ttrr.:W n ith. ■- i?ffSfBW f j3!K ' ■ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES Rustling Leaves ^ij^A^i^ SELECTED POEMS by E. COUNGEAU WILLIAM BROOKS & COMPANY, LIMITED Printers and Publishers 17 Castlereagh Street, S^'diiey 1920 CONTENTS. PACE Le Rol Est Mort - . - 5 To Australia . - - - - 5 Peace -------- 7 To Selene 8 Hope 8 The Immortals - - - - 9 If I Might Choose - - - 10 Queensland Pioneers - - 11 Aurora ------- n Ibrahim Pasha — Albanian War Song 12 "The King" 13 Isodore ------- 15 The Might Have Been - 16 The Haunted Chair - - - 17 A Lonely Grave - - - - 19 In Memoriam: Captain Scott and his Comrades who Perished in Antar- tica 20 Loss of the "Yongala" - 20 The Loss of the "Titanic" 21 The Brotherhood of Man - 22 A Song of Australia - - 22 Life's Duty 23 Australia's Destiny - - - 24 To a Child 25 Cleveland, Q. 25 The Seven Ages of "Woman 26 Evolution - 28 To the Rose 28 The Voice of Song - - - 29 Austral's Heroes - - - - 30 The Glasshouse Mountains, Que'ensland ----- 31 Love's Reverie - - - - 32 Remember ------ 32 The Quest ------ 33 The Jacaranda - - - - 34 The Weavers ----- 35 Where All Is Understood - 36 The City of the "Violet Crown" ------ 36 Dreams ..----. 38 The Muse - 38 An Australian Reverie - 40 In Memoriam: Bishop Webber 41 PAGE What Is Man? - - - - 42 God's Gift 43 The Blue M o u n t a in s, N.S.W. 44 Vale! St. Ebbar - - - - 45 Autumn ------- 45 The Poet Laureate: Alfred Austin ------ 46 The Temple of the Years 48 Because of Thee - - - 48 The Voice of the Wind - 49 The Exile 50 Youth and Age - . - - 51 Australia to the Empire Mother ------ 51 The Ladder Years - - - 54 At Eventide ----- 55 Imagination ----- 56 The Aftermath - - - - 56 To Sleep 58 Mount Tambourine, Queensland ----- 58 Alienation ------ 59 At Night 60 The Wattle ----- 61 Austral's Song - - . - 62 I Know Not ----- 63 Mobillte .--..- 63 Music ------- 64 The Tale of the Great White Plains - - - . 65 Aurelle - 67 An Australian Hymn - - 67 The Legend of Osyth's Wood 68 Kosciusko, New South Wales 70 The Palace of Peace - - 71 Mount Gambler, South Aus- tralia -- 73 Withered Flowers - - - 74 So Long Ago ----- 74 England ------- 75 Solitude 77 Echo 78 The Great Desideratum - 78 Life's Song 80 ia2380S CONTENTS— Continued. PAGE The Barron Falls, Que€-ns- land ------- 80 The Red Cross Knights - 82 Pearls ------- 82 Cross and Crown - - - 83 The Heirlooms - - - - 84 Only for Thou and Me - 85 Oh! Ask Me Not - - - 86 The Temple of Fate - - 87 The Southern Cross - - 88 Nature 88 There was a Time - - - 89 In Loving Memory of Mrs. Cowlishaw ----- go The Rosebud: To Minnie Markwell 91 The Vision of Croesus - 91 Lilies - 93 The Land of Dreams - - 94 Poetry 95 To the Sunflower - - - 96 The Price' of Conquest - 96 The Last Post - - - - 98 The Gordian Knot - - - 98 The Empty Bowl - - - 101 In Memoriam — Gallipoli - 101 The Silent "World - - - 102 Beauty's Eyes . . - - 103 Wher'er I Walk - - - - 104 Byzantium ----- 105 The Juggernaut - - - - 107 Thought 108 Cavell— Martyr, 1915 - - 108 Dry Bones - 109 Princess Mona - - . - m A Southern Night - - - 112 The Silent Witnesses - - 113 The Sentinels - - - - 115 PAGE Wirajuri ------ us Pax - - 117 "Lest We F" o r g e t"— Gallipoli 119 To Shakespeare - - - - 120 The Wardens ----- 121 The Story of Anzac - - 121 Romanus ------ 123 Damascus ------ 125 The Fie'ld-Marshal - - - 127 Ad Glorium— 1918 - - - 128 The Web of Destiny - - 129 Silver and Black - - - 130 The Garden of Souls - - 132 Can We Forget? - - - 133 The Return— 1919— '20. - - 133 La France— 1917 - - - - 134 Fiat Justitia 135 The Heart of France - - 137 Shadow Shapes - - - - 137 Chanson d' Amour - - - - 139 The Burden of Earth - - 140 In Memoriam — Emerson - 142 Mother ------- 143 Evening at Brlbie Island - 144 The Deathless Dead, 1919 - 145 Earth, 1920 146 The Spirit's Quest - - - 147 Gallipoli 148 Dewdrops ------ 149 Be Not Weary in Well- Doing 149 Auster's Love Song - - - 150 The City of the Purple Hills 151 Voices 152 Forest Maiden ----- 153 RUSTLING LEAVES LE ROI EST MORT . A nation's soul had hung with bated breath Upon two fateful words: 'Twas Life or Death. The King is dead! Low lies that royal head; Death's seal is pressed on that cold marble brow, Free from all sorrow now. He is at rest: The King is dead! And she, whom he adored, is stricken low; Nor tears, nor loving words, avail him now. The King is dead! Swifter than morning light his soul hath Winged its flight beyond the stars. The King is dead! Earth's nations bow the head in mutest grief For this: The Royal dead who sleeps beneath yon pall. The King is dead! Life's pageantry is o'er; nor pomp, nor cavalcades disturb him more. The King is dead! Upon that stately bier reposeth now All that remains so dear, whom millions knew. The King is dead! O Angels, waft him home! O Lord of Life and Death, Thy will be done! The King is dead! And yet, he lives again; his son doth Him succeed! God bless his reign! TO AUSTRALIA . Stella Australis! who with matchless grace Riseth like Aphrodite from the ocean's foam, With dawn resplendent in thx smiling face And tresses flung to the wild breezes of thy home. Brilliant the gems thy bosom fair adorning. Rich run thy veins with golden treasure down; Thy girdle formed of pearls fair as the morning, The starry Southern Cross thj' peerless crown. RUSTLING LEAVES The silver rills thy rocky slopes o'erflowing, The thunders of thy falls go rushing o'er To join the tree-fringed rivers in their going Down to the briny deep of Neptune's floor. And Kosciusko towers in mighty solitude, Poising its regal head toward the sky, And 'mid the vast silence of its altitude Views undisturbed the storm clouds passing by. Thy subterranean rivers are unsounded, The golden corn is quivering on thy plain, Thy depths are stored with mineral wealth un- bounded. The fame of which hath crossed the sounding main. And thou dost stand, thine arms outstretched with pleasure, To greet thy friends from that dear Motherland, To welcome thein and give them of thy treasure, The wealth of ages which thou can'st command — Of ages when thy central seas became Haunts of primeval monsters of the deep; When thy volcanoes belched their sulphurous flame And covered all with an eternal sleep. But thou art waking now, thou great Australis; Thou art an empire of thy very self, A trinity of oceans thee embraces, z\nd crowns thee Empress of one commonwealth. Oh, may our Empire-builders faithful be, i Basing thy pillars' vast foundations' might Firm on the rock of justice, truth, and liberty, , Leading thy people upward to the light. RUSTLING LEAVES PEACE. Would that I had the muse's lyre, The poet's gift, and warm desire To cleave the heights to glory's fame; From mountain pinnacles proclaim — Peace, universal peace. I'd string my lute, and make the chords Echo my heart's deep burning words; And bid the nations contemplatively To vibrate to the grandest harmony — The song of peace. For nations rise, and nations fall; Battles are fought, and over all Death's wings, their shadows darkness spread With woe and terror, fraught with dread To all mankind. Where are the ruins of magnificence Which the grim demon war has overthrown? Where are the hanging gardens so immense When Babylonian maids their glances threw Upon their bloom? Egypt and Carthage, Greece and Rome have passed In long procession down the stream of Time; The sands of centuries o'er them are cast. Gone are those mighty cities at whose shrine Knelt luxury and vice. And in their train came war with cruel knife. Creating widows, pestilence and death; And man against his brother in the strife Fell 'neath the devastating monster's breath, His blood the price. Then speed the day when the white dove of peace, With olive branch extended to the world, Shall all unite in brotherhood to man, With flag of universal love unfurled — And war shall cease. RUSTLING LEAVES TO SELENE. Pale queen of beauty, in thy cold abode Lonely thou art, lonely thou e'er wilt be; No sweet companion ever with thee rode Along that trackless waste of vast immensity; Or asked thee what dark secrets thou dost hold In thy deep jagged craters, now so dead, Which once with Vulcan's rage and mutterings bold. Were filled with Jovian darts and thunders dread. Thou art a soulless beauty, yet thy form Reflects its softly glowing radiance! And unborn millions yielding to thy charm Will bask in blissful dreams of dalliance. How many vows, dear, cold and proud Selene, Hast thou seen plighted 'neath thy smiling face? Hovv many broken hearts now rest serene In their last slumber 'neath thy dwelling place? We love thee for thy sweet insouciance. Nor would we care to dwell without thy light. Thy pallor doth thy loveliness enhance. Adored and stately Lady of the Night. HOPE. I walked with joy: the path was smooth And rose-strewn, for all things to youth Seem beautiful; and in those childhood's days Oft' would I