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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 

 
 ORRA Bee 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY HANNAY FOOTT. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 £onIlOtt : 
 
 GORDON .1' OOTCH, rUBLTSTIERS, ST. r.KTDE STREET. 
 
 imiSBANE: GORDON & GOTCH, QUEEN STREET 
 
 ALSO AT SYDNEY AND MELBOURNE. 
 
 1890.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY GORDON AND OOTCH, 
 
 ST. BUIDE STREET, E.C.
 
 P 
 
 Debicatcb 
 
 BY KIND PERMISSION 
 
 TO 
 
 THE HONOURABLE 
 
 ELIZABETH, 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF CARNARVON. 
 
 1459014
 
 PREFACE "TO SECOJ^D EDITIOjq, 
 
 The very kind reception accorded both l)y the Press 
 and the puhlif to the former vohune of the Author's 
 poems has induced her to offer a second edition, iiuhuhnix 
 several of licr later compositions. 
 
 Brisbane, 1SS9.
 
 CO^TEJ^TS. 
 
 I. 
 
 (A US TRA L I A N POEMS. ) 
 
 MORNA LeK 
 
 Where the I'elican Builds ... 
 
 New CoiNTRY 
 
 Up North 
 
 In the Land of Dream.s 
 
 Happy Days 
 
 In Time of Droight 
 
 "He Sendeth His Kain " 
 The Aurora Australis 
 
 Nearing Tort 
 
 The FiTURE of Australia 
 
 Wentworth 
 
 The Fate of Bass 
 
 Queensland to New South Wales 
 Melbourne International Exhirition 
 
 1 
 8 
 9 
 10 
 11 
 11 
 12 
 13 
 14 
 15 
 17 
 I'J 
 21 
 23 
 24 
 
 Victoria, 1837-1887 
 
 WiLHELM II., 1888 
 
 II. 
 
 2'.l 
 30 
 
 Charles Dickens . 
 
 (iORDON 
 
 Tolstoi 
 
 III. 
 
 31 
 32 
 33 
 
 "MORITURI TE SaLUTANT " 
 
 Napoleon III 
 
 To the AV'hitk .Iii.iexne 
 
 IV 
 
 3o 
 37 
 3«
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 (TRANSLATIONS.) 
 
 To Henet Fifth (Victor Hugo) 
 
 The Pilgkimage to Kevlaar (Heinrich Heine) 
 
 I'AOE. 
 
 40 
 41 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Belated Swallow 
 
 45 
 
 Washed Ashore 
 
 46 
 
 In the South rACiFic 
 
 48 
 
 No Message 
 
 49 
 
 Christmas Day 
 
 51 
 
 The Xew Year 
 
 51 
 
 Watch-Night 
 
 52 
 
 VII. 
 
 David's Lament for Jonathan 
 At the Fords of Jordan 
 
 The Magi to the Star 
 
 To the Virgin Mary 
 
 54 
 
 5(> 
 5S 
 GO 
 
 VIII. 
 
 (POEMS FOR CHILDREN). 
 
 The Australiad 
 
 The Lifeboat of Dieppe 
 
 The Old Pony's Christmas 
 
 The Clever Cat 
 
 02 
 
 (i8 
 70 
 71
 
 &^^?^ , 
 
 .9'!^^=^ 
 
 POEMS, r 
 
 John Warriston rode through the imilga scrub, and the 
 
 gravel shone bhxck and bare, 
 For the long white mulga grass was gone, and no dew nor 
 
 rain came there. 
 He rode by the shady gidya-camps, where the cattle had 
 
 crawled to die, 
 And by creeks that failed ere the summer came, and 
 
 lagoons that had long been dry — 
 Where the bones of the beasts that had perished lay a- 
 
 bleach in the biick-burnt mii-e. 
 And the ground was aglow 'neath old Emperor's hoolV, and 
 
 the wind was the breath of fire. 
 
 John Waiiiston rode with a heavy heart and a slackening 
 
 wiist and knee. 
 For the loss that faced liiui on every side and the thought 
 
 of Morna Lee. 
 
 " Morna Lee, had your lot been cast witli mine, in these 
 
 days of woe, 
 1 had feaied not the fiercest suns that shine nor the bitterest 
 
 winds that blow.
 
 MORNA LEE. 
 
 What to us were my mother's taunt that of gipsy race you 
 
 came — 
 My father's ban, or my brother's scorn, or my sister's 
 
 gentle blame ? 
 I bi'aved them all for your blight brown eyes and the love 
 
 betwixt us twain ; 
 And I dreamed that you would defy them too — but, alas, 
 
 my dream was vain. 
 So the tress you gave when our troth was new and the ring 
 
 you would not wear 
 Ai'e all that shall ever be mine and yours — till I meet you 
 
 otherwhere. 
 
 " I thought to forget you, and I wed, and my bride was 
 
 fond and fair — 
 The boy she bore has her soft blue eyes, and her smile, and 
 
 her sunny haii- ; 
 But her spiiit sank in this wilderness, and I sent her over sea 
 To the kin she longed for as I long for my one love — 
 
 Morna Lee." 
 
 Old Emperor halted. His master ceased from his musing 
 
 sad and vain ; 
 And he gazed around on the drought-cursed ground with a 
 
 prayer in his lieai't foi- rain. 
 " Not for my sake, God," he said, " but for theirs do I 
 
 seek Thy grace — 
 For the mother and babe whose heritage Thou makest a 
 
 barren place." 
 
 A touch — so light it was scarce a touch — of the rider's 
 
 rowelled heel. 
 But erst 'twas enough for the old horse — now he stood to 
 
 the stingiag steel ;
 
 MORNA LEE. 
 
 Till Waniston woke fi-oni the iiiaze of care and saw what 
 
 his steed had .seen — 
 A wild uiare left by her trouj) to die, where the waters once 
 
 had been. 
 
 Too weak to follow her kiii iu quest of the streams that 
 flowed afai', 
 
 Famine and thirst would have done their worst ere the 
 wane of the even stai-. 
 
 Staring now was her sable coat and wistful hex- fearlesjs 
 eye; 
 
 John Warriston watched her as she lay, till he could not 
 pass her by. 
 
 .Swift he unbuckled the water-bag that hung at his saddle- 
 bow — - 
 
 " Emperor and I can want for once ; this draught is the 
 wild mare's now." 
 
 He opened her mouth and he made her drink — for she 
 
 lacked the strength to flee — 
 And her look in his face, as he left her side, was the look 
 
 of Morna Lee. 
 
 With the empty bag at his saddle-l)ow, he mounted and 
 
 rode away 
 At the utmost speed of the good gray steed that had 
 
 cari'ied him many a day ; 
 But he halted again at the hillside camp, and let the o\<\ 
 
 horse go ; 
 And he lit his fire and smoked his pipe, and gazed on the 
 
 after-glow 
 
 B -2.
 
 MORNA LEE. 
 
 Till the rhythmic beat of the trammelled feet grew faint, 
 
 and afar was heard 
 The tuneless bell, as if sweet notes fell from the throat of 
 
 the chime-voiced bird. 
 
 He dreamt as he slept that a spiiit swept from the swelter- 
 ing Indian seas, 
 
 And her misty pinions veiled the moon and her trailing 
 robes the trees. 
 
 And he woke to the scent of the sandalwood, and knew 
 that, once again, 
 
 There had flown from the East, for man and beast, the 
 Angel of the Rain. 
 
 A wind — sea-born of the wild monsoon — a flash like the 
 
 heavens aflame — 
 A thunder-ci-ash like the crash of Doom, and the wished- 
 
 for waters came. 
 
 John Wan iston waited not for the dawn on the tracks of 
 
 the good old gray. 
 For a dam that yet had never been wet must stand or fall 
 
 that day : 
 And he passed, with a heart that was praising Heaven, 
 
 through the floods he could not see, 
 And a pitiful thought for the perishing beast with the eyes 
 
 of Morna Lee. 
 
 The fresh-filled creeks ran redly yet, and yellow and white 
 anew 
 
 Tall lilies rose from the green morass, and the nesting wild- 
 fowl Hew ;
 
 MORNA LEE. 
 
 When witli In-oken hobbles and tongueless bell, and the 
 
 lon<j familiar stride, 
 Empei'or came to the station-rails with the wild mare at his 
 
 side. 
 
 Wife to cherish, oi' child to cheer, in that lonely house was 
 
 none. 
 Toil and rest and the night-long guest were the sum from 
 
 sun to sun. 
 But the tender touch of his lean • brown hand on the 
 
 flowers it cheiished fell, 
 Fonder yet on each household pet and the horse that had 
 
 served \\m\ well. 
 Fonder than all, when, slim and tall, the wild thing 
 
 trembling came. 
 On the head that presseil his forsaken breast, whilst he 
 
 called her by her name. 
 
 "Seven years of plenty! There were need of another seven 
 
 beside. 
 That the brand of the drought may fade from out the land 
 
 that Heavenward cried 
 So long in vain for the blessed rain. And tlie second seven 
 
 may be" — 
 John W aniston musetl by his lonely hearth — "but they 
 
 will not profit me. 
 Another shall claiui the herds I kept 'neath the fx'ost and 
 
 the trt)pic beam. 
 His flocks shall driidc at the dams I saved waist-deep in the 
 
 midnight stx-eam. 
 Whei-e I ^^•atched with a heartsick prayer to Heaven, he may 
 
 sleep, with no prayer denied; 
 But one name that I loved he shall never learn — one horse 
 
 that I rode ne'er ride.
 
 One, for the mound is green above the bones of the gallant 
 
 gray, 
 And the wild mare goes with me where I go, or stays where 
 he mvist stay." 
 
 The muster began ere the morning broke; and neighbour 
 
 and friend were there ; 
 But Wari'iston rode for the boy he loved, and the far-off 
 
 wife and fair : 
 And the black mai'O answered the ui'guig heel as never did 
 
 mare before; 
 But she fell in her leap where the bank was steep — and he 
 
 knew he should ride no more. 
 
 ****** 
 
 John Warriston lay in the darkened room; he was dying and 
 
 could not die ; 
 Day after day he had heard the shouts as the cattle were 
 
 di'iven by ; 
 Day after day, as the slow sum grew, he dreaded the coming 
 
 day- 
 Horses wei-e failing and riders spent, and half of the herd 
 
 away. 
 
 Over the ranges they brought them back, and out from the 
 
 bi'igalow, 
 And from under the giant gums that mark where the 
 
 fi'cqueiit waters flow. 
 They quitted their fires ere the stars were quenched — they 
 
 camped on the creek at noon; 
 And the station rails like silver shone at the rising of the 
 
 moon. 
 
 What was it frighted the timorous herd ? — Tlie bay of the 
 
 tethered hound ? — 
 The cliant of the swarthy mother above the babe Hint her 
 
 arms cnwound ?
 
 MORN A LEE. 
 
 For the mighty mass was riven and shed, hke a raft that 
 
 parts at sea ; 
 And where was the horse that should head them now ? 
 
 and the rider, where was he ? 
 
 John Warriston heard the wild stampede, and he shattered 
 
 the shutter bar, 
 And gazed on the flying herd without and the moveless 
 
 moon and star. 
 " Pi-ay for the boy that is beggared now — if room in 
 
 Heaven there be ; 
 
 For the love that recks not of thine and mme, Morna — 
 
 Morna Lee 1 " 
 
 A shadow athwart the cloudless moon — a check in the 
 
 headlong speed 
 Of the bi'oken ranks ; they ai-e steadied now — they are 
 
 stayed by a riderless steed — 
 Till the horsemen rally ; and one and all are pent in the 
 
 yards ere day ', 
 But the dew shall diy from theii* mossy hides and the 
 
 brands unreddened stay. 
 
 For in hush of the linmestoad whispering the bearded bush- 
 men tell 
 
 Of the gallop that shamed them all — and killed the steed 
 that he loved so well. 
 
 And the dii-ge of a savage race rings high where the white 
 man's grave shall be ; 
 
 And the harpies haste where the brave heart broke of the 
 wikl mare — Morna Lee. 
 
 BrUbane, ilk ICortmlier, ISSC
 
 WHERE THE PELICAN BUILDS. 
 
 Mhcrc the f elicitn gxtillie. 
 
