519.3 278a AUSTRILIIN GIRL M.\W OTHKR A'EBSBS ETHEL CASTILL& THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE AUSTRALIAN GIRL AND OTHER VERSES Ths Australian Girl AND O THER VER SES BY ETHEL CASTILLA GEORGE ROBERTSON & CO. PROPRIETARY LIMITED MELBOURNE, SYDNEY, ADELAIDE, BRISBANE And LONDON 1900 PREFACE. Miss Ethel Castilla's artistic illustration of Australian life and scenery will attract readers trained to appreciate the refined treatment of familiar subjects. Her volume proves the possession of qualities which may lead her far in the path of literary success. A reverent, tender knowledge of childhood's grace runs through her work. An accurate presentment of Australian climatic contrasts discloses a life-long experience. Her habit of careful observation, joined to the true poetic instinct, should ensure a future of successful recognition. ROLF BOLDREWOOD. ^ % ' - ^^i^.^ . THIS BOOKLET OF VERSES IS INSCRIBED TO MY UNCLE MAJOR-GENERAL ROBERT STANWIX ROBERTSON AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF AFFECTION AND OF GRATITUDE FOR LITERARY SYMPATHY. Ethel Castilla. ') (Ki-'futi^a^ CONTENTS. The Australian Girl . . The Australian Woman An Australian Lullaby A Summer Sunset The Bush : a Triad of Sonnets The Austral Seasons . . In Carnival Time A Song of Sydney A Ballad of Brisbane To AN Australian Boy A Birthday Greeting . . A Birthday Song A City Bird A Rosebud To Algernon Swinburne Charity .. Kareen - . . xn CONTENl 'S. Yandilla To THE South Wind Christmas Lilies Christmas Day . . Eastertide The Song of the Salvation Army The Question Judith In the Face of the Dead .. PAGE 66 69 71 74 78 THE AUSTRALIAN GIRL. She's pretty to walk with. And witty to talk with, And pleasant, too, to think on." — Sir John Suckling. She has a beauty of her own — A beauty of a paler tone Than English belles ; Yet Southern sun and Southern air Have kissed her cheeks, until they wear The dainty tints that oft appear On rosy shells. THE AUSTRALIAN GIRL. Her frank, clear eyes bespeak a mind Old-world traditions fail to bind. She is not shy Or bold, but simply self-possessed. Her independence adds a zest Unto her speech, her piquant jest, Her quaint reply. O'er classic volumes she will pore With joy, and true scholastic lore Will often gain. In sports she bears away the bell, Nor under music's siren spell, To dance divinely, flirt as well, Does she disdain. THE AUSTRALIAN WOMAN. Sprung of a race whose conquering tread, From pole to pole, the wide earth owns, Will is her rightful heritage ; Vigour and power breathe in her tones, Light her brave eyes from youth to age. Shine in the poise of her proud head ; Her freeborn mien and gracious smile Proclaim her queen of the great isle The blue Pacific zones. THE AUSTRALIAN WOMAN. A winsome queen, straight, supple, tall, "A wild rose of the wilderness Her bold forefathers faced and tamed. Where Nature's deepest loneliness Her doubts and fears has never claimed ; Nor has its stern power caused to fall The beating of her dauntless heart, Yet versed in a true woman's part, To brighten and to bless. A nation's youth is in her face. Its radiance round her forehead clings. Lives in the freshness of her mirth. Falls on her pathway as she brings Into a hard, cold, languid earth THE AUSTRALIAN WOMAN. The fragrance borne from trackless space, And, purely free from all alloy, The best and sweetest earthly joy — The spirit of the Springs. The dawn of a new nationhood She \vaits with hopeful eyes to see ; The bursting of the bonds she hears That sets her country's strong soul free, And feels her power, in future years. To mould its mighty course for good. To write, in characters of gold. Brighter than seer has yet foretold. Her children's destiny. September, 1899. AN AUSTRALIAN LULLABY. My baby sleeps ; His smile, that is the token Of sweetest thoughts unspoken, Lingers and peeps Through lips as red as roses, Whose parting line discloses Pearls from the deeps. Australia showers On him gifts best and rarest. His dear hands are the fairest Of rosy flowers ; AN AUSTRALIAN LULLABY. His blue eyes have the brightness, His small, proud form the lightness, Of blossoming powers. My darling's hair Is bright as wattle golden ; Like shells from ocean olden His wee feet are ; His starry eyes are peerless ; His loving heart is fearless Beyond compare. Fire Spirits dread ! Relentless, stern, and lowering, Who blast the forest flowering Withered and dead, AN AUSTRALIAN LULLABY. Oh ! hear a mother's weeping, An(] leave to my poor keeping His sacred head. Spirits of Flood ! Who change the singing currents To raging mountain torrents In angry mood, Oh ! move in gentlest measure, And lull my sleeping treasure, And o'er him brood. Wind Spirits strong ! Yon hold the storms and thunder. Whose harvest is a wonder Of loss and wrong ; AN AUSTRALIAN LULLABY. Oil ! guard my prince's