wander dreaming down the ways Which led into the grotto in the leafy wood, Where chestnut trees and tall laburnums stood, Waving their golden heads; and 'neath my feet Cowslips, anemones, and bluebells sweet; And past the statue of old "Time," so scarred, Who, scythe in hand, in stonj' silence stared. And the green sward, like velvet carpet, spread, With the vast canopy of azure sky o'erhead. And down the slope were deer with lustrous eye And scliools of rooks would weary homeward fly RUSTLING LEAVES Across the lake the swans would graceful glide. While we our dais}'^ chain would weave, beside The bank where lay the water lilies white — Where in our childish fancy dwelt a sprite. Ah, me! those days returning nevermore! But thoughts remain alone of those sweet hours of yore. I walked with grief. The way was rough and long. TIic world was grey and gloomy, and the voice of song Was hushed. No longer did the silver tones of dear Home voices with their music greet mine ear; But sudden memory would sometimes ope a door, And forms and faces, long since gone before, Would force the poignant tears of grief to flow — For those dear vanished friends of long ago. I walked with Hope, who stretched a tender thread And led me on and upward, past the dead Dark days. Then did my captive spirit find That disappointments and the years had sunk behind The grandeur and the majesty sublime Of higher thoughts, and hidden things of time, And sweet communion of kindred souls Without the mortal ban. as free as rolls The ocean when in placid mood: Or the pure air, pouring in joyous flood. Piercing the veil of flesh to see some noble spirit in its purity. With lofty and exalted mien in calm serenity, Making the common tasks a noble duty and a prayer. Ascending to the skies, and placing there A holy sacrifice — The altar place Heaven's throne — ^Making our Earth an Eden of our own. THE IMMORTALS. These are Immortals on whose brows are set The chaplet of imperishable fame. And round each figure of the saintly name We fold the mantle of our deep regret. Lo: how they throng within the holy shrine. File upon file they come with stately tread, And "ONE" with pierced hands and crowned head Waits to receive them with a look Divine. i) RUSTLING LEAVES IF I MIGHT CHOOSE. If I might choose the home where I would dwell, I'd choose to live where the long rolling swell And murmuring voices of the sun-lit sea Bring restful dreams and sweet tranquility. If I might choose the flowers that I love best, I'd choose the violet and the pansy, pressed Against my wounded heart to ease its pain, And stay the bitter tears which fall in vain. If I might choose the songs which I would sing, I'd choose the songs which breathe of gentle spring; With thoughts of love and life, and flowers that bloom, And scatter fragrance after winter's gloom. If I might choose the books o'er which I'd pore, I'd choose the treasures rare of ancient lore Where sages told of kingdoms come and gone. And glorious heroes who had laurels won. If I might choose the friends whom I could love, I'd choose the friends who brave and true would prove In days of sadness and in daj-s of mirth, Tried like fine leinpered s'eel, strong in its worth. If I might choose the time when I could live, In happiest mood, I'd choose the early eve Of life, when feet could rest, and thoughts could flow Like gentle wavelets, rippling to and fro. If I might choose the grave where I would lie, I'd choose the forest depth, where symphony Of winds would like ^olian harp-strings blend. And sweetest solace to my spirit send. 10 RUSTLING LEAVES QUEENSLAND PIONEERS. The pens of Austral's sages shall in the misty future dim. ■< Write a grand record — Australia's national hymn Of progress. And on the scroll of ages shall the rhyme. Inscribed and treasured be upon the shelf of Time — Of pioneers' illustrious names, who fought so l:)rave Against barbaric nature, and who found a grave In the lone bush, and on the burning sand, Fighting the King of Terrors, with no loving hand To pillow soft their dying head, or wipe Death's dew From their damp forehead ere the tortured spirit grew Fainter and weaker still, till all was o'er; And naught but their great names for evermore Remain. Such heroes hath Australia given to be The graven ba.=^ic landmarks of her dynasty. When mighty cities on her verdant shore shall rise And teemJng millions dwell beneath her skies. Her starry standard, ever white, unsoiled shall be Urging her onward towards her glorious destiny. AURORA. Night's veil is lifting, and Aurora's fingers Unfold her robe which sheds o'er earth and sea Its pink and golden sheen, and gently lingers To touch with light divine each flower and tree. Then deeper glows her train of crimson splendour Across the skies, and dims the morning star. And filmy opalescence, soft and tender, Trace paths of gleaming glory spreading far. Hark! Silver-throated choristers awaken, Chanting their matins to the listening sky, And glistening dew the leafy buds hath shaken From slumber but to bloom more sweetly shy. Lo! Helios springs, and fair Aurora's blushes Pale 'neath the orbs of his effulgent light. One soft salute — the lovely goddess flushes. Then silently she disappears from sight. 11 RUSTLING LEAVES IBRAHIM PASHA— Albanian War Song. The voices of the Heralds, repeated by the echoes From the mountain-tops to the depths of the Valleys, are calling all good patriots to arms. Those heroes so proud and intrepid who will Never again see their native hearth imtil covered With glory, bearing their trophies of victory. They will return or die. Thus they will assemble around their chiefs; Their silver-mounted arms, their burnished Swords flashing resplendent in the sun. The gun, faithful companion of all Albanians, Must be placed in the hands of every youth who Has attained three times the age of five j^ears. They must, like a furious torrent, rush precipitantly Towards the danger which menaces them. Our dear country is in peril. The enemy hides His designs, and sends ambassadors; but behind Them are the chains with which they will bind LTs should they attain their desires; They will make us serfs, slaves, for such is their intention. And shall we calmly await such dishonour? What is death to us? Does not the memory Of our forefathers rise and reproach us for our Indolence and lack of courage? Our dear country is the Mother who nourished Our children, and who inspires us to loyal and Pure sentiments, and filial love. Shall we not Tlien shed our blood for our country? Hark! bitter cries are borne on the wings of the North wind. The dust whirling in nebulous globes Announces the coming march of an army. It is the thirty-thousand Albanians of Scutari march- ing to meet the enemy. But see! Who is this mounted officer approaching. Bearing himself with such dignity and repose of Mien; yet who withal can inspire such terror? He of colossal stature, with eagle glance, who With uplifted sword leads on to battle. 12 RUSTLING LEAVES This is Ibrahim Pasha, most illustrous of Warriors, distinguished as much for his virtue as for his courage. Advance, then, ye Bosnians, ye RoumeliansI Asiatics, all of ye. We fear you not, though Ye were thrice as numerous. We shall be victorious; Death to us is nought. The carnage is terrible, Amhed succumbs, And there with their great general lie the Brave dead of the Ottoman army. The rage of the combatants ceases suddenly. A panic seems to liave seized them. The Ottoman troops take flight. Tliey are overcome by fear. Why do they depart? Rather they should remain And learn of the valour and prowess of the Albanians. Their brilliant standards are mingled with Those of the victors. They are trophies, spoils of The enemy, abandoned upon the held of battle. Return we now to the bosom of our families. Welcome us (youths and husbands) who desire To rest after the heat of the battle. And, oh Faithful wives, we will teach our children to Follow in our footsteps and imitate our courage. "THE KING." Australia's flag floats on the breeze, On this the Coronation day. FrO'm torrid zones to zones that freeze. Old England still doth wield her sway. So to our king with loyal hearts We lift our loving cup and say "Be as thy sire — :\. man of parts — In the great drama thou must play." 13 RUSTLING LEAVES He hath not asked to be a King; The destinies decreed it so. Then forth the royal mantle bring, And press the crown on regal brow! Australia with her pride of race; The younger Empire's daughter fair The sea-king's child of gentle face — Noble and strong to do and dare. Whose ties of blood far stronger are Cementing freedom's civil rights Than bands of steel or iron bar — A constitution strong in might — Swears her allegiance to thy throne, And sacred person by the sign Of her own virtue, fervent grown, In love of liberty divine. A race distinctive she hath bred, Offspring of high unsullied name; And down the centuries her tread Shall never bend to servile fame. Her sons, within her ramparts grim, Watch in her rocky coat of mail; Chivalrous, strong and lithe of limb — Read}', should foe their land assail. Well doth she know the hour must come, When boom of cannon, clash of spear, And martial music, sound of drum, Announce to all "the foe is near." And in her hands she holds the keys; I hear her footsteps at the gate — The Eastern Gate — of Eastern Seas. O'er which shall ride her ships of state. When Western Empires disappear As lost Lemuria in the myths Of ages, Austral still will bear Her story in her ]\Ionolitlis. 