 [The unexplored parts of Australia are sometimes spoken of by the bushmen 
 of Western Queensland as the home of the pelican, a bird whose nesting place, so 
 far as the writer knows, is seldom, if ever found.] 
 
 The horses were ready, the rails were down, 
 But the riders lingered still — 
 
 One had a parting word to say,. 
 And one had his pipe to fill. 
 Then they mounted, one with a granted prayer, 
 And one \dt\\ a grief unguessed. 
 
 " We are going," they said, as they rode away — 
 " Where the pelican builds her nest ! " 
 
 They had told us of pastures wide and green. 
 To be sought past the sunset's glow ; 
 Of rifts in the ranges by opal lit ; 
 And gold 'neath the river's flow. 
 And thirst and hunger were banished words 
 When they spoke of that luiknown West ; 
 
 No drought they dreaded, no flood they feared. 
 Where the pelican builds her nest! 
 
 The creek at the ford was but fetlock deep 
 When we watched them crossing there ; 
 
 The rains have replenished it thrice since then, 
 And thrice has the rock lain bare. 
 But the waters of Hope have flowed and fled, 
 And never from blue hill's breast 
 
 Come back — by the stui and the sands devoured — 
 Where the pelican builds her nest ! 
 
 5<;. March, 18S1.
 
 "NEW COUNTRY." 
 
 '' Jcto Crouutrn." 
 
 CoNDE had come with ns all the way — 
 
 Eifiht hundred miles — but the fortnight's rest 
 
 Made him fresh as a youngster, the sturdy bay ! 
 And Luiline was looking her very best. 
 
 Weary and footsore, the cattle strayed 
 'Mid the silvery saltbnsh well content ; 
 
 Where the creeks lay cool 'neath the gidya's shade 
 The stock-horses clustered, travel-spent. 
 
 In the bright spring morning we left them all^ 
 Camp, and cattle, and white, and black — 
 
 And rode for the Range's westward fall, 
 Where the dingo's trail was the only track. 
 
 Slow through the clay-pans, wet to the knee, 
 With the cane-gi-ass rustling overhead ; 
 
 Swift o'er the plains with ncNcr a tree; 
 Up the clifls by a torrent's bed. 
 
 Biidle on arm for a mile or more 
 
 We toiled, ere we reached Bindanna's verge 
 
 And saw — ^.as one sees a far-ofi" shore — 
 The blue hills bounding the forest surge. 
 
 An ocean of trees, by the west wind stirred. 
 Rolled, ever rolled, to the great clifl"'s base; 
 
 And its sound like the noise of waves was heard 
 'Mid the rocks and the caves of that lonely place. 
 ****** 
 
 We recked not of wealth in strc-am or soil 
 As we heard on the heights the breezes sing ; 
 
 We felt no longer oui- ti-avel-toil ; 
 
 We feared no moie what the years might bring. 
 
 Uth March, aSS9.
 
 10 UP NORTH. 
 
 % #orth.* 
 
 Into Thy hands let me fall, Lord — 
 
 Not i7ito the hands of men — 
 And she thinned the ranks of the savage horde 
 
 Till they shrank to the mangrove fen. 
 
 In a rudderless boat, with a scanty store 
 
 Of food for the fated three — 
 With her babe and her stricken servitor 
 
 She fled to the open sea. 
 
 Oh, days of dolor and nights of drouth, 
 
 While she watched for a sail in vain, 
 Or the tawny tinge of a river mouth, 
 
 Or the rush of the tropic rain. 
 
 The valiant woman ! Her feeble oar 
 
 Svifficed, and her fei-vent piuyer 
 Was heard, though she reached but a barren shore. 
 
 And died with her darling there. 
 
 For the demons of murder and foul disgrace 
 
 On her hearthstone dared not light ; 
 But the Angel of Womanhood held the place. 
 
 And its site is a holy site. 
 
 * The incident referred to in tlic aliovc poem took place a few years ago in 
 one of the small islands off the iiorthcin coast of Queensland. Mrs. Watson, 
 wife of a bedic de mcr fisher, was left, in her husband's absence, with her infant 
 child and two Chinese servants on the Island. The homestead was attacked by 
 wild blacks from the mainland, one of the servants killed, and the other 
 wounded. Mrs. Watson defended her home so effectually with her revolver that 
 the assailants withdrew. Fearing their return she placed some little provision 
 in an iron tank, which had been cut down so that it Served as a boat, and 
 embarking in this frail vessel, with her cliild and the wounded man, she strove 
 to make her w.ay to some place of refuge. The tank was found some time after- 
 wards on the shore of an uninliubited and waterless island, where tlic remains of 
 tlic ill-fated voyagers were also discovered. Mrs. Watson kept a diary almost up 
 to the lust,
 
 nAPPY DAYS. 11 
 
 Ell the fitnb of ^rrams. 
 
 A BRIDLE-PATH in the tangled mallee, 
 
 With blossoms unnamed and unknown bespread — 
 And two who ride through its leafy alley — 
 
 But never the sound of a horse's tread. 
 
 And one by one whilst the foremost rider 
 
 Puts back the boughs which have grown apace, 
 
 And side by side where the track is wider 
 Together they come to the olden place. 
 
 To the leaf -dyed pool whence the mallards fluttered, 
 Or ever the horses had paused to drink ; 
 
 Where the word was said and the vow was uttered 
 That brighten for ever its weedy brink. 
 
 And Memoiy closes her sad recital — 
 
 In Fate's cold eyes there are kindly gleams — 
 
 While for one brief moment of blest requital 
 The parted have met — in the Land of Dreams. 
 
 13(/t June, 1882. 
 
 Ijappi) Sans. 
 
 A FRINGE of rushes — one green line 
 
 Upon a faded plain ; 
 A silver sti'eak of water-shine — 
 
 Above, tree-watchers twain. 
 It was our i-esting-place awhile, 
 
 And still, with backward gaze, 
 We say : "Tis many a weary mile — 
 
 But there were happy days."
 
 And shall no ripple break the sand 
 
 Upon otir farther way ? 
 Or reedy ranks all knee-deep stand 1 
 
 Or leafy ti-ee-tops sway ? 
 The gold of dawn is surely met 
 
 In sunset's lavish blaze ; 
 And — in hoi-izons hidden yet — 
 
 There shall be happy days. 
 
 Jii ^imc of Drought. 
 
 "T/ie river of God is full of miter." — Psalm. 
 
 The rushes are black by the river bed, 
 
 And the sheep and the cattle stand, 
 Wistful-eyed, Avhere the waters were. 
 
 In a waste of gravel and sand ; 
 Or pass o'er their dying and dead to slake 
 
 Their thirst at the slimy pool. 
 Shall they pine and peiish in pangs of drought 
 
 While Thy river, God, is full? 
 
 The fields are furrowed, the seed is sown. 
 
 But no dews from the heavens are shed ; 
 And where shall the grain for the harvest be 1 
 
 And how shall the poor be fed ? 
 In waterless gullies they winnow the earth, 
 
 New-tvirned by the miner's tool ; 
 And the wayfarer faints 'neath his lightened load*— 
 
 Yet the river of God is full. 
 
 * During a drought travellers sometimes have to throw away even their 
 blankets and any superfluous elothing,
 
 HE SENDETH HIS RAIN." Iti 
 
 For us, Father, from tropic seas. 
 
 Let the clouds he filled that shed 
 Rough rains upon Andes' eastward slope. 
 
 Soft snows on Hinuileh's head. 
 Freight for us as for others thy dark-winged 
 fleet, 
 
 That soon by the waters cool 
 We may say with gladness: "Our need was 
 great, 
 
 But the river of God was full ! " 
 
 a 
 
 3ijc ^cnbctli iljis liuiiu." 
 
 Fresh leaflets tinge the giuy gum's crest ; 
 
 Young grass makes gi-een the russet plain ; 
 Again the wild duck seeks her nest ; 
 
 The bell-bii-d's note is lieard aj^ain. 
 
 *C5' 
 
 And soft blue niist--\vi-ack floats afai- 
 A.t eve, from waters gathering yet ; 
 
 And bright beneath the morning star 
 The dewy woodlands glister wet. 
 
 Glad Autumn of a joyless year, 
 
 Thee wood and stream and wildling bless; 
 And they no less thy dews liold dear 
 
 Whom Heaven hath heard in their distress.
 
 1* THE A UBORA A USTRALIS. 
 
 A RADIANCE in the midnight sky 
 
 No white moon gave, nor yellow star ; 
 
 We thought its red glow mounted high 
 Where fire and forest fought afar, 
 
 Half questioning if the township blazed, 
 Perchance, beyond the boundary hill ; 
 
 Then, finding what it was, we gazed 
 And wondered till we shivered chill. 
 
 And Fancy showed the sister-glow 
 
 Of our Aiu-ora, sending lines 
 Of lustre forth to tint the sno^v 
 
 That lodges in Norwegian pines. 
 
 And South and North alternate swept 
 
 In vision past us, to and fro ; 
 While stealthy winds of midnight crept 
 
 About us, whispering fast and low. 
 
 The North, whose star burns steadily. 
 High set in heaven long ago : 
 
 The South — new-risen on the sea — 
 A tremulous horizon-glow. 
 
 We mused, " Shall there be gallant guests 
 
 Within our polar hermitage, 
 As on the shore where Fi'anklin rests. 
 
 And othei'S, named in Glory's page ? " 
 
 And, " Shall the light we look on blaze 
 Above such battles as have been, 
 
 In other countries — other days — 
 The giants aud the gods between ?"
 
 N EARING PORT. 15 
 
 Till one declared, " We live to-night 
 In what shall be the poet's world : 
 
 The lands 'neatli our Auroi-a's light 
 Ai'e as the rocks the Titans hurled. 
 
 " From southern waters, ice-enthralled, 
 Year after year the rays that glance 
 
 Sh;dl see the Desei't shrink appalled 
 Before the City's swift advance. 
 
 " Shall see the precij)ice a stair. 
 The river as a road. And then 
 
 There shall be voices to declare 
 
 ' This work was wrought by manly men.' " 
 
 And so our South all stately swept 
 
 In vision past us, to and fro ; 
 While stealthy winds of midnight crept 
 
 About us, whispering fast and low. 
 
 A BLUE line to the westward that surely is not cloud ; 
 A green tinge in the waters ; a clamorous bird-crowd ; 
 Then far-ofl" foamy edges, and hill-toiis timber fringed ; 
 And, perched aloft, a light-house, o'er gray cliffs golden- 
 tinged. 
 
 watchers leaning landward, know ye of nothing more ?— 
 Ajid hear ye but the sea-bii-ds ? — and see ye but the shore ? 
 Nay, look awhile, and listen who bids you welcome there; — 
 The great seas kiss her sandals, the high stars gem her hair ! 
 Behold her in the gateway 1 — high-held in either hand 
 A blazing beacon — lighted to lead you to the land.
 
 16 NEARING PORT. 
 
 " Now welcome, kindly welcome, who come to me for cheer 1 
 My foi-ts may frown on others, but ye have nought to fear. 
 The cannon's flash and thunder are all for joy to-day — 
 No murmurs meet your coming — none wish to bar your way." 
 
 0, later called to labour, shall we who toiled at morn 
 Eemember, as agamst you, the heat and burthen borne 1 
 No, veiily, we shall not ! — We pray the labourer's Lord 
 May give you after-comers a fuJl day's full reward. 
 
 Now fear not, fair-hauled maiden, for gladness waits thee here, 
 As by thy father's fireside in bygone days and dear. 
 
 Thy ti'oubled brow, O matron, beneath its silvering hair, 
 Shall gain no fresher f uri-ows, shall lose its look of care ; 
 No longer for thy household the winter need'st thou dread. 
 Nor, fearing for to-morrow, slialt stint the children's bread. 
 
 And thou, a "mother's darhng," on those young locks of 
 
 thine 
 What midnight rains shall batter — what tropic suns shall 
 
 shine ! 
 Thy tender hands, toil-hardened, unwonted tools shall wield — 
 Shall fell the columned forest — shall till the furrowed field. 
 Yet, when at England's fireside her olden tales are told, 
 Perchance, 'mid tearfvil silence, one from the land of gold 
 Shall tell a brave new story — of want, and woi-k, and care — 
 Of trial and of triumph — to touch the coldest there ! 
 