slumbers, Sing him in softest numbers A cradle song. My folded flower Is born to make the glory Of our unwritten story Of growing power, Heir to vast bushlands sunny, A land of milk and honey, With peace for dower. A SUMMER SUNSET. " Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity." —Shelley. The sun is sinking towards the sea, And land and sky are flushed with light ; Each sombre eucalyptus tree Flames ruddy-golden in my sight. The earth hath doffed her robes of green, And moorlands, where no streamlets run, Are only clothed in Summer sheen. The flowers have vanished one by one. And Mother Earth lays bare her bosom to the sun. A SUMMER SUXSET. Ii No cry of gull, or note of bird, Breaks through the silence calm and sweet ; The cricket's chirp is scarcely heard From the parched ground beneath my feet ; Peace broods above the watching cliffs. And, at their base, no whisp'ring breeze Stirs the brown sails of fishing skiffs, Or moves the face of crystal seas ; The west wind sighs no more among the sheoak trees. On misty hills and sun-kissed strand, On arching dome and sea below, Doth Nature paint, with faultless hand. Hues of the fairest flowers that blow : 12 A SUMMER SUNSET. The living gold of fragrant broom, Of daffodil, of primrose shy. The waratah's, the lilac's bloom Shine each in turn, and, when they die, A glow of pearly light fills all the western sky. Our web of life hath sunset dyes, Red stains of wrath, grey threads of care, And hope displays to weary eyes Her golden gleams, as bright as rare. Like evening hues, that fade from sight. Each glowing flame, each lingering ray. Our griefs and joys, when Death brings night. Shall also pale and pass away, Shall faint and die in light of the eternal day. THE BUSH. A TRIAD OF SONNETS. A QUEEN of new, illimitable lands, Wild clematis upon her sunlit hair, Who holds, as symbols royal, a burden fair Of purple grapes and wheat-ears in her hands. Near portals of a green, calm world she stands, And whispers, in a voice like purling streams Tired city toilers hear oft in their dreams, Gentlest entreaties, veiled and soft commands : " Leave smoke-dimmed towns, with cares and miseries rife ! Come where the forest waters rise and fall. 14 THE BUSH. And I will give ye freedom, and a life Sweetened by pastoral joys, that never pall. Gods ye will be, above low, sordid strife, Lords of yourselves and conquerors of all ! " A witch, whose fiery glance enchants and slays, Who promises to men their hearts' desire : " Ye shall have golden joys that cannot tire, And length of lustrous, sweet, triumphant days. Where musk and myall twine in fragrant maze, The bushman rides o'er undiscovered gold, Uncounted treasure waiting for the bold. To cowards leave the city's slavish ways ! " Beneath the mocking light of brazen skies. That arch the barrenness of arid plains THE BUSH. 15 Her victims hear the dismal crows' harsh cries, And pass to that dread world where pale Death reigns. They die alone, and iione may hear their sighs ; LJnhonoured, nameless graves their only gains. A mother of heroic, selfless deeds, Wrought by her sons in fire, and flood, and drought, Stern, scathing tests, that search their manhood out. A passionate response to human needs They learn in dreary wastes, where river reeds Hear nothing but the voices of the winds, Where Nature's mighty power hearts closer binds Than all the pedants' prized fraternal creeds. 1 6 THE BUSH. The polished worldlings crush with doubts their will, And action lose for lore, and strength for grace ; With warring words the fevered cities fill, In civil strife for honours, wealth, and place. Her strong, bronzed, silent sons the Bush keeps still — The sturdy forebears of the future race. THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. Grey Winter holds the land Close in his icy hand, Green hills and wind-swept sand And foaming seas. The wild winds howl in pain, And driving, cheerless rain Sobs, in a sad refrain, Among the trees. Yet he hath milder ways, And store of crystal days, i8 THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. That lift the misty haze From hill and plain. Sweet dafibdils appear In violet-scented air, And roses blushes wear In Winter's reign. Child of his milder moods, When storm no longer broods, When no harsh wind intrudes, Fair Spring is born. Her robes are gold and green. Her eyes like gems are seen, Her midnight's starry sheen Is bright as morn. THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. 