for a blind

ou to and There y grappled with the leader, man man to horse horse, And you rolled together when the chestnut reared He blazed away and missed you in that shallow water course A narrow shave—his powder singed your beard

e is o e In these hours wh n life ebbing, how th s days when life w as young Come back to us h ow clearly I recall e Even the yarns Jack Hall inv nted, and the songs Jem Roper sung And where are now Je m Roper and Jack Hall ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

e e ou r old Ay l n arly all comrades of the colonial school , O r u ancient boon companions , Ned , are gone

Hard livers for the most part , somewhat reckless as

a rule , ou are e It seems that y and I l ft alone .

ot There was Hughes , who g in trouble through that business with th e cards It matters little what became of him But a steer ripped up M acPh e rson in th e Cooraminta

yards , And Sullivan was drowned at Sink - or-swim — — And Mostyn poor Frank Mostyn di ed at last a fear

ful wreck, W andinon In the horrors at the Upper g , And i Horsef all his Car sbrooke, the rider, at the broke neck Faith the wonder w as h e saved his neck so long 1

’ w e e Ah , those days and nights squander d at the Logans in the gle n

The Logans , man and wife , have long been dead . ’ Elsie s tallest girl seems taller than your little Elsie then ; wom an rown And Ethel is a fg and wed .

’ ’ of I ve had my share pastime , and I ve done my share of toil , And life is short—the longest life a span c not or f or oil I are now to tarry for the corn the , of Or for the wine that maketh glad the heart man . C 2 I 9 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

For good undone and gifts misspent and resolutions vain ’ o Tis somewhat late t trouble . This I know

I should live the same life over, if I had to live again , o And the chances are I go where most men g .

th e The deep blue skies wax dusky, and tall green trees

grow dim , The sward beneath me seems to heave and fall

And sickly, smoky shadows through the sleepy sunlight

swim , ’ And on the very sun s face weave their pall .

Let me slumber in the hollowwhere th e w attle blossoms

wave, With never stone or rail to fence my bed Should the stu rdy station children pull the bush on ﬂowers my grave , e e I may chanc to hear them romping overh ad .

By Wood a nd Wold

IGHTL Y of the breath the spring wind blows , Though laden with faint perfume ’ Tis the fragrance rare that the bushman knows , of The scent the wattle bloom . Two- of ou r thirds journey at least are done , Old horse let us take a sp ell of In the shade from the glare the noonday sun , Thus far w e have travelled well 2 0 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

’ dl Your bridle I ll slip , your sad e ungirth , And lo lay them beside this g , ’ For of you ll roll in that track reddish earth , And - do shake like a water g .

’ Upon yonder rise there s a clump of trees The ir shadows look cool and broad

You c an c r0 as ou p the grass as fast y please , While I stretch my limbs on the sward ’ e e Tis pleasant , I we n , with a leafy scr en ’ th e e to O er w ary head , lie of On the mossy carpet emerald green , ’ Neath the vault of the azure sky n Thus all alo e by the wood and wold , I yield mys elf once again To old e the memories that , like tales fr sh told,

Come ﬂitting across the brain .

1 1 Song of A utu m n

HERE shall we go f or ou r garlands glad of At the falling the year, - u sad When the burnt p banks are yellow and , When the boughs are yellow and sere 3 old e Where are the ones that onc we had , And when are th e new ones near What shall we do f or ou r garlands glad At the falling of the year 3 2 1 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

Child can I tell where the garlands go 3 Can I say where the lost leaves veer — On the brown burnt banks , when the wild winds blow, When they drift through the dead-wood drear 3

Girl when the garlands of next year glow, ” 1 on may gather again , my dear But I go where the last year’ s lost leaves go ’ At the falling of the year .

A Dedica tion

HEY are rhymes rudely strung with int ent less

Of sound than of words , n In la ds where bright blossoms are scentless , And songless bright birds ; on e e Where , with fire and fierce drought her tr ss s , Insatiable Summer Oppre sses Sere woodlands and s ad wildernesses o And faint fl cks and herds .

e e nd Wher in dreariest days , when all dews ,

And all winds are warm , ’ - Wild Winter s large ﬂood gates are loosened,

And ﬂoods , freed by storm , - u - e From broken p fountain h ads , dash on Dry deserts with long p ent -u p passion e t H re rhyme was ﬁrst framed withou fashion ,

Song shape d without form . 2 2 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

’ Whence gathered -The locust s glad chirrup May furnish a stave of The ring a rowel and stirrup , Th e wash of a wave of - The chant the marsh frog in rushes , That chime s through the pauses and hushes th e Of nightfall, torrent that gushes , T h e tempests that rave .

i of l In the deepen ng dawn , when it dapp es of The dusk the sky, l With streaks ike the reddening of apples , of The ripening rye , To e eastward , when clust r by cluster,

Dim stars and dull planets that muster ,

Wax wan in a world of white , lustre That spreads far and high

’ In the gathering of night -gloom o e rh e ad in Th e e still sil nt change , All ﬁre - ﬂu sh ed when forest trees redden On slopes of the range e e When the gnarl d , knott d trunks Eucalyptian e Seem carv d like weird columns Egyptian ,

With curious device , quaint inscription , And hie roglyph strange

- In the Spring , when the wattle gold trembles ’ i Tw xt shadow and shine , — When each dew laden air - draught resembles A long draught of wine ; 23 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

’ When the sky- line s blue burnished resistance e Makes de per the dreamiest distance,

Some song in all hearts hath existence ,

Such songs have been mine .

’ ' s rperzngr i n Wa ttle-Bongo;

! and - H , gaily sings the bird the wattle boughs are stirred And rustled by the scented breath of Spring l ! Oh, the dreary wistful onging Oh, the faces that are thronging

Oh, the voices that are vaguely whispering

Oh, tell me , father mine , ere the good ship crossed the

brine ,

on e On the gangway mute handgrip we exchanged , Do ou y , past the grave , employ, for your stubborn

reckless boy, Those petitions that in life were ne’ er estranged — Oh , tell me , sister dear parting word and parting tear Never passed between us let me bear the blame or Are you living , girl, dead bitter tears since then I ’ ve shed th ’ For e lips that lisped with mine a mother s name .

Oh, tell me , ancient friend , ever ready to defend ’ ou r In boyhood , at the base of life s long hill , Are you waking yet or sleeping Have you left this of vale weeping, do Or you , like your comrade, linger still 2 4

ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

one Once again , struggle good , One vain eff ort - h e must dwell

Near the shifted post , that Stood th e o Where splinters of the wo d , n Lyi g in the torn tracks , tell

How he struck and fell .

Crest where cold drops beaded cling ,

Small ear drooping , nostril full ,

Glazing to a scarlet ring , n Flanks and haunches quiveri g, ff Sinews sti ening, void and null ,

Dumb eyes sorrowful . Satin coat that seems to shine

Duller now, black braided tress That a softer hand than mine w as to Far away wont twine , That in meadows far from this

Softer lips might kiss .

All is over this is death ,

And I stand to watch thee die , Brave old horse with bated breath - e Hardly drawn through tight clenched t eth , e e Lip indented deep , but y

Only dull and dry .

Musing on the husk and chaff ’ Gathered where life s tares are sown e Thus I Speak, and forc a laugh, That is half a sneer and half 2 6 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

An involuntary groan , In a stiﬂed ton e

old Rest , friend thy day, though rife

With its toil , hath ended soon ou r of e We have had share strif , of Tumblers in the masque life , In the pantomime of noon

Clown and pantaloon .

With a ﬂash that ends thy pain , Respite and oblivion blest to Come greet thee . I in vain Fall I rise to fall again Thou hast fallen to thy resu And thy fall is best

F inir Exopta tw

OOT and saddle , see the slanting to Rays begin fall , Flinging lights and colours ﬂau nting l Through the shadows ta l , Onward onward must we travel 3 When will come the goal P n l Riddle I may not u rave ,

Cease to vex my soul .

Harshly break those peals of laughter

From the jays aloft ,

Can we guess what they cry after , We have heard the m of t 2 7 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

Perhaps s ome strain of rude thanksgiving

Mingles in their song, Are they glad that they are living Are they right or wrong ’ so Right , tis joy that makes them call , Why Should they be sad i’

Certes we are living also , Shall not we be glad Onward onward must we travel 3 Is the goal more near w e Riddle may not unravel , Why so dark and drear

Yon small bird his hymn outpouring On the branch close by Recks not f or the kestrel soaring

In the nether Sky, Though the hawk with wings extended

Poises overhead , Motionless as though suspended

By a viewless thread .

See , he Stoops , nay, Shooting forward

‘ ’ With the arrow s ﬂight , ’ Swift and straight away to nor ward of Sails he out Sight .

Onward onward thus we travel , Comes the goal more nigh not Riddle we may unravel , Who shall make reply i

2 8 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

or Ha Friend Ephraim , saint sinner, Tell me if you can Tho’ we may not judge the inner

By the outer man , of c Yet by girth broad loth ample , e And by cheeks that Shin , Surely you se t no example In the fasting line ’ ul ou on discov rin Co d y , like y bird , g

Fate , as close at hand ’ ’ As o er h ov rin the kestrel him g ,

Still , as he did , stand

Trusting grandly, singing gaily, o C nﬁdent and calm , Not on e false note in your daily Hymn or weekly psalm

Oft your oily ton e s are heard in

Chapel , where you preach , This the everlasting burden Of the tale you teach d—d W e are , our Sins are deadly, ’ You alone are heal d ’ Twas not thus their gospel redly ’ Saints and martyrs s cal d ’ You had se em d more like a martyr ou Than y seem to us , To th e beasts that caught a Tartar Once at Ephesus 2 9 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON Rather than the stout apostle wh o Of the Gentiles , , - ff Pagan like, could cu and wrestle , ’ e They d have chos n you .

Ye t I ween on such occasion Your dissenting voice

Would have been , in mild persuasion , Raised against their choice of of Man peace, and man merit ,

Pompous , wise , and grave , — Ephraim I S it ﬂesh or spirit You strive most to save Vain is half this care and caution ’ O er the earthly Shell , We can neither baffle nor shun

- Dark plumed Azrael .

Onward onward still we wonder, Nearer draws the goal ’ Half the riddle s read , we ponder

Vainly on the whole .

Eastward in the pink horizon , Fleecy hillocks Shame This dim range dull earth that lies on

Tinged with rosy ﬂame . Westward ! as a stricken giant

Stoops his bloody crest , ’ And, tho vanquished , frowns deﬁant , su n Sinks the to rest . 3 0 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

et Distant y , approaching quickly,

From the Shades that lurk, Like a black pall gathers thickly

Night , when none may work, Soon ou r restless occupation Shall have ceased t o be ’ Units in God s vast creation , Ciphers what are w e Onward ! onward ! Oh ! faint -hearte d ; Ne arer and more near n e Has the goal drawn Si c we started,

Be Of b ett e r che er .

e ask f or Preach r all forbearance , All are worthless found , Man must aye take man to task for l n Fau ts while earth goes rou d .

On this dank soil thistles muster ,

Thorns are broadcast sown , e not Se k ﬁgs where thistles cluster,

Grapes where thorns have grown .

Sun and rain and dew from heaven ,

Light and Shade and air,

e e Heat and moisture fr ely giv n ,

e Thorns and thistl s share . Vegetation rank and rotten Feels th e chee ring ray for Not uncared , unforgotten , too ou r We have day . 3 ! ADAM LINDSAY GORDON Unforgotten though we cumber w e Earth , work His will . Shall we Sleep through night ’ s long slumber Unforgotten still

Onward onward toiling ever ,

Weary Steps and Slow, of t Doubting , despairing never , TO the goal we go

Hark ! the bells on distant cattle

Waft across the range ,

- Through the golden tufted wattle , Music low and strange Like the marriage peal O f fairies

Comes the tinkling sound , ’ of Or like chimes sweet St . Mary s

On far English ground . How ffl my courser champs the sna e , And with nostril Spread , Snorts and scarcely seems to rufﬂe Fern le aves with hi s tread Cool and pleasant on his haunches

Blows the evening breeze , Through the overhanging branches Of the wattle trees to Onward the Southern Ocean ,

Glides the breath Of Spring , w Onward , ith a dreamy motion , too I , , glide and sing 3 2

ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

Gone

N Collins Street standeth a statue tall , on of A Statue tall , a pillar stone , e its T lling story, to great and small , Of the dust reclaimed from the sand waste lone

Weary and wasted , and worn and wan , e eble F and faint , and languid and low, He lay on the desert a dying man Wh o has gone , my friends , where we all must go .

There are perils by land , and perils by water ,

Short , I ween , are the Obsequies

Of the landsman lost , but they may be shorter With the mariner lost in the trackless seas

And well for him , when the timbers start ,

And the stout Ship reels and settles below,

Who goes to his doom with as bold a heart , As that dead man gone where we all must go .

Man is Stubborn his rights to yield , And redder than dews at eventide th e e Are dews of battle , shed on the ﬁ ld, ’ ’ By a n ation s wrath or a despot s pride

- But few who have heard their death knell roll , From the cannon ’ s lips where they faced the a of Have fallen as stout and ste dy soul , n As that dead man go e where we all must go . 3 4 ADAM LINDSAY GORDON

on Traverse y Spacious burial ground ,

Many are sleeping soundly there , ’ ass d Who p with mourners standingaround ,

Kindred , and friends , and children fair ’ Did he envy such ending twere hard to say Had he cause to envy such en ding no

Can the Spirit feel for the senseless clay, When it once has gone where w e all must go

What matters the sand or the whitening chalk, ’ black nin lo The blighted herbage , the g g ,

- The crooked beak Of the eagle hawk , Or the hot red tongue of the native dog

That couch was rugged , those sextons rude,

w e Yet , in Spite of a leaden Shroud , know ’ th e - That bravest and fairest are earth worms food , ’ When once they ve gone where we all must go .

With the pistol clenched in his failing hand , ’ o e r With the death mist spread his fading eyes ,

s aw on th e He the sun go down sand , saw And he slept , and never it rise ’ ’ Twas well he toil d till his task was done

Constant and calm in his latest throe, w as w on The storm was weathered , the battle , n e Whe he went , my friends , wh re we all must go .

or God grant that whenever , soon late , ’ ou r re ach d Our course is run and goal is , We may meet ou r fate as steady and straight ’ AS he whos e bones in you de sert bleach d D 2 3 5 ADAM LINDS‘AY GORDON

NO e — t ars are needed our cheeks are dry, We have none to waste upon living woe one wh o Shall we Sigh for has ceased to Sigh , E Having gone , my friends , where we all must go

w e We tarry yet , are toiling Still ,

He is gone and he fares the best ,

He fought against Odds , he struggled up hill , He has fairly earned his season of rest

NO —ﬁll ou t tears are needed the wine ,

Let the goblets clash , and the grape juice ﬂow,

- Ho pledge me a death drink , comrade mine , TO w e a brave man gone where all must go .

HENRY C . KENDALL

Y channels of coolness the echoes are calling , And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling n It lives in the mou tain , where moss and the sedges Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges Through brakes of the cedar and sycamore bowers

Struggles the light that is love to the ﬂowers . e And , soft r than Slumber, and sweeter than Singing ,

- The notes Of the bell birds are running and ringing .

- - - The Silver voiced bell birds , the darlings of day time

of - They sing in September their songs the May time .

w ax - When Shadows strong, and the thunder bolts

hurtle , They hide with their fear in the leaves Of the myrtle 3 0 HENRY C . KENDALL When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together i They Start up l ke fairies that follow fair weather , And straightway the hues of their feathers unfolden l Are the green and the purp e , the blue and the golden .

of October, the maiden bright yellow tresses , Loiters for lovein these cool wildernesses e - Loit rs knee deep in the grasses to listen , s l Where dripping rock g eam and the leafy pools glisten . Then is the time when the water - moons Splendid

Break with their gold , and are scattered or blended

Over the creeks , till the woodlands have warning - of Of songs of the bell bird and wings the morning .

Welcome as waters unkissed by th e summers - o - e Are the voice s of bell birds t thirsty far com rs . e When ﬁery Decemb r sets foot in the forest , e And the need Of the wayfar r presses the sorest , f or Pent in the ridges ever and ever ,

- The bell birds direct him to spring and to river ,

With ring and with ripple , like runnels whose torrents

Are toned by the pebbles and leaves in the curre nts .

sit h Often I , looking back to a c ildhood

Mixt with the Sights and the sounds Of the wildwood , Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion Lyrics with beats like the heart - beats of passion Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters Borrowed from bell - birds in far fore st rafte rs HENRY C . KENDALL

So I might keep in the city and alleys of The beauty and strength the deep mountain valleys , Charming to slumber the pain Of my losses e of of With glimps s creeks and a vision mosses .

September in Aus tralia

e REY Winter hath gone , like a w arisome guest ,

And , behold , for repayment , September comes in with the wind Of the West And the Spring in her raiment

The ways Of the frost have been ﬁlled of the ﬂowers , While the forest discovers of Wild wings , with a halo hyaline hours ,

And a music of lovers .

September, the maid with the swift , Silver feet Sh e She glides , and graces of l eS The valleys coolness . the p of the heat , With her blossomy traces of Sweet month , with a mouth that is made a rose, She lightens and lingers O f In Spots where the harp the evening glows ,

Attuned by her ﬁngers .

The stream from its home in t h e hollow hill slips In a darling Old fashion ' And the day goeth down with a song on

- Whose key note is passion . 3 8 HENRY C . KENDALL

e Of th e sea Far out in the ﬁ rce , bitter front

I Stand , and remember s e ee Dead things that were brothers and si t rs Of th ,

Resplendent September .

e e of The W st , wh n it blows at the fall the noon And on h er e beats b aches , SO ﬁlle d with a tender and tremulous tune That touches and teaches e The stories of Youth , Of the burden of Tim ,

And the death of Devotion , th e and e Come back with wind , are th mes Of the rhyme

In the waves of the ocean .

e We , having a secr t to others unknown ,

- In the cool mountain mosses , e May whisper together, Septemb r, alone

Of our loves and our losses . one th e One word for her beauty, and for grace She gave to the hours

And then we may kiss her, and suffer her face To l S eep with the ﬂowers .

High places that knew of the gold and the white On the forehead of Morning s th e Now darken and quake , and the step Of Night Are heavy with warning He r voice in the distance is lofty and loud Through its echoing gorges h e r of She hath hidden eyes in a mantle cloud , And her feet in the surges HENRY C . KENDALL

on On the tops Of the hills , the turreted cones Chief temples of thunder

The gale , like a ghost , in the middle watch moans ,

Gliding over and under . th e The sea , ﬂying white through the rack and rain , L e apeth wild at the forelands c r W l th And the plover, whose y is like passion pain ,

Complains In the moorlands .

—Of Oh , season of changes shadow and Shine September the Splendid !

My song hath no music to mingle with thine , And its burden is ended of But thou , being born the winds and the sun ,

By mountain , by river , l Mayst ighten and listen , and loiter and run ,

With thy voices for ever .

Beyond K ergu elen

OWN in the South , by the waste without Sail on

Far from the zone of the blossom and tree

Lieth , with winter and whirlwind and wail on it ,

Of s e a Ghost of a land by the ghost a . Weird is the mist from the summit to base of it Sun Of its heaven is wizened and grey Phantom of light is the light on the face of it is Never is night on it , never day 40

HENRY C . KENDALL

of e on it Never is Sign soft , b autiful green

Never the colour, the glory of rose nor e on Neither the fountain riv r is seen it , it s Naked crags are , and barren its snows Blue as the face Of the drowned is the shore of it of Shore , with the capes indeﬁnite cave . S of th e trange is the voice its wind, and roar of it u s e s Startles the mountain and b h the wave .

Out to the South and away to the north Of it , Spectral and sad are th e Spaces untold All the year round a great cry go eth forth of it Of Sob Of this leper lands in the cold .

NO its on it man hath stood , all bleak , bitter years Fall of a foot on its wastes is unknown ’ Only the sound of the hurricane s spears on it

Breaks with the Shout from the uttermost zone . Blind are its bays with the Shadow of bale on them Storms of the nadir their rocks have uphurled Earthquake hath registered deeply its tale on them Tale of distress from the dawn Of the world Tbere are the gaps , with the surges that seethe in them Gaps in whose jaws I S a menace that glares Tbere w an the reefs , with the merciless teeth in them Gleam on a chaos that startles and scares

of on it Back in the dawn this beautiful sphere ,

Land Of the dolorous , desolate face Beamed the blue day ; and the bountiful year on it of Fostered the leaf and the blossom grace . 4 2 HENRY C . KENDALL

Grand were the lights of its midsummer noon on it Mornings of majesty shone on its seas Glitter of star and the glory of moon on it f o . Fell, In the march the musical breeze l hi n Va leys and hills , with the w sper Of wi g in them , l of ff - Del s the da odil Spaces impearled , Flowered and ﬂashed with the Splendour Of Spring in the m of Back in the morn this wonderful world .

Soft were the words that the thunder then said to it Said to this lustre of emerald plain red it Sun brought the yellow, the green , and the to of Sweet were the songs Its Silvery rain . Voices Of water and wind in the bays Of it f e o . Linger d , and lulled like the psalm a dream Fair were the nights and eff ulgent the days Of it

Moon was in Shadow and Shade in the beam . ’ Summer s chief throne was the marvellous coast Of it , Home Of the Spring was its luminous lea Garden of glitter but only the ghost of it se a Moans in the South by the ghost of a . HENRY C . KENDALL

HE Strong sob Of the chaﬁng stream That seaward ﬁghts its way

Down crags Of glitter, dells of gleam , I S d in the hills to ay .

- But far and faint , a grey winged form Hangs where the wild lights wane of The phantom a bygone storm ,

A ghost of wind and rain .

The soft white feet of afternoon

Are on the shining meads , The breeze is as a pleasant tune

Amongst the happy reeds .

The fierce , disastrous , flying fire,

That made the great caves ring,

And scarred the Slope, and broke the spire , I S a forgotten thing .

u of The air is f ll mellow sounds ,

- The wet hill heads are bright , And down the fall of fragrant grounds

The deep ways ﬂame with light .

- s ee A rose red Space Of Stream I , Past banks of tender fern

A radiant brook, unknown to me Beyond its upper turn 44 HENRY C . KENDALL

The singing silver life I hear, is Whose home in the green , - of Far folded woods fountains clear, Where I have never b een Ah , brook above the upper bend , I Often long to stand

Where you in soft , cool Shades descend From the untrodden land

Ah , folded woods , that hide the grace

Of moss and torrents strong , I Often wish to know the face Of that which Sings your song

But I may linger , long , and look Till night is ove r all

My eyes will never see the brook ,

Or sweet , Strange waterfall . The world is round me with its heat

And toil , and cares that tire I cannot with my feeble feet

Climb after my desire .

on But , the lap Of lands unseen ,

Within a secret zone , There shine diviner gold and green

Than man has ever known . And where the Silver waters Sing

Down hushed and holy dells , of The ﬂower a celestial Spring,

A tenfold Splendour, dwells . 45 HENRY C . KENDALL

of Yea , in my dream fall and brook e By far sweet for sts furled , I see that light f or which I look In vain through all the world

The glory Of a larger Sky of On slopes hills sublime , God That speak with and morning, high Above the ways of Time

Ah haply, in this sphere of change

Where Shadows spoil the beam , It would not do to climb that range

And test my radiant Dream .

Of The slightest glimpse yonder place , Untrodden and alone; Might wholly kill that nameless grace of The charm the unknown .

And therefore , though I look and long , Perhaps the lot is bright Which keeps the river of the song o A beauty u t of Sight . HENRY C . KENDALL

Song of i be S/J ingle-Splitters

e owl N dark wild woods , wh re the lone broods And the dingoes nightly yell ’ Where the curlew s cry goes ﬂoating by, e of hi l We splitt rs s ngles dwe l . of th e And all day through , from the time dew To the hour when the mopoke calls , Our mallets ring where the w oodbirds sing

Sweet hymns by the waterfalls . And all night long we are lulled by the song Of gales in the grand old trees And in the breaks we can he ar the lake s th of And e moan the distant seas . For of afar from heat and dust Street , a And h ll and turret , and dome , e In forest d ep , where the torrents leap , ’ I S - the shingle splitter s home .

The dweller in town may lie upon down , And ow n his palace and park lot We envy him not his prosperous , w e of Though slumber on Sheets bark .

Our food is rough, but we have enough Our drink is bett e r than wine e For cool creeks ﬂow wh rever we go , h ot ns Shut in from the su hine . 4 7 A HENRY c . KEND LL

ou r - Though rude roof, it is weather proof , And at the end of the days sit We and smoke over yarn and joke , ’ -ﬁre s u e By the bush St rdy blaz .

For away from din , and sorrow and Sin ,

Where troubles but rarely come ,

We jog along , like a merry song , ’ - In the Shi ngle Splitter s home .

What though our work be heavy, we Shirk From nothing beneath the su n And toil is sweet to those who can eat

And rest when the day is done .

- In the Sabbath time we hear no chime , N0 sound O f the Sunday bells on But yet Heaven smiles the forest aisles , od And G in the woodland dwells . We listen to notes from the million throats on Of chorister birds high , in Our psalm is the breeze the lordly trees ,

ou r I S Sk And dome the broad blue y, ! Oh a brave frank life , unsmitten by Strife , w e We live wherever roam , s ea And our hearts are free as the great Strong , ’ - In the shingle splitter s home .