 Now enter ye a haven your fathers have not known ; 
 Now dwell ye in a country that once was not your own. 
 Pai-t of the New World's ai-my — the pioneoi-s — ai-e ye ; 
 For whom there waits, ungathered, the wealth of earth and sea ! 
 No need of "fiery baptism" — no blood, no tears to flow — 
 Ah, legions of the Cajsai-s, had you hut conquered so ! 
 Ah, Vikings in Valhalla — our fathers dead and gone — 
 Coidd you have made sufh landing such golden shores upon !
 
 THE FUTURE oF AI'STHALIA. 17 
 
 Uhc Jfulurc of .^iKili'alia. 
 
 Sing us the Land of the Southern Sea- 
 The hxnd we have called our own ; 
 
 Tell us what harvest there shall be 
 From the seed that wo have sown. 
 
 We love the legends of olden days, 
 The songs of the wind and wave ; 
 
 And border ballads and n)instrel lays, 
 And the poems Shakspeai-e gave — 
 
 The fireside carols and battle rhymes, 
 And romainit of tlic knightly I'iug J 
 And the chant with hint of cathedral chimes 
 
 Of him '■'■ niailc Ijlind to sing." 
 
 The tears they tell of oui- bi-ethi-en wept. 
 Their pi'aise is our fathers' fame ; 
 
 They sing of the seas our navies swept. 
 Of the shrines that lent us flame. 
 
 Jiut the Past is past — with all its piide — 
 And its ways are not our ways. 
 
 We watch the flow of a fresher tide 
 And the dawn of newer days. 
 
 Sing us the Isle of the Southern Sea — 
 The lanil we have called our own; 
 
 Tell us what hai'vest there shall be 
 From the seed that we have sown.
 
 18 THE FUTURE OF AUSTRALIA. 
 
 I see the Child we are tending now 
 
 To a queeidy stature grown ; 
 The jewels of" empire on her brow, 
 
 And the purple round her thrown. 
 
 She feeds her household plenteously 
 From the granaries we have filled ; 
 
 Her vintage is gathered in with glee 
 Fi'om the fields oui- toil has tilled. 
 
 The Old World's outcast starvelings feast, 
 XJngi'udged, on her corn and wine ; 
 
 The gleaneis ai-e welcome, from west and east, 
 Whei'e her autumn sickles shine. 
 
 She clothes her people in silk and wool — 
 Whose warp and whose woof we spun ; 
 
 And sons and daughtei's ai'e hers to rule ; ' 
 And of slaves — she has not one ! 
 
 There are herds of hers on a thousand hills ! 
 
 There are fleecy flocks untold ! 
 No foreign conquest her cofler fills — 
 
 She has streams whose sands are gold ! 
 
 She shall not scrnmhle for falling crowns, 
 
 No theft hei' soul shall soil ; 
 So lich in iiA'ers, so dowei-ed with ilow iis, 
 
 She shall have no need of spoil ! 
 
 But if — wronged or menaced — she shall stand 
 Where the hattle-surges swell, 
 
 Be a sword from Heaven in her swarthy band 
 Jjike the sword of La Puceile !
 
 WENTWORTII. 19 
 
 If (here be evfr scj baso a foe 
 An to speak of a time-cleansed stain — 
 
 To say, " She was cradled long ago, 
 'Mid clank of the convict's chain ; " 
 
 Ask — as the tavuit in his teeth is hurled — 
 
 " What lineage spi-ang she from 
 Who was Empress, once, of the Pagan World 
 
 And the Queen of Christendom ? " 
 
 When the toilsome years of her youth are o'er, 
 And her childien round her throng; 
 
 They sh.ill learn from her of the sage's lore. 
 And her lips shall teach them song. 
 
 Then of tliosu in the dust who (Iwt'll 
 
 May there kindly mention be. 
 When the bii-ds that build in the branches tell 
 
 Of the planting of the tree. 
 
 mcntluorth. 
 
 "Tis a new thing for AustrnHa that tlu' waters to her bear 
 One who seeks not sti'ength of sunshine, or the breath of 
 
 healing air ; 
 One wlio reeks not of her riches, nor remembers she is fair; 
 One who land and houses, henceforth, holdeth not — for 
 
 evermoi-e ; 
 Coming for svich naiuow <1 welling as the dead need — to the 
 
 shore 
 Named aforetime by the si^irit to receive tlie i:ail) it wore. 
 
 (.' :;
 
 So WextwortH. 
 
 'Tis a sti-ano-e thing foi' Austiulia that her name should he 
 
 the name 
 Breathe'l ere death hy one who loved her — claiming, with a 
 
 j)atri()t's claim, 
 Eai'th of her as chosen grave-place ; rather than the lands 
 
 of fame ; 
 Ratlier than the Sacred City whei-e a sepulchre was sought 
 Foi' the noblest hearts of Eui-ope ; rathei' than the Country 
 
 fraught 
 With the incense of the altars whence our household gods 
 
 were In-ought. 
 
 'Tis a pi'oud thing for Austi'alia, while the funeral prayeivs 
 
 are said, 
 To i-emember loving service, fi-ankly lendei'ed by the dead ; 
 How he sti'ove, amid the nations, evermore to raise her 
 
 head ; 
 How in youtli he s;ing her glory, as it is, and is to be — 
 Called her " Empi-ess " — while they held her yet as base- 
 
 1)oi'n, over sea- 
 Owned hei" "Mother" — when her children scarce were 
 
 co\inted with the fi-ee ! 
 
 How he claimed of King and Connuons that his birthland 
 
 sliduld 1)0 used 
 As a daughter, not an alien ; till the boon, so oft refused, 
 Was withheld, at last, no longer; and the former bonds were 
 
 loosed. 
 How the scars of serfdom faded. How he led within the 
 
 light 
 Of her fireside Earth's Immortals ; clii ism-touched from 
 
 Olympus' height ; 
 Whom gods loved ; for whom the New Faith, too, has 
 
 guest-rooms garnished bright.
 
 THE FATE OF 11 ASS. 21 
 
 'Tis a gi-eat thing for Australia that her child of eaily yeiirs 
 Shai-ed her patli of dessei-t-tiuvel — bread of soi'i-o\v, di-ink 
 
 of teai's — 
 Holding by her to these hill-tops, whence her Promised 
 
 Place appears. 
 Titles were not hers to offer as the meed of service done ; 
 Hank of peer or badge of knighthood, star or iibl)on — she 
 
 had none; 
 But she bi-eathes a niotlun-'s Idessing o'ei- the ashes of her 
 
 son. 
 
 fitU Muj/, 1873. 
 
 ^hc ;!fatc of lOaoG. 
 
 A FANCY. 
 
 A.l). ISO- 
 Ox the snow-line of the siumiiit stood the Spaniard's English 
 slave ; 
 And the frighted condor westward flew afar — 
 Where the toich of Cotopaxi lit the wide Pacific wave, 
 And the tender moon (>inbi'a('e(l a new-born star. 
 
 Blanched the cheek that Austral breezes otf Van Diemen's 
 coast had tanned. 
 Bent tlie foi-m that on the deck stood .stalwart thei-e; 
 Slim and palli<l as a woman's was the sailoi-'s sunburnt 
 hand, 
 And untimelv silver sti'caked the stroncf man's hair.
 
 22 THE FATE OF BASS. 
 
 From the forest far beneath him came the baffled blood- 
 hound's bay — 
 From the gnsty slope the camp-fire's fitful glow ; 
 But the pass the Indian told of o'er the cliff beside him 
 lay, 
 And beyond — the Mighty River's eastward flow. 
 
 " Mine the secret of the Incas— to the tyrants never told ; 
 Mine the Cloven Rock — the league-long Sculptured 
 Way! 
 Ere the weary scouts awaken, ere the embers are grown 
 cold — 
 Ere the dogs in di-eams their quarry seize and slay ! " 
 
 Freedom's threshold ! — Yet he tarries — gazes seaward, south- 
 ward still, 
 
 Past the gulfs where fainting chain-gangs toil entombed, 
 And the furnace of the smelter taints the wimls of every hill 
 
 Witli the fumes that swathe the dying and the doomed. 
 
 Never, never, gallant seaman, may the land that lit thy 
 di-eams, 
 In the starless drive, make glad tliine eyes again — 
 Where through tropic heavens at midnight the Antarctic 
 glory streams, 
 And a sea of l)lossom floods the wintry plain. 
 
 Nevermore the settler's welcome, at the sinking of the sun, 
 Nor his godspeed 'mid the fragrant Austral morn 1 
 
 Shattered, spent, and broken hearted — yet a guerdon thou 
 hast won, 
 And whore bravo souls meet thou shalt not stand forlorn.
 
 QUEENSLAND TO NEW SOUTH WALES. 23 
 
 Ujiiccurilaul) to ilclu §outh SHalcs. 
 
 •JOru JAXL'AKY, 1888. 
 
 A CENTENNIAL GKEETING. 
 
 Joy bp witli tliee, EUler Sister, on thy proud Ceutoimini 
 
 Day- 
 All thy stalwart sons about thee, and thy daughters, dear as 
 
 they, 
 And the sheaves of tliy Thanksgiving gladdening with their 
 
 golden glow 
 Lands that lay :i glebe unbi-okcn l)ut a Imudreil years ago ! 
 
 Thou hast crowned thyself with cities —and no stone is built 
 
 (jn Wrong ; 
 Freemen tend thy lioc-ks at pastuic, freemen dwell thy hills 
 
 among. 
 Never Ural, never Andes, held sucii wealth as is thine own- 
 By no sweat of .serfdom tainted, purchased by no bondman's 
 
 gi'oan. 
 
 Nor for gain alone thy striving, nor to sit in i)lace of pride; 
 Whilst thy roof-tree still was lowly, thou didst lodge in 
 
 chambers wide 
 Learning, Charity, Religion - of thy iiard-won store 
 
 bestowed. 
 In each steep by tlico sunnountcl tliou hast hewn for them 
 
 a I'oad. 
 
 On the hei'dits of wave washed Svdnev stan<l her .statelv 
 
 College towers ; 
 Far and wide full many a Ilo.spicc waits to soothe 
 
 Misfortune's houis ; 
 From the Altar-lircs tlum kindlcdst there be brands already 
 
 boi-ne 
 To illiuiio the Earth's dark places and to comfort the forlorr.
 
 Joy be with thee, our Sister ! We thy kin ai-e glad with 
 
 thee 
 For the gi'eatness of thy Pi-esent — foi- the gloi-)- that shall be 
 When the Noblest of the Nations — SHE we all alike hold 
 
 dear — 
 Calls thee not alone her DAUGHTER, but for evei-more 
 
 her PEEK. 
 
 4llclbournc international (!:xhibiticin. 
 
 A.D. ISSO. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 I. — The House being ready, Victoria prepares to receive the nations whom she 
 has invited. Tlicy approacli— the various countries of Europe, Asia, Africa, of the 
 American continent, the Australian colonies, and those of Polynesia — some of them 
 greater than any which ever paid tribute to Rome, or did homage to a mcdiiuval 
 monarch, and their products superior to those which in olden times were fit gifts 
 from one king to another. 
 
 II. — Victoria salutes the otlier Australian colonies, and asks them to unite 
 with her in greeting her other guests. They then welcome the various comitries 
 of Asia, Africa (Egypt to Caffraria, &c.), America (the South American Rejjublics, 
 Empire of Brazil, Dominion of Canada, .and the United States of North America) ; 
 then France, Spain, and Portugal ; Italy, Greece, Russia, Switzerland ; then 
 Holland and Belgium, Denmark, Austria, Germany, Norway and Sweden ; then 
 Britain. 
 
 III. — The triumphs of Peace and of Toil. 
 
 IV. — Asiiiratiuns for tlic future of Australia — that she may be happy, a 
 generous friend, but, if need be, a formidable enemy. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ceased is the sound of the cliiscl. and luisliod is the 
 
 hammer's ring. 
 And the echoes that liaunted the; empty halls for a while 
 
 have taken wing ; 
 And the doors are open, and oNcrliead are a tliousand flags 
 
 unfurled. 
 While with music and song to the House she has built 
 
 Victoria welcomes the world.
 