19 Her golden tresses shine ; Her breath is like strong wine \ She brings with her divine And sunlit hours. And when old Winter dies, Lulled in her arms he lies, Beneath clear turquoise skies, 'Mid scented flowers. The dull green heaths blush red Beneath her airy tread ; A crown is on her head Of wattle bloom. Her coming meadows greet, With carpets, for her feet THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. Of golden capeweed, sweet With faint perfume. In Spring's fair, blue-eyed face Her breeding leaves its trace ; Wed to her maiden grace Is Winter's power. She hides Earth's new-born gold In frosty mantle cold, Or blows a dread blast bold, A dreary hour. She has a thousand wiles, Dark frowns, and radiant smiles ; She threatens and beguiles From hour to hour, THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. Moans beneath inky skies, And, when her black mood flies. Rain-drops like diamonds rise On every flower. Two months have swiftly fled Above Spring's flower-like head, Two months have passed on red And golden wing. The maid is woman grown, Her maiden grace has flown, And golden Summer's own Is form of Spring. And, in the lengthening days, Lit by the fierce sun's rays. THE A USTRAL SEASONS. Summer herself arrays In robes of brown. Beneath hard sapphire skies, Fire from her angry eyes, Shrivels the grass, that dies Before her frown. The gaudy sunflower turns To Summer's face, that burns, And all the waving ferns Are tipped with gold. In each warm, lustrous hour The rose falls from the bower ; Of every fair spring flower The days are told. THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. 23 Red suns sink in the west, And, without pause or rest, From Earth's brown, sunburnt breast Rise moons blood-red. The day joins hands witli night, Each lingering hour is bright, Flowers faint in glaring light, And hope is fled. Summer has lovers twain — The North wind, with his train Of withering fires and pain. And the cool South. The South has conqueror's bliss. Her fate is twined with his, 24 THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. He leaves his sweetest kiss Upon her mouth. Fruit of their wedded life, Darkened by storm and strife, With fierce dissensions rife. Strong Autumn comes. His robes are gold and grey, Tossed by the winds at play, His path is strewn with gay Chrysanthemums. Inconstant Summer turns, Where the fierce North wind burns, And, linked with him, she spurns Her sturdy boy. THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. 25 The thirsty flocks and herds, The faintly twittering birds, In plaints like human words Hail him with joy. " Oh ! Autumn come ! " they cry, " Come nigh and still more nigh, We faint, we sink, we die, Haste, Autumn, haste ! " And Autumn comes apace. His tread has manly grace, And joy is in his face Of war to taste. The North wind stands beside His fiery-tressed bride, 26 THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. And blows a blast in pride, The South to smite. The South fights well and long, And sings a triumph song To see calm Autumn strong Rise up in might. The North and Summer yield ; She drops her shining shield ; Prone on the yellow field Lies Summer slain. Autumn has filial grace, Old memories leave their trace, And o'er her prostrate face Tears fall like rain. THE AUSTRAL SEASONS. 27 His tears the parched land fill, Refresh each sun-kissed hill, And every languid rill Sings sweet refrain. The flowers arise in grace In many an arid place, And Earth's hard, darkened face Grows green again. IN CARNIVAL TIME. November comes crowned with Spring flowers ; The red tulip glows ; We feel in the soft, dewy showers The breath of the rose ; On green turf the crimson pea blazes In meadows bespangled with daisies, And forests hide wild, tangled mazes, Where sweet myall grows. The gold capeweed gleams on the forelands, And bends 'neath our feet : IN CARNIVAL TIME. 29 The eucalypt flowers on the moorlands, The bloom's on the wheat. The beards on the barley are risen, Bright, dew-sprinkled clover-heads glisten, In green elms birds twitter and listen In parleyings sweet. To-day, when all Nature is singing A carnival song, When woodlands with bird-notes are ringing, Clear, joyous, and strong, Our Flemington gathers its forces — Gay crowds and swift thoroughbred horses ; ^ And men, for a space, forget sources Of sorrow and wrong. 30 IN CARNIVAL TIME. And, linked by a common emotion, There meet on the lawn, John Bull, splashed with spray from the ocean, Priests shaven and shorn, And charming with native-born graces. Spring's hues on their ribbons and laces. Slim belles, whose bright, flower-like faces Are fresh as the dawn. Mirth reigns where the gay fountains bubble, Leap upward, and shine, In hill crowds, who, casting off trouble, . Shout 'neath the sky-line. On hill and on flat there is laughing, Jests, betting, and holiday chafting. IN CARNIVAL TIME. 31 And merry-faced revellers are quaffing Their cups of red wine. The brazen-voiced " bookie's " loud bawling On him may draw down, When odds on the field he is calling, The purist's black frown. He frowns on the men with keen faces, Whose lore is of " points " and of " paces," Who think that November's great races Of