14 RUSTLING LEAVES JSODORE. Once upon a night so dreary I was seated all alone In my sanctum, sad and weary, All my heart was turned to stone. And the rain fell, never ceasing. While the wind with angry roar Howled against the leaden casements. As it ne'er had done before. And my soul was filled with sorrow For my lost and lonely bride; I had gained her, but to lose her, Isodore, my joy and pride. Ah! I felt so sorely wounded, I should see her nevermore. For pale death had swiftly borne her To that misty, silent shore. In her bridal robe we laid her. Clasped her gems o'er filmy lace. With her golden tresses streaming Round about her saintly face. So my thoughts were ever trending To my darling's lonely grave. While the firelight threw its shadows. And the tears mj' cheeks did lave. Sudden, came a thrill of terror — As a long despairing moan Smote mj^ ear, from out the casement, Where the elder tree had grown. Fearful, oped I wide the windov,-. Where, with lantern gleaming red. Stood my dearest Isodore, Or her spirit from the dead. 15 RUSTLING LEAVES Then she spoke in voice quite human, ■' 'Tis your own, j^our Isodore;" Quickly I unbarred the portal As she prone sank to the floor. 'Twas no vision; she was mortal. And her tale she slowly told; Plow the wicked sexton robbed her, As she lay in coffin cold. He had hacked her slender fingers To secure the rings so rare; She, from cataleptic slumber Woke, and saw his lantern there. Then the sexton, ghastly gazing, Dropped his booty there and fled. Little thinking, he, in robbing, Gave me back my precious dead. Happy years have we together Spent, my Isodore and I; And no more I pensive ponder, Lonely when the night winds sigli. NOTE. — A true story of the old family of " The Penaires of Pcnairie " — Cornish. THE MIGHT HAVE BEEN. When we in silence stand upon the shore Of that uncompassed vastitude, the sea, And view the sunset with its flaming ore, Embossing heaven in wondrous imagery. Emotional, with our swiftly surging thought. With breathless awe on the fair scene we gaze. And weave in fancy glorious galleons wrought In matchless beauty, gleaming in the maze. And thus our hopes and dreams of the ideal Are graven on Life's many tinted screen, The bold relief we cherish is not real, But pictures only what we "might have been." RUSTLING LEAVES THE HAUNTED CHAIR . One of a large house party, on a frosty Christmas Eve, The conversation led to ghosts in which some folks believe. "I wish this house were haunted," cried a lady young and gay; "I'd shut myself within its gloom, and none should say me nay." Our host informed us gravely that up the broad oak stair Was a sealed and disused chamber, which owned a haunted chair. His grandfather long years before was missing from his bed; They searched and found him sitting within the arm-chair — dead. His wealth had been proverbial, but no one found a will; And though in manner sometimes strange, no one had wished him ill. ■"The secret never had been solved," our host said, "nor a trace Of aught remained, except the land, and this an- cestral place." " 'Tis done," the lady said; "to-night I sleep in that arm-chair. And if his ghost appears to me, I'll never show my fear." That night the lady went and sat within tlie chamber dim; She drew the curtain, chose a book, and read a Christmas hymn. And then a fear possessed her, she grasped the huge arm-chair, For in the shadows she could see a man with whitened hair. His hands were clasped above him in suppliant attitude. And tears were streaming down like rain, while words in torrent flowed: *"I had a brother once, a bov. I loved him as my life, But he destroyed my happiness, he stole my promised wife. 17 RUSILING LEAVES We parted, he to Anstral's land, I for long years to mourn. Until his widow sought me out to aid her infant son. We married, and I brought him up, but he my wealth desired; I hid it here, for of this youth with fear was I inspired. Who'er shall find this secret, as my will doth so declare. Shall take the half, and all the rest the poor shall have a share; And Christ reward the hand that finds, and does this Christian deed. For He hath said unto His f^ock, 'See that my lambs ye feed," She rose Avith awe, he beckoned her, the chair began to creak; He pressed two large brass nails which lay beneath the leather back. And there inside the haunted chair were heaps and heaps of gold. And papers tied with tapes, and strings, and dusty parchments old. Her dream she told that Christmas morn, the haunted chair was brought — A fearful weight it was to move, 'twas well and truly wrought — At length with pressure brought to bear the nails began to move. When there disclosed to light of day, lay the old man's treasure-trove. The lady won't believe in ghosts, but she believes in dreams. And also that this lovely world is better than it seems. To-day we are the owners of the ancient haunted chair — And clasping Christmas presents my wife is seated there. 18 RUSTLING LEAVES A LONELY GRAVE. Somewhere it lies near the gleaming bay, On the Redhmd road with its winding waj'- Through the bush — where a fence in a lonely spot Surrounds a grave in its hallowed plot. List in nights so lonely Zephyrs sigh only A requiem. Through the scorching heat of the bush fire's breath, Which hath spent its rage near this place of death, Unscathed it remains — with the tree that grows At the foot of this grave, which nobody knows — Where in night so lonely The winds breathe only A requiem. Somebody knew; but now nobody knows Of the poor lone corse which in deep repose Lies in earth's embrace — till the sleeper awakes In the glorious dawn, when God''s morning breaks, And no more so lonely The winds sigh only A requiem. Is it the grave of a father old Who had toiled too hard for the red, red gold? Or a brother, a sister, a mother, or son Or a lover adored by a trusting one, Who, through long years. Shed bitter tears — Her requiem? Then peace to this grave, of whom nobody knows. Right close to the track, where the sunset glows Through the network and woof of the whispering leaves — One spirit at least for thj' loneliness grieves — Where in nights so lonely. The winds chant only Thy requiem. 15 RUSTLING LEAVES IN MBMORIAM OF CAPTAIN SCOTT. Not in a mausoleum built of carven stone Sleep Britain's heroes, but they lie alone In temple grand as human heart could crave Scott and his comrades in their mighty grave. The ice their couch, with pure white snow for shroud Oh! Avalanche of woe: earth weeps aloud: The star-fringed sky their pall. No mournful bell. Or loving voice to breathe farewell; farewell. No muffled drum, nor flag to drape their bier; No shot was heard, nor fell one human tear. But where dark Erebus her vigil lone doth keep, Our heroes sleep serene their long last sleep. Their names are written in the Terrene sod: Their spirits are immortal with their God. LOSS OF THE "YON GALA." Toll, ocean, toll thy melancholy dirge! Hard fought that gallant ship with foaming surge; Ere morning broke, scarce was there left a trace — Youth, beauty, all clasped in thy cold embrace. Gone like a dream! dear eyes and gleaming hair. And Queensland's noble manhood with a prayer ' Laid on their lips, now cold and still, and dumb, All their last thoughts of God and home, sweet home. Oh, avalanche of grief! see Austral weep For those, her sacred dead, who calmly sleep Inside the Barrier Reef, on coral bed. Mourn, Austral, mourn! our country's heart stands still! E'en though rebellious, kneel we to His will. Mourn for the beautiful, who, in the bloom Of life and health, were destined for the tomb! Roll on, remorseless and resistless waves, Incline the mourner's ear to Him who saves, And at the fiat "Time shall no more be," May thou restore our dead to us, O Sea. 20 RUSTLING LEAVES THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC. T The wild winds moan a requiem for the dead H Hard by Newfoundland. In an icy bed E England's, America's, illustrious men L Lie side by side, vanished from mortal ken. O Oh! Earth is plunged in grief: brothers are we S Souls cry to souls across the cold grey sea. S So late she sped along that gleaming track, O Oh! could unnumbered tears but call her back. F Forth to her doom with twice seven hundred breasts T Throbbing with pulsing life, that floating palace rests. H Howl loud ye winds! Ye cruel ice-flov/s weep! E E'en though thy victims, j'ct they calmly sleep, T Thou canst not harm them more. The human tears I In memory's casket down the future years T Their grief will take; recount the awful fate. A Alas! Those calls for aid which came too late N Nought could avail. The mammoth vessel dashed I In sudden thundering, while her timbers crashed C Caught in the vortex 'neath the deafening boom, I Instant the shock which hurled her to her doom. N No fond adieu; gone beyond time and sense, M Mourn for the sudden call of those departed hence. E E'en though their burial place, the lonely deep, M Mutely we plead with Him their souls to keep. O On their dear forms no more, or their sweet eyes R Resting on beauty's lines ne'er may they rise. I In their dark home they lie while billows surge A Around that sunken ship, and chant a dirge M Mournful for they who sleep beneath the surge. 