HENRY C . KENDALL

’ Mooni s Yea , for him by marge Sings the yellow- haired September With the face the gods remember

When the ridge is burnt to ember, And the dumb sea chains the barge is Where the mount like molten brass ,

- Down beneath fern feathered passes , Noonday dew in cool green grasses ’ on Mooni s Gleams him by marge .

Mooni Who that dwells by yet ,

ﬂow erf u l Feels , In forest arches , Smiting wings and breath that parches ’ Where strong Summer s path of march is And the suns in thunder s et Housed beneath the gracious kirtle

Of the shadowy water myrtle,

Winds may hiss with heat , and hurtle He is safe by Mooni yet

Days there were when he wh o sings ’ (Dumb s o long through passion s losses) ’ Stood where Mooni s water crosses of - Shining tracts green haired mosses , Like a soul with radiant wings Then the psalm the wind rehearses Then the song the stream disperses Lent a beauty to his verses h o - Mooni W to night of Sings . 50 HENRY C . KENDALL

— sad Ah , the theme the , grey theme

Certain days are not above me ,

Certain hearts have ceased to love me , Certain fancies fail to move me ﬂ Like the af uent morning dream . n Head whereo the white is Stealing ,

Heart whose hurts are past all healing , Where is now the ﬁrst pure feeling

— sad e Ah , the theme the , grey them

Sin and shame have left their trace wh o He mocks the mighty, gracious O f Love Christ , with eyes audacious ,

Hunting after ﬁres fallacious , th e Wears issue in his face .

Soul that ﬂouted gift and Giver,

Like the broken Persian river, Thou hast lost thy strength f or ever e Sin and Sham have left their trace .

to In the years that used be ,

When the large , supreme occasion

Brought the life Of inspiration , ’ Like a god s t ransﬁgu ration s Was the hining change in me . ’ e Mooni s Th n , where glory glances , Clear diviner countenances e on Beam d me like blessed chances ,

In the years that used to be . E 2 HENRY C . KENDALL

Ah, the beauty Of Old ways Then the man who so resembled l Lords of light unstained , unhumb ed , Of e Touched the skirts Christ , nor trembl d At the grand benignant gaze Now he shrinks before the Splendid

Face Of Deity offended , All the loveliness is ended ! All the beauty Of Old ways !

Still to be by Mooni cool

- Where the water blossoms glister ,

And , by gleaming vale and vista , Sits the English April’ s sister

Soft , and sweet , and wonderful . Just t o rest beyond the burning — Oute r world —its sneers and spurning Ah my heart my heart is yearning Still to be by Mooni cool

’ Mooni s Now, by fair hill heads , L O , the gold green lights are glowing ,

Where , because no wind is blowing , Fancy hears the ﬂowers growing In the herby watersheds Faint it is—the sound of thunder

From the torrents far thereunder , Where the meeting mountains ponder ’ Now Mooni s i , by fair h ll heads 5 2 HENRY C . KENDALL

e Mooni is Just to be wher , Eve n whe re the ﬁ erce fall races

Down august unfathomed places , of is Where sun or moon no trace , And th e Streams of shadow hiss Have I not an ample reason So to long for—sick of treason e of old Som thing the grand season , Just to be whe re MOOIl l Is

PATRICK MOLONEY

— ' S onnetr A u I nnupmm I MAKE not my division of the hours ’ or k By dials , clocks , wa ing birds acclaim , Nor e e e m asure seasons by the r igning ﬂow rs , ’ ’ The spring s green glories , or the autumn s ﬂame . To me thy absence winter is , and night ,

Thy presence Spring , and the meridian day . m Fro thee I draw my darkness and my light ,

Now swart eclipse , now more than heavenly ray .

Thy coming warmeth all my soul like ﬁre , And e through my heartstrings melodi s do run , As poets fabled th e Memnonian lyre e to su n Hymn d acclamation the rising . My he art hums music in thy inﬂuence set SO on winds put harps Aeolian the fret . 53 PATRICK MOLONEY

The rude rebuffs O f bay- besieging winds

But make the anchored ships towards them turn , SO thy unkindness unto me but ﬁnds ’ My love t ow rds thee with keener ardour burn AS myrrh incised bleeds Odoriferous gum ,

I am become a poet through my wrong, For through the sad- mouthed heart - wounds in me com e of These earthly echoes celestial song .

My thoughts as birds make ﬂutter in my heart , Poor mufﬂed choristers whose sad refrain w oe Gives sorrow sleep , and bids that depart o Wh se heavy burden weighs upon my Strain .

Imprisoned larks pipe sweeter than when free , f or And I , enslaved, have learnt to Sing thee .

Thy throne is ringed by amorous cavaliers , And all the air is heavy with the sound

Of tiptoe compliment , whilst anxious fears

Strike dumb the lesser satellites around . e One Clasps thy hand , anoth r squires thy chair,

Some bask in light Shed from the eyes of thee,

Some taste the perfume shaken from thy hair,

Some watch afar their worshipp e d deity .

All have their orbits , and due distance keep , AS round the su n concentric planets move ou Smiles light y lord , whilst I , at distance , weep sad of In the twilight uncertain love . ’ su n Thwart thee, my , how many a mincer slips , f or e Whose constant transits make me eclips . 54 PATRICK MOLONEY

I V

Of Know that the age Pyrrha is long passed,

And though thy form is eternized in stone , ’ The sculptor s doings cannot Time outlast , Nor Beauty live save but in blood and bone ; Though new Pygmalions Should again arise O f Idolatrous images like thee , ’ Time the iconoclast e en stone destroys , AS steadfast rocks are splintered by the sea .

Thou shouldst indeed a hamadryad be , oak Inhabiting some knotted alone , And SO revive the worship of the Tree

Which , by succession , outlives barren stone . Though thus transformed still worshippers would

- As Daphne laurels poets yet purs u e .

Why dost thou like a Roman vestal make

’ The whole long year unmarriageable May, e And , lik the phoenix , no companion take To share the wasteful burthen of decay

See this rich climate , where the airs that blow su S irin s Are heavenly p g , and the Skies

Steep day from head to heel in summer glow, And moons make mellow mornings as they ris e AS e - brid s white veiled that come to marry earth , - t Now each mist morning sweet July a tires ,

- Now moon night mists are not Of earthly birth ,

' nl ﬁre s But Silver smoke blown down from h eave y . se a Skies kiss the earth, clouds join the land and ,

All Nature marries , only thou art free . PATRICK MOLONEY

VI 0 what an eve was that which ushered in The night that crowned the wish I cherished long ’ Heaven s curtains Oped to see the night begin , And infant winds broke lightly into song Methought the hours in softly-Swelling sound Wailed funeral dirges for the dying light I seemed to stand upon a neutral ground Between the conﬁnes Of the day and night ’ For rod O er the east Night stretched her sable ,

And ranked her stars in glittering array,

While , in the west , the golden twilight trod on With [burning!crimsons the verge of day . Bright bars Of cloud formed in the glowing even

- A Jacob ladder joining earth and heaven .

0 - sweet Queen city of the golden South ,

Piercing the evening with thy starlit Spires , Thou wert a witne ss when I kissed the mouth

Of her whose eyes outblazed the Skiey ﬁres . I saw the parallels Of thy long streets i a- With lamps like angels Sh ning all row, While overhead the empyrean s eats

Of gods were steeped in paradisic glow . e The Pleiades with rarer ﬁr s were tipt , sat Hesper throned upon his jewelled chair, The belted giant’ s triple stars were dipt arr In all the splendour Of Olympian . t o On high bless , the Southern Cross did Shine, ’ i e o er e e Like that wh ch blaz d conqu ring Constantin . 56

THOMAS BRACKEN Mystic midnight voices melt

Through each leafy bower and belt, Round the Spot where friends have knelt ’ e t t . Peac be wi h hee, Lilian

Far away from town and tower, e e Sle ping in a l afy bower , Withered lies the forest ﬂowe r ’ Peace be with thee, Lilian .

’ e Ther , where passions ne er intrude,

There , where Nature has imbued

With her sweets the solitude , of Rests the form Lilian .

’ o e r sea Dear Old forest the , ’ Home of Nature s euphony, Pour thy requiempsalmody ’ of O er the grave Lilian .

Guard that daisy- quilted sod Thou hast there no common clod Keep her ashes safe f or God e Mak s but few like Lilian .

Sceptics ask me Is that d ay In the forest far away Part of her i -I only say ’ Flow re ts breathe ou t Lilian ; THOMAS BRACKEN

From her grave their sweets mount Love and b eauty never die se a Sun and stars , earth , and sky ’ of All partake Lilian .

ADA CAMBRIDGE

Honou r E let the world disparage and despise M - it s n The world , that hugs soul corroding chai s ,

The world , that Spends for such ignoble gains . Let f oe or bigot wrap my name in lies ;

Let Justice, blind and maimed and halt , chastise Th e rebe l - spirit surging in my veins ; L et the Law deal me penalties and pains ; ’ Let me be outcast in my neighbours eyes .

not e But let me fall in my own est em , By poor deceit or petty greed debased ; Let me be Clean from undetected shame ;

Know myself true , though heretic I seem ; ’ h ow soe e r Know myself faithful , disgraced ; of Upright and Strong , for all the load blame . MARCUS CLARKE

’ I n a L udy r A lbu m

HAT can I write in thee, O dainty book, About whose daintiness faint perfume lingers

Into whose pages dainty ladies look, And turn thy dainty leaves with daintier ﬁngers 3

e f or Fitt r my ruder muse ruder song, My scrawling quill t o coarser paper matches e too My voice, in laughter rais d loud and long, I S sin in tav ern hoarse and cracked with g g catches . ‘

’ NO car melodies have I for ladies , No roundelays f or jocund lads and lasses of e But only brawlings born bitter b er, And chorussed with the clink and clash of glass es

So e , tell thy mistress , pr tty friend, for me, do e I cannot her h st , for all her frowning ,

While dust and ink are but polluting thee, t - And vile obacco smoke thy leaves embrowning .

Thou bre ath es t purity and humble worth

The simple jest , the light laugh following after . I will not jar upon thy modest mirth

e e or . With harsh r j st , with less gentle laughter

SO - , some poor tavern haunter, steeped in wine, ’ With staggering footsteps thro the streets returning, e S eing, through gathering glooms , a sweet light shine e From hous hold lamp in happy window burning ,

60 MARCUS CLARKE May pause an instant in the wind and rain To on of gaze that sweet scene love and duty,

But turns into the wild wet night again ,

sad e Lest his pr sence mar its holy beauty .

ANNE GLENNY WILSON

Tra v el Song

OME , before the summer passes Let us seek the mountain land SO they called me , happy playmates , And w e left the dawn - lit Strand Riding on till later sunbeams Slanted

- On dark hills and downward plunging streams , And the solemn forest softly chanted

Old , Old dreams .

th e w e saw From pass , in glory Wave on purple wave unrolled To the cloud- encircled summit

Floating high , alone and cold - of Like that altar stone, by men Athens Dedicated to the unknown God ; Waiting f or some ﬁre to touch his holy

White abode . Then the mellow sunset dying i Passed n rosy ﬁre away, And the stars and plan e ts journeyed

On their ancient unknown way . ANNE GLENNY WILSON Riders of the illimitable heaven on so ou r ken Moving far beyond , DO i - ye scorn the to ling, heavy hearted Sons of men

Ere w e Slept we he ard the torrents Rushing from that mighty hill

Join in deep melodious singing ,

- While the forest land was still . Music Of forgotten wildernesses Would that I could hear that song again ’ of Song primal Earth s enchanted sweetness ,

Joy and pain .

Fa iryla nd

0 ou y remember that careless band , ’ o e r - Riding meadow and wet sea sand , of One autumn day, in a mist sunshine, Joyously seeking for fairyland

- The wind in the tree tops was scarcely heard ,

The streamlet repeated its one silver word , ’ of And far away, o er the depths woodland ,

- Floated the bell of the parson bird .

- Pale hoar frost glittered in shady slips , Where ferns were dipping their ﬁn ge r- tips From mossy branches a faint perfume ’ o e r Breathed honeyed clematis lips . 6a ANNE GLENNY WILSON

At last we climbed to the ridge on high . ! Ah , crystal vision Dreamland nigh u s i Far, far below the wide Pac ﬁc sk Slumbered in azure from y to Sky .

And cloud and Shadow across the deep or Wavered , paused in enchanted Sleep , And eastward the purple- misted islets

Fretted the wave with terrace and steep .

We on looked the tranquil , glassy bay,

On headlands sheeted with dazzling spray, And the whitening ribs of a wreck forlorn e That for twenty y ars had wasted away .

w as so All calm , and pure , and fair; of It seemed the hour worship there , as Silent , where the great North Minster f or Rises ever, a visible prayer .

w e e - Then turn d from the murmurous forest land,

And rode over shingle and silver sand , For SO fair was the earth in the golden autumn , no We sought farther for Fairyland . PHILIP JOSEPH HOLDSWORTH

Hurt tbou f orgotten me AST thou forgotten me 3 the days are dark e e Light ebbs from h aven , and songl ss soars the lark sea Vexed like my heart , loud moans the unquiet Hast thou forgotten m e 3

Hast thou forgotten me 3 0 dead delight Whose dreams and memories torture me to night — — O love my life O sweet SO fair to see Hast thou forgotten me 3

u 3 one sa Hast tho forgotten Lo, if Should y or Noontide were night , night were ﬂaming day

Grief blinds mine eyes , I know not which it be Hast thou forgotten me 3

3 Hast thou forgotten Ah , if Death should come, sad - Close my eyes , and charm my song bird dumb — Tired of strange woes my fate were hailed with glee Hast thou forgotten me 3 Hast thou forgotten me 3 What joy have I 3 sk A dim blown bird beneath an alien y, 0 that on mighty pinions I could ﬂee Hast thou forgotten me 3

3 ’ Hast thou forgotten Yea , Love s horoscope I S blurred with tears and suffering b eyond Hope of Ah, like dead leaves forsaken the tree,

Thou hast forgotten me . 64

J . LAURENCE RENTOUL

Her face Uplifte d and her brave bold eyes e on Gaz d into the future unafraid, of e No mystic depths rev rence , awe, surprise , No Past to make dismayed !

No martyr - moan from pyre or battle- plain

Had seamed that beauty, frank and debonair , NO e sobbings from Gethseman s of pain , NO midnights of despair

Of Changed into morns triumph, when the day i Saw men like gods , but featured homel er far, e As , in the pass , by maz d Thermopylae

Or glorious Trafalgar .

- - se a And , all accustomed to her wide wayed And amplest Spaces and unhindered room She faltered not to meet her destiny ’ Nor re ck d of gathering Doom .

e But at her girdle hung an op ning scroll , On whose white virgin folds might yet be writ e Tales Of high d eds , transcending utmost goal ’ rO h etic Of Man s p p wit .

And at her feet the Ocean yearned away

To East and North , and Southward without bound , And Westward where the sequent Night and Day

Circled the great world round . J . LAURENCE RENTOUL

’ F rom A n A urtru l R iv e r

Aoran hi H , have you seen g rise , - e His white cloud robes unroll d , And lift his prayer to sapphire skies

Gleamed through with pearl and gold,

’ And Tasman s river, strong and ﬂeet ,

Through timeless nights and days , Chanting for ever at his feet The thunder of his praise 3

Oh , in the Splendour and the light ,

The strength , the grace , the gleam , ’ e n a Heaven s gate se ms lifti g cle r in sight , ’ And God s face not a dream

In that white world without a stain saw I the new Day break, - i And then gaze , spell bound , once aga n

On peak and Sleeping lake .

I heard the avalanche crashing by

And , while my heart stood still , The glad wild tumult of reply ﬁord Pulsed back from and hill .

r Then , in the Still vo ce Silence brings

When storms cease , soft and low I heard God’ s secret whisperings m e on Fall round the snow . F 2 67 J . LAURENCE RENTOUL

And never more, by eve or morn

Where Beauty is arrayed , Shall you count Dom and Matterhorn The fairest God has made

HENRY LAURIE

Nom ALM and fair ’ Flows the Stream of Nora s life , Moving with a lazy air

Far from Strife . Goddesses

Must have looked from just such eyes , O f Full still felicities , NO surprise ,

NO endeavour

(For endeavour mars perfection) , one And , almost fancies , never

Strong affection . Far too cold of Seems that face for dream mine ,

i m ou ld Though, if set in sculptured How divine

AS she stands

Looking from the window forth , ’ Gazing o er the sunny lands To the north , HENRY LAURIE Light and Shade and e t o f ro Cross quiv r and , ’ - By the She oak s tresses made , Waving Slow

In the breeze ;

But no varying light you trace, ﬂittin s Save from g such as these ,

On her face . Calmly moving

On her daily household ways , se e f or Little can you loving ,

Much for praise . One alone

Sets her quiet life aglow, ’ sh e And , whene er hears his tone ,

Then , I know That her form

Has a richer, fuller grace , And the colour rushes warm

To her face . From her eyes All the hidden life peeps out From her lips strange melodies Float about

All astir,

Thoughts and hopes , unguessed before , can Of Gleam , till Love ask her

Nothing more . HENRY LAURIE

’ Tis as though , on e Walking a charm d Shore , Blind to all the gleam and

Which it bore ,

On ou r Sight h of Flashed the ﬂus roses blowing ,

Dewdrops sparkling in the light , Rivers ﬂowing

For at last

- One had come , whose star tipt wand

Woke to gladness , as he passed

Through the land .

Shall w e then Grudge the favoured on e his due 3 to Fate gives wands other men , Charmed too

Unaware w e While wander to and fro , Flowers may blossom here and there

AS w e go .

Lives are bound

Each to each by secret Spell , And a fairy - land lies round

Us as well .

70 JAMES LISTER CUTHBERTSON

Tbe Bur/7

IVE us from dawn to dark of Blue Australian Skies , Let there be none to mark

Whither our pathway lies .

Give us when noontide comes Rest in th e woodland free

Fragrant breath of the gums ,

Cold , sweet scent of the sea .

Give us the wattle’ s gold

- And the dew laden air , And the loveliness bold

Loneliest landscapes wear .

These are the haunts we love ,

Glad with enchanted hours , as Bright the heavens above ,

Fresh as the wild bush ﬂowers .

71 JAMES LISTER CUTHBERTSON

Wa ttle a nd Myrtle

of OLD the tangled wilderness Of wattle, of Break in the lone green hollows the hills , on of Flame the iron headlands the ocean , on of r l Gleam the margin the hur ying ril s .

ff Come with thy sa ron diadem , and scatter Odour of Araby that haunts the air of of Queen the woodland , rival the roses , of Spring in the yellow tresses thy hair .

Surely the Old Gods , dwellers in Olympus , n Under thy Shi ing loveliness have strayed , Crowned with thy clusters magical Apollo,

Pan with his reedy music might have played .

Surely within thy fastness , Aphrodite,

She of the Seaways , fallen from above , of Wandered beneath thy canopy blossom , ’ Nothing disdainful Of a mortal s love .

on Aye, and her sweet breath lingers the wattle ,

Aye , and her myrtle dominates the glade, And with a deep and perilous enchantment of of Melts in the heart lover and maid .

JAMES HEBBLETHWAITE

e not i And mov thence his even ng book , The sifted grains of calm and storm And bow before that dust - strewn nook And silent form .

TO - no morrow hath hope for him ,

of of f oe No clasp friend , no grip e - Remember, love , with eyes t ar dim,

We too must go .

Wundererr

S I rose In the early dawn , ‘A While stars were fading white , I saw upon a grassy s10p e A camp -ﬁre burning bright With tent behind and blaze before Three loggers in a row Sang all together joyously Pull up the stakes and go

on As I rode by Eagle Hawk , W of The ide blue deep air,

The wind among the glittering leaves , so The ﬂowers sweet and fair , of The thunder the rude salt waves , ’ The creek s soft overﬂow, All joined in chorus to the words Pull up the stakes and go 74 JAMES HEBBLETHWAITE

Now by the tent on forest skirt of By odour the earth, of By Sight and scent morning smoke , ’ -ﬁ re s By evening camp mirth , e -se a By de p call and foaming green , ’ e By new stars gl am and glow, By summer trails in antique lands Pull up the stakes and go

The world is wide and we are young ,

The sounding marches beat , And passion pipes her sweetest call In lane and ﬁeld and street

So rouse the chorus , brothers all , We’ ll something have to show When death comes round and strike s ou r t ent Pull u p the stakes and go

— HE se a coast of Bohe mia I S pleasant to the view When Singing larks Spring from the TO d fa e into the blue , And all th e hawthorn he dges bre ak e of In wr aths purest snow, ff ou t And yellow da odils are , A nd roses half in blow . 75 JAMES HEBBLETHWAITE

The sea- coast of Bohemia I S sad sad c an as be , ’ The prince has ta en ou r ﬂower of maids Across the violet sea

Our Perdita has gone with him , NO more we dance the round

Upon the green in joyous play, ’ Or wake the tabor s sound .

The s e a- coast Of Bohemia Has many wonders seen , w e d The Shepherd lass with a king , The shepherd with a queen But such a wonder as my love

Was never seen before , It is my joy and sorrow now To love her evermore .

The s e a - coast Of Bohemia Is haunted by a light ’ of Of memory fair lady s eyes , And fame of gallant knight its e The princes seek charm d Strand ,

ou r But ah , it was knell ’ When o e r the s ea ou r Perdita

Went with young Florizel .

Th e se a- coast of Bohemia I S not - my resting place, For with her waned from ou t the day A beauty and a grace 76 JAMES HEBBLETHWAITE

0 had I kissed her on the lips

I would no longer weep , But live by that until the day

I fall to shade and sleep .

WILLIAM PEMBER REEVES

' Ne w Zeu la na OD girt her about with the surges of And winds the masterless deep , Whose tumult uprouses and urges Quick billows to sparkle and leap He ﬁlled from the life of their motion of se a Her nostrils with breath the , And gave her afar in the Ocean

A citadel free .

n - Her ever the fever mist Shrouding, of Nor drought the desert may blight , Nor pall of dun smoke overclouding of Vast cities clamorous night , of of But the voice abundance waters ,

Cold rivers that stay not or sleep , e s Greets children , the sons and the daught r

Of light and the deep .

L o here where each league hath its fountains of In isles deep fern and tall pine, - on n And breezes snow cooled the mou tains,

Or keen from the limitless brine , 77 WILLIAM PEMBER REEVES See men to the battleﬁeld pressing To — conquer one foe the stern soil ,

Their kingship in labour expressing ,

Their lordship in toil .

of Though young they are heirs the ages ,

Though few they are freemen and peers , Plain workers—yet sure of the wages

Slow Destiny pays with the years .

Though least they and latest their nation , Yet this they have w on without sword

That Woman with Man Shall have station ,

And Labour be lord .

The winds of the se a and high heaven Speed pure to her kissed by the foam ;

The steeds Of her ocean undriven ,

Unbitted and riderless roam , And clear from her lamp newly lighted ’ Shall stream o e r the billows upcurled

A light as of wrongs at length righted ,

Of h Ope to the world .

HUBERT CHURCH

Rosa li nd OSAL IND has come to town ’ All S the street a meadow, Balconies are beeches brown

With a drowsy shadow, And the long- drawn window panes

Are the foliage of her lanes . HUBERT CHURCH Rosalind about me brings Sunny brooks that quiver Unto palpitating wings

Ere they kiss the river, And her eyes are trusting birds

That do nestle without words .

Rosalind to me you bear Memories of a meeting When the love - star smote the With a pulse’ s beating Does your Spirit love to pace In the temple of that place 3

Rosalind be thou the fane ’ For my soul s uprising , Where my heart may reach again ’ Thoughts of heaven s devising Be the solace self- bestowed ’ In th e shrine of Love s abode !

Spring in Nem Zea la nd

HOU wilt come with suddenness ,

Like a gull between the waves , Or a snowdrop that doth press Through the white shroud on the graves ; Lo Like a love too ng withheld ,

as - e e That at last h over w ll d . HUBERT CHURCH

What if we have waited long ,

Brooding by the Southern Pole , i Where the towering cebergs throng , And the inky surges roll What can all their terror be When thy fond winds compass thee 3

They shall blow through all the land Fragrance of thy cloudy throne Underneath the rainbow spanned

Thou wilt enter in thine own , And the glittering earth Shall Shine

Where thy footstep is divine .

THOMAS HENEY

Tko Bounda ry Rider

E bridle rems hang loose in the hold of his lean left hand !t As the ether gives , the horse bends browsing down to

the sand , On the pommel the right hand rests with a smoking

briar black, Whose thin rings rise and break as he gazes from the

track .

sk Already the sun is aslope , high still in a pale hot y,

And the afternoon is ﬁerce , in its glare the wide plains lie

THOMAS HENEY

Than the life of the plains has set reliance and courage

there ,

Constancy, manliness frank in a young face debonair .

He Should be no less wh o ride s for eve r each spacious

bound ,

Better than human Speech he knows the desert around .