Spring are the crown. The critic, who blames without measure, Finds sport sweet and rare In hunting to death for his pleasure A harmless red deer. 32 IN CARNIVAL TIME. He keeps from the boor and the peasant The pastimes, to Britons so pleasant, Of killing an innocent pheasant Or poor timid hare. Perchance 'tis the genial power Of our sunny clime. As sweet as the breath of musk flower Or scent of wild thyme ; 'Tis sure that no hunted hare shivers, No stag stands at bay by the rivers, No dying quail trembles and quivers In carnival time. A SONG OF SYDNEY. High headlands all jealously hide thee, O fairest of sea-girdled towns ! Thine Ocean-spouse smileth beside thee, While each headland threatens and frowns. Like Venice, upheld on sea-pinion, And fated to reign o'er the free, Thou wearest, in sign of dominion, The zone of the sea. No winter thy fertile slopes hardens, O new Florence, set in the South ! 34 A SONG OF SYDNEY. All lands give their flowers to thy gardens, That glow to thy bright harbour's mouth Waratahs and England's red roses With stately magnolias entwine, Gay sunflowers fill sea-scented closes. All sweet with woodbine. Thy harbour's fair flower-crowned islands See flags of all countries unfurled, Thou smilest from green, sunlit highlands To open thine arms to the world ! Dark East's and fair West's emulations Resound from each hill-shadowed quay, And over the songs of all nations. The voice of the sea. A BALLAD OF BRISBANE. River-kissed town, where Summer sits smiling On circling hills and tropical flowers, And blue river-reaches, where bamboos lean. While sons and daughters are trifling, wiling Away the languorous, golden hours, Thou liest asleep, like a spell-bound queen. Crown of a land where Nature has given Gifts with both hands to soil and to sea, Rare ocean-born pearls and opals terrene ; Favoured of the Australian seven, 36 A BALLAD OF BRISBANE. Steeped in glamour of splendours to be. Thou liest asleep, like a spell-bound queen. Heart thou shouldst be of this mighty region, Giving the people visions sublime, On goldfields fevered and pastures serene, Rich in memories of heroes in legion. With shining records bright as thy clime. Thou liest asleep, like a spell-bound queen. In northern wilds the axes are ringing ; The miner's pick falls on hidden gold. And where cane-fields wide show shimmering green The swart Kanaka is blithely singing. All bring to thy feet riches untold. Thou liest asleep, like a spell-bound queen. A BALLAD OF BRLSBANE. 37 Southern winds bring a soul-stirring story ; Throes of a nation pulse through their wings. Though all warring rights and wrongs intervene, Thy sisters build a temple of glory, And tune to one song mutinous strings. Thou liest asleep, like a spell-bound queen. June, 1899, TO AN AUSTRALIAN BOY. ' History is the essence of innumerable biographies." — Thomas Carlyle. Child of a sunny land, By dome of crystal spanned, Set in clear seas, Where Liberty at last, Triumphs o'er troubles past, And, in dim forests vast, Sings through the trees. TO AN AUSTRALIAN BOY. 39 Heir to all England's fame, Deeds linked with deathless name, And wrongs withstood. For thee hath Cromwell wrought, For thee hath Milton taught, For thee was vict'ry bought With Hampden's blood. Thine is a favoured clime, Plague-spots of old-woild crime There find no place ; Man's right to air and land Doth undisputed stand, No despot's iron hand Keeps down the race. 40 TO AN AUSTRALIAN BOY. Thy country's records wait Last in the book of Fate, Fairest and best. Oh ! may they ever be Bright as her sapphire sea, TelUng of Hberty, Labour, and rest. Reverence for womanhood, Zeal for thy brother's good, I wish for thee. To cloud thy frank grey eyes, No thought unworthy rise. Clear as thy native skies Aye may they be. TO AN AUSTRALIAN BOY. 41 And when thy story's told, With good deeds writ in gold Bright may it shine ! Honoured and happy years, Joys unbedimmed by tears, Glad hopes that conquer fears, May these be thine. A BIRTHDAY GREETING. Dear Dorothy May, you are one year old, And Life has the charm of a tale untold For your eager heart, for your laughing eyes. As blue and as bright as your Queensland skies. Long, long leagues away from your rosebud mouth, I blow you a kiss, my sweet, from the South, While I wish you glad returns of the day, Dorothy May. To-day, in the sun, each tropical flower Bows low as you pass, where red cedars tower, A BIRTHDAY GREETING. 