21 RUSTLING LEAVES THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. What, though thou be not rich, or great; What, if of thy deeds some men shall prate; What, though thy dearest friends should blame. Or scandal weave around thy name. Walk in the light of day; thy steps shall leave Some traces by the way. Nor do thou grieve O'er thy past deeds. If thou would'st drain the cup To its last dregs of happiness, look up And labour 'gainst despair and doubt And help thy fellow m.an. Look up! Look out! For every noble deed thy heart shall swell With joy; for thou thyself within the well Of thine own heart dost hold the keys of Heaven or Hell. Endowed with knowledge thou must see His ways: though sometimes veiled thej^ be. Then do not murmur at thy weary load. But sow the seeds of patience on thy road. And in the harvest of the sun and sod Perchance thou'll lead a brother up to God. Re true itnto thyself, so that thou ran Seal with love's seal, the brotherhood of man. A SONG OF AUSTRALIA. Sing, sing of Australia whose golden clime Hath the Eucalyptus and odorous Lime, The emblem of freedom for chaplet fair And pearls and opals to bind her hair, Lo! softly Aurora her beams hath shed In crimson shafts o'er her ocean bed. Daughter of Helios, whose azure eyes Reflect the rays of the Southern skies. Sing the feathery Palm, her fan so gay, While jewell'd isles with her fingers play; Sing her flocks and herds of the glowing West, And the olives and vines of her hills' green crest, Sing her silver rivers and yellow gold. And the glorious Wattle whose buds unfold A wealth of beauty 'neath sun and shower. Fit for a queen in royal bower. 22 RUSTLING LEAVES Sing her flasliinj; falls, and her rillets flow, As in the ages long, long ago. When in embryo she stately lay Waiting the morn of her natal day. Sing of her morn which hath come at last Thougli perchance she will shiver before the blast; But the storm must come and the clarion call Will resound from her Eastern to Western wall. Sing of her peerless youtli so free As she beareth the lamp of Liberty With a proud high look, and a sensitive ear Thrilled with expectant hope and fear. Sing of her prestige exalted and pure In the hearts of her patriots ever secure, The Midas of Empires, resplendent and brave In magnificence reigns, the ([ucen of the wave. LIFE'S DUTY . Go thou, when sorrow's night thy soul hath torn, And turn thine eyes expectant to the dawn, And view the sunlight o'er the distant hills Until itb rays with peace thy spirit fills; Then brace thyself unto the daily strife — The world demands thou make the best of life. Go forth to duty, girt with golden chain Of courage, born of weakness, not in vain. Tho' weak, thou'lt find thy greatest strength will lie In steadfast purpose with unfaltering eye Fixed on thy goal. Oh! Be thou valiant men. And point the higher path, for little do we ken Of they who labour in Life's noonday sun. Go thou, when heat of toil hath left thy brow. Commune with Nature, and thy soul shall know The why and wherefore of the chastening rod Imposed on thy sad spirit by thy God, Hear how the breakers of the ocean moan. The thousand voices of the forest lone. The trees and flowers, the sigh of whisperine winds — All speak of beauty and the power that binds Man to his Maker. Then take heart of grace, And meet the world with ever-smiling face. It hath enough of grief: go hide thy care. And scatter joy, tho' blent with tears thy share. 23 RUSTLING LEAVES AUSTRALIA'S DESTINY. I see Australia's footprints marking out her destiny, No castles proud or battlements proclaim her ancestry: But the Empire Mother's children are strong and lithe and free, And they bravely bear their starry flag; true knights of chivalry. Beneath the glittering Southern Cross where the red hibiscus' flame. Where set in a sea of silver lie the thousand isles of fame, Is the Barrier Reef — the rampart — whence with hundred eyes of hate The shrapnel shell may sound the knell of the foe at the Eastern Gate. And the lineal sons of Norsemen with the lightning of their glance Will ready be for the enemy with rapier and with lance. Her ships may scour the ocean, but the nation holds the key Of future power, who. with aerial fleet, can claim supremacy. The shadow of a hand is there which presages a power When, with alliance severed in some unguarded hour, Heedless of signs portentous we see no clouds of war, With pomp and pride through portals wide the alien hordes may pour. Then let us fill Australia with our kin, there's room for all. For see the fingers writing still the message on the wall; And listen with our pride of race we children of the dawn, To the warning voice of nations while yet it is the morn. And like true soldier citizens, who armed, may keep the peace, 'Twill lead the way unto the day when the demon war shall cease. 24 RUSTLING LFAVES TO A CHILD. I will paint thee as thou art; Summers two have left their trace On thy features, and thy heart Hath its reflex in thy face. Hair of Rold thy brow doth crown; Eyes like sparkling jewels too, For no evil yet hath thrown Shadows o'er those wells of blue. Little hands our face caress, Tiny pinken ear shells two. Sweetest smiling lips that press Drops of limpid fairy dew. When in slumber thou dost lie, Even in thy baby dreams, Angels weave a lullaby To the murmur of the streams. I will paint thee as I muse On thy journey up Life's hill; Courage for thy guerdon choose; Work with heart, and brain, and will. I would paint thee, if I might, Tender, patient, doing good. In thy coming years so bright — Patriot, Statesman, if I could. CLEVELAND, Q. She hath no strands of coral, rimmed with gold, Or mermaids, in green dells of ancient story; But rippling, laughing waves her feet enfold, And land and seascape gleam with glittering glory. Clad in her verdant raiment, in the cr3'stal dawning While golden wings of beauty o'er her rest. Its passion, dimming the pale star of morning. The Sun god's kiss upon her face is pressed. 25 RUSTLING LEAVES And 'neath the ti-tree's shade, and spreading fig trees, The meek kine, lowing, wander at their will; While, borne upon the fragrant evening breeze, The mopoke's notes are heard from "copse" and hill. And lo! When Luna's orb in splendour lies O'er Stradbroke's purple hill, and gem-set isles, She gazes o'er the Point 'neath opal skies To Cotton's mountain wreathed in vernal smiles. The red land, waits for man to till the sod With ploughshare and with courage, heart and will — To sow the seed where lies the barren clod. Turning the grist to gold, with Nature's mill. THE SEVEN AGES OF WOMAN. A baby softly nestling 'Mid clouds of flufify white, in nurse's arms, with pinken charms Quite hidden out of sight. Or next, displayed on cushion fine. For visitors to see, This precious mite is brought to light For compliments — at tea. A lovely girl, with angel face, And hair like molten gold, Whose violet eyes, in sweet surprise, 'Neath ivory lids unfold Their meeting charm, with eyebrows arched And forehead broad and low; And scarlet lips, where Cupid sips The honey from its bow. Behold, her school days almost o'er, Slight, pretty and precise, A favourite at all the sports — And voted "very nice," At tennis, and at golfing, or at swimming Quite ttw fail ; And all the rage upon the stage Of amateurs at play. 26 RUSTLING LEAVES At length the happj' day arrives; She at the altar stands, Declaring that she will obey Her dear liege lord's commands. The vows are said, and she is wed, Queen of his heart she'll reign, And never, never make him wish To be unwed again. A few years flown, a little dent Appears between her eyes; When vexed she murmurs, "I'm not sure That I was very wise To marry young, with nerves unstrung; Tor me there is no mirth; Of course, I would not change my 'hub' F'or anyone on earth." At forty she is young again, The