He journeys from dawn to dusk, and always he rides

alone , e its The hue of the wilderness tak s , as his mind

monotone .

or He hears the infrequent cries , shrieking hoarse and

Slow , ’ e e She p bleating , the minah s scream , the monologu of the crow ; of He rides in a manless land , and in leagues the salt

bush plain , e e Seeks day aft r day for change , and s eks it ever in

vain .

In his hands his life each morn as he swings to his

leathern seat , Woe to him if he falls where as water the plain sucks

heat , to Alone in a vast Still tomb , cruel and loth spare , De ath waits f or each sense and slays whilst the doome d

wretch feels despair . THOMAS HENEY

HAT cares the rose if the buds which are it s pride Be plucked f or the breast of the dead or th e hands of a bride 3

The mother- drift if its pebbles be dull inglorious s thing , Or diamonds ﬁt to Shine from the diadems of kings 3

Sing , O poet , the moods of thy moments each

Perfect to thee whatever the meaning it reach .

Let the years ﬁnd if it be as a soulless stone, i Or under the words wh ch hide there be a glory alone .

JOHN SANDES

The Ea rtb-M otlaer

OMETH e a voice My children , h ar From the crowded street and the close -packed mar t ou i I call y back w th my message clear, to Back my lap and my loving heart . on Long have ye left me, journeying

By range and river and grassy plain , To the teeming towns where the rest have gone

Come back, come back to my arms again . G 2 JOHN SANDES

SO shall ye lose the foolish needs That gnaw your souls and my touch Shall serve To d heal the ills that the city bree s ,

The pallid cheek and the fretted nerve .

Treading the turf that ye once loved well , ’ of of Instead the stones the city s street ,

Ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell ,

But the wind that croons in the ripening wheat .

- sk Yonder, beneath the smoke smeared y, A city of half a million souls That struggle and chaffer and strive and cry

By a sullied river that seaward rolls . -ﬁlle d But here , blue range and full creek, And the soil made glad by the welcome rain

Waiting the plough . If peace ye seek,

Come back, come back to my arms again . I that am Old have seen long since Ruin of palaces made with hands For the soldier-king and the priest and prince

Whose cities crumble in desert sands . But still the furrow in many a clime Yields softly under the ploughman ’ s feet

Still there is seeding and harvest time ,

And the wind still croons in the ripening wheat .

Where is Persepolis 3 Ask the Wind

That once the tresses of Thais kissed . A stone or two you may haply ﬁnd

Where Night and the Desert keep their tryst . 8 4 JOHN SANDES

is But the broken goblet cast away,

And to seek for the lights that are lost is vain . The city passes the gre en ﬁelds stay

e t o . Com back, come back my arms again

Th e works of man are but little worth ' For e a time th y stand , for a space endure e to e — But turn onc more your moth r Earth ,

are . My gifts gracious , my works are sure of e Green Shoot herbage for growing h rd , e of e And blossoming promis fruitage swe t , ‘ not m These shall fail , if ye heed y word , Nor th e i e the wind that croons in ripen ng wh at .

Would ye fashion a nation , whole and true , - 3 Goodly proportioned , sound at core e Then this , my sons , ye must sur ly do e o e Give city l ss , and country m r . Would ye re ar a race to hold this land From foemen steerin g across the main 3 e i e Th n, ch ldr n, listen and understand c to Come back, come ba k my arms again .

Your coastwise cities are passing fair e - Jetty and warehous and banking hall , Tower and dome and statue d square But wh o is to guard when the blow shall fall 3 The men who can shoot an d ride are found Not where the clerks and the Shopmen meet , ou t But , where the reaper hears the sound th e e e Of wind that croons in the rip ning wh at . 3 5 JOHN SANDES

Ye know, who have long since left the loam For a City job in some crowded works ,

That sorrow abides in the straitened home , e And D ath in the stiﬂing factory lurks . of And some , who are out a job , must sleep

On a city bench in the driving rain . Of happier days are ye dreaming deep ?

Come back , come back to my arms again .

There in the city, by jungle law, f or se t su n Each ﬁghts his meat till of . By the deadliest fang and the sharpest claw to w on The right the largest share is . e nor But here there is n ither strife guile ,

- The brazen robber nor smooth tongued cheat . — e Your gold is safe wh re the harvests smile ,

And the wind still croons in the ripening wheat .

n I mind me once,in a sunlit la d ,

Lancer, Hussar, and ﬁerce Uhlan in on Came galloping every hand , And poppied cornﬁelds over- ran w as And many a sabre stoutly plied ,

And many a hero kissed the plain , ’ And many a hero s mother cried,

Come back, come back to my arms again

no But when longer the trumpets pealed , e And the stricken land was at r st once more , They found a peasant wh o sowed his ﬁeld

’ Nor n e k ew that France had be n at war . 86 JOHN SANDES

’ so e of E en , inst ad the strife and pain l ou it s . I give y peace , with b essing sweet e Com back, come back to my arms again , ’ For e the wind still croons in the ripening wh at .

SYDNEY JEPHCOTT

Tbe Drea me rr

comradr of AVE courage , O my y dreamers

are . All things , except mere Earth, ours r o r We pluck its passions f o u ﬂowers . Dawn - dyed ou r great Cloud - banners toss their stre amers Above its quaking tyrant -towe rs

- Making this stern grey planet shine with jewel Showers .

e e Our liv s are mantled in forgott n glory, Like trees that fringe yon dark hill- cre st l A ight against the molten west . The great night shuddering yields her Stress of story The dreams that stir the past ’ s long rest - ou r Strange , scented night winds sighing on naked

breast .

’ Through all the Spirit s Spacious , secret regions By pathways we believed unknown o r own Still thoughts immortal meet u . Ideas -In innumerable legions ’ Like summer s stir in forests lone ’ Their various music merges in time s monotone . 8 7 SYDNEY JEPHCOTT

The dreamer sees the deep - drawn ore -veins brightening Through all the huge blind bulk of Earth He led the ship around its girth

He plays , as on the pulses of the lightning , h a The song t t gives its workings worth , ’ The song f ore daine d to bring man s morrow to the

birth .

Base , base mere doers , blind and dreamless Whose bodies engines are of toil Greasy with greed and lust they moil ’ f or They cast lots the dreamer s garment seamless , To rot among their useless Spoil

The fathomless inﬁnity their breath does soil .

to th e Hail dream that roused the sleeping savage ,

And led him from his bloody lair , ’ Across light s bridge , that Single hair , ’ th of Above unpurposed, eyeless hell ravage

That , beasts and men , the soulless share , hi m ’ ’ And left , waking in thought s temple, Heaven s heir !

Our souls , in these vast Heavens unbeholden ou r e - Of eyes , ang l hopes embrace ’ hi Or being s S ning trail retrace, Through pregnant skies about ou r forms enfolden Of ou r In rapture kindred race,

of u s ~ f ace Until the gaze God consume , to face . 8 8

SYDNEY JEPHCOTT

I caress thy surface Sheer, Holding thee the Absolute e Wh re the things to be inhere,

Waiting their material bruit . How I love thee my heart’ s blood Were too dull to smutch thy white ’ ’ I ll aver no lily s bu d on Lays such unction my Sight .

’ of or Suave maiden s throat arm, t o Bliss embodied the touch , Has not such ambrosial charm Not a marble Goddess such

Dear White Paper All To- day Palpitates with spirit - heat Only on thy whitenes s may Seers translate its rhythms sweet Holy Paper all the Past Were a rack of ruined cloud ou r Stripping from orbit vast , But thou Eternity endowed

With an actual soul of Speech f Life Of life by death distilled

That all dateless days shall reach, ’ of As life s vine veins is ﬁlled .

O , the glorious Heavens wrought By Cadmean souls of yore From pure element of Thought And thy leaves their silvern door go SYDNEY JEPHCO’I‘ T

Light they Open , and we stand Past the sovereignty of Fate n Glad among Them , still and gra d , The Creators and Create

JESSIE MACKAY

Du nedin in the Gloa ming

I KE a black enamoured king whispe red low the thunder To th e of n e lights Rosly , t rraced far asunder

Hovered low the sist e r cloud in wild warm wonder .

O my love , Dunedin town , the only , the abiding, Wh o can U is look undazzled p where the Norn riding , Watch the sword of D e stiny from the scabbard glid Ing

! Dark and rich and ringing true , word and look for ever Taking to her woman heart all forlorn endeavour ’ e se a th e Heav n s about her feet , not bounded river

Sister Of the mountain mist and never t o be holde n With the weary Sophistries that dimmer eye s embolden ! ’ e e ! O the dark Dunedin town , shot with gr en and gold n

e e Th n a silv r pioneer , netted in the drift , th e Leaning over Maori Hill , dreaming in lift , Dropped her starry me mories through the passioned

drift . JESSIE MACKAY

Once I do remember them , the glory and the garden , ’ Ere the elder stars had learned God s mystery of pardon

Ere the youngest , I myself , had seen the ﬂaming

warden .

Once even after even I Stole over shy and early To of mirror me within a glade Eden cool and pearly, Where Shy and cold and holy ran a torrent sought but l rare y .

‘ And fondly could I swear that this my glade had rise n

newly, Burst the burning desert tomb wherein Sh e lieth truly To keep an Easter with the birds and me wh o loved her duly

Wailing , laughing , loving , hoar , spake the lordly ocean You are sheen and Steadfastness ; I am sheen and

motion , Gu lﬁn g argosies for whim , navies for a notion .

n Sleep you well , Dunedin tow , though loud the lulling lyre is e Lady of the stars terren , where quick the human

ﬁre is , of Lady the Maori pines , the turrets and the eyries

JESSIE MACKAY

’ Here s t o the love we were never let to win What of that 3 a many shells have a pearl withi n

” S ome are mate d with the gold in the light of day ;

th e . Some are buried fathoms deep , in seas away

’ S to e w e Here the selv s Shall never, never be ’ e a We re the drift of the world and the tangle of th e s . ’ ’ S S ou t su n It far beyond the Pleiad , it beyond the Where the rootless shall be rooted when the wander year is done

The G rey Compa ny

THE grey, grey company Of the pallid dawn O the ghostly faces Ashen -like and drawn The Lord’ s lone sentinels Dotted down the years The little grey company Before the pione ers !

Dreaming of Utopias

Ere the time was ripe , to They awoke scorning , t o To jeering and strife . Dreaming Of millenniums of In a world wars , They awoke to Shudder

At a ﬂaming Mars . JESSIE MACKAY

Never was a Luther But a Huss w as ﬁrst A fountain unregarded hi In the primal t rst . Never was a Newton Crown ed and honoured But ﬁrst a lone Galileo e l Wasted in a c l .

’ In each other s faces Looked the pioneers Drank the wine of courage

All their battle years . For their weary sowing

Through the world wide , Green they s aw the harvest

Ere the day they died .

But the grey, grey company Stood every man alone In the chilly dawnlight f Scarcely had they known Ere the day they perished That their beacon star Was not glint of m arshligh t s In the hadows far .

The brave white witnesses To the truth within of Took the dart folly, e of sin Took the je r . 95 JESSIE MACKAY

Crying , Follow, follow Back to Eden - gate They trod the Polar desert

Met the desert fate .

Be laurel to the victor , And roses to the fair ; And asphodel Elysian Let the hero wear But lay the maiden lilies Upon their narrow biers The lone grey company Before the pionee rs !

5 7

Ort ia old N yg the Dawn land the gods dwell , ’ And the Silver S yet a - quiver on the old wizard well - of of By the milk white walls the Temple the Moon , ’ Where the Dawn Maids hallow the red gods tune ,

- And Old grey Time is a nine year child , ’ w as e Back between the rivers ere man ver guiled , e Or the knelling Never, n ver by the cherubim was

rung . Ort ia It was there , there, there , in yg the young, w as of sk It there , there , there , in the meadows the y w e a - That ﬁrst went summering , my love of loves and I . And well I w ot the pleasaunce for them that thither go

Is litten with the beacons that the Dawn Maids know,

With their vigil at end in the Temple of the Moon , ’ f o And their prayer all prayed r the waked world s boon . 96

AGNES L . STORRIE

e ﬁne Of your rich muscats and your Sh rries , ’ I ve drunk both well and deep ou t 0 ne Then measure me , merchant mi ,

Twenty gallons Of sleep .

of Twenty gallons slumber soft , n Of the in ocent , baby kind , When the angels ﬂutter their wings aloft And is the pillow with down lined .

and I have drawn the corks , drained the lees , Of every vintage pressed ’ O f m If I ve felt the sting yhoney bees, ’ I ve taken it with the rest .

’ not I have lived my life , and I ll repine As I sowed I was bound to reap e ou t 0 Th n measure me , merchant mine, of Twenty gallons sleep .

ALFRED CHANDLER

L iglytr a long tko Mile

G 1 02 (KAL OORLIE , 9 )

HE night descends in glory, and adown the purple west ff The young moon , like a crescent Ski , upon some fairy

quest , Has dropped below the opal lights that linger low and far ’ To haven s that are be aconed by th e Pilot s evening star ; 98 ALFRED CHANDLER

is And slowly, softly, from above the darkness unfurled A wondrous curtain loosened on the windows Of the

world . e l - Then sudd n y, like magic , where smoke stacks fumed

t h e while , Ten thousand lights ﬂash ou t aﬂam e along the Golden e Mil .

And thro ’ the dusky gauze that falls upon the looming mines Dim spires and Spars Of poppet - heads in faintly broken lines e to i i i Grow cl arer the v s on , till the Shadow p cture seems The argosies from half the world i ’ the misty Port ’ 0 Dreams And 10 ! where golden Day had reigned in radiant

robes of blue , of wh o of A god joy and hope , thrilled the sons toil

and rue , Now comes the Queen of Starland forth to scatter with a smile Her diamonds that ﬂash and blaze along the Golden

Mile .

And all th e night a thousand stamps in ceaseless rhythmic roar Are beating out the tragic gold from e ndless Streams ore of , ALFRED CHANDLER

These harnessed giants of the will that so are trained and taught To answer to the sentient touch and catch the thrill of thought , ’ From nerve to nerve that quivers thro the animated

steel , And makes it live and makes it move and stre ngth

emotions feel , Till in their voices music comes insistent all the while

Reverberating massive chants along the Golden Mile .

n And down below, a thousa d feet , a thousand miners tear ore ore The golden , the glistening that holds such joy and care ; w Ah do n below, another world , with hopes , desires ,

and dreams , Such playthings as the tyrant Fate in ﬁckle will

beseems . ’ Ah down below, where panting drills are eating thro

the rock, ’ Where life and death are lurking in the ﬁre s convulsive

shock, Where many a sturdy hero delves within the lode’ s long aisle To e win him love , the gold of love , along the Golden Mil .

Now speeding westward ﬂies the train into the won

drou s night , The engine pulsing as a m an who strives with strenuous might I OO

ALPRED CHANDLER

c 2 ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ Th e coOl Bre ez e mee tS fh e tired brow and whispers gentler tales That seem to murmur with the metre sung by whee ls

and rails . The night has grown in glory and from ou t the purple dome Ten thousand stars are gleaming to Show the wandere r home

on While fainter fades the glimmer, like a city an isle , Till swallowed in the darkness are the lights along the

Mile .

WILLIAM GAY

F in th e summer of thy bright regard I For one brief season these poor Rhymes Shall live ask no too I more , nor think my fate hard If other eyes but wintry looks should give ; Nor will I grieve though what I here have writ ’ O e rbu rde n e d Time should drop among the ways , An d to the unremembering dust commit Beyond the praise and blame of other days wh o The song doth pass , but I Sing , remain , ’ ow n I pluck from Death s heart a life more deep , not And as the Spring, that dies , in her train

Doth scatter blossoms for the Winds to reap , SO I , immortal , as I fare along,

Will strew my path with mortal ﬂowers of song .

10 2 WILLIAM GAY

A u s ralia 18 t , 94

HE e e sits a que n whom none Shall dar despoil , S n h er sea Her crow the sun , guard the vigilant , are e And round her throne gath red , stalwart , free, t o A people proud , yet Stooping the soil , t o s Patient swell her greatne s with their toil , t o e d be And swift l ave , Should ire Occasion , Th e th e e e lea mine , the ﬂock , d sk, the furrow d ,

And force the invader to a dark recoil . ’ Yet as sh e gazes o e r the plains that lie

Fruitful about her throne , she sighs full sore To see h as hi the barriers Greed builded gh , wh o Dividing them brothers were before , When still they dwelt beneath a sterner sky n of A d heard the thunders a wilder shore .

A urtra lia n Federa ti on

ou r e ROM all division let land be fre , For God has made her one complete sh e of Within the unbroken circle the skies , And round her indivisible the sea on Breaks her single shore while only we ,

Her foster children , bound with sacred ties one one e Of dear blood , storied enterpris , e of h e r Are n gligent integrity . ’ nod Her seamless garment , at great Mammon s , u nﬁlial w e With hands have basely rent, ou r With petty variance souls are spent , And ancient kinship underfoot is trod 0 let us rise, united, penitent , one — e God And be people , mighty, s rving 1 03 WILLIAM GAY

A Sonnet of Ba ttle

ELUCTANT Morn , whose meagre radiance lies R i on With doubtful gl mmer the farthest hills , of How long shall men , reiterant their ills , With peevish invocation bid thee rise To burn to noontide glory in the Skies

That now a gloom perplexed and starless ﬁlls , And seek from thee and not their ow n strong wills That perfect good which is not bought with sighs 3

Why weep and wait for thee, though laggard , Morn , With all thy joys of love and peace and light 3

For us the mightier joy that rives the soul ,

When , Slaves no longer to a day unborn , Our ﬂag of war along the dark we unroll

For fell encounter with the hosts of Night .

OW long , O Lord , Shall this , my country, be A nation of the dead 3 How long shall they own Who seek their and live but for the day, My country hinder from her destiny ?

Around me , Lord , I seem again to see

That ancient valley where the dry bones lay, And ’ tis in vain that long I wait and pray

To see them rise to men resolved and free . 0 of Yet sure , Lord, upon this land death At last Thy Spirit will descend with power

And Thou wilt kindle patriots with Thy breath , ’ wi n Who , venturing all to their country s good , Shall toil and suff er for the sacred hour

That brings the fulln ess of her nationhood . 1 04

WILLIAM GAY

n The a crazY Worlda said I a

What is it thou canst give ,

Which wanting , I must die , 3 Or having, I shall live

DOWELL O’ REILLY

A us tralia

(Published on th e day th e Austra lian Flee t reached Sydney)

HAT can w e give in return For her beauty and mystery

Of ﬂowering forest , inﬁnite plain , sk — Deep y and distant mountain chain, se a And her triumphant , Thundering Old songs of liberty ?

— a Love ste dfast as her stars ,

And passionate as her sun ,

And joyous as the winds , that ﬂing The golden petals of her spring u By gully, sp r, and run , l on e On dreaming age, and ittle — Courage when courage fails In the blind smoke and pain i sk Of rag ng ﬁre, and lurid y, And dumb thi rst - driven agony Till rive r and creek again Swirl seaward through the teeming 1 0 6 DOWELL O ’ REILLY

— of Faith wild ﬂower the soul , Thrilling th e breathless night e e With fragrance, and the d solat ways e Wher silence fears to whisper praise, With radiant delight — ’ Of wonder worship in God s sight .

—O Duty great white stars ,

And glorious red cross , shine

On victory, when , rushing forth of Against the peril the North , ’ Australia s battle- line ’ ou t hl Flings Trafalgar s deat ess sign .

— ILD eyes and faces ashen grey That strain through lofty prison bars se e To the everlasting stars , — Then turn to Slumber as w e may

en are S O Ev as we , are they, And here is peace for all wh o know w e The stars still follow where go, e e Wh n heaven and earth have pass d away .

to Obedient the Unknown Power, From ou t the ruin of a world A clustered galaxy is hurled To glimmer through its steadfast hour 1 0 7 DOWELL O ’ REILLY

’ The blazing sun of Shakespeare s soul

- Shattered to star dust , ﬁlls again With meteor -ﬂigh ts the immortal brain That seeks a yet more splendid goal — And still a voice that now is ours Repeats f or aye the unknown word of That thrilled the heart beast and bird ,

Ere man had learned to love the ﬂowers .

Fa it/J L ov e a nd Dea tl) , , REY dawn— and lucent star that slowly paled of Beyond the breaking Splendour the years , ’ When boyhood s heart looked up to heaven , through tears

Of joy, to see the glory Of God unveiled — High noon and bridal earth , whose footsteps failed — For very love when passion ate hopes and fears

Dazzled the ﬂowers , made music in the ears , e e And through the tranc d wood their Splendour trail d .

Calm eventide—afar the lonely west of dre amm Dreams the wondrous day, and g, lies e With fold d hands , Still lips , and weary eyes Searching the shadows of eternal rest — Childhood , and youth , and age for each a prize, — — —I Faith Love and Death know not which is best .

1 08

EDWARD DYSON

Through the ﬁercest days of summer you might hear his keen axe ring re -e e n And cho in the ranges , h ar his twangi g crosscut sing

There the great gums swayed and whispered, and the

birds were Skyward blown , ’ o er As the circling hills saluted a bush king ove rthrown .

th e Clearing , grubbing , in gloaming , strong in faith the man descried Heifers sleek and horses roaming in his paddocks green and wide , ’ Heard a myriad corn - blades rustle in the breeze s soft

caress ,

And in every thew and muscle felt a joyous mightiness .

So he felled the stubborn forest , hacked and hewed

with tireless might , And a conqueror’ s peace went with him to his fern strewn bunk at night

Forth he strode next morn , delighting in the duty to

be done, Whistling shrilly to the magpies trilling carols to the

8 1111 .

Back the clustered scrub was driven , and the sun fell on the lands , ’ And the mighty stumps were riven tween his bare, n brown , corded ha ds . I I O EDWARD DYSON

e o e e e at chin s h e One tim ﬂ od d , som tim s p g , till did the of work ten , And his dog-leg fence went marching up the hills and

down again .

’ e o e r By the stony cr ek, whose tiny streams slid the sunken bole s

To e th e e e their secret , silent me tings in shad d wat r

holes ,

a e e Soon garden ﬂourished brav ly, gemm d with

ﬂowers , and cool and green ,

b u t e While about the a busy little wife was always s en .

e e i n n Cam a day at l ngth when , gaz g dow the paddock

from his door, Simson saw his horses grazing where the bush was long

before, And he heard the joyous prattle of his children on the

rocks , of And the lowing the cattle, and the crowing Of the

cocks .

e e f or e Th r was butter the market , ther was fruit upon

the trees , of There were eggs , potatoes , bacon , and a tidy lot cheese ; Still the struggle was not ended with th e timber and

the scrub , For the mortgage is the toughest stump the settler has u to gr b . EDWARD DYSON

—one But the boys grew big and bolder , a sturdy,

- brown faced lad ,

hi s to With axe upon his shoulder , loved to go work ‘ like dad ’ And another in the saddle took a bush- bred native s

pride , And he boasted he could straddle any nag hi s dad

could ride .

Though the work went on and prospered there was still hard work t o do

-ﬁre s There were ﬂoods , and droughts , and bush , and a touch of pleuro t oo

But they laboured , and the future held no prospect to alarm All the settlers said They’ re stickers up at Peter ’ ’ Simson s farm .

One ﬁne evening Pete w as resting in the hush of

coming night , When his boys came in from nesting with a clamorous delight ;

Each displayed a tiny rabbit , and the farmer eyed ’ o e r them , — — Then he stamped it w as his habit and he smote

his knee and swore .

’ Tw o years later Simson s paddock showed dust

coloured , almost bare, And too lean for h Ope of proﬁt were the cows that pastured there I 1 2

EDWARD DYSON

’ old too S to He is soon and failing , but he game start

anew, And h e tells hi s hopeless neighbours what th e ’ ’ ’ Gov mint s goin to do i Both his girls are in the city , seeking places w th the rest , And his boys are tracking fortune in the melancholy

West .

T/J e Worked- ou t Mine N summer nights when moonbeams ﬂow ’ o er And glisten the high , white tips ,

And winds make lamentation low, of S As through the ribs shattered hips , And steal about the broken brace n Where pendant timbers swing and moa ,

And ﬂitting bats give aimless chase , Who dares to seek the mine alone 3 The shrinking bush with sable rims

A skeleton forlorn and bowed , With pipe- clay white about its limbs And at its feet a tattered shroud

And ghostly ﬁgures lurk and groan ,

Shrill whispers sound from ghostly lips , And ghostly footsteps start the stone n That clatters sharply dow the tips . — Th e e u i engin ho se s dark and still , The life that rage d within has ﬂed Like Open graves the boilers chill That once with glowing ﬁres were red EDWARD DYSON

Above the shaft in measured Space d f ro A rotte rope swings to and , ’ Whilst o er the plat and on the brace o The silent Shadows come and g .

I n And there below, chambers dread

Where darkness like a fungus clings , i ’ Are lingering still the old mine s dead ’ Bend o e r and hear their whisperings Up from the blackness sobs and sighs

Are ﬂung with moans and muttered fears ,

A low lament that never dies , of And ceaseless sound falling tears .

My e ars jnt ent have heard tbeir grief ’ ﬁtf u l of The tones Carter s tongue ,

e e The strong man crush d beneath the r ef, of n Praer The groans Pa ton , , and Young , ’ of And Trucker Bill Number Five , Along the ruined workings roll For deep in eve ry shoot and drive

This mine secretes a shackled soul .