43 Quaint orchids, with all a butterfly's grace, The shy, scented noya hiding her face. And, waving their wands, the elves of the North From white lotus cups trip gleefully forth, All dancing and singing " Here's a >iew fay, Dorothy May ! " Let me not wish you all joy without stain — The sun's rays are brightest after the rain, Repose is the sweetest won by our toil, And light is the best with shade for its foil — Only a life-path all strewn with good deeds, The deep joy of min'st'ring to the world's needs, A path lit by sunshine, not witliout play, Dorothy May. 44 A BIRTHDAY GREETING. Providence hides all the way of your life : Whether you shall be a maiden or wife ; If graduate's gown with grace you shall wear, And give your gold curls to Earth's wear and tear ; If in stately halls your fate is to rest, Or poverty be your most frequent guest. Oh ! light be your burdens, joyous your way, Dorothy May ! Melbourne, nth August, 1893. A BIRTHDAY SONG. (Written for Alfred Percival Leslie de Jersey Grut, born at Brisbane, i2th August, 1893.) ' I can give you but a word, Warm with love therein for leaven." — AUetnon Swinhirne. With last year's oleanders, You opened your blue eyes, By graceful jacarandas, Beneath bright Brisbane skies. To-day, with smiles and laughter. You pass life's first milestone. 46 A BIRTHDAY SONG. At all that shall come after, Such high hopes be your own. Your red, round mouth, my darling, Lisps all Earth's sweetest words. More sweet than song of starling, Or notes of Austral birds. Glad hope your brow discloses, No line its beauty mars ; Your cheeks are Earth's red roses, Your eyes are Heaven's stars. For you no hour brings trouble, You dread no dawn of day, Earth is a bright-hued bubble, And Life has no sad way. A BIRTHDAY SONG. 47 And by a path beguiling, You see a prospect sweet, And tell me by your smiling. The world is at your feet. Brave, hardy Netherlanders Gave you your hair of gold, Your fathers fought for Flanders In cruel wars of old. They saw their country sinking 'Neath Alva's iron hand, That, drenched with gore, unshrinking, Their fair and fertile land. They crossed the ocean foaming. In all but honour poor. 48 A BIRTHDAY SONG. And o'er the wave went roaming To seek a foreign shore. By priest and monk unshrjven They sailed the stormy sea, Their land was freely given For faith and liberty. And Scots, who joyed in fighting, A fearless, tameless race. In war and strife delighting, Gave you your sturdy grace. They left you flawless honours, A shield in fair fight gained ; The life-blood of the donors. Alone its brightness stained. A BIRTHDAY SONG. 49 And pride and honour Spanish Are yours to keep, my dear, Ignoble deeds to banish, And mean and craven fear. Dear child of many nations, You join, with dimpled hands. Old Europe's aspirations, New hopes of Austral lands. Each noble nation's story Is wrought of many a thread, Of great deeds crowned with glory. Of heroes quick and dead. And may you leave your life, dear, An heirloom bright to be, 50 A BIRTHDAY SONG When care and earthly strife, dear, Have ceased for you and me. The shield no longer rattles ; The sword no longer rings ; Of our sad modern battles No modern Homer sings. Yet, like the olden dragons, Stalk Vice, and Care, and Want ; No feasters fill their flagons Without these spectres gaunt. Against these ever striving. May you, as man and boy. Taste sweetest joy of living, The sharing others' joy. A BIRTHDAY SONG. 51 You came our hearts to gladden, And may each August's wing With joy for you be laden As sweet as songs of spring. Brisbane, I2lh August, 1S94. A CITY BIRD. " A child, more than all other gifts That Earth can offer to declining man, Brings hope with it and forward-looking thoughts." — Wordsworth. My bird has swift-flying feet, My bird has grey, glancing eyes, Where laughter and mischief meet, As Day meets Dawn in the skies. She lives in the smoky town. She sings in the crowded street, J CITY BIRD. S3 Where myriad discords drown Her twitterings low and sweet. Poor bird ! To her dusty eaves, On wings of Night there steals No gladsome rustle of leaves, But dreary rattle of wheels. She never has filled her hands With wattle-bloom's priceless gold ; Her flowers grow on drapers' stands, Her roses are bought and sold. She may not roam flowerful lanes To give the butterflies chase, Or fly o'er the sunny plains, With brooklets to run a race. 54 A CITY BIRD. She knows not the ferny dells, Deep shadowed by gracious hills, Where fairies ring grassy bells, Beside the clear, babbling rills. She hears not the songs of the bush, The whip-bird's joyous call, The warblings that break Dawn's hush, The magpie's sweetest of all. She loses these joys and gains, In the din wherein she dwells, The rushing of restless trains, The music of tram-car bells. My bird glides through dust and glare Like a bright, half-opened flower, A CITY BIRD. 55 Upborne on strong wildwood air By Nature's measureless power. Dear bird of the winning wiles, We know by your childish grace, That Nature still wears sweet smiles, And joy still lives in her face. A ROSEBUD. Her frank and innocent blue eyes, Twin mirrors of Australian skies, Are full of light and glee ; Her laughter, sweet as silver bells Touched by a skilful ringer, tells She finds it bliss to be. Seven years old ! The passing years, That bring us sorrows and grey hairs. Bestow on her instead Radiant pleasures, never old, A ROSEBUD. 