children growing up, And, what with theatres, and trips To see the ]\Ielbourne Cup, Pandora-like, she clings to hope As long as it will last — If only Time will stay his hand, Nor sow crow's feet so fast. At fiftj'-five, too tired to walk. And only taking drives. The doctor says slie is too pluinp, Still, to look young she strives. And well she may; why should she not? She's just the age she looks; And man is just the age he feels, Least, so it says in books. RUSTLING LEAVES EVOLUTION. A child of the Sun I am agej old, I live on the past, and its wisdom unfold; A handmaid of nature my dwelling unseen, I'm integrally part of whatever has been. Like a meteor I sprang from the womb of the sky. For of sun dust and star dust an atom am I; Whatever my place is cosmogonic laws, I belong to the great and invisible cause. Incorporate yet with the corporate mind I resolve myself, evolve, and govern mankind. I was nursed in oblivion, with silence was reared» Controlling man's destiny, ever unheard; I press through the centuries slowly, but sure, And I never may rest until time be no more. An atom of mighty centrifugal force, No power can destroy or can alter my course: Though earth and her satellite fall like a star, I still will rejoice on some planet afar. A mentor I am if man will but read, For cause and effect are God's agents indeed. Though I ever despoil, yet I ever renew, And I silently work where no mortal may view: I move on the mountains, I move in the deep, I never am still, yet eternally sleep; Like the dew of the morning refreshing the ground I bless and am blended with all things around. From the steps of the past to the future I climb, For from Heaven I am sent with a message sublime: On the rocks — nature's book — my traces T leave. That in me — Evolution — you all may believe. TO THE ROSE . Goddess of beauty: at thy magic breath My spirit turneth from the gate of death. And in thy deep red heart would find repose And dreams of Arcady: thou queenly rose. This morn 1 dreamed that happiness had flown, For all the world to me had colder grown. But lo! The angel of the flowers hath kissed Thy petals with the dew of morning mist. 28 RUSTLING LEAVES The fragrant violet, in its mossy shrine, Hath not the blushing loveliness of thine; And though within thy silky stem a dart Doth lurk, pray do not pierce my heart. In all my garden, in its beauty set, With waxen lilies, and with mignonette. And pansies purple with sweet amber eyes- The charm of Flora's glory with thee lies. THE VOICE OF SONG. Come, oh song, and charm my sadness, For I fain would weep. With melodious notes of gladness Wooing balmy sleep. While the troops of stars are smiling Calm my fevered brow. All my soul with sound beguiling, Charm, oh! charm me now. Golden daylight hath its laughter, Moonlight hath its tears; Songs are dreams which follow after Thought along the years. Waves of joy, and waves of sorrow, Placid, turbulent. Darkest days have bright to-morrows. Each a message sent. Love and life on wings are fljMug, Dreams of yesterday, Like the precious hours, are lying Far from us to-day. Sing, then, sing your sv.^eetest number Softer than a sigh, That it brings me dreamless slumbe: For my weary eye. And thy song shall be for dreamers Tender, soft, and low, And the tune that Boreas murmurs, Which none others know. Waft, oh voice of song, thy measure O'er the air of even, Till the soul, consumed with pleasure, Wakes to thoughts of Heaven. 29 RUSTLING LEAVES AU STRAUS HEUOES. We praise the deeds of ancient heroes bred Beneath Olympus' venerable head, Or proud l^arnassus, patriarchal crown And victors' wreaths which sons of Hellas won. Of Solon, whose impassioned lips once poured From the great Pynx Ins eloquence of word; And mighty Hector, and Astyanax, his boy, At once the idol and the pride of Troy. These vanished heroes, and the temples of the plain Though voiceless, ever deathless will remain; For though her brilliant Sun has long since set The spell of Hellas lingers o'er us yet. But we, as thus we sing of Greece and Rome, Have heroes such as they, and nearer home; The sons of sires who through the ages fought Like Trojans, fired with all the deeds they wrought; Our pioneers who delved the virgin soil In this new land with patient endless toil; In the primeval forest with companions few The more they toiled, their minds the greater grew, For they through long and dreary, lonely hours Wrestled with all the dim remorseless powers Of doubt, distress, and solitude and fear, While grim despair stood ever hovering near. Yet they with ever glowing fierce desire Of a consuming, and a never dying fire, Which latent in the human breast doth ever lie, Potent in hidden power and vast immensity Pressed bravely onward while they hewed the track, From death and danger never turning back; But through the bush bizarre and gorge they strode Their watchword ringing "On and clear the road." And lo! Upon the pathless waste of desert plain Stood hunger, thirst, disease, and all their train, Marshalled like hosts of old to smite and to slay The unhappy victims as they fainting lay; But like the Greeks they fought, and would not yield Until their bones lay stretched upon the field. While Drought the king, as Agamemnon great, Stretched forth his Sceptre o'er his mighty State. And oh! forgel not wl who live in ease to-day, That great Australian heroes paved the way 30 RUSTLING LEAVES To present greatness; noble souls as these Of this reincarnated Greece of Southern seas: And Austral's sons, should swords they ever wield, Must die like heroes, or return with shield Emblazoned with the motto, "Macte Animo," With ideals high, and breasts with love aglow For God and duty; thus each name a gem Shall gleam in Austral's peerless diadem. THE GLASSHOUSE MOUNTAINS, Q. T Thou Mighty Monoliths of Nature's mould, H Horologes of time and seasons which have rolled E Ere mortals' drama on life's stage begun. G Gray ocean hid thee in oblivion. L Lo! in the archaic rocks thy feet were laid, A And Saurian monsters once around thee played, S Sun, moon and stars alone thy forms have viewed, S Standing in weird, mysterious solitude. H Heaving and shuddering with internal wrath O Out from thy vitals Jovian bolts came forth; U Unchained thy fury and inalignant ire, S Spirits of Vulcan poured their liquid fire, E Epochs rolled on. The waves retreating fied. M Moribund thou, thy craters cold and dead, O O'er thy scarred summits lurid flames no more U Unsheathed their molten tongues — thy life was o'er N Now, man upon thy rugged shoulders stands T Turning expectant eyes o'er dunes and strands: A Ametliyst islands in enchanting beauty lie I In Moreton's waters 'ncath the sapphire sky. N Nature hath carved thy frames inscrutable: — • S Stupendous mounds of God immutable. Q Quelled is thy passion! In the glowing dawn U Under a misty veil thy mitred heads forlorn, E Ever in solemn beauty mid the silence stand. E Eternal sentinels of Time's stern hand. N 'Neath thy vast shadows browse the goat and steer, S Sphinx-like thy gaze, thou canst not see or hoar, L Lovelv in death, though slow be thy decay, A All things created change and pass away. N Nor. though man would thy secret learn in vain. D Doth thou confess: Ye watch tow'ers of the plain. 31 RUSTLING LEAVES LOVE'S REVERIE. I sang a song one glorious eve Meant for your ears alone, I may not sing that song again P'or years since then have flown; But I remember that the dew Lay glistening ut your eyes so blue, I sang to you one summer day All through the golden hours As down a mossy dell we strayed And plucked the scented flowers; And as I sang loves' sweet refrain Your e3'^es were dim with tears again. I sang when night in splendour fell Where southern stars look down And they and you alone could tell How deep my love had grown. And when I saw your eyes ashin'j It seemed to make my love divine. Dear heart, I sang to you alone My song with trembling voice, Which told how love could make our lives A holy sacrifice. Then tenderly with quivering breath You gave yourself to me till death. REMEMBER. Remember when the velvet robe of night Falls softly, or when Luna's mystic light Earth veils in dim. delusive beauty cold, And all her myriad secrets doth unfold. Remember when the rosy dawn or dewy e^e Some vagrant thought a tender trace may leave Upon thy chastened spirit of a golden hour Which cast its spell with all its magic power. Remember when the vows so fondly made 'Neath oleanders in the web of sun and shade. That to our throbbing souls with love's eyes clear It seemed that Paradise to us was near, 32 RUSTLING LEAVES Remember when in noontide's languid heat, 'Mid haunts of men, or mart, or busy street, Or in sweet sleep's embrace when dreams are bright. My spirit watched in the solemn hush of night. Remember when 'neath cypress tree I rest With calmly folded hands across my