! Ah woful mine, where wives have wept ,

And mothers prayed in anxious pain , Vl l l And long , distracting g kept , You yawn f or victims now in vain to ou Still that god , whose shrine y were, Is homage done in wild device ; Men hate you as the sepulchre e That stores th ir bloody sacriﬁce . I 2 1 1 5 DAVID MACDONALD ROSS

Tbe Drea me r HO seeks th e shore where dreams outpour Their ﬂoods in Slumber Seas Lives all night long within a son g

Of murmuring mysteries .

Where stars are lit above the pit

That holds the hollow dark , Into their dawn he shall sail on

In an enchanted barque .

’ He shall not fear tho in his ear of The thrusting cranks Time , ’ Thro blaze and gloom , with crash and

Ring in tremendous rhyme ,

Beyond the cloud that doth enshroud

Saturn with beauteous bands , Where at the knees of Hyades

Creation Clasps her hands .

He shall bow low to God and know

Keen sorrow and delight , ’ The day s full pride and eventide ,

The inmost thoughts of night .

Into their calm white waves of balm

His soul Shall plunge and swim , Past Silver- globed full moons unrobed ’ That ﬂoat round Heaven s rim .

1 1 6

MARY GILMORE

’ ’ ’ It s f eelin kind an gentle ’ e s To ev rything that weak, And doin ’ jus’ Sich actions As n early seem to speak

Sich actions women reckon Are certain to occur ’ h e S When in love with some one, one is—h er And that some .

’ Ma rri d ’ S ’ ’ T singin in an out , ’ ’ f e elin of An full grace a ’ ’ ’ n Here there, up an down , ’ ’ th An round about place .

’ ’ s e It rollin up your sle ves , ’ ’ ’ whit nin An up the hearth, ’ ’ ’ scru bbin th An out ﬂoors , ’ ’ ’ An sw eepin down th path

’ ’ ’ S It bakin tarts an pies , ’ ’ ’ An shinin up th knives ’ ’ ’ An f e clin s if some days

Was worth a thousand lives .

’ ’ ’ s w atchin ou t th It door , ’ ’ ’ An w atchi n by th gate ; ’ ’ ’ wat chi n th An down road, ’ ’ ’ An wonderin why he s late MARY GILMORE

’ ’ f e elin - An anxious like , ’ For fear there s something wrong ; ’ ’ ’ ’ wonde rin s An why he kep , ’ An so why he takes long .

’ ’ It S comin back inside ’ ’ An Sittin down a Spell , To sort of make b elieve ’ ’ thinkin e You re things is w ll .

’ ’ It s gettin up again ’ ’ ’ ’ An w and rin in an ou t ’ ’ f eelin ul - An wistf like , ’ Not knowin what about ;

’ ’ ﬂu shin e An all at onc , ’ ’ smilin so An just sweet , ’ ’ An f e elin real proud ’ is The place fresh an neat .

’ ’ An f eelin awful glad ’ ’ Like them that w at ch d Silo m ’ An everythi ng b ecause A man is comin’ Home

1 1 9 D . H . ROGERS

Homewa rd Bound tow HEY will take us from the moorings , they will

us down the Bay,

They will pluck us up to windward when we sail .

We shall hear the keen wind whistle , we shall feel the of sting Spray, ’ ’ - When we ve dropped the deep sea pilot o er the rail . ’ ’ ’ s S Then it Johnnie heave an start her, then it Johnnie roll and go e e e When the mates have pick d the watch s , ther is

little rest for Jack . ’ But we ll raise the good Old chanty that the Home

ward bounders know, ’ ’ For - the girls have got the tow rope, an they re

hauling in the slack .

of In the dusty streets and dismal , through the noises

the town , We can hear the West wind humming through the Shrouds We can se e the lightning leaping when the tropic suns

go down , of And the dapple of the shadows the clouds .

And the salt blood dances in us , to the tune of Home

ward Bound , r to To the call to wea y watches , to the sheet and

the tack . When they bid us man the capstan how the hands will walk her round ’ ’ or - F the girls have got the tow rope, an they re

hauling in the slack . 1 20

- G . W . L . MARSHALL HALL

e - But thric blest She , whom with one golden word ' th e ﬁ rm am ent of Thou settest in heaven , hl —a A happy, deat ess star wonder given - e r e e To awe ey d mortals while thy vo c Is h ard .

— — — And sh e ah me her name is ITALY Most glorious and most woful of all names ’ Whos e sweet sound the whole world s vast I nﬂam es

So h er son—b chanted by last great y the e .

’ a i S a e a re s on t 77 . On Re d ng lJ /f spe S ne s

HY ve rse is like a cool and Shady well Lying a-dream within some moss -walle d clos e e Far from the common way, where violets doz - e - e In green deep grass beside the sw et hare b ll .

And each wayfare r as he stoope th the re S own Doth py a face that is most like his ,

— - SO weary and ah me -8 0 woe begone e That almost he forgetteth his d ep care .

sad There is a royal restraint in thy rhyme , - e Dis calm d calm, and passion passionless , And mellowed is all taint of bitterness Into th e harmony of that still time

1 22 - G . W . L . MARSHALL HALL

When leaves are yellowing in the sallow su n ’ sk And evening s bloom is ﬂush across the y, When haggard summer totte re th in his run - e And gracious moist ey d autumn draweth nigh .

0 king majestical in thy decline — end be As in thy Spring , might such an mine

BERNARD O ’ DOWD

78 . A u s tralia

ST s e a- e S E thing dr dged by sailor Time from pace, Are ou y a drift Sargasso, where the West In halcyon calm rebuilds her fatal nest 3 ’ Or Delos of a coming Sun - God s rac e 3 f or oil e Are you Light , and trimmed , with in plac , ’ Or but a Will 0 Wisp on marshy quest A new demesne for Mammon to infest 3 ’ Or lurks mille nnial Eden neath your face 3

The cenotaphs of Species dead elsewhere

That in your limits leap and swim and ﬂy, O r - trail uncanny harp strings from your trees , Mix omens with the auguries that dare To plant the Cross upon your forehead Sky,

A virgin helpmate Ocean at your knees .

1 23 BERNARD O’ DOWD

P roleta ria

HE sunny rounds of Earth contain An to its obverse Day, ’ e Our f rtile Vagrancy s domain ,

Wan Proletaria .

From pole to pole of Poverty

We stumble through the years , With hazy - lanterne d Memory And Hope that never nears .

Wherever Plenty’ s crop invites u Our pitif l brigades , of Lurk cannoneers Vested Rights , Juristic ambuscades ;

And here hangs Rent , that squalid

Within which Mammon thrusts , of Bound with the fetter a wage, of his The helots lusts .

With palsied Doubt as guide , we wind of Among the lanes Need , Where meagre Hungers scouting ﬁnd

But Slavered baits Of Greed .

Th e - of wet lipped Lamias Caste ,

ou r Awaiting advance, Our choicest squadrons ’ fealty blast With magic smile and glance

BERNARD O’ DOWD

’ ’ w e Tho blind and dull, tis supply The Painter’ s dazzling dreams The rolling ﬂood of Poetry

From ou r dumb chaos streams .

- Nay, when your world is over tired ,

And Genius comatose ,

Our race , by Nemesis inspired , Old Order overthrows

- w e With earthquake life thrill your land , of Reﬁll the cruse Art ,

Revitalize spent Wisdom , and e ou r Resum weary part .

Th e palace of successful Guilt Is mortared with ou r shame On hecatombs of Us are built of The soaring towers Fame .

We are th e gnomes of Titan works Whose throbbings never cease ; Our unregarded Signet lurks

On every masterpiece .

The ﬂoating isles , that shuttling tie All peoples into one ’ By adept Ste e rsm e n s sorcery su n Of magnet , steam , and

’ Religion s dolmens , Sphinxes , spires , Her Biblic armouries The helot lightning of the wires That mesh your lands and seas 1 2 6 BERNARD O ’ DOWD

’ e e The viaducts tw en N ar and Far, ’ e e o e r Wh r on , range and mead , Bacchantic Trade’ s triumphant car And iron tigers speed

The modern Steely crops that rise Where technic Jasons sow - All these but feebly symbolize e The largesse we b stow .

ou r 3 w an And reward In this land ,

In clientage Of Greed ,

and Despised , polluted , maimed banned , To — wander and to breed .

Young Dem ocra cy ARK Young Democracy from H Our careless sentries raps A backwash from the Future’ s deep ’ Our Evil s foreland laps .

of ou r Unknown , these Titans Night Their New Creation make

Unseen , they toil and love and ﬁght

That glamoured Man may wake .

- of Knights errant the human race , of - The Quixotes to day, For as e man man th y claim a place , e Prepare the t dious way . 1 2 7 BERNARD O ’ DOWD

’ no - They seek dim eyed mob s applaus e ,

Deem base the titled name, f or of And Spurn , glory their Cause, of The tawdry nymphs Fame .

No masks of ignorance or sin Hide from them you or me ’ — ou r We re Man no colour shames Skin ,

No race or caste have we .

The prognathous Neanderthal , To them , conceals the Bruce ; They se e Dan Aesop in the thrall

From swagmen Christ deduce . Tho’ butt for lecher’ s ribaldry And scarred by woman ’ s scorn In baby- burdened girl they se e od- G motherhood forlorn .

t o sire dom With them , racial glides The savage we deprave That eunuch brilliant Narses hides e A Spartacus , that slav . They Jesus ﬁnd in manger waif In horse- boys Sh akespeareh ood And earthquake- Luthers nestling safe ’ s In German miner brood .

The God that pulses everywhere They know ﬁlls Satan’ s veins No felon but they se e Him there ’ Behind His mirror s Stains .

1 2 8

BERNARD O ’ DOWD

In Punic or In Persian fray ’ ’ With Love s and Conscience foes ,

Unadvertising Romans they,

And Spartans free from pose .

Abused as mad or traitors by The trolls they would eject Cold -shouldered by w an Apathy Of motives mean suspect ; Outcast from social gaieties Denied life’ s lilied grace They mount their hidden Calvaries

To save the human race . The bowers Of Art a few may know A few wait highly placed w oe Most bear the hods of common ,

And some you call disgraced .

or But whether in the mob school , or e In church pov rty, They teach and live the Golden Rule Of Young Democracy

Tku t culture o a nd oodliness , j y g ’ B e tb equa l rigbt of a ll Tba t Greed no more s ba ll tbose oppress W190 by the ways ide fa ll

Tba t ea cb s hall share wba t a ll men sow

’ Tku t co our ca s te s a lie l ,

Tha t ma s od bower/ er low n i G , ’ I s ma n bowever bi b. , g 1 3 0 BERNARD O ’ DOWD

L ov e a nd Sa criﬁce

AN w e not consecrate To man and God above This volume of our great Supernal tide of love 3

’ Twere wrong its wealth to waste

On merely me and you ,

In selﬁsh touch and taste , AS other lovers do .

This love is not as theirs

It came from the Divine ,

Whose glory still it wears , of And print Whose design .

The world is full of woe ,

The time is blurred with dust ,

Illusions breed and grow, ’ ’ ﬂesh s And eyes and lust .

The mighty league with Wrong ’ And stint the weakling s bread ; The very lords of song

With Luxury have wed .

e Fair Art des rts the mass , And loiters with the gay

And only gods . of brass

- Are popular to day. K 2 I 3 I BERNARD O ’ DOWD i Two souls with love insp red , as Such lightning love ours , w e Could spread, if desired , Dismay among such powers

Could social stables purge Of ﬁlth where festers strife Through modern baseness surge of A holier tide life .

t wo s o Yea , steeped in love

ul From such a source , co d draw The angels from above

To lead all to their Law .

We have no right to seek

Repose in rosy bower , When Hunger thins the cheek Of childhood every hour

Nor while the tiger, Sin , ’ Mid youths and maidens roams , Should Duty skulk within

These selﬁsh cosy homes .

Our place is in the van wh o With those crusaders , Maintain the rights of man ’ Gainst despot and his crew . 1 3 2

BERNARD O ’ DOWD

’ Tru e A me rica s Mes s age UR manlier Spirits hear and will obey . ’ The Word Y OU waft Australia o e r the sea

Be true , be brave , be merciful , be free ou wh o w an Not y , , braggart , sent this array - - to- Of hell ships vomiting their Will Slay, w e These armoured Hates and pallid Envies , ’ s e e Mid rattled mobs and ﬂags hysteric , Tarnish the chaste h Ol‘ l ZOIl of our Bay

Y OU But we hear, our Comrades of the Cause , Who face hyaena Mammon in his den Y OU wh o And , dared your s eas of blood to spill To drag the swooning slave from vampire jaws Y O U w h o Yea , freed unborn Australia , when ’ ’ You singed King George s beard at Bunker s Hill .

The Poet

HEY tell you the poet is useless and empty the of sound his lyre ,

That science has made him a phantom , and thinned to a shadow his ﬁre Yet reformer has never demolished a dungeon or den of the foe But the ﬂame of the soul of a poet pulsated in every

blow . 1 3 4 BERNARD O’ DOWD

e ou e n They t ll y he hind rs with ti klings , with gags from

an obsolete stage , The dramas of deed and the worship of Laws in a practical age But the deeds of to - day are th e children of magical

dreams he has sung , And the Laws are ineff able Fires that from niggardly heaven he wrun g

The bosoms of women he sang of are heaving to- day in ou r maids The God that he drew from the Silence ou r woes or ou r weariness aids e Not a maxim has needled through Time , but a po t

had feathered its shaft , Not a law is a boon to the people but he has dictate d

its draft .

And why do w e ﬁght for ou r fellows 3 For Liberty why do w e long 3 Because with the core O f our nerve - cells are woven the lightnings of song For the poet f or ages illumined the animal dreams of ou r sires , And his Thought - Become - Flesh is the matrix of all ou r unselﬁsh desires

wh 3 Yea , y are we fain for the Beautiful Why should w e die for the Right 3 ae Because through the forested ons , in Spite of the of priests the Night , BERNARD O ’ DOWD

Undeterred by the faggot or cross , uncorrupted by

glory or gold , To ou r mothers the poet his Vision of Goodness and

Beauty has told .

we of When , comrades , thrill to the message Speaker in or highway hall , The voice of the poet is reaching the silenter poet in all An d of again , as old , when the ﬂames are to leap up

the turrets of Wrong , Shall the torch of the New Revolution be lit from th e words of a Song

L a s t S ta nga s of The Bu s h 3 HERE is Australia , singer, do you know d These sor id farms and joyless factories , Mephitic mines and lanes of pallid woe 3 Those ugly towns and cities such as these e to With incens sick all unworthy power , And all Old sin in full malignant ﬂower 3 NO to her bourn her children still are faring She is a temple that we are to build For her the ages have been long preparing She is a prophecy to be fulﬁlled

All that we love in olden lands and lore Was Signal of her comin g long ago

Bacon foresaw her, Campanella , More , ’ And Plato s eyes were with h er / s t ar aglow ! 1 3 6

MARY COL BORNE~ VEEL

Song (f the Trees I

E are the Trees . Our dark and leafy glade e Bands the bright earth with soft r mysteries . Beneath us Change d and tamed the seasons run su n In burning zones , we build against the of Long centuries shade .

We are the Trees , ’ Who grow for man s desire ,

Heat in our faithful hearts , and fruits that please . ou r Dwelling beneath tents , he lightly gains The f ew sufficiencies his life attains

Shelter, and food , and ﬁre .

3 We are the Tre es

That by great waters stand ,

ou r By rills that murmur to murmuring bees .

And where , in tracts all desolate and waste , - on a The palm foot stays , man follows , to t ste

Springs in the desert sand .

4 We are the Trees Who travel where he goes

Over the vast , inhuman , wandering seas . w e His tutors , in that adventure brave

He launched with us upon the untried wave , now And its mastery knows . 1 3 8 MARY COLBORNE -VEEL

We are the Trees Wh o bear him company

In life and death . His happy sylvan

u s He wins through us through , his That like a forest guard his unfenced ’ Gainst Storm and bitter Sky .

We are the Trees . On us the dying rest

sad . Their strange , eyes , in farewell messages

And we , his comrades still , since earth began , of Wave mournful boughs above the grave man , ff i And co n his cold breast .

Empty Hou s es

’ S ERE not a person in the street , This merry—making summer day The houses stand in dull array ; NO r p oﬁt on their doors to beat , For all their owners are away .

The gardens blossom white and red

s u n All solitary in the , Save where some timid creatures run e S cure across the lawns to tread , No human dangers here to Shun , I 3 9 MARY COLBORNE -VEEL

Since men have gone on holiday ;

Have left the still , suburban street

For that wide park, where people meet

In pleasures till the eve is grey .

- Oh , but the home coming is sweet

’ There s not a person in the street

Where wandering in grief I go .

These strange small houses , set in

ou t no Send human form to greet ,

No busy footfalls to and fro .

Tall poplars raise their shafts beside ; And mingled shades and sunbeams bless ’ God s Acre, in its quietness ’ n God s tow , where men are drawn to bide ’ Untroubled by the world s distress .

There comes no Opening of the gate ,

Though to my friend I plead and pray .

Patience the trees and sunbeams say .

Here only empty houses wait , ’ While souls are keeping holiday .

1 40

MARY COLBORNE - VEEL

The Bles s ing

E Master He w a s hungry ’ n ot Shall we dine , said He , On the good fruit amongst the leaves Of this delightful tree 3

- But oh the ﬁg tree bore no fruit . ’ Wither , He bade it , to the root , ’ For thus deceiving me .

The Master He was hungry . He plucked the grains so red w a Of wheat that grew beside the y,

And He w as bravely fed . ’ For this , He said , I guerdon thee ,

Through all the years , a type to be ’ Of Christ , the Living Bread .

s The Master He w a thirsty .

He raised His hand on high , And crushed the good red grapes that grew sk The nearest to the y. And as thou gavest me drink of thin

So must I pour my blood , O Vine , ’ When I for man shall die . MARY COLBORNE - VEEL

4. The Master He was passing so From men He held dear . The feast with bread and wine was made

The Friday Cross was near . !’ Droop not He Spoke , and blessed their food The broken Body and the Blood

Sustain you year by year . And corn and wine thenceforth have Stood

His symbols everywhere .

FRANK S . WILLIAMSON

’ The Magpie s Song HERE the dreaming Tiber wanders by the

haunted Appian Way , Lo ! the nightingale is uttering a sorrow- burdened lay

While the olive trees are shaking , and the cypress boughs are stirred ’ Palpitates the moon s white bosom to th e sorrow of

the bird ,

Sobbing , sobbing , sobbing yet a sweeter song I know ’ Tis the magpie’ s windblown music where the Gipps ﬂow land rivers .

Oh , I love to be by Bindi , where the fragrant pastures

are, And the Tambo to his bosom takes the trembling Evening Star FRANK S . WILLIAMSON

’ Just to hear the magpie s warble in the blue-gums on

the hill , When the frail green ﬂower of twilight in the Sky I S

lingering still ,

Calling, calling, calling to the abdicating day on Oh, they ﬁll my heart with music as I loiter my way .

Oh , the windy morn of Matlock, when the last snow

wreath had gone , And the blackwoods robed by tardy Spring with starlike b eauty shone ; When the lory showed his crimson to the golden blossom spread And the Goulburn s grey- green mirror showed the loving colours w e d i of Ch ming , chiming , chiming in the pauses the gale , How the magpies’ notes came ringing down the moun ’ tain , o er the vale .

Oh , the noon beside the ocean , when the spring tide, se t landward , Cast ashore the loosened silver from the waves of

violet , As the seagod sang a lovesong and the sh eoak answer

made , ’ Came the magpie s carol wafted down the Diny

colonnade ,

Trolling , trolling , trolling in a nuptial melody, As it ﬂoated from the moaning pine to charm the se a singing . 1 44

FRANK S . WILLIAMSON

Dew

EW h e on upon the robin as lilts there the thorn , on Jewel a scarlet breast a ﬂeeting moment worn , e And sudd nly by fairy hands into blue heaven drawn .

’ Slave that dares to seek a couch in Cleopatra s bower , Curtained by the crimson leaves of yonder royal

ﬂower, Until the Sp e armen of the su n shall end the blissful

hour .

Dew upon the blackwood boughs by morning Zephyr

stirred , Shaken to th e fronded fern by restless diamond bird ’ on n Night s Opals a spendthrift mor , with gracious

s tealth conferred . Cast upon the Autumn leaves wind sundered from

their home ,

Crimson , amber, scarlet , grey, amethystine , chrome , ’ ’ A mother s tears o er childre n fair that perish in the

loam .

b ore oicas Dew that lies ymountain stream the know,

- Flung from fragile blue bell cups , when vernal

breezes blow,

And carillons and odours wed and ﬁll the vale below .

Gems that crust a million mounds where paup e r

children lie , Where the wind goes murmuring a ceaseless hush a - bye , e Yet all the whil the children Sing like Skylarks in the Sky . 1 46 FRANK S . WILLIAMSON

l th e Dew that ﬁ ls starry eyes at closing of the day,

Gleaming by a carmine cloud that slowly fades away, of t o Immortal sadness a god mortal love a prey .

sad e e Dew that falls from Her yes , to cool with h aling

rain , SO The hearts that are lonely here , that lonely must

remain , of Till all the Seraphim are stirred , to dream earth

again .

TREW the ﬂowers at Love’ s behest Meet for such a lovely guest

Coronal the sapling weaves , o f Rainbows wrought by Spring leaves . hi Blackwood blossom , ther bring , o T perfume her slumbering .

Heap above the mountain tomb ,

Scarlet eucalyptus bloom , of Wreath starry clematis , Visited by Artemis l Bluebell gar ands , hither bear All sh e the ﬂowers , loved to wear .

Here the magpies love to croon .

From the dawn , to rising moon ,

Flutes the sweet harmonious thrush , In the early morning hush L 2 FRANK S . WILLIAMSON

Shyly Sings the oriole ,

- All the day the bell birds toll .

Softly moves the wind that blows , When the Day’ s red petals close

And , remembering past delight , of Dream her, the stars of night ,

Though no more the stars arise ,

Set within her darkened eyes .

Whisper wind , and glimmer star ,

Blossom breathe thy sweet afar , Love intones the master word Is the song of every bird

Here , he stands with Death in thrall , ’ Keeping Beauty s festival .

She o es a s e S u e r 9 3 . c m comes th mm

HE comes as comes the summer night ,

Violet , perfumed , clad with stars , To heal the eyes hurt by the light ’ ’ n i d Flung by Day s bra d sh Scimitars . The parted crimson of her lips Like sunset clouds that Slowly die When twilight with cool ﬁnge r- tips

Unbraids her tresses in the Sky .

The melody of waterfalls of Is in the music her tongue , Low chanted in dim forest halls ’ Ere Dawn s loud bugle call has rung . 1 48

FRANK S . WILLIAMSON

Thra s her ENGLISH thrush within my garden from thy pine tree minaret , Summoning the wandering Faithful while the crimson lingers yet ’ Love s Muezzin , loud entreating , and thy melody repeating

To the city folk so w an and old and haunted by regret . L ow I bow, your voice obeying , solemnly my Koran

saying,

Love is Allah , Love is Allah , none his worship may

forget .

’ Oft your song in dawn -lit woodlands o e r the camping cohorts borne Woke in breasts of war - scarred Romans longings f or

a maid forsworn , You se t Al Saxon fred smiling , from his manuscripts

beguiling, And the monk beside him dreamed of days before his

cowl was worn . As the Norman heard you lilting he forsook the joy of tilting, And harboured sweet pain in his heart on many an

April morn .

Chaucer listen ed to your music in a springtime long 3 0 8 , And you warble in his verses whe re still the daisies

blow, 1 50 FRANK S . WILLIAMSON

’ And e wh re Avon s wave is gleaming , youthful Shake

speare wandered dreaming, ’ And paused to hear your evensong mix with th e river s

ﬂow .

King and minstrel could not linger, but your lyric ’ own love s singer ,

Changeless in an Austral garden , lights my bosom with

its glow .

Yet your grey Australian brother long has held my

heart in thrall , Since the time I heard him singing by a purple moun

tain wall . th e e Carelessly the day was spilling odours , all vall y ﬁl ling ,

And an amorous iris ﬂuttered by a singing waterfall , of Hid in fern , Springtime crooning , bidding earth

awake from swooning , o Long I lay beneath the myrtles listening t his madrigal .