57 And paint an aureole of gold Around her curly head. The wattle-gold cannot compare With the bright glory of her hair, True child of Southern race. She has in airy form and walk The poise of fern upon its stalk, And the wild orchid's grace. Hers is a land of sapphire seas, Broad, spreading forests, giant trees, Where Liberty may breathe ; And racial hatreds pine and die, Beneath the dome of our bright sky, No trace of bitter leave. S8 A ROSEBUD. She holds in her dear, taper hands The future of our Austral lands, Touching all things human^ Unconscious is she of this power, Not knowing that she is a flower To bloom into a woman. TO ALGERNON SWINBURNE. Strong and sweet singer ! You are crowned With laurels won on classic ground, Yet you do not disdain to be Interpreter of childish glee, Of sufferings in life's daily round. Your lyre's sweet music, like the sea Resounding, full-toned, strong, and free, Is known and loved on Austral plains, Where wattles pour their golden rains And bell-birds warble merrily. 6o TO ALGERNON SWINBURNE. Your heart responds to childhood's grace, To smiles or frowns on Ocean's face, To Gallic struggles to be free, Italia's stand for liberty. To burdens of our mortal race. Your lyre is wreathed by loving hands. With flowers culled on many strands — French lilies, English roses fair. And let me add, if I may dare. Acacia from Australian lands. CHARITY. When Dante, in the bygone years, Found Hades' shores in mystic trance. He saw, amid its woes and tears, Three maidens pass, with song and dance. First, in the poet's wondrous dream, Moved Charity, with robes like flame. Then green-clad Hope, by Lethe's stream, And snowy-vested, glad Faith came. Faith sings her triumph songs no more ; Hope's emerald robes have lost their sheen ; 62 CHARITY. The radiant maids that Dante saw, Pale, weary, mute, to-day are seen. Of doctrines strange Faith sees the birth, Her sullied banner useless lies ; And Hope sits blindfold on the earth And hides its wrongs from her sad eyes. One only of the happy three That sang by Lethe triumphs yet — The power of burning Charity Endures till Earth's last sun be set. Our brothers' sorrows touch the heart, We sympathize with others' pains ; Though Faith and Hope may both depart, The greatest and the best remains, KAREEN. Kareen stands high on sea-girt cliffs, The blue waves dance below, And fluttering sails of fishers' skiffs Move swiftly to and fro. A white house shading many a flower. And framed in hiUocks green, Where spreading eucalypti tower, And wave round fair Kareen. When Spring turns every ti-tree white. And pink heaths blush below, When sheoaks gleam in golden light, And graceful orchids glow, 64 KAREEN. The wattle boughs with gold are bent, Clematis hangs between, And mixed with daffodils they scent The sweet air of Kareen. When Summer comes with lustrous days, And robes the hills in gold, The trees are veiled in misty haze. And roses' hours are told, . On shining waves of Western Port The tangled mangroves lean, Among their leaves black swans disport, And sweep about Kareen. The distant cries of flock and herd, The mopoke's dismal call, KAREEN. 65 The voice of many a forest bird, Of waves, that rise o'er al]. Of balmy winds, that lull to sleep, And temper summer sheen, Alone disturb the silence deep That broods o'er calm Kareen. And often in the noise and heat Of a vast city crowd. Amid the tramp of hurrying feet, And voices harsh and loud, ^Vhen in the burning summer air. Poor wilted ferns are seen. That droop and faint in dazzling glare, I think of cool Kareen. YANDILLA. " Nature never did betray the heart that loved her." — IVordsworth. Yandilla stands by sunlit waters shining, Remote from din of towns, And sheltered from harsh western winds repining, That sweep the Darling Downs. Wild cedars tall and fragrant pepperinas Shadow the rose-decked home ; The drooping date-palms kiss the sweet verbenas And jasmine white as foam. YANDILLA. 67 Deep peace reigns over downs and streams and islands, And the flower-scented air Only resounds with notes from plains and highlands, Bird music far and near, With cheerful sound of laughing children's voices, And song of honey bees, And carolling, when each tvvhitt rejoices. Among the bunya trees. In summer fields, where mild-eyed flocks are straying, Rise ricks of golden hay ; In summer fields are rosy children playing, Where blooms the English may. No ploughman prays in vain the mighty Mother O'er all the smiling land. 68 YANDILLA. Ungrudgingly as brother unto brother She gives with open hand. One wearied of the court and camp and city, And townsmen's ceaseless strife, That checks and dries the springs of love and pity. Here leads a purer life, In every bird that through the forest wanders Unending pleasure finds, In every breeze that stirs the oleanders Sweet balm for wounded minds. TO THE SOUTH WIND. In parching nights and burning days, When fields, once green, grow brown and bare, When hills are wrapped in summer haze, And flowers droop in sultry air, Thou comest, bringing odours sweet, Gathered above the surging sea, The wild ferns wave about our feet. And tall trees bend to welcome thee ! Like strains of music, soft and rare, Heard 'mid the city's stunning strife. 