 MELBO URNE INTERNA TIONA L EXHIBITION. 25 
 
 For the nations slie bade with friemlly voice have hearkened 
 
 to her behest, 
 And tre;i.sure-laden, o'er land and sea, comes many an 
 
 honoui-ed guest — 
 Daughters of cultured Europe, deigning her day to grace — 
 Children of antique Asia — Africa's dusky race — 
 America's mighty oflspring — and they of Australia's line — 
 And they of lli<' 'riidnsaiids Islands sot where Pacific w'aters 
 
 shine. 
 Oh, never a iionian tiiuiiipli, nor court of mightiest 
 
 Suzerain 
 Hath gathered such as have sailed to her. Nor gifts like to 
 
 theirs have lain 
 At the feet of Wisdom's favoured one — when the Princes 
 
 ("ime from far, 
 And the swarthy Queen to the Creat 8ea steered by the 
 
 light of the still pole star. 
 
 II. 
 
 Welcome, fail* five Sistei-s, unto your Sister's side ! 
 Greet we this day together them Avho come from far and 
 wide. 
 
 Come ye, aflame with jewels, and each with veiled face, 
 Whence bright eyes beam upon us like stars from cloud- 
 swept space, 
 We wonder o'er the labours your slender hands have doiu' 
 In ancient Asian cities, brown daughters of the sun ! 
 
 And thou who once wast Pharoah's, and thou whose palm- 
 thatched kraals 
 For centuiies nuule marvel of l>old Do Gama's sails, 
 And all that dwell betwixt you, whate'er your race and 
 
 name. 
 Who seek our shores in kindness, we thank vou (hat vou 
 came.
 
 26 MELBOURNE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION. 
 
 And them who claim the treasures erewhile Pizari-o's prize, 
 And her who crowned Braganza, the woithy and the wise, 
 And Canada we welcome, the loyal and the free. 
 And thee, O great Republic, with rule from sea to sea, 
 Who bravedst for our lost ones the fatal frozen main, 
 Thou who has fed our famished and wept above our slain. 
 
 Fair France, we greet thee fondly as our Crusader sires 
 Thy knightly sons saluted by Acre's stubborn spires ! 
 O brave in war ! none blighter in peaceful arts doth shine ! 
 Arachne's fairy fingers ai-e not more deft than thine ! 
 
 And ye, the Goth's twin daughters, of stately mien and 
 
 speech, 
 Spain and her queenly neighbour, a loving hand to each ! 
 Long may thy sons be worthy the Cid's illustiious name ; 
 And thine another Lusiad writ on the rolls of fame ! 
 
 Italia ! as we gi-eet thee, our hearts are all aglow. 
 What contuiies of glory thou knowest and shalt know ! 
 Thine are the Roman eagles, the lilies Florentine, 
 The sea-wed city's lion, the Church's Conquering Sign I 
 
 And Greece, we do thee reverence, who on Olympian seat 
 Ai-t goddess yet ; earth's gi-eatest but leai-ners at thy feet ! 
 
 Now gladly we receive thee, within unguarded gate, 
 
 O upward-toiling Russia — whose lamp, though lit l)ut late, 
 
 Already cheered thy children. What berg-blocked sea is 
 
 thine I 
 God grant tliee open water beyond its Arctic line ! 
 
 And welcome here, Helvetia — from heights where peace abides 
 Beyond the wreck-strewn floodmark of battle's crimson tides:
 
 MELBOURNE INrERNATIONAL EXHIBITION. 27 
 
 Thou pliest, busy-fingered, each liarmless handicraft, 
 Yet, i-eady in thy quiver there rests the patiiot shaft. 
 
 And ye whom frugal Flanders has dowered with all her 
 
 stoi-e — 
 Her old cathedral cities, her freedom won of yore — 
 When by the hands that raised them, her dykes asunder 
 
 torn, 
 Swift poured the burgher's vengeance for Egmont an<l for 
 
 Horn. 
 And thou whose peei-less Pi-incess, pui-e as thy Baltic foam, 
 Js dear in ancient Windsor as in her Danish home^ 
 (For where thy raven i-eached not, thy dove hath found 
 
 her rest, 
 And in the heai-t of England liath made herself a nest !) 
 Thou, dweller by the Danube — thou, keeper of the Rhine ; 
 Thou, blue-eyed Scandinavia, with fragrant crown of pine ; 
 All — all who followed Odin, the leader and the priest. 
 From bontlage and from darkness in some forgotten East, 
 And tilled the trackless forest, and tameil the wild North sea, 
 Account us as your kindred— for kin, in truth, ai'e wo ! 
 
 And now to her we hasten, with daughterly embrace. 
 
 To whom young isles do homage, and empires old give place, 
 
 And every zone pays tiibute of wealth, and eai-th, and wave, 
 
 The lefuge of the alien, the champion of the slave ! 
 
 On triple throne unshaken as adamantine wall. 
 
 Long may'st thou sit, Britannia, dear mother of us all I 
 
 III. 
 
 Mighty ones, who have hither borne your trophies manifold. 
 We honour them who have earne 1 you these, as we honour 
 your great of old.
 
 2S MELBO URNE INTERNA TIONA L EXHIBITION. 
 
 Eveiy woi'kei" with bi-ain oi- hand — the ai'tist — the artizan, 
 
 Whether he ride at an ai'niy's head, or march in the name- 
 less van. 
 
 For bright is the ruddv shield of Mars, and sweet is the 
 8un-god's lyre ; 
 
 But Labour beareth the world aloft on shouldei'S that will 
 not tire. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou who givest the eye to see, and the ready hand to do, 
 And a nation's place in the earth's fail' space, give us Thy 
 
 blessing, too ! 
 We hear the cool Antarctic winds in the golden wheatfields 
 
 pipe. 
 And the chant the swart Kanaka sings whei'C the i-ustling 
 
 cane grows lipe — 
 And we ask of Thee, who hast dowered our land with the 
 
 kindlv sun and soil 
 Which fill with fruitage of farthest climes the hojtofnl hands 
 
 of toil, 
 That ever in love we may nurture, too, the p(M)})le which 
 
 dwelt apart, 
 When they seek new life from our Younger World and a 
 
 home within her heait. 
 And if, perchance, from the eaves of peace and the sheltering 
 
 olive bough, 
 Our sons shall sail to a stormy sea and the shock of the mail- 
 clad plow, 
 May they show that not in vain they have borne the stress 
 
 of the tropic day, 
 Or lain, toil-spent, in the mijier's tent, or made \n the wilds 
 
 a way. 
 
 "Australasian," 2nd Octo^i; 1880.
 
 as»^ »lM mm rn'm mm win m'm jrin win win jriw win win win mmj^i^ 
 
 II. 
 
 nil* to via. 
 
 1S:!7— 1887. 
 
 The Henihls gave to Englisli ;iir a new iin-Engli.sli name; • 
 The Standai'd soared above tlie loof , the swart guns flowered 
 
 ill fianie ; 
 And Loudon — East and West — awatch, sahited as she 
 
 came — 
 Girl-Queen of immemorial race — the Heu- of Alfred's fame. 
 
 '• And will slic love like Eleanor w lio sli.-ired great Edward's 
 
 throne ? 
 ( )i'n'ign, like proud Eli/alu'th — her Oountiy's Bride alone? 
 Shall ever blot through her befall? or shade of shame l)e 
 
 ))l()wn 
 <.)n England's name— to Englishmen yet dearer than their 
 
 own ? " 
 
 Fair Ixeeord of the I'^ifly Years that she has an'oih the 
 
 Crown — 
 What royal name in scrawl aiili(jue on chaiter fraycij and 
 
 brow 11 
 Bears homelier sound to-(lay than hers? — is richer in 
 
 renown ? 
 
 ^\'hal honoiu" needs Victoria now from her dead kin brought 
 down ?
 
 so WILHELM It. 
 
 cHilhclm II. 
 
 18S8. 
 
 Thy grandsire's sword is thine to-day, 
 
 Thy noble father's crown unworn ; 
 The reahn whei'e strong Charlemagne held sway, 
 
 The name by Barbarossa borne. 
 
 Where toiled these mighty harvesters, 
 What martial fame i-emains to win 1 
 
 Gleaning, perchance, of knightly spurs, 
 Heir of many a Paladin 1 
 
 Yet, need the hope be wholly vain 
 
 That Heaven no less for thee prepares 
 
 The call to arms, the grand campaign. 
 The laurel — evergi-een as theirs ? 
 
 Yon sullen ember — Discontent — 
 
 Gleams deadlier than the Gallic brand 1 
 
 (The Ho})eless on the pillars leant, 
 
 And Ruin kissed his beckoning hand.) 
 
 The Empire woven of old was knit 
 
 With hostile tribe and hated clan ; 
 And feudal foes the camp-fires lit. 
 
 And marched as couu-ades to Sedan. 
 
 So, Kaiser, to thy Councils call 
 
 The Chiefs. Bid Freedom's friends be thine — 
 Thv ti'ustod allies, welcome all — 
 
 From Thames or Tiber, Seine or Rhine ! 
 
 Then they and (liou the war may wage, 
 
 Son of Heroes, unafraid — 
 Tliougli hosts invisible engage, 
 
 And they be Legion which invade.
 
 r5ol<) M^ (fit (;l7 (.|9 (ji, oi^ (.1^ (.1^ (.>5 (.1^ (.1, nl, ,.u ^1, oLyS\ 
 
 ^<i^b cfo <it.> if^ ifi 6|i) w (ifi (itd (ifi) iTi 4i) «ifi 4i it.) <iti)ii/^ 
 
 III. 
 
 dhadcs ilirkcns. 
 
 18 70. 
 
 Above our dear llomancor's dust 
 Gi'ief takes the place of praise, 
 
 Because of sudden Cyprus thrust 
 Amid the ohl-earned bays. 
 
 Ah ! when shall such another friend 
 
 By England's fireside sit, 
 To tell her of her faults, yet blend 
 
 Sage words with kindly wit? 
 
 He brings no pageants of the past 
 
 To wile our hearts awaA' ; 
 But wins our love for those who cust 
 
 Their lot with ours to-da\\ 
 
 lie gives us laugliter glad and long; 
 
 He gives us tears a^ |iiiic; 
 He shames us wilh llif pulili.Nliril wKing 
 
 We meted to tiie poor. 
 
 Through webs and dust and weather-stains, 
 
 His sundike genius paints, 
 On life's transfigured chaiuiel-panes, 
 
 The angels and the saintvS.
 
 He bade us to a loi-dly feast, 
 
 And gave us of his best ; 
 And vanished, while the inii'th increased, 
 
 To be Another's guest. 
 
 For Death had sumnaoned him, in haste, 
 
 Where hands of the Divine 
 Pour out, for him who toiled to taste. 
 
 The Paradisal wine. 
 
 Well, God be thanked, we did not wait 
 
 His greatness to discern 
 By funeral lights — in that Too-Late 
 
 When ashes fill the urn. 
 
 JANUARY, ISSo. 
 
 Devotion ! When thy name is named, 
 What matchless visions I'ise ! 
 
 The Hebrew, leaving Pharoah's house, 
 To Isi-ael's I'cscue flies ; 
 
 The Moabitess gleans, content. 
 Beneath the bui-ning skies. 
 
 The flower of Christendom is given 
 
 To gain the Holy Grave ; 
 O'er Acre and o'er Askelon 
 
 Tlio 1)lessed banners wave; 
 By Jvlward.s bed 1 see thee kneel, 
 
 Queen beloved and brave !
 
 TOLSTOI. 33 
 
 Who art thou, girl, in warrioi' garb — 
 St. Catherine's sword in hand ? 
 
 'Tis La Pucdle — and France is free; 
 O shame that thou must stand 
 
 Bound -helpless — at the cruel stake, 
 To Avait the headman's brand ! 
 
 And now upon the wild North Sea 
 From Lindisfarne's bleak shore, 
 
 To save the lives of shipwrecked men 
 A maiden pHos the oar ; 
 
 Seamen and landsmen honour thee, 
 Grace Darling, evermoie I 
 
 And swifter, closer, as I muse, 
 The splendid spectres loom ; 
 
 Ami stately stands among them one 
 To glory passed from gloom — 
 
 But late — by waters of the Nile— 
 In walls of lost Khartoum 1 
 
 Tolstoi. 
 
 A SHABBY volume on the ledge ; 
 
 An idle hand that drew it forth ; 
 Like him who slumbered in the .^edge. 
 