Though a few b elated snowﬂakes circled from a chang

ing sky, Every shrub and moss - lit boulder stirred responsive to the cry ; a- Swayed the blackwoods all shiver, dreaming by the snowf e d river,

Thrilled the gums with naked bosoms , ranked in stern battalions by e B autiful in caverns burning , swiftly came the Spring

returning , ’ e e Musical from hill and valley cam Demet r s happy sigh . 1 5 1 FRANK S . WILLIAMSON

on e Chant , English thrush, and h arken many a pilgrim t o thy lay ; Yet to your grey mountain brother I must always

homage pay, For - e he sings a nation rising, radiant with a swe t

surmising, on e Soaring high vermeil pinions , over empir s worn and grey ; e Monarchs cease their grave debating, silent with th ir

peoples waiting, As the Jovian bird slow sweeping take s around the

world his way .

e e e Rise and shine , b lov d spirit , make the wid earth own all thine , — Scatter dews to heal th e weary turn to joy the ’ nation s moan ; e Proudly through the azure soaring , spl ndour from

thy pinions pouring, ’ Till th e clouds o e r toilworn cities with thy starry

beams are strewn . e Rom has heard thy forest voices , Sparta with their

song rejoices , Melodies that tell thy coming over all the lands are

blown .

e e let Sing, O sing , y rival thrush s , me capture each refrain ; You e , the speckled singer, summon pictur s of an

English lane, 1 52

E. J . BRADY

For one three have sailed , and has sailed, on hi m His sins , like ours , still , God sleep his soul ﬁve oceans roll him Their long weight all upon . 0 God thy Great Grey Water

l are But I am Sti l , and you still , And here ou r chance has ﬂung us w e e e True comrades , but there w re thr e And one is not among us

Beside the Great Grey Water .

hi e A breat ng Space, a biding plac ,

Soft lights and beakers beaded ,

ou t Then again and on again ,

Unminded and unheeded , h e Across t Great Grey Water .

Now two have met where three have met With curses or with laughter ou r And so Day shall pass away, And SO our Night come after

But , ah the Great Grey Water

L os t a nd Given Over

’ s MERMAID not a human thing , ’ ’ An courtin Sich is folly ; ’ ’ Of ﬂesh an blood I d rather sing , ’ so What ain t melancholy .

Oh , Berta Loo Jaunita Sue ’ Here s good luck to me and you Sing rally ri - a- rally E. J . BRADY

The seas is deep the seas 18 Wi de ; ’ ’ But this I ll prove whate er betide , I ’ m bully in the alley ’ I m bull - ee in our al-le e

’ The Hooghl i gal e r face is brown The Hilo gal is lazy The gal that lives by ’ Obart town She’ d drive a dead man crazy

Come , wet your lip , and let it slip ’ The Gretna Green s a tidy Ship Sing rally The seas is deep the seas is blue ’ ’ ’ s e alth But ere good to me and you , HO , rally

The Lord may drop us off our pins ’ ’ To feed is bloomin ﬁshes But Lord forgive us f or ou r sins Our sins is most delicious cu Come , drink it up and ﬁll yer p

The world it owes us bite and sup , u —u And Mimi , J J , Sally ; The seas is long the winds is strong Th e best of men they will go wrong

- a - Hi , rally ri rally

The Bowery gal She knows er know The Frisco gal is silly ; The Hayti gal ain ’ t white as snow ’ They re whiter down in Chili . I S5 A E . J . BR DY

’ Now what S the use to Shun the booze 3 ’ They ll ﬂop your bones among the ooze ’ ’ Sou - -b - west y Sou the galley . The seas is green the seas is cold The best of men they must grow Old Sing rally ri - a- rally

’ All round the world where er I roam , ’ This lesson I am learnin ’ ’ If you ve got sense you ll st0p at home ’ c And save the bit yer arnin . ’ s So hang the odds It little odds , ’ ’ ’ e ath e n When every as is gods , And neither two will tally e ﬁ h t Wh n black and white drink , wimmin , g In these three things they’ re all alright Sing rally ri - a- rally

’ Fo c astle When double bunks , end , ’ s Is all the kind that carried , Our manners they will likely mend ’ Most likely we ll be married . n But till Sich time as that be do e , ’ ’ We ll take ou r fun as we ve begun Sing rally The ﬂesh is weak the world is wide The dead man e goes overside Sing rally rally

’ We re given and lost to the girls that wait ’ to Whit su nd From Trinity y, 1 56

A . G . STEPHENS

Ba hylon ABYL ON has fallen ! Aye but Babylon endures Whe rever human folly Shines or human folly lures e hi Wh re lovers lingering walk beside , and happy c ldren

play,

Is Babylon Babylon for ever and for ay.

The plan is rudely fashioned , the dream is unfulﬁlled , Yet all is in the archetype if but a builder willed of And Babylon is calling us , the microcosm men , To range her wall s in harmony and lift her spires again s u n The sternest walls , the proudest Spires , that ever on shone , on Halting a space his burning race to gaze Babylon . Babylon has fallen Aye but Babylon shall stand

of s e a The mantle her majesty is over and land .

Hers is the name of challenge ﬂung , a watchword in the ﬁght To grapple grim eternities and gain the Old delight

And in the word the dream is hid , and in the dream

the deed , wh o to And in the deed the mastery for those dare lead .

Surely her day Shall come again , surely her breed be born To urge the hope of humankind and scale the p eaks of morn To ﬁght as they wh o fought till death their bloody

ﬁeld upon , And kept the gate against the Fate frowning on

Babylon . 1 58 A . G . STEPHENS

Babylon has fall en Nay f or Babylon falls never ; 18 Her seat In the aspiring brain , in nerves that leap and quiver Upon her towers of ancient dream Prometheus is

throned , And Still his ravished spark is ﬂung wherever manhood ’ s

owned . ’ V All ices , crimes , and mutinies were Babylon s then All — honours , prides , and ecstasies for in her streets were Men

And Man by Man must grow apace , and Man by Man

must thrive , And Man from Man must snatch the torch that lights the race alive

Yea , here and now her citizens , as in the years far gone ,

Stone by stone , and joy with moan , upbuild Babylon .

ISABEL MAUD PEACOCKE

The Happy I s la nds

FAR away, and far away, The Happy Islands lie ; of In bluer seas calm than these, e sk Beneath a blu r y.

sea The , a shining girdle , winds

Round cliff and cape and bay,

With ﬂash and gleam , and there they dream , 0 far and far away ISABEL MAUD PEACOCKE

of Upon a rim sapphire sea , As some sweet girl might lean of s Her breast now, my Islands glow,

All exquisite and green .

ff hi The cli s like s ning ramparts rise , The golden beaches gleam ’ And thro the hills Sing silver rills ,

And cataract and stream .

of on Bright in a mist leaves , height And l head and , waving high , ﬂam e - ﬂow e rs e e The lean , and burn b twe n n of sea sk Sple dours and y.

The still , bright forests , massed and green , Like painted woodlands glow In Shade and Shi ne and belts of pine n Climb up to meet the s ow .

No burning drought with fevered breath, of Nor blight bitter hail , of Blackens the yield fruitful ﬁeld ,

Nor sears the ﬂowery vale .

Ah me my Isles my Happy Isles The Isles that nurtured me My heart is fain to cross again e of se a Thos leagues purple , 1 60

RODERIC QUINN

on e sa w a Did no y the y is long , And crave a little rest 3

Oh no the s a id The ni ht is ni h , y , g g , Our ca mp is in the Wes t

as And did pain pierce their feet , though s e t The way with thorns were , And were they visited by strange Dark angels of regret 3

Oh ea a nd s ome were mu te a s dea th y , , Thou h shot b ma n a da r t g y y , Wi th them the sa lt of inwa rd tea rs

Went s t n n throu h the hea r t i gi g g .

And how are these wayfarers called , And whither do they wend 3 — The Weary- Hear ted a nd their roa d A s nse t a th a n e d t u h n .

Na na no tea rs Shed tears for them y, y, They yea rn f or endless res t P erhaps la rge s ta rs will burn a bove The ir ca m w t in the es t p i h W .

1 62 RODERIC QUINN

The Circling Hea rths

w e Y Countrymen , though are young to With little history, nought Show

Of lives enleagued against a foreign foe, or Torn ﬂags and triumph , glory regret

Still some things make our kinship sweet , of Some deeds inglorious but royal worth, As when with tireless arms and toiling feet

We felled the tree and tilled the earth .

’ Tis no great way that we have travelled Since Our feet ﬁrst Shook the storied dust

Of England from them , when with love and trust on e In another, and large conﬁdence ’ God In above , our ways were ta en ’ — Neath alien skies e ach keeping step in mind to on e And soul and purpose trumpet strain , One urging music on the wind

of e t Yet tears ours have w the dust , have wooed Some subtle green things from the ground Like violets—only violets never wound Such tendrils round the heart the solitude Has seen young hearts with love entwine And many gentle friends gone down to death

Have mingled with the dust , and made divine we The very soil tread beneath . M 2 1 63 RODERIC QUINN

e ou r e ne Thus we have l arned to love country, l ar d To treasure every inch from foam To foam to title her with name of Home To light in her regard a ﬂame that burned 0 N land in vain , that calls the eyes Of m en to glory heights and old renown nor - That wild winds cannot quench, thunder skies nor Make dim , many waters drown .

ou r Six hearths are circled round shores , and round six The hearths group a common race , e one on Though l agues divide , the light their face The same old songs and stories rise the sound Of kindred voices and the dear Old English tongue make music and m en move From hearth to hearth with little fear

Of aught save open arms and love .

To - ﬁ re s e keep these hearth red , to ke p the door — Of each house wide that is ou r part ’ e Surely tis noble Sur ly heart to heart , ’ God s love upon us and one goal before , Is somethi ng worth something to win Our hearts to eff ort something it were good ’ TO garn e r soon and something twould be $111

To cast aside in wanton mood .

off e My Countrymen , hats with h art and

Thank God that you are free , and then

Arise and don your nationhood like men , r And manlike face the world for good o ill . 1 64

RODERIC QUINN

Why the trees did droop their tresses ,

Weeping leaves for something under,

And what bode in dim recesses ,

- Feline lurked in dim recesses , e Paled my cheeks and heart to pond r .

Had I feet I would have hurried ,

But the moonlit forest chained me ,

Soul and body grasped and worried ,

- ﬁn e rs With frost g gripped and worried ,

- Till , half stayed, my hurt heart pained

’ ’ sa re Rest , I ll y, my Love , and more st Things unseen have life and motion And they haunt the moonlit forest

- Soul affronting haunt the forest , ’ And men meet them on the ocean .

av She will look so gr e and kind , Saying Rest Rest is here for heart and mind On this breast Put aside all

an cie s F idle, ’ ou — I will shield y Love is best .

1 66 RODERIC QUINN

The Hidden Tide ITHIN the world a second world That circles ceaselessly Stars in the sky and sister stars Turn in your eyes and see

se a Tides of the that rise and fall , Aheave from Pole to Pole

And kindred swayings , veiled but n That oise along the soul .

- - Yon moon , noon rich , high throned , remote

And pale with pride extreme , se a Draws up the , but what white moon Exalts the tide Of Dream 3 '

The Fisher - Folk wh o cast their nets In Vision ’ s golden tide i Oft bring to light m sshapen shells ,

And nothing worth beside .

And so their worn hands droop adown , Their singing throats are dumb The Inner - Deep withholds its pearls

Till turn of tide be come . — But patience wait the good tide turns , The waters inward se t 10 ale a And , behold p, alive With glowing ﬁsh the net RODERIC QUINN

O Toilers of the Hidden Seas

Ye have Strange gain and loss , of Dragging the Deeps Soul for pearls ,

And ofttimes netting dross .

th e Flushed to lips with golden light , And dark with sable gloom e Thrilled by a thousand m lodies ,

And Silent like a tomb .

are Fierce the winds across your realm , As though some Demon veiled Had loosed the gales of Spirit -land e To ravag ways unsailed .

But still sweet hours befall at times , — Rich lit and full of ease ; The afterglow is like the light on Of sunset tired seas .

And worse , perhaps , may be the lot Of those whose fate is sleep

The sodden souls without a tide , e Dens as a rotten deep .

e w a Pain pav s the y for keener joy, And wondrous thoughts uproll When the large moon of Peace looks down

On high tide in the soul .

1 68

ARTHUR w. JOSE

Far, far behind our army drags The wagons and the guns Al ong the line, beneath the ﬂags , A noise of cheering runs Full -seen in all the blaze of noon Set forth its proud array But w e were up beneath the moon o And u t before the day .

Where age-long in the da nk ra v ine

A swa m - ed ores t rew p f f g , ’ Tis we tha t ba ck the jungle ba ck To le t the s unlight through

A cross the de ser t no ma n dared ,

’ U cl s where none mi ht win p iﬂ g ,

B down a nd da le we bla z e the tra il y ,

The hi w r u kin gh ay f o o r .

The noonday or the nightfall knows of The flickering our fires , flu n - stre tch t The g down pack , the repose,

The talk of dreamt desires .

We camp , and go , and care no jot h ow w e How soon , far roam But each camp - ﬁre has marked a Spot

That men shall call their home .

A sudden bulle t licks the a ir f ,

A comra de sla cks his s tride Sma ll time ha ve we f or surgery Whose erra nd may not hide 1 70 w ARTHUR . JOSE

Sta nch as ou o the e ttin blood , y g , j g , Se t tee th a a ins t the a in g p , Andfeel the grip of comr a deship S tir ou to s tren th a a in y g g .

- Ours is the Shattering night surprise , of The crawl lifelong days , The slow se t stare of aching eyes Across the drifted haze Lonely in hidden lairs w e Spy The march of stealthy foes

What work we do, what death we die , Not even a comrade knows .

By bea ten roads the ma ingu a rd goes Wi th ba nner a nd with ba nd

Ye t we tha t da re nd ever where , , ﬁ y New work tha t ﬁts our ha nd

We know not how the orders come

B u t ha rk the bugles blow A cross the pla in day brea ks aga in P ick u the a cks a nd o p p , g

1 71 The Su m of Thi ngs

IS is the sum of things that w e se e A moment live , a little , so Do somewhat , and are gone for

The eternal currents ebb and ﬂow . — This is the su m of work that man

Does , while he may, the best he can ,

Nor greatly cares , when all is done , n What praise or blame his toils have wo . — This is the su m of ﬁgh t to ﬁnd of ou r The links kin with all kind , And know the beauty Nature folds

Even in the simplest form she moulds .

This is the sum of life—to feel i on Our handgr p the hilted steel ,

ou r To ﬁght beside mates , and prove e The best of comradeship and lov . — This is the su m of things that we

A lifetime live greatheartedly, e See the whole best that life has m ant , ou t ou r Do work, and go content .

O ARTHUR w. J SE While any man draws breath His free soul knows not death Through all disgrace and Shame

His heart repeats my name .

Because they have known no good Because they have said We die

Unloved , a multitude

Forespent with misery, — As beasts die therefore I ,

Freedom , that am divine , Will take their land f or mine

Because they are cast aside ,

Despised , and desolate ,

Their labours shall abide , Their sons shall make a State of I , that take toll Fate , Among their later race s e t - Will my dwelling place .

Mine is this continent ,

Wherethrough my sons shall go .

Your world , by factions rent , Shall watch this new world grow

From palms to southern snow, se a From east to western , — One nation min e f or me

1 74 ARTHUR MAQUARIE

’ L ov e s Pa la ce

F the woodland and the heath ,

And the hedgerows thick with may, - ﬂow e rs And the weed underneath ,

- And the clambering honey Sheath ,

And the mosses green and grey,

And the ﬂecks of su n and shade

Lying light upon the grass ,

And the ripple in the glade ,

And the songs that ﬂoat and fade ,

And the joys that come and pass ,

If the dog- rose choir of bees

Whirling golden in the sun , of And the sweetness the breeze , of And the joists mighty trees ,

And the hoods of purple nun ,

If this fabric of delight Spread around to make the Spring

Could but read my wish aright ,

Could but aid me as it might ,

Could Obey me while I sing,

I should build thee such a bower of old As the fairies built ,

Walled with every fragrant ﬂower, And with many a mighty tower n Domed with purest morni g gold . 1 75 ARTHUR MAQUARIE

And thy breath should draw the rose , And thine ears be ﬁlled with sweet

Such as never poet knows ,

Such as tricks him while it ﬂows ,

And eludes his bar and beat .

And thy couch Should be more soft of Than the silk Eastern days , ’ Than the rainbow s ﬂush aloft , Than the dawning clouds that of t

a w e Melt before us s gaze .

There my dearest love Should rest

Like a bird upon the bough , ﬂed elin Like a g g in its nest ,

Like her head upon my breast ,

Like my kiss upon her brow .

’ Bri tannica s Throne

IRROR of the trackless Sky,

Priestess of its changing mood, Ere thy shores were piled on high Thou didst feel God’ s Spirit brood Thou didst hear His word alone ’ Be thou still Britannia s throne .

From thy deeps the creeping things Spread through cove and brook and Changing scales for soaring wings And the mould of mortal men 1 76

ARTHUR MAQUARIE

Of ta king Things ea sy

LL me what boots to battle , when the end 3 Is foreseen failure What , by heaven , I ask

By bearded martyrs , and the holy cask c an Of papal comfort , what struggle lend Of true nobility to those who bend ’ Constrainéd after all 3 Twere better bask With re signation and a quiet ﬂask o n Than rush t strokes that heaven will surely s e d .

Methinks the base desire to change ou r stars of Is but the taint old mortality, And as the wavelet curls in every sea

The schoolboy bares his wounds and thinks him Mars .

’ of Give me Petrarca and a pot tea , e And carry thou thy honourabl scars .

Of Glory HO will persuade me that one perfect song ’ Is not more glorious than a Victor s bays 3 not ask e I know who . I because the phras

Runs lightly and the ﬁnal words are strong . or But did you press me for a right wrong ,

Then would I bid you hunt for perfect lays , of And rouse the dust dead heroic days , so And pass your judgement if you live long .

To me it seems more worth, when all is said , ’ To smoke a friend s cigar and se e the moon Lie rippling on the Arno mid the strewn of to White ranks rippling stars , give my head I ts ow n to good leading, expect no boon , To n d th e and om th e e . si g , and amn world, j d ad 1 8 ARTHUR MAQUARIE

Rhaps ody

n 3 OVERS , are you fari g forth Will you seek the icy north 3 Ar e you ste ering by the s u n 3 Where you journey there is none But a frozen viking’ s targe on Resting idly the marge .

Lovers , do you make your way To a land of larger day 3 Do you track the homing ﬂight Of the birds that seek the light 3 They will lead you to your death ! ’ In the desert s scorching breath .

or or North or east south west ,

Lovers , you will lose your quest , For the prize of your demand ’ Yields not to the hunter s hand ; He who searches love or truth e i his L aves them hid beh nd youth .

l 79 CHRISTOPHER J . BRENNAN

T s he P a ng tha t gua rd the Ga tes of f ay

of HE pangs that guard the gates joy,

the naked sword that will be kist , ’ how distant se em d they to the boy, white ﬂashes in the rosy mist

’ Scre en d Ah , not where tender play was in the light heart of leafy mirth ’ of that obdurate might we w e en d that shakes the sure repose of earth .

’ su n And sudden , twixt a and sun , the veil of dreaming 1s Withdrawn lo , our disrupt dominion and mountains solemn in the dawn

’ hard paths that chase the dayspring s white, and glooms that hold the nether heat oh , strange the world upheaved from night , oh r ou r , d ead the life before feet

My Hea rt wa s wa nde ri ng in the Sa nds

w as Y heart wandering in the sands ,

a restless thing, a scorn apart set his Love ﬁre in my hands , ’ las d I c p the ﬂame unto my heart .

Surely, I said , my heart Shall turn one ﬁerce delight of pointed ﬂame ; and in that holocaust shall burn its old unrest and scorn and shame 1 8 0

CHRISTOPHER J . BRENNAN

I s a i T is is e r us t end d, h M y m

SAID , This misery must end

Shall I , that am a man and know e that Sky and wind are yet my fri nd , sit huddled under any blow 3 so speaking left th e dismal room and stept into the mother- night all ﬁll’ d with sacred quickening gloom ’ bu rn d where the few stars low and bright , and darkling on my darkling hill heard thro ’ the beaches ’ sullen boom heroic n ote of living will rung trumpet -clear against the ﬁght ; ’ so rais d stood and heard , and my eyes e e of r ct, that they might drink space , th e and took night upon my face, till time and trouble fell away and all my soul sprang up to feel as one among the stars that reel on in rhyme their rejoicing way,

breaking the elder dark, nor stay e but sp ed beyond each trammelling gyre , till time and sorrow fall away ’ withe r d and night be up , and ﬁre of e consume the Sickness d sire . DAVID MCKEE WRIGHT

I n the Moonlight

are th e E moon is bright , and the winds laid , and river is roaring by hi s low th e Orion swings , with belted lights down in weste rn sky ; North and south from the mountain gorge to the heart of the silve r plain ’ There s many an eye will s ee no Sleep till th e e ast grows bright a gain ’ s to- th e e There many a hand will toil night , from c ntre down to the s ea ’ — And I m far from the men I used to know and my

love is far from me .

Whe re the broad ﬂood eddies th e dredge is moore d e to the b ach of shingle white , And the s training cable whips the stream in a Spray of Silve r light

The groaning buckets bear their load , and the engine

throbs away, And the wash pours red on the turning scree n that knows not night or day ; ’ For e S of to th re many an ounce gold save , from the gorge to the shining sea ’ And there s many a league of th e bare brown hills

betwe en my love and me . DAVID MCKEE WRIGHT

of Where the lines gorse are parched and dry, and the

sh eave s t are hi small and t n , The engine beats and the combine sings to the drays

are e that l ading in , ’ For ou t of th e to- they re thrashing stook night , and

the plain is as bright as day, And the fork- tines ﬂash as the sheaves are turne d on the frame of the one - horse dray i - For m ny a hand will toil to night , from the moun tains down to the se a ’ of e th e But I m far from the lips the girl I lov , and

heart that beats for me .

Th e ou t on - trappers are the hills to night , and the sickly lantern - shi ne I S m ockin g the gleam of the silver moon in the scrub on the long trap - line on - The tallies are big the rock strewn spur, and the rattling clink of the chain Comes weirdly mixed from the moon - bright hill with the whi stling shriek of pain For many a hand will toil to- night where th e tussocks are waving free ’ But it s over the hi lls and over the plain to the heart

that b eats for me .

Th e stars are bright , and the night is still , and

river is singing by,

- And many a ! face is upward turned to gaze at ’ moon s bright eye . 1 84

JOHN LE GAY BRERETON

Grope In the blown dust for the print of feet .

Dim , tottering , ghastly sounds are these but

Laughs now as ever, Still aloof and free ,

Eager and wild and passionate and ﬂeet .

th e Because he has dropped part he played , Shall love be baffled and dismayed 3

Let the frail earth and all its visions melt , e And let the heart that loves , the eye that s es ,

Seek him amid immortal mysteries , e e For lo , he dwells where he has ver dw lt .

l Buff a o Creek TIMID child with heart oppressed of sin By images ,

I Slunk into the bush for rest , m And found y fairy kin . The ﬁre I carried kept me warm

The friendly air was chill . The laggards of the lowing storm

Trailed gloom along the hill . I Watched the crawling monsters melt And saw their shadows wane As on my satin skin I felt

The ﬁngers Of the rain .

The sunlight was a golden beer, I drank a magic draught sk of The y was clear and, void fear,

I Stood erect and laughed . 1 8 6 JOHN L E GAY BRERETON

And a e sudden l ughter, idly fr e,

About me trilled and rang , An d e love was sh d from every tree,

And little bushes sang .

’ The bay of conscie nce bloody hou nd That tears the world apart Has neve r drowned the silent sound e Within my happy h art .

Wa ki ng

BOVE us hangs the jewelled night And how her restful cool care sses Make us forget the weary sight ’ Of summer s daily wildern ess e s

e e O aching toil and hope d ferr d , The night has made a promise to m e Sh e whispered , and a wonder stirred , m And still the joy is thrilling through e .

e Smooth water, shadow de ply still, not I dare move , you wait unsleeping -You share the breathl ess hop e s that ﬁll

The watch my longing soul is keeping .

A ﬁsh is leaping in the bay of The shafts yellow light are Shaking .

O glorious night and happy day, ’ e sh e s Beneath my silent h art waking . 1 8 7 JOHN L E GAY BRERETON

I n ca rna ti on UR little queen of dreams , . of Our image delight , Which whitens east and gleams

And beckons from the height , — Takes on her human form is here mortal

We two have loved her long , Have known her eyes for years We worshipped her with song

The spirit only hears , — And now sh e comes to us new washed with blood

and tears .

‘ Her radiant self Sh e veils

With vesture meet for earth ,

And , knowing all , inhales of The lethal air birth ,

And wakes to restless dreams of misery and mirth .

The fogs of learning rise hi And de the light above , But in her steadfast eyes

Will shine the light of love, of Which many a gloomy dale may know the gladness .

What gift is ours to give, What truth is ours to teach That sh e may learn to live With joy within her reach 3 th e of We can but let her learn sound human speech . 1 8 8

FREDERICK WILLIAM OPHEL

e Now is - Th y said ours fame , An honoured glorious name of The name pioneers , ’ And honour as Of seers .

They turned to take the homeward track, And e e dr amed a joyous welcom back .

N0 man knows where they lie None heard their last death- cry ; Unmarked their grave by mound ; But at the last trump sound Perchance some God who all things hears

Will give them praise as pioneers .

H is Epitaph

E lies here . See the bush All grey through grief for Hoar scrub—like ashes cast

Sprinkles the valley grim .

- The salt bush is his shroud ,

Wide skies his only pall , And i n memori a m

- A thousand stamp heads fall . — Gold-lured to death and yet so He would have had it .

Say mass , sing requiem — d With the grey bush an go . FREDERICK WILLIAM OPHEL

Quietly he has found ,

Here in the Golden West ,

- - The long sought for at last ,

An El Dorado blest .