breast, And nought but sacred dust at last remain, It may be that I had not lived in vain. THE QUEST . Lo! I have sought thee, Happiness, Beneath the sun, Wliose golden core dotli Earth caress Till day is done. Where scintillating stars appear. Breathing of thee. As quivering in the vault of air They seem to see. And where pearl-girded proud Selene With queenly grace, Climbeth the stairs of Heaven, serene With smiling face. And where in grove and woodland dell. So sweetly meek. Shy, drooping dew-crowned violets dwell Did I seek. There at length I thee have found In solitude. Where but echoes soft resound, Zephyr wooed. And with books of hero lore There thou art, And the chaplets which they bore, And my heart. Happiness, I would not lose Thee so dear; All may find thee if they choose, Ever near. 33 RUSTLING LEAVES THE JACARANDA . Once in a garden, Oh! So fair! Was a leaiy path, and 1 tell not where, But it led to an arbor beneath the shade Of a jacaranda, where sunlight played And flickered and flashed through the tasseled leaves In the crimson Hush of long summer eves, And in web and woof of the trellised roof From sweet bird's throats fell golden notes. Once lovers murmured within that bower Where grew the gracefuUest purple hower, And a trembling maiden's soft answer stole Through somebody's ear and thrilled his soul. And then with her dark eyes growing dim She solemnly plighted her troth with him, In the hush of night while the pale moonlight Shed a silver shower o'er this lovers' bower. Once it fell on a summer day This handsome lover sailed away, And he vowed he would faithful be To the maiden he loved when o'er the sea. So each day in the leafy arbor dim The maiden waited and dreamed of him, But no missive came, and she breathed his name In stress and tears for three long years. Once, in the witching gloaming hour. Soft murmurs were heard within that bower. For the lover, a knight, had come to take The lady who waited for his dear sake. And he told his tale, while her starry eyes Tenderly glowed with sweet surprise, And these lovers twain, reunited again, Loved each other more than in days of yore. And now, in that beautiful garden old. Where the jacaranda its buds unfold. They wander adown the paths so green. Where once as lovers they talked unseen. And the gracefuUest flower that bloorneth there Is somebody's darling with golden hair. And still in the woof of the trellised roof. From sweet birds' throats fall liquid notes. 34 RUSTLING LEAVES THE WEAVERS . Each day we weave, unseen, the web of Fate With threads of tenderest love or threads of hate; The strands are slender when they arc unfurled, Yet strong to reach some soul across the world. With Beauty's shuttle weave we dews which prism sweet The morning air before the noonday heat, Or web of roses, attar redolent, Bedewed with silver mist of memories blent. Oh! Fragrant memory, with its vibrant power, Weaving in dayliglit, or in evening hour Some poet's lay to touch the human heart With golden music of the minstrel's art. The Past and Gone are v/oven, and the Present now Is in the web, with cruel, thorny bough. For some frail mortals; but the Angel Sleep Weaves ever future joys for those who weep. The wind within tlie trees doth weave a melody, The bright-winged birds weave dulcet harmony With their alluring notes, and wood nymphs hear And weave a sonnet for their lover's ear. Whether we in seclusion weave where none intrude On mountain steep or in deep solitude Of the dense bush, or mossy fen, or glade, We weave our bed with web which we have made. Then let us dream, and weave that no remorse With silent shadow clouds our future course, With love to guide, whose eyes wax never dim. While weaving make some lives one long sweet hymn. 85 RUSTLING LEAVES WHERE ALL IS UNDERSTOOD. Divinity of heavenly breath which we call life; Which makes us sentient beings 'mid the strife Of earthly years: Oh! make us wise and good, E'en the' misunderstood; misunderstood. Divinity of fate; at thy cold, stern decree, Potent in power, cradled in mystery. Dauntless in courage, and with spirit set. We will not fret; we will not fret. Divinity of faith; there is one creed, To suffer and be strong; 'tis all we need. Then strengthen us to cling to thee, though should W^e be misunderstood; misunderstood. Divinity of love; oh! may we ever be All that thou art in angel purity. And make our lives — forgive the unbidden tear — The endless song which only thou canst hear. Divinity of death; though cold, thou press The heavy eyelids with thy damp caress, Thy pinions bear us to the golden flood Of perfect life, where all is understood. THE CITY OF THE "VIOLET CROWN." Stately upon Egea stands The city of the "Violet Crown." Where gods and man in fancy met And oratory attained renown; Where sculptured beauty art disclosed In all its matchless symmetry, Brilliant as first when Phoebus glowed Upon its dazzling purity. There for all time the Prophylse, The glorious Acropolis, And Nike Apteron doth speak Of Marathon and Salamis. Still looks the Areopagos o'er Where Socrates was once arraigned, His sentence heard — the hemlock drank. And died, but his great words remained. 36 RUSTLING LEAVES Here was the lap of literature With elegance and wisdom blent, With the majestic Parthenon Its overwiielming monument. In spirit once again we hear The voices Ijorne upon the wind, High in the Temple of great Zeus, On Mount Olympus far behind. Oh! gods and heroes, ye no more In solemn conclave since have met, Thy gods were myths, but thy great deeds Burnetii within our memory yet. And Corinth, Athens' sister, lies Straight, straight along the sacred road Where gray Hymettus pfoudly swells 'Mid purple) plain bj' heroes trode. Lo! Arcady and Argoli Unfold before our ravished sight, And still the magic influence grows And time moves backward in its flight. There lies the ancient Argive plain Where chiefs in angry council met, When Paris took the Spartan frail, The insult they did ne'er forget. Then fled in haste with her to Troy, And Nemesis the pair pursued. For calling all their braves to arms Greece vengeance vowed to Priam's brood. And ne'er will a magician weave Their tales of prowess and of skill As Homer — none so deft as he Could thus the imagination thrill. Lo! Delphi, where in darkness sat The sacred priestess, while in wrath 'Mid clouds of incense serpent wound The Oracle would issue forth. Oh! Athena the "violet crowned," Thy crystal founts and cypress groves, Where Daphne and Minerva walked. Leave Init the memory of their loves. 37 D RUSTLING LEAVES DREAMS. I dream of thee when morn is nigh And Eos, incense laden, Through rosy portals of the sky, Chaseth the white mist maiden. I dream when falls the tender night, And walks the pale queen moon. And peeping stars with eyes so bright Whisper "She cometh soon." I watched them in the fragrant gloom Hanging so pure and high. For they are woven in my dream, And gleam all silently. Beloved! As a budding rose With petals just vmfolding, My passion would thy heart unclose A flower of love's own moulding. And oft in slumber wrapped profound I see thy lashes Avet, And know thy thoughts -with mine are bound, And thou dost not forget. My dreams I cherish, and thou must By this, my only token. Know that my love, till I am dust, Shall e'er remain unbroken. And when that "Light that never was" On earth or sky or sea Shall break o'er me, 'twill be because God led me up to thee. THE MUSE . When great Apollon woke his lyre With breath of the celestial fire, To mortals he bequeathed tlie skill To invoke the goddess at their will, That when with melancholy bound Svi'cet solace witli the Muse was found. Oh! soft the melting strains sublime Which echoed once in Grecia's clime 3S RUSTLING LEAVES When paeans of the irionieric bard In marble palaces were heard. And love-lorn Lesbia's Sappho sung The while her heart with grief was wrung, Who vainly sought with burning words And sweet seductive trembling chords *Her Phidias' love to win, no more She tuned her lyre on Egea's shore, Or bent with futile tears to weep, But threw herself from Leucan steep, And still 'tis said from ocean cave At eve is heard beneath the wave Her lute by unseen spirits played Where died the glorious lyric maid, And since, in every sacred shrine, Music's sweet symphonies divine. On golden wings in darkest hour Float with a deep and vibrant power. The Muse but lifts her r.:agic wand — We view empyreal heights beyond- Seraphic sounds caress the ear The Poet Wind breathes on tlic air. Imagination! List! 