 There dwelt the Prophet of the North. 
 
 Wayfarer ! — Erst with hasty tread 
 The paths of Story wont to trace — 
 
 What glamour on thine eyes Ls shed 
 That fain thou lingerest in the place?
 
 34 TOLSTOI. 
 
 Methought the Masters all were gone, 
 
 Or quenched their fires — by age besnowed ; 
 
 Yet now, behold, a light hath shone ; 
 Once more a niessa<'e is bestowed ! 
 
 From shores held sterile there hath sailed 
 A galleon filled with richest freight. 
 
 truthful picture slow unveiled ! 
 precious word long untranslate I 
 
 We gazed — yet scarce might understand. 
 
 We hearkened — to the voice alone. 
 We praised the labour of his hand, 
 
 And still his heart remained unknown. 
 
 We drank with him the joy of Spring ; 
 
 In Cossack foray leai-nt to lide ; 
 With him we heard the gipsies sing — 
 
 The cannon by the Euxine tide. 
 
 Then — sleepless in the hour when none 
 Save humankind unshunbering lie — 
 
 When stars are j)al]id and the sun 
 Unlit, and weaklings faint and die — 
 
 With sudden skill we read the rune — 
 
 All tremulous and yet elate — 
 " Dread thou no dole ; crave thou no boon ; 
 
 Be Duty unto thee as Fate 1 " 
 
 May, 1889.
 
 lY. 
 
 ^Hontui'i tc §iilutaut. 
 
 1870. 
 
 The coup d'etat is blotted out 
 
 With fresher blood, with blacker crime- 
 As midnight horrors put to rout 
 
 The vaguer ghosts of twilight-time. 
 
 " Greeting from those who are to die ! — 
 Hail Cresar ! " — Drmv the curUdns round. 
 
 In vain ! — That mournful mocking cry- 
 Pierces the purple with its sound. 
 
 And they who raise it enter too — 
 
 With specti-al looks and noiseless tread — 
 
 Unbidden, hold their dread review, 
 Beside the Emperor's very bed. 
 
 They sought in his desei-ted tent ; 
 
 They found him in the German camp. 
 They tai-ry till the oil be spent 
 
 That feeds his life's poor flickering lamp. 
 
 Tlie hope of France — the " gilded youth " — 
 So answering the trumpet's peal 
 
 As if revealing how, in sooth, 
 The gilding oft o'erlies the stoel
 
 36 MORITURI TE SALVTANT. 
 
 Soldiers Algeria's sun has spared ; 
 
 Heroes fi-om Russia's fii'e and frost ; 
 Giay vetei-ans — scaii-ed and scanty-haired — 
 
 Who wept at word of eagles lost. 
 
 Workmen, who leave the rattling looms 
 To ply, pel-force, a deadliei- ti'ade ; 
 
 Students, who quit their cloudy rooms 
 To step within a heavier shade. 
 
 Slow-bi-eaking hearts that sufier long — 
 Blinded and chilled 'neath love's eclipse ; 
 
 Singing no moi'e the happy song 
 By hori'or frozen on their lips. 
 
 From castled cities battle-proof, 
 
 They pi'ess to the accusing lunks — 
 
 From cottage walls — fi-om canvas i-oof — 
 Ere passing to the Stygian l)anks. 
 
 The thousands famine yet shall waste — 
 The holocau.st disease will claim — 
 
 As to God's Judgment-Bar they haste, 
 They gaze on him who is to blame. 
 
 " Hail Cresar ! " — While Napoleon's star 
 From yon hoi'izon beams " Farewell ! " 
 
 Setting in exile where, af.-ir, 
 The children of St. Louis dwell. 
 
 Come from the past — once dreaded ghosts, 
 Whose number and whose names ho knew 
 
 The future j)lants — at countless posts — 
 Sentries more terrible than you !
 
 NAPOLEON III. 37 
 
 ^apolcon m. 
 
 9tii JANUARY, 1878. 
 
 IT IS silent spirit from the jilace 
 
 .Slid forth unseen ; amid the throng 
 Of those whose love outlived disgrace — 
 
 Whose fealty to the last was strong. 
 'Midst homage, 'neath Fate's adverse reign, 
 
 Paid to the star shoi-n of its rays — 
 How passed the Exile ? — Lingering fain — 
 
 As never once in prouder days ? 
 
 The Mother and the Child were there — 
 
 Discrowned and disinherited ! 
 No hand hencefoiih to right the heir ; 
 
 New griefs to l)()w tli(> gf)ld('n head. 
 ITow pa.ssed Napoleon ? — Piizing more 
 
 Old fame in camp and council won, 
 Or fearless England's a-gis o'er 
 
 Tlie f utui-e of her ally's son ? 
 
 Gate of that World wp know not yet — 
 
 What thou l)(']i('ld'.st who may proclaim ? 
 Wei'e spirit-i-anks in order set, 
 
 Haunting thy portals as ho came, 
 With voices nuuniuring : " Our life torch — 
 
 Unspent — was (pienched at liis behest " / 
 Did bygone princes till the porch — 
 
 ]Joui'bon, and Yalois, and the rest 1 
 
 How passed the soldier ? — Cold and stern — 
 'Mid weaponless reproachful ghosts — 
 
 As when he lead them forth to learn 
 How light the hardy Gorman hosts ?
 
 38 TO THE WHITE JULIENNE. 
 
 How passed the Emperor where they gazed — 
 Once wearers of the ancient crown ? 
 
 As one who knew its histre blazed 
 The brighter ei-e he laid it down ? 
 
 How passed he ? — brighter grows the dream ! 
 
 Past yon accusing spirit-band — 
 Beyond the scornful Old Regime — 
 
 Another group of watchers stand ! 
 Those hands are stretched to greet him now 
 
 That once Chai-lemagne's proud sceptre won ; 
 While hastes Hoi'tense with beaming brow — • 
 
 No longer banished from her son ! 
 
 ^0 the Mliitc Julienne. 
 
 " The white Julienne remains the llowcr of Marie Antoinette." — 
 
 ALPHONSE KARR. 
 
 Again above thy fragile flowers 
 
 I bend, to bring their perfume nigh ; 
 For only in the evening hours 
 
 Thy odours pass thy blossoms by ; 
 But, when the ministering day 
 
 Deserts thee with the w;irmth and light 
 That lulled thee, waking thou wilt pay 
 
 For these, in sweetness, to the night. 
 
 flower of Marie Antoinette ! 
 
 Ungrateful to the lavish day — 
 Refusing it thy fragrance — yet 
 
 Relenting in such generous way —
 
 TO THE WniTE JULIENNE. 39 
 
 Perchance, like thee, wliile h'fe was bright 
 
 Her 80ul no holy savour shed — 
 Yet scattered incense when <jrief's night 
 
 Wept dews of blood upon her head 1 
 
 I bend to bring thy i)erfuuie near 
 
 Again — I cannot leave the spot ; 
 Damp walls and piison gloom are hei-e I 
 
 The beauties of the garden-plot 
 Are gone — save thee, White Julienne, 
 
 Fond-handled by the fated queen ! 
 1 hear her sigh above thee — then 
 
 The sentry's tread behind the screen 1 
 
 d^4b^^ 
 
 
 C^<]f^V 

 
 ^^t^X-^ ^*^ a.*^ ^^ ^T^ ^*^ ^!^ «*^ ^!^ ^'^ ^!^ iv!^ «t^ ^^ ^.^ 3Vitt l^f'.x 
 
 V. 
 
 ^a ^jcnnj the ^Ijifth, 
 
 NAMI-:D king of FRAXCE, a.d. 1873. 
 
 Translated from the French of Victor Hugo. 
 
 My youth was passing, Sire, whilst you among 
 
 The cradle-wrappings slept ; my morning-song 
 
 Sung o'er your pillow. Winds of heaven have thrown 
 
 Us both, since then, on heights apart and lone. 
 
 Heights ! For misfoiiune drear, oui- destined land, 
 
 80 thunder-scarred, a-nigh to heaven must stand ! 
 
 The north and south are nearer than our ways 
 
 Ai-e neai- to one another ; and Fate lays 
 
 The purple round you, and has not withheld 
 
 Our France's sceptre — dazzlements of eld. 
 
 I, crowned with silver hairs, say — praising you— 
 
 " Well done ! " That man is to his manhood true 
 
 Who bi'avely, at his own behest, will do 
 
 High deeds of self-undoing ; will forego 
 
 All — all — save immemorial honour ; — though 
 
 She seem to earthliei- eyes a phantom, more 
 
 Will follow her (as erst in Elsinore 
 
 One faithful heart obeyed the beckoning ghost), 
 
 Nor stoop to buy a kingdom at her cost. 
 
 That you are aught save honest, none may say ; 
 
 The Lily must be white — all white — for aye. 
 
 A Bourbon can but i-eign as Capet's heii-, 
 
 Or waive his kingship. History is aware 
 
 Of wrecks enough — of changing battles' din — 
 
 Of those who grandly lose, or basely win ! 
 
 Better with honoiu-, Prince, the throne to (piit 
 
 Than, where St. Louis sat, dishonoured sit ! 
 
 Melbourne "Argun," 1873.
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR. 41 
 
 ^hc flilgrim.icic to Iicblaar. 
 
 From the Ootnanof Ildnrich Heine, 
 
 The mother stood at her wimlow ; 
 
 The sun on his pillow lay : 
 "Arouse thee, arouse thee, Wilhelin, 
 
 For the pilgrims pass this way ! " 
 
 " I hear not the holy songs, mother; 
 
 1 see not the bainiers wave; 
 My heart is like lead within me, 
 
 For Gretchen is in her grave." 
 
 " No moi-e of the Paternoster ; 
 
 No more of the i-osai-y ; 
 We will go to God's Mother at Kevlaar, 
 
 And thv heart-hurt healed shall be !" 
 
 The sacred banners are waving 
 
 And the hymn rings clear and high 
 
 In Coloirne — Colo<me of the Ivhint'land 
 As the pilgrim-host goes by. 
 
 Aaid the mother and son together 
 In the ranks are marching now ; 
 
 And their voices aie swelling the chorus : 
 " Hail Mary I Praised be thou I "
 
 42 THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAB. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Mother of God at Kevlaar 
 In her richest robes is drest ; 
 
 From the multitude's prayerful clamour 
 All day she will have no rest. 
 
 All day, as the sick salute her, 
 Their gold and their silver ling ; 
 
 And feet and hands of the snow-white wax 
 To her blessed shrine they bring. 
 
 And whoso upon her altar 
 
 A waxen liml) doth lay. 
 From his limb of flesh doth Our Lady take 
 
 The pain and the ail away. 
 
 * 
 
 The mother she mouldeth a taper — 
 8ho mouldeth it to a heart : 
 
 " Now bear it unto God's Mother, 
 And Sori'ow and thou shalt pai't I 
 
 The son with a sigh receives it ; 
 
 With a sigli to Our Lady goes ; 
 The tears all-sorrowful streaming 
 
 As the prayer all-sorrowful flows.
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR. 43 
 
 " moi-f'iful One and mi<j;hty, 
 And Maiden of God for aye ! 
 
 Mary, C^ueen of lleaven, 
 Before thee my giief I lay ! 
 
 " We dwell in Oolofjne of the Rhineland, 
 My good old mother and 1 — 
 
 Cologne of tlie thousand churches ; 
 And Gietchen lived close by ; 
 
 " And now she is dead, Mary ! 
 
 And 1 bring this heart — and i vow 
 If mine thou wilt heal I will ever say : 
 
 ' Hail, Mary ! Prais6d be thou ! ' " 
 
 III. 
 
 The pilgrim-son and the mother 
 In their narrow lodging slept ; 
 
 And the Mother of God she entered — 
 With a noiseless foot she stept ; 
 
 And she bent o'er the broken-hearted 
 With a pitiful pitiful smile — - 
 
 Laying her hand so tender 
 Over his heart the while. 
 
 Even so was vouchsafed the Vision 
 To the mother — ere she sprang 
 
 From her couch at the watch-dog's 'larum 
 Which loud and untimely rang.
 
 44 THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR. 
 
 And there, in the Httle chamber, 
 Behold, her son lay dead ! 
 
 His face — so pallid aforetime — 
 A-flush with the morning-red. 
 