BLANCHE EDITH BAUGHAN

The Old Pla ce

(NEW z EAL A ND)

’ e of O the last day s come at last , the clos my fifteen year ’ ’ of e e The end the hope , an the struggles , an m ss s ’ I ve put in here . All of the n the shearings over, final mustering do e, ’ E f or leven hundred an fifty the incoming man , near

on .

’ e Ov r five thousand I drove em , mob by mob , down the coast ’ - fif t e Eleven y in fifteen y ar It isn t much of a boast .

’ ’ S old ! ou t 0 Oh, it a bad place Blown your bed h half the nig ts , ’ And in the summer the grass burnt shiny an bare as on e your hand , the h ights e The creek dried up by Nov mber, and in May a thundering roar ’ ’ That carries down toll 0 your stock to salt em whole n o the shore . BLANCHE EDITH BAUGHAN

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ Clear d e clear d clear d et I hav , and I ve an , y every

where , Slap in your face , 1 ’ ’ an ! ! S of . Briar, tauhinu , ruin God it a brute a place ’ ot An the house g burnt which I built , myself, with all that worry and pride ; e Where the Missus was always homesick, and wher sh e took fever , and died .

! ’ Yes , well I m leaving the place . Apples look red on that bough . ’ s et — I the slips with my own hand . Well they re ’ the other man s now . ’ The breezy bluff : an the clover that smells so over

the land , ’ w o Dro ning the reek the rubbish , that plucks the ’ proﬁt ou t 0 your hand ’ ’ ’ ’ 0 f all d w atch d That bit Bush paddock I myself, an ,

each year, come clean ’ (Don t it look fresh in the tawny 3 A scrap of Old Country green) hi ’ ’ T s air, all healthy with sun an salt , an bright with purity ’ 2 l An the glossy karakas there, twink ing to the big blue twinkling sea ’ sea - Aye , the broad blue beyond, an the gem clear

cove below, ’ Where the boat I ll never handle again , sits rocking to and fro

1 o a in an a oma i h , n e in oo i , T uh u , r t c s rub i f st g p r s l 3 K a a a a ee i a hinin a k- een o ia e ’ r k , bush tr , w th s g d r gr f l g 1 92

BLANCHE EDITH BAUGHAN The bitter cold was all—then breath ’ c ross d Again , and something My clutching ﬁngers with a Spar ’ t oss d Now w as I driven and .

’ Where were th e rest 3 My strain d ear caught

No answer Dazed and stark,

Moments it may have been , or hours , ’ ’ Dash d thro the roaring dark . I thought that I must have traversed Time ’ t ou ch d And Eternity,

When , high in the air , a cry, a wail I am afraid Save me

’ And yonder - Oh what s that blacker black Bulged ou t upon the gloom 3 By the glint of the whirling spray I saw

- Her lifted stern post loom .

’ Save me Oh what s yon whiter sp e ck ’ O er the yeasty glimme r wild 3 Terribly ﬂashed the hasty moon — On the fa ce of a li ttle child

— oh Back chased the blessed dark but , ’ too I d seen Aye, all clear

see — I her still the piteous mouth,

The great eyes ﬁxt with fear .

Not an hour Since upon my knee ’ - la d Her good night pranks were p y , — And now to face Death and alone God ! and afr a id 3 Afraid 1 94 a BLANCHE EDITH BAUGHAN

e —I h e r Oh , I cri d from the trough promised

The help that I could not give . The wind drove back my words—the waves on Drove their fugitive .

Somebody save me And again ’ For one mad second s Space , ’ Mid the rushing rack the quiet moon , ’ Mid the wide void , that face

Sh e saw sh e And me Great Heaven , smiled ’ Stre tch d ou t her arms and cried , Save me !’ and half my name—and then sh e Then was paciﬁed .

For a swirl a suck when next I rose,

Naught , save the stormy roar ’ t ank d od Down in the darkness I h G . w as She afraid no more .

Fi v e Praye rs O taste

- Wild wine of the mountain Spring, fresh , n stro g , Running and rushing like a triumph-song Round hearts new -braced To smell of A growing cowslip , some glad morn Spring , And breathe the bre ath of every fragrant thing From eve ry b ell O 2 BLANCHE EDITH BAUGHAN To touch

A Sliding wavelet , supple , smooth and thin , ’ Just ere the pois d and perfect crests begin To b end too much

To hear se a Amid May twilight , by the murmuring ,

Some blackbird warbling from a budded tree , Tender and clear

To s ee Down young rose - petals how the deepening light

ou t Glides gradually, till , somewhere of Sight , What light must be 0 Thou , intense Rapture of Beauty All- pervading Lord ’ Is not this worship 3 SO art Thou ador d By every sense

’ G od s A cre NEATH the spiring of spruces se a Above the blue , whi Lo , a ﬁeld Of te crosses , A garden of grief i And a r ot of roses ,

Of red and white roses ,

Rich Death all in blossom,

Fair LOSS all in leaf .

- Aye , their warm cherub cheeks To cold marble they press

SHAW NEILSON

’ L ov e s Coming

UIETL Y as ros e buds

Talk to thin air, Love came so lightly not w as e I knew he ther .

Quietly as lovers

Creep at the middle noon , Softly as players tremble In the tears of a tune

Quietly as lilies n Their fai t vows declare, Came the Shy pilgrim e I knew not he was th re .

Quietly as tears fall sin On a warm , Softly as griefs call In a violin

or e Without hail t mpest, or Blue sword ﬂame, Love came so lightly o e a I knew n t that h c me . SHAW NEIL SON

The Meeting of Sigh s

OUR voice was the rugge d old voice that I kne w ; I gave the best grip of ee to ou my gr ting y . I knew not of your lips you knew not of mine ; Of travel and travail w e gave not a Sign .

We drank and we chorused with quips in our eyes Bu t under ou r song was e of the m eting sighs . I knew not of your lips you knew not of min e For lean years and lone years e had watered the win .

O Hea rt cf Spring

HEART of Spring Spirit of light and IO Ve and joyous So soon to faint beneath the ﬁ ery Summe r e Still smiles the Earth, eager for the alway e t W lcome art thou , soever short thy s ay,

Thou bold , thou blithe newcomer

Whither, O whither this thy journeying, 0 heart of Spring 3 I 99 SHAW NEILSON

0 heart of Spring ’ After the stormy days of Winter s reign , are When the keen winds their last lament sighing , The Sun Shall raise thee up to life again In thy dim death thou shalt not suffer pain Surely thou dost n ot fear this quie t dying 3 hi W ther, O whither this thy journeying, O heart of Spring 3

0 heart of Spring ’ Youth s emblem , ancient and unchanging light ,

Uncomprehended , unconsumed , still burning

ul Oh that we co d , as thou , rise from the night

- To ﬁnd a world Of blossoms lilac white , And long- winged swallows unafraid returning

Whither, O whither this thy journeying , O heart of Spring 3

The L a nd where I wa s Born AVE you ever b een down to my countree I IWhere the trees are green and tall 3

The days are long and the heavens are high ,

But the people there are small . There is no work there it is always play The su n is sweet in the morn But a thousand dark things walk at night

In the land where I was born .

Have you ever b ee n down to my countree Where the birds made happy Spring 3 200

SHAW NEIL SON

The Green Singe r LL Singers have shadows

That follow like fears , But I know a singer Wh o w nev—er sa t e ars A gay love a green love Delightsome—divine The Spring is that singer An old love of mine

All players have shadows , And into the play Old sorrows will saunt er

Old sorrows will stay . But here is a player Whose Speech is divine The Spring is that player An old love of mine

All singers grow heavy Their hours as they run Bite up all the blossoms Suck up all the su n But I know a singer Delightsome—divine — The gay love the green love An old love of mine SHAW NEILSON

HE stars are pale . his Old is the Night , case is grievous , e i His str ngth doth fa l .

Through stilly hours ’ The dews have draped with love s Old lavishness

The drowsy ﬂowers . i And Night shall d e . ’ lo Already, the Morn s ﬁrst ecstasies

Across the Sky .

An e vil time is done . one Again , as some lost in a quaint parable , th e Comes up Sun .

ARTHUR ADAMS

Wri tten i n A u s tra lia E wide sun stares without a cloud by his glances truculent

The earth lies quivering and cowed . My heart is hot with discontent

I hate this haggard continent .

B u t over the loping leagues of sea A lone la nd ca lls to her children free My own la nd holding her a rms to me B u t oh the lon lo in lea ues o sea , g p g g f . 203 ARTHUR ADAMS

The grey old city is dumb with heat

No breeze comes leaping, naked , rude ,

- Adown the narrow, high walled street Upon the night thi ck perfumes brood e The evening oozes lassitud .

of But over the edges my town , ’ Swept in a tide that ne er abates , The riotous breezes tumble down

My heart looks home , looks home where The Windy City of the Straits

The land lies desolate and Stripped Across its waste has thinly strayed A tattered host of eucalypt From whose gaunt uniform is made

A ragged penury of shade .

But over my isles the forest drew — A mantle thick save where a p eak — Shows hi s grim teeth a - snarl and through

The ﬁltered coolness creek and creek,

e . Tangl d in ferns , in whispers Speak

And there the placid great lakes are And brimming rivers proudly force

- Their ice cold tides . Here , like a scar ,

- - Dry lipped , a withered water course Crawls from a long- forgotten source 204

ARTHUR ADAMS

A nd over the loping leagues of green A lone land wa i ts with a hope serene My own la nd ca lls like a pr isoner queen B u t oh the lon lo in lea ues between , g p g g j

The A u s tra lia n

NGE - e more this Autumn earth is rip ,

Parturient of another type .

While with the Past old nations merge ’ on His foot is the Future s verge .

They watch him , as they huddle , pent,

Striding a spacious continent , Above the level desert’ s marge his Looming in aloofness large . No ﬂower with fragile sweetness graced A lank weed wrestling with the waste

a of of P llid face and gaunt limb , Th e swee t ne ss withered ou t of h im

e indoml table Sombr , , wan ,

The juices dried , the glad youth gone .

his A little weary from birth , of His laugh the spectre a mirth ,

sk Bitter beneath a bitter y,

To Nature he has no reply .

206 ARTHUR ADAMS

Y . e s Wanton , perhaps , and cruel , Is not his su n more merciless 3

is So drab and neutral his day,

He ﬁnds a splendour in the grey,

And from his life’ s monotony

He draws a dreary melody .

When earth so poor a banquet makes His pleasures at a gulp h e takes

The feast is hi s to the last crumb

Drink while he can the drought will come .

tr0 ic His heart a sudden p ﬂower, e He lov s and loathes within an hour .

ou wh o i Yet y by the pools ab de , " Judge not the man who swerves aside

He sees beyond your hazy fears He roads the desert of the years

h l S c1t1e s Rearing In the sand, He builds where even God has banned

With green a continent he crowns , And stars a wilderness with towns

With paths the distances he snares e o His gyv s f ste el the great plain wears . 207 ARTHUR ADAMS

wh o to A child takes a world for y, To or build a nation destroy,

n e His childish features froze st rn , ’ His manhood s task he has to learn

From feeble tribes to federate

- One white and peace encompassed State .

But if there be no goal to reach 3 e e The track li s open , dawns bese ch

Enough that he lay down his load on A little farther the road .

-Of So, toward undreamt destinies

He slouche s down the centuries .

A Pa ir of L ov ers in the St reet

PAIR of lovers in the street I dare not mock with reverence meet

My unforgetting heart I cheat .

—so Ah, God, Spare me soon again

At the barred door to beat in vain , And ﬁnd their dalliance such ﬁerce pain

’ I , yearning up from Hell s abyss , n of See, dreami g through their worlds bliss , This Dante and his Beatrice 20 8

ARTHUR ADAMS

of All Time , expectant their bliss ,

Hangs fearful . Space through her abyss ul Shudders if they this hour Sho d miss .

For e if their kiss they w nt without , The stars would be a raining rout e ou t And time in anguish ﬂick r .

’ About God s room from star to su n i A stealthy Sl ppered Thing would run ,

one one Quenching cold tapers by .

h Bu t e e . J y hav kissed Eternity,

Like a great clock, beats steadily — For the se mazed fools but not for me

Of God’ s wide universe the strands They hold within their clinging hands Th e on stars march at their commands .

So from this moment blossom free New universes tirelessly Aeons of unguessed ecstasy

But I can only bow and beat ’ n - Vai hands about God s mercy seat ,

And , still remembering, still entreat .

Surely my penance is complete Th e rack turns grimly when I meet o on A pair f lovers the street . ARTHUR ADAMS

13 8

saw AST night I the Pleiades again , L Faint as a drift of St eam From some tall chimney- Stack And I remembered you as you were then of Awoke dead worlds dream ,

And Time turn e d Slowly back .

saw i I the Ple ades through branches bare, And close t o mine your face Soft glowmg in th e dark For Youth and Hope and Love and You were At ou r dear trysting- place

In that bleak London park .

And as we kissed th e Pleiades looked down From their immeasurable

Aloofness in cold Space . Do you remember h ow a last leaf brown Between us ﬂickering fell Soft on your upturned face 3

saw Last night I the Pleiades again ,

Here in the alien South , Where no leave s fade at all Ou And I remembered y as you were then , And felt upon my mouth Your leaf-light kis se s fall P 2 ARTHUR ADAMS

i The Pleiades remember and look down a old On me m de with grief , od Who then a young g stood , — When you now lost and trampled by the

- A lone wind driven leaf, Were young and sweet and good

1 3 9 .

. God wh o AM a weakling , made

The still , strong man , made also me . God wh o The could the tiger plan , In his lithe Sple ndour unafraid A thing of ﬂame and poetry — That Puissance made of me a Man

The One wh o reared His vast design

Star , atom , system , germ , and soul Could fashion forth this tremulous And paltry little heart of mine

The God who could conceive the Whole ,

Himself blasphemed in building thus .

When I dare look the glass within , s e e The Mene Tekel mark I . God made this slinking , stunted thing ,

This narrowed face , this futile chin , Prisoned a soul deliberately ’ Neath these blunt nerves unanswe ring 2 1 2

— God branded me this brow of Cain !7

Put in me this heart hesitant ,

And lamed me with a limping pulse .

I watch them striding on they ﬂout D e ath even then my path I see — The narrow path the narrow curse . to Ah , wonder , if I dare doubt If Sin of mine prescribed for me This mean and niggard universe 3

The end that is upon my face And ! in my wizened soul I wait l f or The end that I shal count good . Yet they wh o pass me in the race Left m e to falter to my fate no They did t slay me when they Should .

But yet He found that it was good Ah surely in the soul of God For me some kindly pity is 3 Or els e I wonder h ow He co u ld m e—a —u sod Raise soul p from the , Lift me from Nothingness—to this — Yet thin weak lips and woman - chin to Some unknown debt me is paid , s e Some sacriﬁce I may not e . ’ I expiate some other s sin ’ wh o e I am God s weakling . He mad t e me The Still , s rong man , mad also . 2 1 4 ARTHUR ADAMS

Fleet Street

i ee BENEATH this narrow jostl ng str t , Unru ﬂi e d e of e by the nois fe t , Like a slow organ -n ote I hear of th e e The pulses great world b at .

’ Unseen b en eath th e city s show Through this aorta e ver ﬂow The currents of the univers e A thousand pulses throbbing low

’ Unheard beneath the pave ment s din Unknown magicians sit within e Dim caves , and w ave life into words

On patient looms that spin and Spin .

e There , uninspired , yet with the dow r e Of mighti r mechanic power ,

Some bent , Obscure Euripides Builds the loud drama of the hour

There , from the gaping presses hurled ,

- A thousand voices , passion whirled , With throats of steel vociferate The incessant story of the world

So through thi s artery from age To of a age the tides passion r ge , Th e swift historians of each day Flinging a world upon a page 2 1 5 ARTHUR ADAMS And then I pause and gaze my ﬁll Where cataracts Of t raﬂi c spill

‘ L O Their foam into the Circus .

Look up , the crown on Ludgate Hill

’ cit s ' moods Remote from all the y , hi In gh , untroubled solitudes ,

old ' Bu ddh a Like an swathed in dream , ’ St . Paul s above the city broods

LOUIS LAVATER

Ocea n

NSTABLE monster, formless , vast , alone, UHow awful in thy giant impotence Canst thou not—now—uprear that bulk immense And make a captured continent thy throne 3 Why surging round this planet ’ s narrow zone

Pursue a star with tireless vehemence, Yet falter at the feeblest Shore’ s defence And crawl into thyself and moan and moan 3

’ ’ We happier mortals when ou r ﬂood- tide s o er Shall ebb into the dust and there no more hl Be vext with eart y harassment whilst thou ,

Unquiet Ocean , thou shalt neither rest

Nor shalt accomplish thine eternal quest, But moan and moan—as thou art moaning now 2 1 6

LOUIS LAVATER

0 kinds of courage are there in the creed

one n Of simple men . The is courage bor , e enﬁbre d Not mad in the heart , not worn

) Above it Strong in every hour of need . e The oth r courage is of doubtful breed , For cowardice itself caught on the t h Orn Of sharp despair may lead a h Ope forlorn

And trick the world with one swift dazzling de ed .

But this that holds me in perpetual lease, How can I give so motley thing a name 3 nor su e That wins no battles will for peace , e Al That dar s , that cries as , my strength is gone

e h ou That droops , revives , that falt rs and ﬁg ts Is this thing courage or but fear of shame 3

ETHEL TURNER

A Ch rist-Child Da y in A us t ra lia COPPER concave of a sky

Hangs high above my head . Vague thunder sullenly goes by

ffl e . With dragging, mu ed tr ad

h ot The air faints upon the grass ,

And at its bitter breath, ﬂowe r- s Ten thousand trembling souls pa s , t o a With fragrant Sighs , de th . 2 1 8 ETHEL TURNER

No e e There come s no breeze . bre z Sprung o And sweetly blown f r days . e D ad air in silent Sheets has hung, o Smooth wavering sheets f haze .

The very birds that erstwhile Soared of Hide hushed in haunts trees . no l Nature longer wa ks abroad , on h e r But crouches knees .

Crouches and hides her withered face,

Above her barren breast , And I forget h er yeste r grace

And the clustering mouths She blessed .

’ no sit Tis in alien land I , l s o n A mo t it is mine w . to Its ﬁbres my ﬁbres knit ,

Its bone into my bone .

e e no e e Th s are ali n ski s I know, Yet something in my blood Calls sharp f or breath of ice and snow

Across the wide , salt ﬂood .

not Calls loud and will be denied, e Cries , with imp rious tears , ’ And m em rie s that have neve r die d ’ L e ap wildly o e r the years 2 1 9 ETHEL TURNER

’ of The thrill England s winter days , ’ - Of England s frost sharp air,

The ice along her waterways , snowﬁ elds Her stretching fair,

Her snowﬁ elds gleaming through the

Her bird with breast aglow,

On the white land a crimson mark, — ’ ! Ah England , England s snow

Fair as a queen , this far south land, on A wayward bride, half w , H r e dowry careless ﬂung like sand ,

Her royal ﬂax unspun .

And if b e neath her ardent glance

Her subjects faint and reel, sh e to e Does but melt , stoop entranc ,

They kiss her hem and kneel .

I—I e For of t And kn el . her hand

Has gently touched my hair .

Then with a throb I rise and stand , — A Quee n - why should sh e spare !

’ - m em ries e Yet when the Christ Child st al, - s t o Some ebb tide swell ﬂood . — to ee Ah, England just once more f l Thy winter in my blood

220

JOHANNES CARL ANDERSEN

e is e The ﬂower awak s , the tree leaf d ,

Yet love in thee is dumb , e Flowers fall , fruits ripen , corn is sh afed, ’ Ho Winter s cold will come . When wakens some November morn

- Dew soft , around thee brightly; And blossoms on the grey hawthorn

Lie whitely,

Come thou , thy bosom beating,

- And learn , through new found bliss , No so time joyous , ﬂeeting, s A this .

Come thou , with Shadows in thine eyes ,

And singing in thy heart , ’ e And learn , mid trees , with ﬂow rs and Skies ,

How young and dear thou art .

DORA WILCOX

A n E v ening 0 break the stillness of the hour no no There is sound, no voice , stir of — Only the croak frogs , the whirr

Of crickets hidden in leaf and ﬂower .

The clear - cut outlines of a Spire Spring from a mass of eucalypt

- Sharply against the Sky, still tipped one of lin e rm With last gleam g g ﬁre . 2 2 2 DORA WILCOX

So solemnly the shadows creep On dovelike wings Night ﬂutters down Lights twinkle in the little town

Th e valley lies in quiet sle ep .

So so comes the dark, fades the light , On all those leagues of tossing s e a

That lie between my home and me, t o ll And glimme r the stars a night .

so belovéd And , , silently In thine ow n land the shadows fall

- On grassy lawn , and garden wall,

sea On shining sand , and troubled ,

O n paths thy feet shall never tread ,

se e On ﬁelds thine eyes shall never , on to And thy new home , strange me , That silent City Of the Dead e Yea , stillness r sts , O Tried and True , on On hand and heart , lips and eyes

On thee eternal silence lies ,

On thee is utter darkness too .

t oo We lost much in losing thee , w e w h o e Yet knew and loved the best , e Wish th e an everlasting rest , on so Night came thee quietly .

Peace with the Shadows Peace to all

Who work and weep , who pray and wait

Till we and thou are one with Fate, on u s too And , the Night Shall fall 2 2 3 L iebes weh o H , my heart , the st rm and sadness

Wind that moans , uncomforted , ’ s Requiem for Love that dead , ’ Love that s dead

L e aﬂe ss trees that sough and sigh, of of Sk Gloom earth , and grey y, h e art m . Ah, y , what storm and sadness

Ah , my heart , those sweet Septembers

Ah, the glory and the glow

- Of the Spring tides long ago , Long ago ! of of Gleam gold , and glint green

On the grassy hillsides seen ,

Ah, my heart , those sweet Septembers

on Ah, my heart , sweet soft pinions , ’ lov d one Spring, the , hovers nigh, b - - b She Shall settle y and y,

- By andr by

But the hills shall shine in vain ,

Love, alas , comes not again , on Ah, my heart , sweet soft pinions

LOUISE MACK

is ou s a This what y will y, s e a My Land across the , S h e w as of us , has gone ’ And you ll remember me .

Here is my last good - bye

th se a This side e .

Farewell and when you can ,

Love me, remember me .

To Sydney

ou ITY, I never told y yet O little City, let me tell r A secret woven Of you wiles ,

Dear City with the angel face , And you will hear with frowning Or will you break in summer smiles

This is the secret , little town , Lying so lightly towards the se a h as no City, my secret art , Dear City with the golden door oh hi But , the w spers I would pour Into your ears—into your heart

You are e my lov r, little place , o Lying s sweetly all alone . LOUISE MACK

a And yet I c nnot , cannot tell s l My ecret , for the voice wi l break That tries to tell of all the ache ‘

Of this poor heart beneath your spell .

ou Dreaming , I tell y all my tale Tell h ow the tides that wash your fee t

Sink through my heart and cut its cords .

Dreaming, I hold my arms , and drag All — , all into my heart the ﬂag low h arbou rwards On the hill turned ,

s And all the curving little bay , h ot - n e The , dust ridde , narrow str ets , of sk The languid turquoise the y, to The gardens ﬂowing the wave, e s I drag th m i n . O City, ave f or The grave me where I must lie .

Yet humbly I would try to build ’ Stone upon Stone f or this town s sake Humbly would try f or you to aid Those whose wise love f or you will rear e off White monum nts far and near, u nde se crat e White , but unsoiled , .

22 7 MARY E . FULLERTON

The Sku ll

e h ot BOWL that h ld the imprisoned ﬁre , Cup Where the sacred essence used to burn That ﬂuent essence that shall ne ’ er return Old home of Aspiration and Desire What art thou now to honour and admire 3 e one A thing incons quential might Spurn , ’ ’ Thou art not e en the scattered ashes urn f Husk o the spirit that shall not expire .

e and of Thou cag shell ancient busy Thought , - o of of Nurse h use Soul , the domicile him Long ﬂed thy osseous walls that Nature wrought To please proud Time’ s caprice and passing whim ’ Twixt two eternities a moment caught , t o s He rose from thee join the eraphim .

ROBERT CRAWFORD

OVE , love me only, Love m e for ever ’ s My life been lonely,

A joyless endeavour . e Though arth were heaven , f or I in it ever , Of thee bereaven ’ I d love again never .

CHARLES HENRY SOUTER

In the city where the ﬁres is mostly coal ’ There I can t a - bear to go and warm my feet ’ ﬁ z z in a s Spitting, g things hasn t got no soul Things as puff s ou t yalle r smoke instead of heat — e But at home well , it is home wh n the mallee ’ s a - Stump burning, ’ And the eve nin s drawing chilly and the season is a - turning .

’ ’ ’ And there s some a s runs em down becaus e they re

tough . ’ ’ Well 3 And what s the good of anythink as ain t 3 ’ ’ NO s ff . It nary use to serve em any blu , ’ For of they d use up all the patience a saint . ’ But they ll Split as sweet as sugar if you know the way to take ’ em ’ ’ ’ ou nothink th e 11 If y don t , there isn t in world as ’ make em .