'tis thine — A pastoral scene. The meek-eyed kine Knee-deep in herbage gently low, As loitering- to their haunts they go; The velvet turf, the silver stream. The tranquil beautv of the theme; The dark-haired Rosalind in white. Like Neptune's nymph, sweet Amphytrite. The sudden stillness: over all The rustline leaves the raindrops fall; Darkness, with thunder pealing loud; Tlie golden light behind thf rloud; The storm is o'er, birds trill their lays. Soft-throated rhapsodies of praise — Thus doth the Muse o'er mortals vain Cast her sweet spell in hours of pain. Exalting souls to high desire, Apollon of the Golden Lyre. NOTE. — A student named Phidias was the latest lover of Sappho, not AIcitus, the aristocrat, who han long been banished to Athens. 39 RUSTLING LEAVES AN AUSTRALIAN REVERIE . I stood in the Temple of Silence Wliere in crimson splendour shone The rich light through stained window O'er a matchless crystal throne. And a vista of stately pillars Stretched far 'neath a dome of gold, And sculptured recumbent figures Of mortals of kingly mould. Yet with all its surpassing beauty I could feel the icy breath Of the wings of some brooding phantom In this gilded house of death. Here no sound ever broke the stillness, Here solitude ever abode, I stayed till the moonbeams quivered, Then left Silence alone with God. I stood in the Palace of Pleasure, The revels were wild and gay, And mocking laughter rose and fell As the swift hours sped away. The lights waxed dim, and the flowers Drooped dead in the gorgeous bowls, And the painted faces anon grew sad. And mirthless their empty souls. The long night v^^aned, and the dancers. Their beauty all faded and worn, Looked pallid, and listless, and weary. In the rays of the glorious morn. Ever seeking ephemeral pleasure, Which leads, to the path of pain. And down to the Valley of Never, Whence none may return again. I stood in life's Garden of Beauty, And, lo! in a floral shrine Of roses and lilies entwining Lay a chalice of dew divine. And a throng of mortals stood waiting For the angel of Love to pour This holy dew of libation, Which falleth for evermore. 40 RUSTLING LEAN'ES And children were weaving garlands As they walked o'er the verdant sward With the flowers of Truth and Perfection In sunlight which ever poured. And here, in this new earthly Eden, With its gleaming wings of white. Was Peace, for all men were brothers — I awoke from my dream: " 'Twas night!' IN MEMORIAlVI. —{IMshop Webber.) In dreams he saw that stately pile appear In matchless beauty of proportion clear On rocky eminence, the city 'neath its feet And winding river, and the vision sweet Which his soul cherished was not all in vain. Behold the vast Cathedral with its lofty fane! For which he toiled and prayed, but Heaven decreed He should not see fruition of the seed. And now within those hallowed walls at rest Pie lies with meek hands folded o'er his breast Beneath the altar fair he is assigned A titting resting-place for his great mind. Though he be dead, his works will follow him And stones shall speak in that great minster dim, Of strength and majesty so truly wrought — A temple beautiful for heavenly thought; Each arch in its magnificence alone Reveals a poem writ with pen of stone Perchance when the sweet sound of vesper bell And trembling notes of the grand organ swell, Reverberating, or with cadence soft and clear, His listening spirit may be hovering near. When lioly chant floats down that stately aisle And angel voice of choristers beguile The soul in rapturous awe from mundane things Will soar aloft on Adoration's wings! So may each human pillar moulded be By master minds of eloquence and oratory: And down the centuries the founder's name shall shine With his successors in God's House Divine, While "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" rise In grandest anthem to the lofty skies. 41 RUSTLING LEAVES WHAT IS MAN? Monarch of all the animals is man, but v/hat his goal? Being material, yet endowed with an immortal soul, Whence comes he? Hath he lived before? He knoweth not. But if he be immortal, must be Heaven-begot. To live for naught in the great cosmic plan Would prove him lesser than his claim as man. Alone he stands amid his empire, clothed v»'ith speech, And attributes of reason and intelligence to reach The heights sublime, for he alone surveys The skies or lifts his eyes to mark the boundless ways Of the vast galaxy of the celestial star-strewn plains, He of the mighty kingdom animal o'er which he reigns, He who is but the veriest echo of the Almighty sound, A faint reflection of his Maker, but who yti is bound By ties unbreakable, for doth he not receive The realm of thought from Him, the air to breathe? The gloriotis constellations move in their appointed place To the deep throbbing heart-beats of the universe. The planets, trembling arteries of the spacFous whole, With each frail mortal the molecule called soul. And he in turn respondeth to the Almighty thought, Each entity distinct, yet like the other wrought; Creature of elements mysterious, half divine! Emotional, fearful, yet vibrating to the electric line Of the invisible, which holds him startled at the flight And magnitude of thought soaring beyond the night Of mundane things; then asks himself — as thousands more — If death the end of all created beings is. wherefore All the ennobling longings in the human mind innate And love of nature which all beauteous things elate. This spark of immortality flaming with fitful gleams Of vague remembrance of a pre-existence, seems To shape itself into a dream which comes and goes. And when the influence of the Almighty over spirit throws 43 RUSTLING LEAVES The searching rays of the great Omnipresent power In Whom we live, to Whom we kneel in sorrow's hour, Who bids the ministers of all the Heavenly Argosies Of Faith, and Hope, and Mercy, on the ethereal spheres Enthroned with Justice, Truth and Liberty, To teach man that, though mortal, immortality Is his, Oh not, for nought, the powers of death and life. Oh not, for nought, it is the everlasting strife 'Twixt mind and matter, if we be — as some would deem — Nought but the moving shadows of a melting dream. Why live, why love, why breathe the unconscious prayer? Because, deep down in the human heart, we feci God there: And dare the shadow of his Maker — man — profess That he can build this empire without him to bless. GOD'S GIFT. Tlie pure pale blossoms of God's gift, the flowers, Breathe immortality. They tell us of sweet, heavenly, dreamless hours All through eternity. They tell us of dear jNIother Earth who press'd So soft and deep Their tiny seeds within her tender breast As children sleep. They tell us, these white souls, of flowers sent To beautify Our minds, of human souls, an emblem meant. Which never die. And when our bodies, like dear flowers, must At length decay, Tlie seeds we sow will bloom, when we from dust Have passed away. Then let our lives be pure as these pale blooms With fragrance blent, Tliat deeds, like flowers, shall be upon our tombs A monument. 43 RUSTLING LEAVES THF. BLUE MOUNTAINS, N.S.W. Imperial battlements, whose frowning brows Look ever into space and watch the dawn In roseate loveliness above the snows Of feathery cloudlets which thy breasts adorn. Ye regal forms! Whose jagged chasms bear The scars of ages, scored by tempests' rage When cataclysms thundering rent the air — Ye mammoth ruins of a bygone age. And hoary Kosciusko in dim distance gleams. So not alone in thy most awful pride Art thou great Austral Alps, whose purling streams Gush from the fissures in thy wounded side. W'hat buried secrets doth thy caverns hold Of aeons marked by time's unerring hand? What mystic rites were held by warriors bold, The dusky children of an almost vanished band? Perchance they crept within thy strongholds grim, Hiding, as erst cave-dwellers once had done In old Europa — fearful lest limb from limb They should be torn by some great mastodon. Mayhap from giddy height they gazed with awe L^pon thy ever-changing billowy cloud. Deeming the "Eagle Rock" and "Bear" they saw Gods to which they in adoration bowed. Oh! low we bend to Him who fashioned thee From chaos at His own almighty word — Creation's wonderland of moving mystery. When seas and winds alone His voice had heard. So wildly beautiful art thou, the spirit fails To utterly describe thy variant mood. The mantled velvet of thy mossy, vernal vales And magic falls, which flasli in foaming flood; Ye tree-crowned hills! with leafy branches spread, Ye scented pines! Whose odorous breath is flung. Wafted from "Govett's Leap" and fen and glade, From aerial censer by wood-spirits swung. 