 Then his cold cold hands the mother 
 Folded — she knew not how — 
 
 And, as ei-st, devout she murmured : 
 " Hail Mary ! Praised be thou ! " 
 
 December, 1885.
 
 VI. 
 
 ^he ^clatcb ^luallolu. 
 
 " Add ilic binl.f of the air have nests." 
 
 Belated swallow, whithev flying ? 
 The (lay is dead, the light is dying, 
 
 The night draws near : 
 Where is thy nest, slow put together, 
 8oft-lined ■jvith moss and downy feather, 
 For shelter-place in stress of weather 
 
 And darkness drear ? ' 
 
 Past, ])ast, above the lighleil city, 
 Unknowing of my wondering pity, 
 
 Seawai'd she flies. 
 Alas, [i()(ir hii'd I wliat rude awaking 
 Ha,s diiven thee foi'th, when storms are breaking, 
 And frightened gulls the waves forsaking 
 
 With wai'ning cries ? 
 
 AIms, my soul ! while Iciivcs are greenest 
 Thy heedless head thou fondly screeuest 
 
 ]>eneath thy wing. 
 J low bravely thou thy plumage wearest — ■ 
 How lightly thou life's burthen bearest — 
 liow h.i{)pily thy home preparest — 
 
 In careless spring !
 
 46 WASHED ASHORE. 
 
 Yet days to come an hour may bring thee 
 When none of all that sing can sing thee 
 
 To joy or rest 1 
 When all the winds that blow shall blow thee ; 
 And, ere the floods shall overflow thee, 
 The sunlight linger but to show thee 
 
 Thy shattered nest I 
 
 Have you heard of the fate of the albatross ? 
 
 Of the bird that was washed ashore ? 
 And the message to tell of a good ship's loss 
 
 That around his neck he bore ? 
 
 I have heard of the bird that was washed ashore 
 
 Of the crew that were cast away ; 
 And the Crozet rocks and the ocean roar 
 
 Have haiTnted me all the day. 
 
 Yet not of the wreck liave I mused forlorn, 
 
 Nor the Isle in the Indian sea ; 
 And not for the drifting dead I mourn, 
 
 " In the haven where they would be." 
 
 A speck tliat seems as it scarce had stirred- 
 A blur on the blue wave's crest — 
 
 The wide wide wings of a gallant bird — 
 The gleam of his white white breast.
 
 WASHED ASnOTtE. 47 
 
 lie was fledged where the sunless oceans flush 
 
 To the sudden crater glow, 
 And at nead of night the Aurora's blush 
 
 Comes back from the Polar snow. 
 
 No smoke of the city had smirched his wings ; 
 
 No young of the flock he stole ; 
 No nest of his to the rafters clings ; 
 
 Of the fields he took no toll. 
 
 Spirit heedless of wealth and state — 
 
 One hour wa« thy star a.shine, 
 When by Nature's side thou didst walk elate, 
 
 ^^'i<h tliy First Love's hand in thine ! 
 
 How was it, biid, when thy bosom warm 
 
 'Neath an icy grip gi-ew chill ? 
 And the wings were furled that defied the storm, 
 
 And the fluttering heart grew still ? 
 
 Could the far Antarctic lights illume 
 
 The blackness of sky and sea 
 When Fate held thee helpless amid the gloom 
 
 That rose 'twixt thy Past and theo ? 
 
 \al October, iss".
 
 48 IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC. 
 
 In the ,^outh iJacific. 
 
 A VISION of a savage land, 
 
 A glimpse of cloud-ringed sea.s ; 
 
 A moonlit deck, a murderous hand ;- 
 No more, no more of these ! 
 
 No more ! how heals the tender flesh, 
 Once toi-n by savage beast ? 
 
 The Avound, re-opening, bleeds afresh, 
 Each season at the leivst ! 
 
 da}^ for dawn of thee- how prayed 
 
 The spirit, sore disti-essed ! 
 Thy latest beams, upslanting, made 
 
 A pathway for the blest. 
 
 xVnd robes, new-donned, of the redeemed, 
 Gleamed white past gi-ief's dai'k pall : 
 
 So this, a day of death which seemed, 
 A birthday let us call. 
 
 Remembering, such day as this, 
 A soul from flesh was shriven. 
 
 By death, God's messenger of bliss ; 
 A spirit entered 1 leaven. 
 
 Thy dying head no loving breast 
 
 Uphold, eai-ly slain ; 
 But soon, 'mid welcoming saints, 'twas prest 
 
 Where God's own Child has lain !
 
 NO MESSAGE. 4'J 
 
 Though none <at death l)roke Bread for thee, 
 
 Or poured the Sacred Wine ; 
 Thou, nourished at Ills Board, dost see 
 
 The Substance of the Sign. 
 
 We mourned thee ! Heaven's new born, and rich 
 
 Past all our prayers could claim, 
 Seciu'e in blessedness, of which 
 
 We have not learnt the name. 
 
 She hcai-d the story of the end, 
 Each message, too, she heard ; 
 
 And there was one for every friend ; 
 For her alone — no woid. 
 
 And shall she bear a heavier heart, 
 And tU'cni his love was fled ; 
 
 Becjvuse his soul from eai-tli could pai't 
 Leaving her name unsaid ? 
 
 No — No ! — Though neither sign nor sound 
 A parting thought expressed — 
 
 Not heedless passed the Ilomcward-Bound 
 Of her he loved the best.
 
 50 NO MESSAGE. 
 
 Of voyage-peiils, biuvely boi-ne, 
 He would not tell the tale ; 
 
 Of sliattei'ed planks and canvas torn, 
 And war with wind and gale. 
 
 He waited till the light-house star 
 Should lise against the sky ; 
 
 And from the mainland, looming far. 
 The forest scents blow by. 
 
 He hoped to tell — assurance sweet ! — 
 That pain and giief wei'e o'er — 
 
 What blessings haste the soul to meet, 
 Ere yet within the door. 
 
 Then one farewell he thought to speak 
 When all the rest were past — 
 
 As in the jiai-tiiig-hour we seek 
 The dearest hand the last. 
 
 And while for this delaying but 
 To see Heaven's opening (late — 
 
 Lo, it received him - and was shut- 
 Ere he could say " I wait."
 
 CHRISTMAS DAY. 51 
 
 bonnets. 
 
 I. 
 CHRISTMAS DAY. 
 O HAPPY (lay, -with seven-fold blessings sot 
 Amid thy hullowed houi-s — the memories dear 
 Of childhood's holidays — and household cheer, 
 AVheu friends and kin in loving ciirle met — 
 And youth's glad gatherings, where the sands were wet 
 By waves that hurt not, whilst the gi-eat clifts near, 
 With stoi'ins erewhile accpiaint, gave echo clear 
 Of voices gay and laughter gayer yet. 
 And gi-avei' thoughts and holier aiise 
 Of how, 'twixt that first eve and dawn of thine, 
 The iStai' iiscended which hath lit our skies 
 More than the sun himself ; and 'mid the kine 
 The Child was born whom she{)herds, and the wise 
 Who came from far, and angels, called Divine. 
 
 II. 
 
 TiiR xi:w vi:ar. 
 
 With supple houghs and new-l)orn leaflets crowned, 
 Kejoicing in fresh verdure stands the tree, 
 Though \veatlu'i--scHrred and scooped by fire may be 
 Its ancient trunk. So may our lives be found 
 (Clod leaving still our i-oots within His gi-ound). 
 Whei-e gaps of loss and waste show bi-okenly 
 May each new year that comes to greet us see 
 Branches, and foliage, and flowers abound. 
 Where Fortune, spoiling wayfarer, hath left 
 LTnsightly rents, may garlands spring apace. 
 And if, perchance, .some pitiless wind hath reft 
 Away what newer gi-een shall ne'er replace, 
 May heaven-light come the clo.ser for the cleft 
 O'er which no tender fronds shall interlace.
 
 21atch-ilight. 
 
 Midnight — musical and splendid — 
 And the Old Year's life is ended ; 
 And the New, " born in the purple," babe yet crowned, 
 
 among us dwells ; 
 While Creation's welcome swells — 
 Starlight all the heavens pei'vading, 
 And the whole world serenading 
 Him, at birth, with all its bells ! 
 
 Round the cradle of the tender 
 Flows the music, shines the splendour ; 
 It is early yet for counsel, — but bethink how Hermes gave — 
 
 (While the Myths wei-e bright and bi-ave) — 
 Thwarted Phoebus no small battle, 
 Seeking back his lifted cattle — 
 
 Houi'-old Hermes, in his cave ! 
 
 New Year, if thy youth should blind us 
 Thy swift feet, perchance, may find us 
 Sleeping in the dark — unguarded — as the sun-god's herds 
 
 were found ! 
 Lest, unready, on his round 
 We be hurried — World, take wai-ning 
 That ah-eady it is morning 
 And a j^iant is unbound ! 
 
 to^ 
 
 Idle-liauded yet, but willing. 
 Let \is ponder ere the lilling 
 Of his empty eager fingers with our heedless hot behest. 
 Be our failures frank-confessed — • 
 'Mid the gusli of gladsome greeting 
 lle(piieiu in our heai-ts i'e])eating 
 For the years that died uublest.
 
 WA TCH-NIGHT. 
 
 ^i 
 
 How they came to us — so precious ! — 
 TTow abode with us — so gracious ! — 
 lUiiully doiiii,' all our bidding; stronger, swifter, than wo 
 
 thought. 
 Like the sprites by inagic brought ; 
 Shaping di-eam to action for us ; 
 Till we stood, beset with sorrows, 
 
 Wondering what oui'selvo; 
 
 had wrought ! 
 
 Ere the tightening of the tcthor 
 Bind this year and us together, 
 Let us }i:uise awhile and ponder: Whither tend we side ))y 
 
 side — 
 He who gallops — we who guide? — 
 Once we stai-t — like lost Lenore 
 Sung in Biirgei-'s ballad-story — 
 Fast us ( )din's hunt — we ride !
 
 VII. 
 
 piibibVi ICnmcnt far .Jonathan. 
 
 Tiiou wast hard pressed, yet God concealed this thing 
 From me ; and thou wast wounded very sore, 
 
 And beaten down, son of Israel's king, 
 Like wheat on thi'eshino--floor. 
 
 T}io\i, that from coui'tly and fi-om wise foi- fi-iend 
 Didst choose me, and in spite of ban and sneer, 
 
 Rebuke and x-idicule, until the end 
 Didst evei' hold me de-ii' ! 
 
 All night thy body on the mountain lay : 
 
 At morn the heathen nailed thee to their wall. 
 
 Surely their deaf gods hear the songs to-day 
 O'er the slain House of Saul ! 
 
 Oh ! if that witch were here thy father sought, 
 Methinks 1 e'en could call thee from thy place. 
 
 To shift thy mangled image finnu my thought, 
 Seeing thy soul's calm face. 
 
 I sori'owed for the woi-ds the prophet spoke, 
 That set me rival to tliy father's \\\w ; 
 
 But o'er thy spirit no re[)ining broke 
 For what had else l)oen tliine.
 
 DAY ID'S LAMENT FOL' JONATHAN. 
 
 Tlidu wnst not like to iiio, so rude, so hot ; 
 
 The worltl was not in thine, as in my sight, 
 Like the pi'oiul <,'iant who from Isi-ael sought 
 
 A champion to light. 
 
 J tliouglit to ask imr looked to he denied — 
 Of God, that in my days there might ascend 
 
 ITis House; not from my hands, so redly dyed, 
 r.ut thine, pure-hearted friend. 
 
 My friend, within God's House thou dwellest now; 
 
 Thy wounds are healed^thou need'st no Gilead-halm ; 
 Defeated and degrade;!, yet thy biow 
 
 Is ci'owned — with death and caliii. 
 
 O God, tliis is Thy black and latter sea 
 
 Whieii buflets so and blinds my sti'uggling soul 
 
 Out of the depths I cry, God, to Thee, 
 Whose grief-waves o'ei- me i-oll. 
 
 God give to me tlie spirit that was liis — 
 
 The patience, that he needs no more — to blend 
 
 With the wild eagerness that mars my bliss ; 
 I \vould be like my fiiend. 
 