’ ’ t re m e n u s They re j hard to kindle , tho , at ﬁrst of to Like the friendship the kind that comes stay .

ou Y can blow and blow and blow until you burst , ’ ’ And when they won t , they won t burn , anyway ’ wh e n ~onc e But they gets a start , tho they make no

showy ﬂashes , ’ ou Well, they ll serve y true and honest to the last

pinch of ashes . CHARLES HENRY SOUTER

Boundf or Sou ra baya !

to-n H, the moon shines bright , and we sail ight , ’ And we re bound f or Sourabaya ’ ’ s f or off So it Farewell , Jane we re again With the turning of the tide ’ Oh , the Java girls haven t got no curls , ’ on But they ll meet us the Praya , ’ or And , Malay Dutch, well , the odds ain t much , ’ And th e ocean s deep and wide

’ We re bound for Sourabaya , boys , Where the girls are kind and brown ’ By the break of day we ll be far away Farewell to Sydney town

’ th e s Oh , girls look glum , when the parting come, ’ And we re bound for Sourabaya ’ cos And they weep and wail , the ship must sail With the turning of the tide

ou r we t But we soon forget , when sheets are

- And the dancing dolphins play ah , And the gale pipes high in the mackerel sky ’ And the oce an s deep and wide

’ e f or We r bound Sourabaya , boys , Wh n ere the girls are kind and brow , ’ And they hope and pray th at we ve come to stay Farewell to Sydney town CHARLES HENRY SOUTER

’ e S on Wh n the coin all gone, and the hatches , ’ f or And we re bound Sourabaya , ’ There s a kiss for Nell , and a long farewell , With the turning of the tide ! ’ ’ But there s not much wrong, and it don t last long , ’ sh e f or — Tho mourns you a day ah . ’ And sh e wears no black if you don t come back ’ For the ocean s deep and wide

’ And we re bound for Sourabaya , boys ,

Where the girls are kind and brown , ’ So we ll drink once more, ’ on While we re the shore , Farewell to Sydney town

M . FORREST

The L onely Woma n HERE the ironbarks are hanging leave s discon e Solate and pal , ’ Where the wild vines o e r the ranges their spilt cream of blossom trail , th e h u m e th e By the door of bark p y, by rotting blood

wood gates , - On the river bound selection, there a lonely woman

waits , Waits and watches gilded sunrise glow behind the

mountain peak, ’ Hears the water hens shrill piping, in the rushes by

the creek, 2 3 2

M . FORREST

Wh ’ ere the empty boat drifts seawards, by the ocean s - ﬂanke d sand gates ,

- In the weather boarded cottage, there a lonely woman

waits .

h e e e e i W r the river boats are calling, wh r the ra lway e engine shri ks , Or where only wild bird liltings echo from the reedy c reeks , e th e to w e t Wh re grey waves grieve landward, and a

wind beats the seas , Or where pearl- white moths ﬂit slowly through the

- dropping wattle trees ,

By the high verandah pillars , by the rotting bloodwood

gates , or e e Crowded town dreary seaboard , ev rywhere som woman waits

E MARIE . J . PITT

Ba lla de of A u tu mn . OWN harvest headlands the fairy host Of the poppy banners have flashed and fled , e The lilies have faded lik ghost and ghost , Th e ripe rose rots in the garden bed . Th e grain is garnered , the blooms are shed , ’ u on Convolv lus Springs the snowdrop s bier, In her stranded gold is the silver thread ’ ’ 0 Of the first grey hair i the head the year . 2 3 4 E. MARIE J . PITT

Like an arrant knave from a bootless boast , The ﬁ re - wind back t o his North h as sped To harry the manes of a haunted coast

se - On a far a rim where the stars are dead . th e Wistful welkin with wordless dread, n Mournful the upla ds , all ashen sere Sad f or the snow on a beauteous head ’ ’ For 0 the ﬁrst grey hair i the head the year .

i w ith D e ath ﬁ n e r- Time trysts at the g post , Where the broken issues of life are wed

Intone no dirges , ﬁll up the toast

TO the troops that trip it with Silent tread , ’ ’ Merry we ll make it tho skies be lead , ’ And March - Wind s moan be a minstrel drea r l— ’ A truce to trouble we ll drink instead ’ ’ To 0 the ﬁrst grey hair i the head the year .

on th e -fires South Esk Sings where furze spread , ’ of Old But we ll mournno more as , my dear , When gorse flames golden and briars flush red ’ ’ With the first grey hair i the head 0 the year .

Ha milton

on ILD and wet , and windy wet falls the night

Hamilton , su n Hamilton that seaward looks unto the setting , of Lady the patient face , lifted everlastingly,

Veiled and hushed and mystical as a cloistered nun . 2 3 5 E MARIE . J . PITT

e O the days , the cruel days creeping ov r Hamilton of Like a train haggard ghosts , homeless and accursed , ’ f or o - Moaning a ﬂeet dream silver sailed and wonderful , ’ Moaning for a sorrow s sake , the fairest and the ﬁrst .

0 th e e low on the moon , lon ly moon , leaning

Hamilton , ’ e th e Thro the years that sund r us dead come back ,

come back, Scent of white e u crephia Stars blown on winds of

Memory, ’ Glint and gleam Of fagus gold adown th e torrent s

track .

on i Half my heart is buried there , buried high Ham lton ,

Lonely is the sepulchre with never stone for Sign , Where the nodding myrtle - plumes stand like sable sentinels

ri And the ruddy mony wreathes the hooded pine .

Half my heart is yearning yet , yearningyet for Hamilton , of Hamilton beyond the surge sobbing Southern main , 0 of the croon wistful winds calling, calling, calling me, Where the mottled mountain thrush is singing in the

ram .

’ o to We shall ne er g back again , back again Hamilton , ’ 0 ou r of Heart me, track is toward the heart burning

day, Hills beyond the call of hills beaconing and beckoning e of W stward, westward winds the track, a thread

1 . dusky g ;ey 2 3 6

DOROTHY FRANCES Mc CRAE

don Wouldst a girdle , wear a crown , A sple ndid chain to deck thy breast 3 se t in Thy feet are gold look down , What wealth is thine from east to west

od G scatters gold upon the grass , But men (so dull of heart and eye)

Oft tread it underfoot and pass , w e May prove wiser, you and I

Septembe r

OU kissed me in June ;

Y - TO day, in September, There ripples the rune Remember Remember

We part in September How ripples the rune 3 Remember Remember Y ou kissed me i n 7une

’ M of I sick fog and yellow gloom , Of faces strange , and alien eyes

Your London is a vault , a tomb , ’ To those born neath Australian

a nd o old a nd burnin blue O l f g g , ’ I m crying like a childf or you 2 3 8 DOROTHY FRANCES Mc c RAE

The trees are tossing in th e park - u Against the banked p amethyst , ’ At four o clock it will be dark, h And I a blind man in t e mist . ’ to old Hark London s smothered roar, Gruff jailer growling at my door

’ Each day I se e Fate s wheel whirl round

And yet my fortunes are the same,

My hopes are trodden in the ground, h as Good luck never heard my name , 0 friends , O home, beyond the seas , Alone in darkness here I freeze

The day is dead night falls apace

I reach my hand to draw the blind, ’ To old hide London s frowning face , And then (alas) I call t o mind The shining ways we use d to roam

Those long, light evenings at home .

I hate this fog and yellow gloom, These days of grey and amethyst se e I want to the roses bloom, The smiling ﬁelds by sunshine kiss e d O la nd of gold a nd burning blue ’ I m crying like a childf or you ARCHIBALD T . STRONG

Grey I of ADY Sorrow What though laughing blue , ’ su n Thy Sister, mock men s anguish, and the Glare like a wrathful judge on many a one to u e That longs for night his bitter shame r , Yet dost thou grant thy mercy of mist and dew

And cloud and calm ere angry day be done, Weaving over the vault the weary Shun of Thy veil peace, with pity trembling through .

When all light loves and all brave hues are ﬂown,

When beaten hope falls from the reeling ﬁght,

And life is lone upon her desolate way, se e And noon is ﬁerce , and no men aright , ow n Then weary eyes turn unto thee, their , ’ of Lady Grief, the soul s madonna , Grey .

not Yet in sorrow only art thou fair, For joy may know and love thee in the pall on Of Spray that slumbers the waterfall, Or in low cottage - smoke in evening air 01 in brave stone carven in glory rare, Or when the tender mists of Autumn fall

Dappling the mead with beauty, and the tall

Stark dreaming oaks thine ancient livery wear . Yet none hath known thy loveliness aright Save him who gazing in his lady’ s eyes Sees dim lists tossing with plumes of many a knight elﬁn And woods where waters gleam and glance, And all the vision and faith of old romance th e e of ne e And gr at dream youth that v r dies . 2 0

ARCHIBALD T . STRONG

And where the ve in ran large and blue

cu t She , once and again , sh e sh e e Yet ere swooned from life , kn w

Her death had been in vain .

For while life thundered in her ears ,

Ere yet her pulse might fail, Far O ff across the kindless night ’ She heard the dead man s wail,

And knew her doom was one with theirs

That kill the life God gave, And that sh e might not leave this earth

Her soul alive to save , But ay must dwell within that house AS in a living grave,

While he f or whom sh e died might

Win to her in that place, But must f or ever make his moan Ranging in agony alone h e of T trackless void Space .

242 Sonnets of the Empire ’ Glori a na s Engla nd

ORTH Sped thy gallant sailors , blithe and free , ’ F nor nor o Fe aring foeman s hate ir n clime , ’ Nor nor s - Lima s ﬂame , Plata fever slime , SO they might give thee far Cathay in fee ’ e o e r se a Yet swept thy po ts a vaster , ’ to Neath fairer gales Indies more sublime , Questing along the golden shores of Rhyme f For all the treasure o eternity .

one one of e i One will , end , pulse d ep des re , o Drove Hudson through the ice to j y and death , Sped Drake to glory through the long South roll d ’ An kindled Marlowe s eager heart with ﬁre , ’ ’ Set Spenser voyaging neath the Spirit s breath , ’ And won the world for Shakespeare s captain soul .

Ha wke

s ea do th e w a REAT g , ﬁghter in great old y

What though thy ships were tinder, and the pest ru fﬁ an Rotted thy crews that need had prest ,

And all thy keels were clogged with foul decay, Ye t through th e roaring months thy squadron lay A watch - dog eager at the throat of Brest While all the ocean smote her from the West

And all the tempests tore her in their play .

T w as of c r hy soul the whirlwind , and thy y Still leaps from ou t the crash of guns and waves ’ To on hurl us headlong the foeman s van , ’ As of in the Bay Death , mid breakers high ’ e wh e re o e r And f lon reefs the Atlantic raves ,

Thy ﬂagship foremost into glory ran . R 2 ARCHIBALD T . STRONG

Nels on

’ l of e ! HITE sou England s glory , sov reign star ’ nor e Ne er shall disaster beat her down , sham . While still sh e sees thee by the leaping ﬂame ’ o e r That kindled Aboukir , near and far , Or feels thee quivering through the onset ’ s jar ’ ﬁl of That led the North with fear England s name , Or trembles with the joy of all the fame

That died and cast out death at Trafalgar .

a Thy name was lightning , and like lightning y e Thine ons t shivered , far and swift and fell ’ Ever thy watchword holds us , and whene er sk The ﬁerce Dawn breaks , and far along the y ’ Roars the last battle , yet with us tis well

l . We keep the touch , thy hand and sou are there

Da wna t L iv erpool E sunlight laughs along the serried stone About whose feet the wastrel tide runs free Shi m asts - i se e Light lie the p , fairy l ke to , Athwart the royal city’ s splendour thrown

On runs the noble river , wide and lone, Like some gre at soul that presses t o the se a Where life is rendered t o eternity

And eager thought hath rest in the Unknown.

So sets thy tide , my country, to the deep

Whose face is black with thunder near and far,

And vexed with ﬂeering gusts and tyrannous rain .

Shall the Cloud lift and give thee rest and sleep , ’ Or wilt thou mid the surge and crash of war Shatter thy life against the invading mam 3 2 44

ARCHIBALD T . STRONG

A us tra li a 1 1 , 9 4

is HE night thick with storm and driving cloud , Lurid at instants through the blackness break Quick gleams of war across the perilous lake From yonder isles that awe and magic shroud Far in the northland smite Thor ’ s hammers loud f or s oilu re On steel that warlocks her p make , Till lo from sleep Australia starts awake

And lifts the queenly head that Sloth had bowed . Not yet her eyes are clear throughout her brain ll of Sti swarm the antic creatures her dream ,

The idiot jests , the sports that kill the soul , on Yet shall not night lay hold her again , For through the rack she spies the morning gleam on Clear the sword that lights her to her goal .

A us tra li a to Engla nd

th e Y all deeds to Thy dear glory done , e By all the lifeblood spilt to serve Thy n ed ,

By all the fettered lives Thy touch hath freed , By all Thy dream in us anew begun By all the guerdon English Sire to s on

Hath given Of highest vision , kingliest deed , of God e By all Thine agony, decr ed

For ou r hi one . trial and strength , fate with T ne is

Still dwells Thy Spirit in our hearts and lips , n Ho our and life we hold from none but Thee, And if we live Thy pensioners no more ’ of But seek a nation s might men and ships , ’ Tis but that when the world is black with war ree Thy sons may stand beside Thee strong and f . 2 46 VANCE PALMER

The Pa thﬁnde rs

sk c NIGHT, and a bitter y, and strange birds rying, e e t h e e The wan tr es whisp r and winds mak moan , Here where in ultimate peace their bones are lying m e own In gaunt waste places that they ade th ir ,

Beyond the ploughed lands where the corn i s sown .

e D ath, and untrodden ways , and night before them , From shelterin g homes and friendly hearths they came Far from the mouldering dust of those that bore them now no They rest i n silence and know fame, No no e proud stone speaks , wat rs lip the name .

e e e Brav and undaunted h arts , eyes lit with laught r, t Minds that ou ran the ancient doubts and fears , e f or Th y blazed the track legions following after, e to And bared new treasur the hungry years ,

Till spent with strife they sa nk amongst the sp ea rs .

Slow sinks the glowing ﬂame and fades the ember , No are bright star ﬂickers and the woods Stark, ’ But still our children s childre n will remembe r e of The swift forerunners , b arers the ark, Wh o lit the beacons in the uncharted dark VANCE PALMER

i on hi Rich towns shall ﬂour sh the lls that hold them , Bright dreams shall quicken from their wandering

dust , And till the end ou r reverent minds shall fold them In storied chambers free from moth and rust

The fealty pledged , the kingdom given in trust .

Youth a nd Age OUTH that rides the wildest horse , s- e Youth that throws the deadliest te r, e Spending strength without remors , of Grappling with the ghosts fear, Knows it only holds to- day

All it freely ﬂings away .

Youth that rides a race with Death

When the frightened cattle break, ’ Living in the moment s breath, ’ all Risking for honour s sake , Lightly knows it holds in fee

Life and immortality .

Age that rides the spavined grey,

Age that seeks the safest track,

Scenting perils by the way, of Dreaming the journey back, Leaves behind it all the truth of Known to the wild heart youth . 2 4 8

WILL LAWSON

e When , with her b arings taken ,

She plunges deep again , one She is as forsaken , of Beyond the world men . Yet living men tend truly ’ ’ - ﬂow Her tanks and air valves , oil And her engines duly, For it was ordered so ’ Aye , tho beyond the borders

Of human worlds they be ,

Their orders still are orders , And what avails the se a 3

’ Neath bright electrics glowing

They reck not that outside , - ﬂowm In age long course , is g

- - The grey green under tide . By periscope and needle And pressure gauge they steer For wh o with steel can wheedle AS e do s the engineer, In whose quick brain is hidden Th e secrets of the stars on Who the storms has ridden , And hurle d the thunder - cars 3

He hears the steady murmur

Of engines in the gloom . Could deck or ﬂoor be ﬁrmer Than his d e ep engine - room 3 2 50 WILL LAWSON And he whose touch the rudders to Respond like a child ,

Calm , when She turns and Shudders , With silent mien and mild He makes n ew pathways under The breakers ’ snarling lips He mocks the big guns ’ thunder

- And scorns the battle ships .

LOUIS ESSON

’ Broga n s L a ne ’ — ERE S a c racki n the city down that sharp stre et on couples , and armed , tramp rozzers beat .

Like a joss , silhouetted across the pane, ’ e A Chinese fac watches down Brogan s Lane, ’ ’ e Brogan s Lan , Brogan s Lane, ’ e n e A r eli g moon blinks over Brogan s Lan .

’ lot Flash Fred , when he dives on a red , sneaks thro To i moscow the swag w th a Polaky Jew . ’ ’ Tho rooked by Old Shylock, he needn t complain , ’ Th e melting pot bubbles in Brogan s Lane, ’ ’ Brogan s Lane , Brogan s Lane , m ’ Rats pinch fro their cobbers down Brogan s Lane .

And Jenny, fresh down from the country, goes gay And drives to the races and laughs at the play LOUIS ESSON

on e ou t Till morn , lying in the cold and the ’ is A body perished in Brogan s Lane , ’ ’ Brogan s Lane , Brogan s Lane , ’ s There only on e turn t o the long last lane .

With Opium dens , Sly cribs , bones and rags , ’ Tis of the haunt thieves , wastrels , poor women

vags . to o sin They booze bring j y, they to numb pain , ’ of But there ll come a stretch at the end the lane , ’ ’ Brogan s Lane , Brogan s Lane, ’ The river and morgue shadow Brogan s Lane .

Cra dle Song

ou f or ABY, O baby, fain y are bed , Magpie to mopoke busy as the bee ’ s - The little red calf in the snug cow shed, A ’ ’ n the little brown bird s in the tree .

’ ’ s e a- Daddy gon shearin , down the Castlereagh , ’ ’ ou So we re all alone now, only y an me . All a mon the wool- O kee our wide blades ull- O g , p y f ’

hi 0 . Daddy t nks baby, wherever he may be

Baby, my baby, rest your drowsy head , Th e one be man that works here , tired you must , ’ l s cow - The ittle red calf in the snug shed , ’ ’ e An the little brown bird s in the tr e .

LOUIS ESSON

no l What tongue tel s . sk The moon is lonely in the y, ’ Lonely the bush , an lonely I Stare down the track no horse draws ’ An start at the cattle bells .

Caprice

’ A Summer s Da S dne Ha rbour ( y, y y )

LUE and gold , and mist and sunlight , Veils of colour blent and blown

In melodic monotone .

Dark and bright , and white and dun light

one Clash and ﬂash , as into light ’ Trembling thro an opal stone , Over green robes of the mountain of s e a And the blue skirts the , Spreading from a sacred fountain

Hymeneal harmony .

Drums and trumpets of the ocean , of Oboe spirits the wind , of Violins forest kind, ’ Flutes that breathe the trees devotion ,

Blending, hymn the joyous motion

Of the universal mind ,

When , with chariot cavorting , of And a storm symphonies ,

Horses snorting , banners Sporting ,

Ocean Seas wed Harbour Seas . 2 54 LOUIS ESSON

Of of Salt waves , and scent roses , s Seaweed strown along the and , e - Blossoms blown from high h ad land , As the Ocean -Lord reposes e th e Wh re Harbour dreams and dozes , u Sultan and S ltana bland, e Rocky shrubs , earth , fragrant grass s s ea su n Spiced with sand and and ,

As the gay procession passes , one Know that all things are but .

su n 2 At the wave laughs , leaping Thro ’ intoxicating air

Like a child with tossing hair . se a- i But a gull , v gil keeping

Flutters , musically sweeping,

Delicate and debonair, ee Where the wave leaps , lightly wh ling, Like a ﬂash of amethyst e e Clasps the wave, then leav s her, st aling e Kiss s by the sunshine kissed .

Bird that brilliant pinion ﬂies on Thro ’ the azure atmosphere

Pipes a duet , sweet and clear,

With the wind / th e sunl ight lies on on Sea weds Sky dim horizon ,

And the distant joins the near .

2 55 LOUIS ESSON

and ﬁsh Wave cloud , and and swallow, Swaying tree and ﬂying bird

Music maddened , ﬂee and follow l Till pale morta s , too , are stirred .

hi Over all t ngs Love stands warder . hi Cloud seeks wave, w le close behind

Cloud is followed by the wind . Dionyse an disorder ’ o e r Laughs , and leaps bar and border, Breaks the shackles of the mind And in wine - enchanted weather

ul on e C ls , that life and joy be , Grapes t o mix all things together

From the Garden of the Sun .

Nature takes deligh t in s hedding Love that joins with benison All the elements in one And to- day the feast is spreading

Till her creatures all are wedding, And of sorrow there is none So the Summer Day rehearses Bridal lyrics mad to sing V is As a iol or a verse , o Of the joy f everything .

2 56

A Brida l Song

HE is more sparkling beautiful ’ Than dawn - light seen thro tears The weeping worlds of Paradise

Shed down upon the spheres .

Her eyes are bright and passionate ’ With love s immortal ﬂam e The ﬂowers of a wildwood tree

In petals write her name .

’ Her breath Of life s so wondrous sweet

The bees halt , in amaze, Their streaming honey- laden ﬂeet Above the meadow ways

And every little singing thing Atween the breasted hi ll ’ And God s high - vaulted cloistering Upraises with a will

of Paeans laud , and cheery chaunts wh is Of her , o now mine Queen - Angel of angelic haunts ’ of Thro months mead and wine . HUGH Mc CRAE

A u s tra li a n Spring

- E bleak faced Winter, with his braggart winds

(Coiled to his scrawny throat in tattered black) , of Posts down the highway his late domain ,

His spurs like leeches in his bleeding hack .

He rides to reach the huge embattled hills Where all the brooding summer he may lie ’ Engulfed in Kosciusko s silent snow, ’ o e r sk His Shadow waving the lofty y.

And jolly Spring , with love and laughter gay of e Full fountaining , lets loose her tide b es Upon the waking e mber - ﬂam e of bloom

- New kindled in the honey scented trees .

old Old - The , man forsakes the Chimney hole , h is Where erst he warmed bones and lazy blood,

And , clasping Molly to his wheezing breast ,

- Triumphant ﬂoats , cock whoop , upon the ﬂood .

LESLIE HOLDSWORTH ALLEN

Memnon EN I was a burst of thunder on ff Born the Nubian cli s ,

And the sands ﬂashed white in wonder, And in Khem the curious glyphs Shone ou t from the cavern - tombs e On the huddl d bats in the glooms , S 2 LESLIE HOLD SWORTH ALLEN ’ Mid the great stone kings I rumbled

- That sit by the river brinks , And my sand - clouds eddied and tumbled Round the old stare of the Sphinx Then with harsh- throated cries ’ on Me m non s I burst eyes . The force of me made no quiver In that earth - ancient gaze I felt my raging shi ver

- And shrink to desert haze , And heard in the dawning gold f old The stillness o music .

NETTIE PALMER

l f or 3 EN Sha l I make a song you , my love When you are nigh me 3 Not so , for then the hours unnamed go by me , on Flocking like dove dove .

l f or ou e 3 When sha l that song y be found , my mat When I wait lonely 3 Not so , for then am I a mourner only,

Begging without the gate .

Never in words that happy song will rise , ou it Yet y will feel , Through days your love makes glad I shall reveal

Through years your love makes wise . 2 60

NETTIE PALMER

Did you learn beyond the moon All the happy sounds of noon 3 ’ ou A creek s voice will greet y , l ou A watt e bend to meet y ,

There are visions , there are voices e th m soon and soon .

Ye s Tor ou l o , y wi l surely g

Where the deepest gullies grow,

ou ou They will feel y and take y , to ou With birds lure and wake y , s e t They will your spirit dancing , they e th y know .

There beneath the radiant dome

Unafraid your feet will roam ,

With the soft creek lapping ,

And the loose bark ﬂapping ,

- While the waving tree ferns whisper, Little ’ ’ you ve wandered home .

FRAN K WILMOT

H Y’ VE ’ E builded wooden timber tracks , And a trolly with screaming brakes

Noses into the secret bush ,

Into the birdless brooding bush, l And the tall o d gums it takes .

2 62 FRANK WILMOT

And down in the sunny valley, The snorting s aw screams slow ;

O bush that nursed my people ,

O bush that cursed my people ,

That ﬂayed and made my people , o I weep to watch you g .

Edelwei s s

HERE grows a white , white ﬂower By the wild Alps of romance And wh o would reach its dainty leaves

Takes life and death in chance .

There is a dark , dark cavern

Where a woman goes alone , Takes h Ope and peril in her hand on And ﬁghts Death his throne .

’ To ou r heart s breathl ess calling

She comes from the cavern wild , Holding in her exhausted arms l A small , white , blossoming chi d .

8 The L a s t P ort [WROUGHT and battled and wept , near and afar n of I sca ned the secret the bud and Star .

- Hill road and desert , and the hurrying street Know well the impress of my restless feet 2 63 FRANK WILMOT

one Then some came with soft , caressing glance, ou t of Slow, like a woman all romance .

Love closed around me these warm , folded wings of That was the end all my wanderings .

ENID DERHAM

The Su bu rbs MILES and miles of quiet houses,every house a harbour , f or Each some unquiet soul a haven and a home , su n Pleasant ﬁres for winter nights , for the trellised

arbour,

Earth the solid underfoot , and heaven for a dome .

of e Washed by storms cleansing rain , and sweet ned

with afﬂiction, The hidden wells of Love are heard in one low murmuring voice That rises from this clos e - meshed life so like a bene diction e That, list ning to it , in my heart I almost dare

rejoice .