70 TO THE SOUTH WIND. Like radiant hope, that kills despair, Like sudden joy in shadowed life Thy breezes come. Their gentle rise Heralds the blessed healing rain, And tells us our sun-wearied eyes Shall Spring-like Autumn see again. CHRISTMAS LILIES. December comes, with golden sunflowers glowing And roses red and white, While myriad buds, from Earth's warm bosom growing. Waken to life and light. The clove pink through the radiant summer hours A spicy perfume flings, And, stately queen of all the fair month's flowers, The Christmas lily springs. To men of old these lilies, fraught with sweetness, Whose pearly petals shine, Were symbols of a faith that in completeness Linked man with the divine. 72 CHRISTMAS LILIES. The flowers told of Gabriel's visitation To mother-maid of yore, The Heavenly babe, whose birthday's celebration Brought joy for evermore. In vanished days, the lilies' strange revealing Provoked no sceptic sneer, No burst of aught but reverential feeling, When summer changed the year. The human heart bowed low to occult powers, As, o'er the smiling land, Rose forests fair of those sweet, star-like flowers. Once held in Gabriel's hand. Old fables pass, the legends of Earth's childhood Pass, like the fetish rude CHRISTMAS LILIES. 73 The savage worshipped in his ancient wildwood, Or beat in angry mood. Now, to our modern eyes, no mystic story The lilies come to show, No lingering trace of Gabriel's white-winged glory Brightens their cups of snow. And still we find a happy, cheering reason, In our bright southern clime, Why lilies bloom at this glad Christmas season. Scenting the sunlit time. Symbolic is the flowers' mastering sweetness; It comes us to remind Of generous deeds and kindly words, the meetness, Of love to all mankind. CHRISTMAS DAY. " Blessed be childhood, which brings down something of Heaven into the midst of our rough earthliness." — Henri Frederic Amiel. The children's morning breaks again, Each household king and queen Exults in Santa Claus's reign, As bright as summer sheen. The poor man's cot, the rich man's hall. Are filled with music sweet. Of childish voices' rise and fall, And little pattering feet. CHRISTMAS DAY. 75 To land and sea the Christmas bells The olden story bring, The joyous chiming faints and swells To hail the Heavenly King, And tell the world the Lord of all Was in a manger laid, His weakness sheltered by a stall, As babe of village maid. The glory of the wondrous birth Is dimmed by doubts of years. The bells' glad message to the earth, Comes now to sceptic ears, To men whose Heaven has passed away, Who wage this mundane sttife 76 CHRISTMAS DAY. From weary day to weary day, Hopeless of brighter life. " These joys and griefs are all," they say, " And miracles are not ; There is no Heaven to shed a ray Upon our weary lot." Yet Earth, so sin-stained, grey with pain, Bears harvests, heavenly sweet. Of trusting child-hearts, glad and fain To find all good they meet. The earnest of a region bright Lies round us, all unsought ; As every child-soul springs to light A miracle is wrought. CHRISTMAS DAY. 77 Truth, faith, and joy dower every child, And through its clear eyes shine, And Heaven and Earth are reconciled By childhood's love divine. EASTERTIDE. Bright Easter comes, when hill and dale Are dry and bare, When summer flowers droop and fail In burning air, When parching breezes never tire, And aching eyes See setting suns, like balls of fire, In troubled skies. When Easter comes, our hearts rejoice, We hear once more EASTERTIDE. 79 The shrunken streamlets, finding voice, Sing as of yore. By mighty winds, that howl and fight, And welcome rain, And sweet, cool breath of dewy night Is Summer slain. Chrysanthemums, bronze, milk-white, red, Golden and pied, A soft, autumnal glory shed On Eastertide ; And blooming roses, rendered fair By autumn showers, Make southern Easter, year by year, A feast of flowers. 