 Through the dark valley soon, to where he stands, 
 God sunun(;n me ! Till then tlie sword shall shine 
 
 That comes from liis dead grasp into mv lianils : 
 Hls children be as mine !
 
 56 AT THE FORDS OF JORDAN. 
 
 Jit the ;fliorli5 of Jorbim. 
 
 Tlie parting of King David and Barzillai the Gileadite after the revolt of Absalom. 
 
 A LITTLE way fai-ther to guide thee I go 
 
 Where the footing is firm and the waters are low ; 
 
 Then we part, O my King, thou once more to thy throne, 
 
 I to dwell, in the house of my fathers — alone. 
 
 Yet think not, David, one pang of regret 
 
 Would tempt the recall of the youth I have set 
 
 In thy presence ; the strong-armed, the true-hearted one — 
 
 Last gift of my loyalty — even my son. 
 
 Ere my hand to the husbandman's toil had been trained, 
 Or my foot to the slow-moving flocks had been chained, 
 I, too, would have marched in the long line of spears — 
 With the youthful, the courtly, the brave for my peers. 
 
 The days when I dreamt but of battle !— The lamp 
 Which all night I kept burning— that, if from the camp 
 One straggler should come, I might hang up his sword 
 And hearken how prospered the cause of the Lord ! 
 
 How my heart used to beat ; liow my veins used to thrill 
 From fi-eezing to fever, from fever to chill. 
 When the voice of the Pliilistino rang through our coasts, 
 Defying — unanswered — the Lord God of I fosts ! 
 
 How I prayed day and night — ay, with many a tear — 
 " Loi-d, shorten the time till Thy chamjnon appear ! " 
 And if fearing or hoping my.self to change blows 
 With the inant — Ood bidden — I know ; and God knows!
 
 AT THE FOBDS OF JORDAN. o" 
 
 Ah, it was not for gain, and it was not for fear, 
 Tliat I wore not the warrior's ^litterinfr year : — 
 My father, my mother ! — the heart-strife was done! — 
 For Saul had his thousands and they liad but one. 
 
 I am okl, but. King David, I cjinnot forget 
 ]My hot-heai'ted youth ; so my boy shall not fret 
 ']Mid the safety and sameness of flocks and of fields 
 While the soldiers of Israel burnish their shields. 
 
 The Lord Ix' tliy keeper, henceforth and for aye, 
 My son whom I love ! — And when I am away 
 Be thy spirit as now— pure and lofty, and bold ; 
 Thy strength still unwa.sted ; thy heart never cold. 
 
 When thy .soul with the minions of darkness mu.st fight. 
 The Oreat King lend thee weapons and armour of light. 
 No hindi-ance are they — like the harness of Saul 
 To the boy fiom the folds. — May'st thou bear them through 
 all! 
 
 All blessings be thine which the promise foretells ! 
 And, oh, when the heart of thy eldest born swells 
 At thy stories of many a soldierly deed, 
 Tell how one, not a .soldier, served Israel in ihmmI. 
 
 The }nen are fast forming again into rank ; 
 
 The river is foi'ded ; we part on the bank. 
 
 Ha.ste where welcome awaiteth thee, David, this day ; 
 
 For the joy of the people ill beaieth delay ! 
 
 The Lord give thy children the love-guarded crown. 
 When the King and his .servant in dust have lain down ! 
 Till the hope of the nations thy lineage shall close — 
 God's arrows be sharp in the hearts of thy foes !
 
 58 THE MAGI TO THE STAB. 
 
 %\\t #agi to the §tar. 
 I. 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Star, on thy Heaven-retuining way, 
 Our message of tlianksgiving bear 
 
 To Him A\ ho answered with thy lay 
 
 The priestless Gentiles' trembhng prayer. 
 
 "When songs of revel shook the i-oof, 
 
 God, Thou (Hdst cheer the joyless course, 
 
 Where we, like Vashti, walked aloof. 
 Braving the woi-ld's unjust divorce. 
 
 How rate we now all griefs and scorn 
 That filled oiu' youth with bittei-ness 1 
 
 We had not known the Christ is born 
 But that we sought f oi- One to bless ! 
 
 11. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 Fence Thou Thy Child, O Merciful, 
 
 When hate shall cavil at His worth ; 
 When underlings like Haman rule 
 
 Hold Thou the golden sceptre forth. 
 
 When envy round Thy Precious One 
 
 Its tongues of scorching flame hath cui'led, 
 
 Unwastod let His virtue i-un 
 
 From the sore fiu'nace of the \sorkl 
 
 To fill a new Colossus-mould. 
 
 When tireless unl)elief hath sent 
 Thy truest Ima^c to the cold 
 
 Pure mountain-tops of banishment.
 
 THE MAGI TO THE ST A II m 
 
 Give then, God, Thy li^lit, to break 
 
 Throuf,'li all earth's valleys criunped and dim, 
 
 That after-times may see, and take 
 
 Their heroes' measurement from Him I 
 
 III. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 A new hoi-izon's dim blue ring 
 
 Ai'oiind our watcli-fiie shall be cast — 
 
 New stars i-eplaoe the vanishing - 
 To-morrow's homewai'd travel p:ust. 
 
 Woi'd-hringei', now thine einhassy 
 Is closed, tlioii stayest not to fill 
 
 A lowlier office. Thou shalt be 
 
 8oon 'mid the angels, shining still ! 
 
 One priceless pearl of upper sea — • 
 
 One matchless gem of heaven's rich mine ; 
 
 Within (he place once held by thee 
 God send no aftei'-light to shine ! 
 
 Yet, foi-emost of the host of gold. 
 
 Long-followed, thou wa.st never sent — 
 
 A glimpse of what the Heavens enfold — 
 To daiken earth with discontent 1 
 
 Star of the Pi-omised ! Streaming on 
 
 Througli Time's long night — though thou 
 must set — 
 
 Thy light shall spread, when thou art gone, 
 O'er sunless lands we see not yet !
 
 60 TO THE VIRGIN MARY. 
 
 ^0 the Dirgiii ,^Harn. 
 
 Mother of Him we call the Christ, 
 No halo round thy brows we paiut — 
 
 Incense and prayer we ofi'er not, 
 Noi- mind to title thee as saint. 
 
 And yet, no woman's name — of all 
 With honour from the ages sent — 
 
 Mary, is aureoled like thine, 
 
 With love and grief and glory blent ! 
 
 Oh wisely was it that He chose — 
 Who the unwritten futui-e i-eads — 
 
 To teach the after-world, through thee, 
 What cherishers Messiah needs. 
 
 Thou heai'd'st the angel's pi-ophecy — 
 
 The tidings which the .shepherds brought — 
 
 Anna and Simoon pi-aising God — 
 
 And saw'st that .star the Wise Men sought ! 
 
 Ah, who of us could bear — like thee — 
 With meekness, God's triumphal light ; 
 
 Then — still believing, with His Charge — 
 At midnight take an exile's flight ? 
 
 Throughout the Son's long helplessness 
 His good was to thine own preferred ; 
 
 May we so serve ; and .still, like thee, 
 Stand back to let HLs voice be heard ! 
 
 Dispensei- once of eai-thly things. 
 Thy Best-Belov6d thou didst see ; 
 
 God's hands for others blessing-full — 
 Could we be poor and glad like thee ? 
 
 Soul-pierced with .swoi-d-like agony — 
 Not felon's taunt nor soldier's je.st, 
 
 Beside the God-forsaken Cross, 
 
 Could drive thoe from it like the rest.
 
 TO THE VliiOM MAltV. 61 
 
 Christ's banner thou alone didst hold 
 ]n face of all His foes displayed ; 
 
 Valiant through all defeat and but 
 Heart-stiicken that He was betrayed. 
 
 Ah, Mary ! Could we stand, like thee, 
 Steadfast ; and watch the vowed depart ; 
 
 And giieve foi- theii- defection less 
 
 Than for the Saviour's wounded heart ? 
 
 How must thy God — who favoui- set 
 
 On David once and kingly Saul, 
 And yet foresaw their wandeiings. 
 
 And loved them through and after all — 
 
 How must He seal the prophecy, 
 
 Declaring thee for ever blest. 
 Whose whole life showed thy worthiness 
 
 Of that pure Child thine arms had pressed ! 
 
 O single-heai'ted one to kiss 
 
 The lifeless and dishonoured head 
 
 Fondly as when its baby bi'ow 
 By angel wings was canopied ! 
 
 O self-foi'gt'tful, to rejoice 
 
 Foi- that Heaven's entrance had been found 
 By the Beloved : thou content 
 
 Thencefoi'th alone to close life's roinid 1 
 
 In the bright future — sure, though far — 
 Again, as once, the wide air i-ings 
 
 With praise to Christ ! — Thy vigil ends. 
 Meek dau'diter of a lunidred kings ! 
 
 Virgin, uiay we partake thy joy. 
 
 When Heaven and loyal earth shall lay 
 
 At the pierced feet of David's son 
 A crown He will not put away !
 
 VIII. 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 ^hc ^ucitralhii:!. 
 
 'TwAS brave De Qniros bent the knee before the King of 
 Spain, 
 
 And " Sire," he said, " I bring thy ships in safety home 
 again 
 
 Fi'om seas unsailed of mariner in all the days of yore — 
 Where reefs and islets, insect bi;ilt, arise from ocean's floor. 
 And, sire, the land we sought is found — its coavsts lay full in 
 view 
 
 When homeward bound, perfoixe, I sailed, at the bidding of 
 my crew. 
 
 * I'erra Australis called 1 it ; and linked therewith the 
 
 name 
 Of Ilim who guideth, as of old, in cloud itiid stniry ilame. 
 And gi'ant me shi})s Mgaiu," he said, " and southward let me 
 
 go — 
 
 A new Peru may wait thee there — another Mexico." 
 
 A threadbare suitor, year by year — " There is a land," said 
 he ; 
 
 Wliile King and (Jourt grew weary of this old man of the 
 sea ; 
 
 For there were heretics to burn, and JIolL-ind to sulxlue. 
 
 And England to be hundjjed (which this day remains to do). 
 
 () land he named — but never saw — his memory revere! 
 
 Tlie gallant disappointed heart — let him be honoured here I 
 
 ' Terra Anwtrali.s, dul Ksiieritii Smictu, niiu of the Xuw Hebrides.
 
 THE AUSritALIAD. (W 
 
 Meanwhile the liardy Dutchman came - as ancient charts 
 
 attest — 
 Ilartog, and Nuyts, iind Cari)enter, and Tasuian, and the 
 
 rest, 
 But found not I'orfsts rich in spice, nor market for their 
 
 wares, 
 Nor servile tribes to toil o'ertasked 'mid pestilential airs — 
 And dei^mel it sciirce worth while to claim so poor a 
 
 continent, 
 But with their slumberous tropic isles thenceforward were 
 
 content. 
 
 And then c;ime Dampier, who, erewhile, upon the Spanish 
 
 Main 
 For silver-laden galleons hu-ked^ — and great was his disdain. 
 Good ships, beside, from France were sent — good ships and 
 
 gallant crews — 
 With Marion and D'Entrecasteaux and tlie far fanieil La 
 
 Percjuse. 
 And still, of all who sought or saw, the voyages were vain- 
 Australia ne'er was farm for l)()ers nor mission field for 
 
 Sjjain, 
 Nor fleur-de-lys nor tricolour was ever planted here — 
 And Britain's flaur to hoist was not foi' hands of buccaneer. 
 
 But to our lovely eastern coast, led by auspicious stars. 
 Came Cook, in the Endeavour, with his little band of tars - 
 Who straight on shores of Jiotany old England's ensign 
 
 reared, 
 With mi'ditv din of nuisketrv and noise of them that 
 
 cheered. 
 And none of all his noble fleets who sixty yeai-s was king 
 A ]>rize so goodly ever brought as that small shi]) did 
 brinir I
 
 64 THE A VSTRALIA D. 
 
 And who was he — the first to find Austiulia passing 
 
 fair ?— 
 One who aforetime well had served his countiy othei-where : 
 Who to the Heights of Abraham up the swift St. Lawrence 
 
 led, 
 "When on the moonless battle-eve the midnight oarsmen 
 
 sped. 
 No worthier captain British deck befoi-e or since hath 
 
 ti'od — 
 He " never feared the face of man," but feared alway his 
 
 God. 
 His crew he cherished tenderly, and kept his honour bright. 
 For with the helpless blacks he dealt as if they had been 
 
 white. 
 A boy, erewhile, of lowly birth, self-taught, a poor man's 
 
 son, 
 But a hero and a gentleman, if ever thei-e was one ! 
 And when at last, by savage hands, on wild Owyhee slain, 
 He left a deathless memory — a name without a stain ! 
 