ENID DERHAM

' 0 it 1001? £178 Ea rtwa m Wa C y, y

w a CITY, look the Eastward y Beyond thy roofs of shadowy red and grey on e Floats like a lily the airy str am ,

Radiant and vast, a cloud, Around whose billowy head Splendour from out the glooming West is shed ﬂi h t As if it were not ever to take g , And on its edge of gleam of In the clear blue waning afternoon , d Faint as a Spirit slipping from the shrou ,

Faint , and yet gathering light ,

The Moon .

0 city, dream and pray

This is thy evensong at close of day .

Tbs Mou nta in R oa d OMING down the mountain road

Light of heart and all alone , I caught from every rill that ﬂowed it ow n A rapture of s .

on Heart and mind sang together , Rhymes began to meet and run In the windy mountain weather su n And the winter . 2 66 ENID DERHAM

Clad in freshest light and swee t Far and far the city lay With her suburbs at her feet

Round the laughing bay . Like an eagle lifted high s Half the radiant world I canned , Till the deep unclouded sky se a n Circled and la d .

No more was thought a weary load , i Older comforts stirred with n , Coming down the mountain road

The earth and I were kin .

LILIAN WOOSTER GREAVES

' 18 o e Wi z m . L v tbs 9 , q OVE stole in to a fair child dreaming ’ Mid birds and b u t te rﬂie s

He kissed her innocent eyes . ’ He held his cruse o e r her bright head gleaming The wine and oil to her feet went streaming w as And the child a woman wise .

t o Love crept in a woman gazing , s aw Who , with eyes of pain ,

A garden w e t with rain .

Her faded face with his right hand raising , He wrapped her in rainbow vesture blazing

w as And the woman young again . 2 67 H . M . GREEN

' B a r/7 Goﬁlz m

HE locust drones along the drowsy noon , b The rown bee lingers in the yellow foam , on Blossom blossom searching deep , but soon

- Slides heavy winged home .

The vacant air, half visible , complains All overburdened of its noontide hour Sound after sound in heavy silence wanes ’ At the strong sun s burning power .

. Let the strong su n burn down the barren plain a r And scour the empty heaven , and twist the i ’ To ﬁlmie st ﬂicke rin s o e r g , us in vain

His hollow vault doth glare .

’ For o e rsh ade us gnarled boughs and massive boles , And tall bulrushes guard us with green spears From the grim noon ou r dewy jewelled glade

Never a footstep nears .

Come feast with us behold ou r fragrant store e Of candied locusts , that no longer dron

Through summer eves , but transmigrated , pour Thin goblin monotone

Through e u calyptine stillness as w e rouse nom Our g y anthem to the answering trees , While gold - eyed toad-guards of ou r hidden house - Croak full fed choruses . 2 68

H . M . GREEN

For all the day w e chuckle and provoke

With mocking shapes and noises each bright hour , But when dark even from h is grave hath broke

Then are we lords of power .

ALYS HUNGERFORD

’ j Toz

LL that I am is Thine ,

My body, my heart , my Thou ﬁlle st my life a s wine Filleth a White glass bowl

Colourless , cold , and thin

But f or the wine therein .

Can I say more to Thee P

Nay, there is naught to be or Thine am I , living dead Thou art the All f or me Take but thy love away

I am but dead cold clay .

Fear not my love binds Thee , What is the Earth to the Sun Is it his care that the Sea

Lies dark, when the day is done

Leave me Thou art most free, What is my love to Thee ALYS HUNGERFORD

A Su mm er Nocturne IGHT gave to Thee thy shadowy The star-shine brightens in thine The languid sweetness of the dusk

Pervades thy soft replies .

The mystery of summe r night

Is in Thy lightest action shown , Hinting of sweet and subtile things

Known but to Thee alone .

- t Thine arms are as a longed for res , Coming when day is done ; To lie at peace u pon Thy breast su n Is shadow after .

Z FRIT S . BURNELL

T/ye P ool ESIDE the pale water Linger Chapman and churl bo Prince , poet y and girl ; ’ Harlot and king s daughter .

Over the dark hedge climb White stars like roses Dark hedge that encloses of i The dusty road T me . 2 71 Z FRIT S . BURNELL

Herein all m en

Gaze , as in a glass , Awhile ; then pass i Down the long road aga n , s Murmuring a vague urmise , or A bitter word , a jest With head sunken on breast

Or erect , with shining eyes .

For a s , upon their way They stoop t o drink

Beside the reedy brink,

se e They in the water grey,

own Some , their idle faces

Some , ripples that die

Stilly, mysteriously, Of an unseen wind the traces

Some , but the slime below,

Black and rotting some , Only the idle scum f ro Drifting to and .

But some , with clearer view, In the pool’ s heart behold

Bright stars manifold , ’ And God s arched heaven blue .

To the grey pool all men one Come , by one , to drink

Awhile at its reedy brink,

And tread the road again . 2 72

Z FRIT S . BURNELL

e not to e e But I stay d not , delayed , A ngus I pray d, n e e be u ilin s Through umb rl ss g g I passed into the glade . Th e se a blue crooned beneath the hill , and overhead the breeze As ou r lips met and ou r hearts met in the Isle of - ee Apple tr s .

-off of ! e O far , faery isle dreams Onc more let me discern

- - - The water fall, half light , half song, that laughed among the fern Th e th e sh a - th e high hills , y hills , dreaming in mist e The scent d air, the heavy boughs , the hedges sunny kisse d ’ I m hearing still the wailing of the birds and of the ee br ze , For the love I found and lost again in the Isle of Apple -tre es

- Oh, little hands and dewy lips , and softly shining eyes , Have you for e ve r ﬂed My heart is sick with

memories . Why have you made me half afraid lest all my s earch e prov vain , ’ And ne er till all th e worlds grow cold we tw o shall m eet again 0 life o r death or h ell or heaven What should I care f or these 3 I have forgot th e pathway to th e I sl e of Apple -trees H . DUNCAN HALL

9 t S ’ [ AW the Night caught , as by Wizard s spell , In the red meshes of the setting su n ; From her black plumes the lurid light had won f o sh e . A ﬂash sheen , and grew visible But like a stricken gladiator fell The weak- eyed s u n beyond the hills of s leep ’ - ﬁre s sm ou lde r d to ash The cloud a grey heap ,

And Heaven whitened to a curved shell .

’ Before , I never knew Night s majesty But now I know her beauty hath no peer In heaven or earth ; and when the white moon shines ’ th on From circlet her brow of mystery, se e I her shadow on the hills , and hear

Th e shudder of h e r plumes among the pines .

DOROTHEA MACKELLAR

My Cou nt ry

of HE love ﬁeld and coppice ,

and f sh ade d Of green lanes , Of ordered woods and gardens Is running in your veins ; of - Strong love grey blue distance , w Bro n streams and soft , dim skies I know but cannot share it , is My love otherwise . T 2 DOROTHEA MACKELLAR

I love a sunburnt country, of A land sweeping plains ,

Of ragged mountain ranges ,

Of droughts and ﬂooding rains .

I love her far horizons , -se a I love her jewel , Her beauty and her terror The wide brown land for me

- The stark white ring barked forests ,

All tragic to the moon ,

- The sapphire misted mountains , h ot The gold hush of noon . of Green tangle the brushes ,

Where lithe lianas coil , And orchids deck the tree- tops

And ferns the warm dark soil .

of Core my heart , my country sk Her pitiless blue y, u s When sick at heart , around , We see the cattle die

But then the grey clouds gather, And w e can bless again

The drumming of an army,

e . The st ady, soaking rain

Core of my heart , my country of Land the Rainbow Gold, For ﬂood and fire and famine, Sh e pays u s back thre efold 2 76

DOROTHEA MACKELLAR

’ Clearer far the se a- gulls cry ’ And the b reakers roar Than the little waves beneath on Lapping the shore .

For that strip of sapphire sea Set against the sky Far horizons means to me And the ships go by Framed between the empty sky

And the yellow sands , Wh ile my freed thoughts follow them o Out t other lands . All its changes who can tell I have seen it shi ne e Like a jew l polished well , Hard and clear and ﬁne Then soft lilac—and again On another day e of Glimps d it through a veil rain ,

Shifting , drifting grey .

When the livid waters ﬂee ,

Flinching from the storm , se e From my window I can ,

Standing safe and warm , Howth e white foam tosses high

On the naked shore, ’ And th e breakers thunde r grows To - a battle roar . 2 78 DOROTHEA MACKELLAR Far and far I look —Ten miles f or No , yesterday Sure I saw the Blessed Isles

Twenty worlds away . of sea My blue moon Open , Is it little worth P At the least it gives to me Keys of all the earth

I n or Sou thern Ga rden

HEN the tall bamboos are clicking to the re stless

little breeze ,

And bats begin their jerky skimming ﬂight , And the creamy scented blossoms of the dark pittos

porum trees , of Grow sweeter with the coming the night .

And the harbour in th e dis tance lie s bene ath a p urple

pall , ’ And nearer, at the garden s lowest fringe , Loud the water soughs and gurgles ’ mid the rocks

below the wall ,

- Dark heaving , with a dim uncanny tinge

as e Of a green as pale beryls , like the strang faint coloured ﬂame That burns around the Women of the Sea And the strip of sky to westward which th e camphor

laurels frame , Has turned to ash-of - rose and iv ory 2 79 DOROTHEA MACKELLAR

And a c horus rises valiantly from whe re the crickets

hide , Close- shaded by the balsams drooping down e - It is evening in a garden by the kindly wat r side , A garden near the lights of Sydney town

RODERICK KIDSTON

' Ozue

of su n- N a land many waters , by a forsaken lea , [ of Oine, fairest the Siren daughters , gave her heart to me ;

” e e e And her voic was low and tender, and her tr ss s e ﬂoat d free, But her eyes in magic splendour mocked the foaming e sea cr sted .

0 h ow sweetly sang the siren in th e surge beyond the

bay, Telling what the shrouded seas environ with their

scented spray, Telling of the foam that ﬂie s on winds that wanton all the day

Out beyond the far horizon , where the wan white horses play

th e of the Come away, the night is sinking in bosom

deep , And the dewy air that ﬂowers are drinking in their quiet sleep 2 80

ELLIOTT NAPIER

Fra nce

- — ! H, golden lilied Queen immortal France of Thou heritress storied name and deed , ’ ’ As lu ck d so of t cu mb rin thou hast p , , from g weed ’ ﬂow rs of The fragrant Freedom and Romance, So shalt thou seize to d ay the fateful chance e t o hi That com s thee in t s thy hour of need , When once again thy sacred frontiers bleed ’ Beneath the thrust of the Invader s lance .

For , with the hour, hath also come again Th e pure and splendid spirit of the Maid To nerve thy sons and wipe away thy tears ,

Till , sanctiﬁed by Sorrow, purged by pain , e Thou shalt arise, unf ttered , unafraid , t And walk in honour down h e deathless years .

201. MPL ACABL E as are thy arctic ﬂoes Grim and gigantic as thy mountain height Girt with thy pines f or spindles and the light Of pale auroras f or thy stars to those ’ Wh o know thee n ot thou s ee m s t as one who goes ’ Unv ex d by Wrong , nor swerves to help the Right , of A grey Lachesis the Northern night ,

Stark as thy steppes and colder than thy snows .

w e—w e Al But know thee now, ly and Friend

True as thy Baltic Spars and tried by ﬁre , s Thy seeming coldnes hides a courage high, t o A stern resolve do, endure and die , So that the holy cause of thy desire — Thy cause and ours shall triumph in the end . 2 8 2 ELLIOTT NAPIER

All men a re f ree LL men are free and equal born Before the Law So runs the worn

- And specious , lying , parrot cry . All men a re free- to starve or sigh ’ But few to feed on Egypt s corn .

There toils the sweated slave , forlorn There weeps the babe with hunger torn Dear God Forgive us for the lie All men are free

That man may laugh while this must mourn ’ s to one One heir honour , to scorn Were they born free 3 Were you 3 Was I E Not e e No wh n born , but when th y die of —or — And their robes rags are shorn , All men are free

Ma ter Dolorora UST as of yore the friendly rain Patters its old and frank refrain just as of yore the world swings by The little window where I lie

w ax Watching the shadows and wane .

se e I , beyond the Aegean main , His cross upon the grave- scarred plain th e - ﬂu sh th e sk Yet still dawn climbs y, Just a s of yore ! ELLIOTT NAPIER — His cross and mine They t ry in vain With careful phrase to stanch the pain ’ sa They y, A hero s death But I Long only for hi s footstep nigh f or bo Long only my y again , Just as of yore

ELSIE COLE

Song of tbe Foot- Track

t es of OME away, come away from h e straightn s C the road I will lead you into delicate recesses ’ Wh ere peals of ripples ring through th e maidenhair s abode th e of e e In heart little water wild rness s .

I will show you ple asant plac e s ; tawny hills th e su n

has kissed , Where the giant trees th e wind is always swinging Rise from clouds of pearly saplings tipped with rose

and amethyst , are Fairy boughs where fairy butterﬂies clinging .

Come away from the road I will lead through shade

and sheen , Changing brightly as th e year of colour passes

Through each tint the Opal knows , from the ﬂaming Winter green o f e T the summer gold and silve r o th e grass s . 2 84

ELSIE COLE

In of n -v this dreamy fane sunshi e , where wood iolets

are rife , — e Though I leave you , path and brack n surges

blended , Would you say I led you vainly 3 I have sung the o of j y life , se ou is I have t y in the way my song ended . I NDE! O F A UTH O RS

Th e references a re to th e numbers of the poems — a a n a n . m , , 1 0 . , . , 1 Ad s Arthur 3 5 4 H ll H Du c —95 en e e H. 1 8 . a a e 6 1 1 . All , L sli , 7 H rpur , Ch rl s , a - nde en o anne a 1 . e e e a e 2 . A rs , J h s C rl , 47 H bbl thw it , J m s , 4 4 ene o a 8— H y , Th m s , 4 9 . - a a n an e o o . . h , ch E i h 1 2 8 . h , i , B ug Bl d t , 3 H ldsw rt Phil p J 3 5 - o e . P . 1 0 . n e o 1 1 2 . B urk , J , 3 Hu g rf rd , Alys , 9 a ken o a 0 Br c , Th m s , 3 . — - a n . 6. e h cott ne 1 2 . Br dy , Edwi J , 95 J p , Syd y , 5 — - ennan o o e . , i e . 1 1 2 1 . , W , 1 0 6. Br Chr st ph r J , 5 J s Arthur 4 - e e on . Le a G 1 1 20 . Br r t , J y , 7 - - ne z S . 1 . Ken a . C. 2 8 . Bur ll , Frit , 93 4 d ll , H , 3 Kids ton o e ic , 1 . , R d r k 99

a e Ada 1 . C mbridg , , 3 a ie , en , 8 . an e e . ur H y 3 Ch dl r , Alfr d , 59 L r a a e o - e 6- v t , uis , 1 4 1 4 . Church , Hub rt , 4 7. L r L a on 1 6 . a e a 2 . ws , Wi , 9 Cl rk , M rcus , 3 L ll o ne -Vee a — o 8 6 . C lb r l , M ry , 9 - a o e 0 . o e e 0 M k , uis , 1 1 2 . 5 C l , Elsi , 4 c L - a a e e . a o o e — M k y , J ssi , 5 7 1 . 3 Cr wf rd , R b rt , 53 4 c a e a o o ea - e on a e — M k ll r , r th , 1 6 8 . , m L . 1 . 9 Cuthb rts J s , 3 9 4 c D Ma u a rie 0 - 1 1 1 . q , Arthur , 7 - - a a a . . L . 6 . Denieh an e M rsh ll H l , G W , 7 7 , H. r . l y i l , 3 D - Mc ra e o o . C F 1 6 1 . e a n - , thy , 3 h m , E id , 1 8 5 8 . D r D r McCrae eo e o on 1 . on a — , G rg G rd , 4 ys , E w , 70 1 . D d rd c a e 1 - Mc r , Hugh , 75 7.

ae a e L . . Mich l , J m s , 5 on o 0— Ess , uis , 1 7 4 . L o one a 2 . , i M l y P tr ck, 9

o e M. F rr st , , 1 5 7. a o - e E i 200 . N pi r , ll tt , 3 e on . E . . Ful rt , M , 1 52 e on a — 1 2 . l N ils , Sh w, 9 3 4

’ Ga a - - 60 . o d e a y , Willi m , O D w , n 8 8 . —5 B r rd, 7 5 - o e a . e e Gilm r , M ry, 7 4 , e W . 1 2 1 2 . 3 Oph l Fr d rick , — - o on . n a 1 2 . o G d , A i ds y , 5 2 0 ei , e 66 . r L R lly D w ll , 9 ea a e , i n W. 1 8 . Gr v s L li , 9 - een . M. 1 0. a e Ne e 1 8 1 . Gr , H , 9 P lm r , tti , 79 2 8 7 INDEX AUTHORS

— - a e Van o e H. e 1 6 8 . 1 6. P lm r , c , 7 . S ut r , C , 55 - a e e en . , en 2 . h , G. , . P rk s Sir H ry, 4 St p s A 97

ea o ke a . o e ne L . 8 . e M 8 . P c c , Is b l , 9 St rri , Ag s , 5 - - a e . o a i , i E . 1 8 60 . n , T. 1 6 6 . P tt M r J , 5 Str g Archib ld , 4

nn o e - 02 Q i , ic, 99 1 . - ne e 1 6. u R d r Tur r , Eth l, 45

ee e . e e R v s , W P mb r , 4 5 . en o t a a o — W tw h , Wi i m h es , 1 . en . a en e 6 . R t ul , J r , 3 7 r ll C rl L u c ox o a 8 - Wil , , 1 4 9. R0 ers . H . g , D . , 75 c D r - a on ank . 0 o a Wil i ms , F 9 4. M. 2 . R ss , D vid , 7 l r S - o an . Wi m t , Fr k , 1 8 2 4 o e a 1 2 . R w , Rich rd , l son Anne enn Wil , Gl y, a 0 n e , ohn , . W a McKee 1 1 6. S d s J 5 right , D vid ,

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

ou no e Did y k w , littl child , Down ha rvest hea dlands th e fa iry host o n l n th e o th e a e o a D w S uth , by w st ywith ut s il Do you remember tha t ca rel ess ban d

English thrush within my ga rden — Fa ir a s th e night when a ll th e a stra l ﬁre s o e a an a o e a nd ee F rth sp d thy g ll t s il rs , blith fr From a ll divisi on let ou r l a nd be free From my window I ca n s ee Gall ant is Spring a long thy laughi ng hills Give us from da wn to dark God girt h er a bout with th e surges Gold of th e tangled wilderness of wa ttle ea s ea do ﬁ e in th e ea old a Gr t g , ght r gr t w y Grey da wn- and lucen t sta r tha t slowly pa led e W n e a one e a ea o e e Gr y i t r h th g , lik w ris m gu st

a k o n e o a H r Y u g D m cr cy from sleep Ha st thou forgotten me 3 th e da ys a re da rk a e o a e comra dr of ea e H v c ur g , O my y dr m rs Ha ve you ever been down to my countree He e e e ee S th e . li s h r . bush Here I s my la st good bye Here lies th e woven ga rb h e wore ’ e e s to th e o e a a s ne e n e e o H r h m th t w v r , v r urs o a Ne d i me o n on e o e H ld h rd , L ft d w c m r How on , 0 o a co n be l g L rd , sh ll this , my u try,

a m a ea k o in . G d wh o ma e I w l g , d I coun t th e mercif ulles t pa rt of a ll a s e e 111 o e old If , th y t ll st ri s If i n th e summer of thy bright rega rd If of us two might only one be gla d If th e woodland a nd th e hea th I lea ve th e world to-morrow I make not my division of th e hours mpla a ble a s a re thy a r tic ﬂoes I’ c c I m sick of f og a nd yellow gloom In a o e a a f r st , f r wa y In a land of ma ny wa ters In Collins Stree t standeth a sta tue ta ll In a k i oo he e the one owl oo d r w ld w ds, w r l br ds 2 9° INDEX OF FIRST LINES

In Ortygia th e Da wn la nd th e old gods dwell In th e sorrow and th e terror of th e na tions a e end s id , This mis ry must I ’ sa w th e a as z a S e I Night c ught , by wi rd s p ll ’ I suppose it just depends on where you re ra ised I twined a wrea th of hea ther white ’ ’ ’ It s ge ttin bits 0 posies ’ ’ ’ It s singin in an ou t o a nd a e and e nea a nd a a I wr ught b ttl d w pt , r f r Just a s of yore th e friendly ra in Know tha t th e age of Pyrrha is l ong pa ssed La dy of Sorrow ! Wha t though l a ughing blue La styn ight I s aw th e Pleiades a ga in La st s ea thing dre dged by sa ilor Time from Space ’ Life s ange l wa tched a happy child a t pla y Ligh tly th e brea th of th e s prl ng Wind blows a a a o e k n Like ybl ck en m ur d i g o e o e m e on L v , l v ly o e a re ou a n o L v rs , y f ri g f rth Love stole in to a fa ir child drea ming

Mea sure m e ou t from th e fa thomless tu n Me let th e world di spa ra ge a nd despise Miles a nd miles of q uie t house s Mirror of th e tra ckless sky

a o o ea e oa . My B by, w uldst th u tr sur h rd o n en o we a re o n a s e t My c u trym , th ugh y u g y My hea rt wa s wandering in th e s a nds

’ Nea th th e S piri ng of spruce s a nd a e and an e d c in Night , bitt r sky , str g bir s ry g Night ga ve to Thee thy sha dowy ha ir ane a nd a e a nd th e a n a Night w d w st d , f di g st rs Not a soun d disturbs th e a ir Not ee z e e a a n e B l bub , but whit rch g l , I Now two a e me t now t o a e me t h v , w h v

O bowl tha t held th e h ot imprisoned ﬁre 0 oo th e a a w a city, l k E stw rd y 0 did you s ee a troop go by a r a a and f a r a a 0 f w y , w y 0 heart of Spring 1 3 1 INDEX OF FIRST LINES

a n th e Oh, g ily si gs bird o en e een— o a a n e Oh , g ld lili d Qu imm rt l Fr c th e oon ne a nd we a to-n Oh , m shi s bright , s il ight 0 June h a s h er diamonds Once more this a utumn -earth is ripe On summer nights when moonbea ms ﬂow 0 e of o and on a nd ee of ea pur s ul , f d d p h rt 0 rich a nd splendid soul tha t ov erﬂowes t 0 swee t Qu een city of th e golden South 0 th e e e o a n gr y, gr y c mp y Our littl e q ueen of drea ms Our manlier spirits hea r a nd will obey a a o o to n Outc st, h rr r his ki d 0 wha t a n ev e wa s tha t which ushered in 0 e n n in th e o whit wi d , umb g w rld

Qui etly a s rosebuds

e an Mo n o e ea e a an e e R luct t r , wh s m gr r di c li s Rosalmd h a s come to town Sh e comes a s comes th e summer night Sh e 15 more S pa rkling bea utiful Sh e rs standing a t th e gate oo o a e e e an ea h Sh e l ked n me with s dd r y s th D t Sh e loves me ! From h er own bliss -brea thing lips Sh e o e a th e a on a a nd a r s mid N ti s , t ll f ir Sh e sits a q ue en whom n one sha ll da re despoil Simson se ttle d m th e timbe r when his a rm wa s strong a nd true Snowy -smooth benea th th e pen ’ So th e a a o e a t a th e o e of m ﬁ een ea l st d y s c m l st, cl s y ft y r a i a oo e o th e o . Spir t, th t l k st fr m st rry f ld ’ Strew th e ﬂowers a t Love s behest

m a oo to a e en th e end Tell e wh t b ts b ttl , wh Th e ea a e n e a a n bl k f c d Wi t r , with his br gg rt wi ds Th e bra ve old la nd of deed a nd song Th e bridle reins hang l oose l n th e hold of his lean left ha nd ’ Th e grey of Ocean s denseness Th e locust drones a long th e drowsy noon Th e l ove of ﬁeld a nd coppice Th e Ma ster He wa s hungry oo a nd th e n a re a a n d th e i e Th e m n is bright , wi ds l id , r v r r oa ring by Th e night descends l n glory 2 92

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

e e a a oo a re l k to e e e z e Wh n th t ll b mb s c ic ing th r stl ss little bree h e e 15 a a in e do ou no W r Austr li , s g r , y k w Where sha ll we go f or ou r garlands gla d a n an e e a n A a a Where th e dre mi g Tiber w d rs by th h u ted ppi n W y Where th e ironba rks are ha nging lea ves disconsola te a nd pa le Where through entangling bays ’ so of n an o o e e n a ul E gl d s gl ry, s v r ig st r Wh o seeks th e shore where drea ms outpour Who will persua de me tha t one perfect song Why dost thou like a Roman vesta l make and wet and n wet Wild — , wi dy eyes and fa ces a shen grey Within th e world a second world o e ea Words a re deeds . The w rds w h r Y et not in sorrow only a rt thou fa ir You kissed me in June Your voice was th e rugged Youth tha t rides th e wildest horse