8o EASTERTIDE. Our dying hopes, our faint desires, Shall live again, Like flowers saved from summer fires By Easter rain. This Spring-like season, born anew. In storm and strife. Is symbol that to us is due A brighter life. THE SONG OF THE SALVATION ARMY. In the bygone ages, Drum-taps filled the air, With the cries of peasants, Ruined everywhere. In an army's footsteps Famine always came ; Gaining and destroying Was the soldier's aim. Our strange, modern army Other ends proclaim ; Help to mortals bring we. Comfort in sore shame ; 82 THE SONG OF THE SALVATION ARMY. Clear above the world's din Sounds our bugle call, Telling free as air is God's grace for us all. As Christ came as Saviour Of the low and poor, Seek we Earth's submerged ones On each distant shore — In vile slums of London, Afric's boundless sands. Burning plains of Asia, Fair Australian lands. Women fled despairing In the days of old, THE SONG OF THE SALVATION ARMY. 83 At an army's coming, Fraught with ills untold ; In our ranks as comrades Women march and sing, Sweetly in our anthems Do their voices ring. March we, strive we, ever. Till we see man's right, Labour, leisure, pleasure, Sure as day and night. Till we hear our war-cry Breathed o'er land and sea — " We our brothers' keepers Are and aye shall be ! " THE QUESTION. ' Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day." — Charles Kingsley. What joy has the slave of the tillage ? He labours in snow, rain, and cold, Fast bound to a dull English village, As were his serf fathers of old ; The workhouse his last year's sole haven ! What optimist is there can say That he, toilworn, half-fed, and craven, Has ever a day ? THE QUESTION. 85 What splendour and colour and pleasure Belong to the lone station hand ? His days, in monotoaous measure, Flow on, as the wave beats the land ; He snatches the hardly won ration Of weariest toil, the poor dole, That rescues the man from starvation While starving his soul. The seamstress still earns a bare living In dens of the north or the south, For wretchedest livelihood giving Her hopes and her strength and her youth. A dingy lane bounds her horizon, And Nature to her is a name \ THE QUESTION. She hears not the earth's glad orison — What day can she claim ? The lodging-house maid has her burden Of overwork, loneliness, sneers, And harshness embitters her guerdon, And fault-finding mingled with jeers. A Heaven, where no bells are a-ringing, Is dream of this poor little slave, Her life has no leisure for singing — What day does she have ? We trust that a bright time is dawning ; Our clear-sighted prophets can see The flush of the radiant morning. When visions incorporate shall be. THE QUESTION. 87 The rich shall have joy of the giving, Each heart shall have leisure and play, The poor shall have joy of the living, And dogs have their day. JUDITH. (On hearing Dr. Parry's Oratorio.) ' And Judith offered for an anathema of oblivion, the arms of Holofernes.' — The Book of Judith. The arms of Holofernes are no more, But Judith's fame grows bright from age to age, Alike the painter's art, the poet's page. Strive to reclaim it from Oblivion's shore. And now, we hear the modern minstrel pour His rich notes out. Our hearts in glad bondage Feel that they gain a priceless heritage From alien times of internecine war. JUDITH. 89 We seem to see the fearless Judith stand 'Mid white-robed singers, and the sweet refrain Of stirring music. With her woman's hand, She slays her country's tyrant once again. She, who forgot her grief to save her land, Lives by the coinage of a master's brain. IN THE FACE OF THE DEAD. " Not the least of Life's ironies is that there is no earthly rapture compar- able to the joy in the face of the dead." The artist wins plaudits by showing The loveliest prize of Earth's race, His Helen with young life is glowing, All human hopes summed in her face. His name would be borne o'er the oceans, His fame to the Poles would be spread, Could he add to her play of emotions, The joy in the face of the dead ! IN THE FACE OF THE DEAD. 91 Enthroned by the love of a nation, The actor rings clear in his part, The gamut from grief to elation ; His face is transformed by his art. What lacks in his strong, histrionic Appeals to the heart and the head ? Whispers Death, with hoarse accent sardonic, " The joy in the face of the dead ! " The jockey is thrilled by the thunder, Like peace after fever and fret. That hails his great win as a wonder ; His price above rubies is set. His face blazons forth his glad story, Whence triumph exultant is shed. 92 IN THE FACE OF THE DEAD. Yet its brightness is dulled by the glory Of joy in the face of the dead ! Enthralled by white arms, clinging kisses, The lover quaffs passion's strong wine. Yet, sweet as the draught is, he misses A joy he can never define. The rose out of Eden the fairest, Would come, with Love's secret flushed red, Could he find in the eyes of his dearest. The joy in the face of the dead ! December, 1898. George Robertson and Co. Proprietary Limited, Printers, Melbourne. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. L^ 50TO-' ji 50to-7,'69(N29684) — 0-120 i -uM-ioung Hesearch Librar PR9619.3 .C278a yr L 009 505 634 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACI A A 001 409 568