 'Tis but a hundred years ago — as nearly as may be — 
 Since good King George's vessel first anchored in Botany. 
 A hundi-ed years ! — Yet, oli, how many changes there have 
 
 been ! 
 Uncla.sp thy volume, History, and say what thou hast seen. 
 
 Old Englaml and liei' colonies stand face to face as foes, — 
 And now their orators inveigh, and now their ai-mies close. 
 In viiiu, our mother-land, for once thy sword is drawn 
 
 in vain, 
 Allies and enemies alike, thi/ children are the slain. 
 Though, save as victoi', never 'twas thy wont to quit the 
 
 field, 
 llelenting filled thy valiant heart and thou wast fain to 
 
 yield.
 
 THE AUSTRALIAD. &o 
 
 Ah, well for loss of those fair States might King and 
 Commons mourn ! 
 
 There lay, in sooth, a goodly bough from England's rose- 
 tree torn ! 
 
 But now how deep its roots have struck — how stately stands 
 the stem — 
 
 How lovely on its branches leaf and flower and dewy gem ! 
 
 New life from that .soi-e severance to our sister-scion came, 
 
 God speed thee, young Amei-ica, we gloiy in thy fame 1 
 
 The stoi-m that shook the Western Woild now eastward 
 
 breaks anew — 
 And, oh, how black the tempest is which blotteth out the 
 
 blue ! 
 And over thee, ill-fortuned France, what floods resistless roll, 
 A tidal wave of blood no pitying planet may control 1 
 Like Samson toiling blind and bound to fui'nish food foi- 
 
 those 
 Who light withheld and liberty, and mocked at all his woes, 
 So have thy people held their peace — so laboured— so have 
 
 borne 
 The burden serfdom ever bears, the sorrow and the scoi-n. 
 But as with gi'oping giant-hands he seized the pillars twain 
 And made Philistia's land one house of mourning for the 
 
 slain, 
 So rise they, frenzied, at the last, by centuries of Avrong, 
 And wTeak a vengeance di'eadful as their sufferings have 
 
 been long. 
 The vile B;ustille is overthrown, the Monarchy lies low. 
 The fetters of the Feudal Age ai'e broken at a blow ! 
 
 Of Poland parted for a prey dire Nemesis shall tell 
 When o'ei- the dead in Cracow's vault shall ring Oppression's 
 knell !
 
 66 THE AUSTRALIAD. 
 
 Now Erin from her Sister-Isle awhile was fain to pai-t 
 
 For Strongbow's arrow rankled long within her wounded 
 
 heart ; 
 And long by desecrated fane and iireless hearth she wailed, 
 Where brutal Ireton's Herod-host their murderous pikes 
 
 had trailed. 
 Here shine the names she holdeth dear ; and prize them 
 
 well she may — 
 Past soldiers of a Frankish piince, or peers of Castlei-eagh ; 
 The gifted ones who pled for her 'gainst bigotry and pride, 
 The gallant ones who died for her when young Fitzgerald 
 
 died! 
 
 Enough, enough, — forbear to trace the record of the age, — 
 Where elder nations are insci^ibed, through each distressful 
 
 page: 
 But hearken how, — for once, at least — without an army's 
 
 aid — 
 A people's lines — the lines of her who holds the South — 
 
 were laid ! 
 
 Five thousand leagues of ocean 'twixt the old home and the 
 
 new, 
 And lodging strait and scanty fare the weary voyage 
 
 through. 
 And toil and hardship safely past, and crossed the perilous 
 
 main, 
 Never to tread on English gromid 'mid English fiiends 
 
 again ! 
 Yet men were found to dare it all — men, ay, and women 
 
 too — 
 (Not only those exiled perforce, who ofttimes rose anew, — 
 Out-cast upon new earth — ^with hope, and heart, and vigour 
 
 given. 
 By fresh surroundings, and Ilis gi-aco who bids the lost to 
 
 Heaven) —
 
 THE A VSTIiA LI A D. G7 
 
 The brave, the fau-, the gently-born, and Labour's Ufe-long 
 
 thrall, 
 Within those circling seas of ours there was a place for all. 
 
 For patient hands the woods to fell, the new-formed fields 
 
 to till. 
 The huts to build, the scanty flocks and herds to guard 
 
 from ill. 
 For bolder spirits, to foi'sake the sea-board settlement. 
 And learn the secret of the land where never white man 
 
 went, 
 Through mountain-pass, and forest dark, and wide unsheltered 
 
 plain. 
 Through fiery heat of summer, and thi'ough frost, and flood, 
 
 and rain, 
 Unheeding thirst or hunger, or the shower of savage spears ; 
 What soldiei's e'er were braver than Austi'alian pioneers ? 
 What though it was by axe, and plough, and miner's oft- 
 edged tool. 
 And tending sheep and kine through weary years — of 
 
 hardship full — 
 The only victoiies we boast were by our fathers won ? 
 The men who won them had prevailed where feats of arms 
 
 were done ! 
 Three generations born of her our Country now can tell. 
 And son, and sire, and giandsii-e, all in turn have served her 
 
 well ; 
 Not only with the sinewy arm, the hardened hand of toil. 
 That wrest their wealth fi-om lifted lock and forest-cumbered 
 
 soil — 
 By love of order and of law ; by proffered boon to all 
 Of learning — in the township school and in the college hall ; 
 By liberal leisure, well-bestowed, for spoi'ts of land and 
 
 wave ; 
 And by the faith preserved to us God to the Elders gave !
 
 SMSMA^lHiaiaAiiaalkA 
 
 68 THE LIFEBOAT OF DIEPPE. 
 
 And now Britannia's household send her greetings — from 
 
 beside 
 The icy streams of Canada — and islands scattered wide 
 Betwixt the two Americas — fx'om Africa's sea-marge, 
 And where the race of Aurungzebe held empire rich and 
 
 large, 
 And where amid New Zealand fern the English skylarks 
 
 build, 
 And rosy childi-en's sun-burnt hands with English flowers 
 
 are filled — 
 And from our own Austialia too— and all unite to say : 
 " Bind us to thee with stronger bonds than those we own 
 
 to-day. 
 Give to our sons a place with thine — for each to each is 
 
 peer — 
 And let them share thy councils, and the dangers that 
 
 endear ; 
 And what the Olden Realm has been the Newer Realm 
 
 shall be. 
 With a place in every fieeman's heart and a port in every 
 
 sea ! " 
 
 Dundoo, Queensland, 1SS4. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 ^lic 5£ifcboat of Sicppc. 
 
 "Peace hath hor victories, no lens than war." 
 
 A FOGGY day in the Dover Strait, 
 
 Two ships on the misty main ; 
 A crash — then a pitiful, pitiful cry 
 
 Erom the shattei'od sinking twain. 
 
 One boat alone — from the davits cut 
 By a fair haiiod boy — swung free 
 
 Of the whirlpool that sucked the swimmers down, 
 And awhile she stood to sea.
 
 THE LIFEBOAT OF DIEPPE. 60 
 
 Then swift, ere the surge had ceased to swell 
 
 O'er the good ships gulfed below, 
 She sped to the help of the perishing 
 
 As fast as the boy could row. 
 
 Ebb-tide at moi-n on the coast of France ; 
 
 Like a mill race the Channel ran ; 
 And there gazed to seaward from gay Dieppe 
 
 A grey-haired fisherman. 
 
 " A boat ! " he shouted ; " an English boat I 
 
 Look, look ! 8he is swept to sea — 
 Loaded down to the water's edge — 
 
 Haste, haste to her help with me 1 " 
 
 They rallied round him, a gallant crew, 
 
 And the ready lifeboat boi-e ; 
 But the good old mayor stayed their march—- 
 
 " 'Twere vain on yon sea-less shore. 
 
 " One way I wot of : The docks are full 
 
 Though the hai-boui'-i-ocks lie bare ; 
 I will open the floodgates for her, men — 
 
 Will you launcli the lifeboat there? 
 
 " 1 give no order. You know the risk, 
 But the boat may live." And then 
 
 He gazed on then- faces and they on his 
 While one might, pei'haps, count ten. 
 
 Then, with never a word, they lan the boat 
 
 To the great dock's tideless brim. 
 And they sprang to their places and grasped their 
 oars, 
 
 And the shore aiid the sky grew dim.
 
 70 THE OLD PONY'S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Fox' the sweep of a torrent bore them now 
 With a force that none might stay, 
 
 x^way from the watchers that hned the pier — 
 From the harbour-bounds away ; 
 
 Out, out to the Channel. And there, afar, 
 Were those they had vowed to save — 
 
 Oarless and spent, on the racing tide 
 That sped to the western wave. 
 
 *♦*»** 
 
 Soon, soon — the ghost of an EngHsh cheer — 
 Embrace as of brothers born ! 
 
 'Twas told in Paris that selfsame night. 
 In London at early morn. 
 
 18S8. 
 
 ^hc (Dlb Jponn's (lllunstmii!?. 
 
 Just look where they've put me ! There's grass to the knee, 
 
 The juiciest of saltbush, the shadiest tree ; 
 
 And they fenced off this pocket on })urpose for me. 
 
 Last night Frank (my old master) I'odc down on Kildare ; 
 When I looked in his face I knew mischief was there — 
 And a flour-bag he tied to my tree, I declare 1 
 
 My little new master came eai-ly to-day ; 
 
 He is Frank, rising four, and his hair is like hay ; 
 
 And he does love to order (l)ut / don't obey !) 
 
 lie came in the buggy ; my mistress as well 
 
 (A " light weight," / love her. Her name once wns " Noll " 
 
 But now 'tis " Mamma,"— w% I never could tell.)
 
 THE CLEVER CAT. 71 
 
 My old Frank (now " Pupa") drove tliem down witli the bays 
 And (this family of mine really have such nice ways !) 
 They brought me tlie loveliest bundle of maize. 
 
 " 1 gi-ew it myself, old gi-ey Dolo, for you," 
 
 Said small Frank, " but Mamma often watered it too ; 
 
 And we wish ' Merry Christmas ' and ' How do you do ? ' " 
 
 Then he peeped in my "stocking" and soon dragged to light 
 
 The grandest new briille ! (His face xvas a sight !) 
 
 " Oh, Dolo ! " he cried, " Santa Claus came last night ! " 
 
 ^hc (Elcbcr Olat. 
 
 There tvas a cat called William — 
 
 The poorest over seen ; 
 He would not go a-mousing — 
 
 He played the tambourine. 
 
 His family would not feed him — 
 
 This lazy little CJit — 
 But out of dooi's they turned him ; 
 
 There seemed no way but that. 
 
 So on and on he wandered 
 Till he to Oatland came. 
 
 And there he met a Princess — 
 Felina was her name. 
 
 She had the loveliest whiskers ; 
 
 Her eyes were emerald green. 
 She fell in love with William — 
 
 All for his tambouiine !
 
 72 THE CLEVER CAT. 
 
 For her delight was dancing 
 And there was none to play. 
 
 " Strike up ! " she straight commanded 
 When William came that way. 
 
 All day she danced. At sunset 
 
 Poor William at her feet 
 Fell down and said, " Pray may I 
 
 Have something now to eat 1 " 
 
 " To eat ? Of course !— What ho, there ! " 
 
 (Felina had no bell. 
 But when she called her servants 
 
 Her sweet voice did as well.) 
 
 Then tortoiseshells and tabbies 
 Tripped o'er each othei''s tails ; 
 
 All scurrying from the kitchen 
 
 With ci'eam-cakes and stewed snails. 
 
 Now after this they brought him 
 
 Six dinners every day — 
 And " mouse " was never mentioned. 
 
 His brothers came to stay. 
 
 For they had heard of Catland 
 Where William's word was law. 
 
 And by-and-by Felina 
 
 Bestowed on him her paw. 
 
 There is a cat called William — 
 
 The fattest ever seen ; 
 He need not go a-mousing — 
 
 He plays the tambourine !
 
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