41 RUSTLING LEAVES And when the orb of day in splendour dies, And trailing flambent clouds thy peaks enlace, The opalescent tints of western skies Reveals the enchantments of thy dwelling-place. Or when our lady of the night, so fair, Silvers thy forests in translucent showers, Deftly the sylvan poet thrills the air With murmuring symphony from wind-wooed bowers. Gorges and canyon, clefts and ravines deep. And fairy grotts with starry flowerets set, Where water-lilies pale on green pools sleep; Lo! Nature's masterpiece, her grand magnificat. Ve massive pillars! Which have viewed the spray Far, far away upon the impulsive tide For countless years — ye too must pass away. For at His fiat who shall then abide? And He who changeth not. He who hath made All things of earth we love to change and die. Hath made thee beautiful, that 'neath thy shade Vain man may muse upon his immortality. VALE! ST. EBBAR. You did not dwell in sylvan solitude, But in the hub and bustle of the town You penned j'our lines, 3-our very soul imbued With thought sublime that bound you to renown. Your love was Music, leaping to the spheres . . . Seeking and finding waves of sound divine, And now, enthralled, j'our frail, freed spirit hears Far sweeter strains beyond the Border Line. Vale! great soul, your trembling feet were set Within the orbit of your Destiny. Though meteoric, we will not forget The keys you pressed breathed forth melodiously. Vale once more: you heard the distant chime, And went to join the friend who went before, And we will steal your memory from old Time, And sing your music on dear AustTS shore. 45 RUSTLING LEAVES AUTUMN . Lo! Sad-e3-ed Autumn walketh o'er the land, Tenderly touching with caressing hand, Each quivering leaflet, hung from parent stem, Bearing a radiant dew-kissed diadem; And tasselled ruddy gold and variant shade Droop o'er Psyche as in Arcadian glade She doth recline, and Autumn's lover — Wind — Chants solemn dirge for Summer, left behind To music of dead leaves, with tears of rain. While whispering, "Summer cometh yet again, And Autumn lingereth but a little while. With glance compassionate on flowers that smile In winsome beauty ere their blooms decay And change when Winter cometh cold and grey." See! Satin- winged butterflies have flown Like fairy sprites, to choose a graceful throne On crimson rose or soft hydrangea blue, Emblems of the transition we must view. These tender spirits through the fleeting hours Cull the sweet essence from the glorious flowers, And the short seasons pass and may not stay — Ephemeral pleasures, too, must pass away. So, did not Autumn Winter meet, and Winter Spring Dear Summer's charms would vanish nor hope bring Then melancholy Autumn with her Wind may sigh. F'or Spring, her smiling sister, cometh by-and-bye. THE POET LAUREATE . The lyre is mute, the strings unstrung, The muse hath left the song unsung; He weareth on his poet's brow A fairer wreath than men bestow Or fame may give. As leaves are scattered o'er the mould. Unheeded by the world so cold, Yet, traced indelibly on stone, 'i'heir shapes remain through ages flown, So sweet words live. 46 RUSTLING LEAVES His pleasure was a liealthy mind, Teaching man's duty to mankind; No thought of glory or of gain Centred within tliat brilliant brain But love to men. Oh, life! Oh, death! Tliou hast no sting! Swiftly upon thy glorious wing. Trembling, within the golden maze, He passed to pour liis sweetest lays Beyond our ken. His ivory casket lies at rest In that dear island of the west; His song hath ceased, his rest is won, And peace is his at set of sun, For he hath led Some weary mortals to the spheres Of fancy, far from pensive tears. Where, in imagination's bliss, They hung upon a poet's kiss. Oh, happy dead! And Britain mourns him not alone, And not because of sculptured stone, Or tributes great, or elegy, Will her laureate remembered be. But in her heart. Though rugged be the path to fame, Yet history hath vv-rit his name A star of magnitude that shines; For fame, whose lustre few entwines. Hath crowned his art. 47 RUSTLING LEAVES THE TEMPLE OF THE YEARS. I opened wide the Portal of the Temple of the Years, And passed adown the vista of the aisle of buried tears, Which once my feet had trodden in their deeply furrowed way, The via dolorosa of all we of earthly clay. I sought the aisle of Memories, where in niches finely wrought Were long, long rolls of archives of good and evil thought; I took a scroll, and while I read, the scalding tears would flow. When I saw inscribed the errors of the days of long ago. And then I saw my mother as in the j^ears of old. And all the beauty of her mind she did to me unfold. And spoke to me as erstv\'hile in her sweet, glowing voice, And told me that each good deed made Angels in Heaven rejoice. Oh, she above, long, long has lived, but still I feel quite sure Her spirit watches over me just as in days of yore. And when I leave Earth's twilight, and part from all I love, From the Temple of the Years I'll go to join her there above. BECAUSE OF THEE. Because of thee, the earth is fair to see. The dawn more radiant for it breathes of thee, It gloweth deeper in the eastern skies As dawneth love within thy beauteous eyes. Because of thee, my heart a song doth sing, Its cadence in mine ear doth ever ring So dulcet sweet, and though thou art not near I feel, and know in spirit, thou canst hear. Because of thee, weak words may not convey The holy calm which comes at close of day; When sunset flames like seas of beaten gold* Ere night her spangled draperies hath unrolled. 48 RUSTLING LEAVES Because of thee, upon the balmy air, Paeans from every pUmiagcd worshipper Thrill all my soul, clear love, and seem to me Each liquid note a message sent from thee. Because of thee, the flowers more odorous still, With subtle fragrance, waken at my will Sweet memories of the perfume-laden dew Of the old garden, redolent of you. Because of thee, this longing heart of mine Hath none but thee to dwell within its shrine, Its sacred taper thou, a glorious light. My lode-star like a splendid vision bright. Because of thee, the stars seem all enwrought With beauty which enriches every thought; The moon, a golden chariot in which we May circle space for all eternit}'. Because of tliee. as o'er life's mighty deep, We glide together, soft shall be thy sleep; His hand will guide our barque to yonder shore To live. Oh, love — true life for evermore. THE VOICE OF THE WIND. List to the wind which sigheth to the trees, Delicious monotones and symphonies, Lowering its voice to dreamy lullabies Then change the key to wilder harmonies. List to the voices of the starry spheres, Ethereal hosts of glittering worshippers. Within that vast Cathedral of the skies Ever intoning solemn Litanies. List to the Ocean which doth grandly pour Its De Profundis to the waiting shore, With organ voice it chanteth evermore Te Deum Laudamus whom we adore. Oh Wind, with music in thine every tone, Whispering thy message to the heart alone. May we as on we press towards the unknown. Breathe from our souls an endless Orison. 49 RUSTLING LEAVES THE EXILE. Never again through the fleeting years. Though my heart would break, and the poignant tears — In the burning tide oft resistless flow — May I see the old place where the ti-trces grow. Never again o'er the sandy plain, Oh! ever I feel the dull acliing pain — May I gallop my faithful mount so free, Through the creek where stands the coolibah tree. Never again through the deep bush roam, While the mustered cattle are nearing home. And the sheep-dogs bark at the crescent moon, While they watch on the bank of the blue lagoon. Never again in the luscious dawn. When the scent of the gum-tree is faintly borne. Like finest attar upon the breeze, May I hear the soft music of murmuring trees. Or ever the columns of grey smoke rise, Wafting an incense to the skies; And only in dreams do I hear once more The beat of the surge on dear Austral's shore. And ne'er shall I gaze in the limpid pool Where the black swans glide o'er the water cool. While the cyngets swim, and their dark wings gleam, As they dart in their gambols aJown the stream. Only in dreams view the Barron Falls With their sombre crags, which my soul enthralls Peerless and wild in their majesty, Leaping and flashing towards the sea. And the giant ferns, and the mosses dank. Sweet cushions of velvet peep o'er the bank. And glorious palms in slim beauty rise, iVnd white flowers open their fairy eyes. An exile am T, but I pray some daj-, When grief as our raiment is folded away. And placed in Times treasure-house, ever to rest, [ may sleep my last sleep in the isle I love best. 50 RUSTLING LEAVES YOUTH AND AGE . Though lovely youth seems far apart to lie. Tt treadeth ever on the heels of age; A few delicious years of transient joy Then turns the flj'-leaf of life's solemn page. Some duties stern blent with the lessons meet From nature's wondrous garden of delight: Fair meadows, where the gold-eyed marguerite Opes to the sun and prays, as we, at night. Then comes a page of slowly dawning thought, The alley-ways where wrong in painted guise Rose-coloured glows in filmy beauty wrought, " 'Tis then that calm reflection makes us wise." Again a leaf, and then life's real intent, Forceful with all its earnestness and pain, Presents itself — but useless to lament Past idle hours — Oh! waste them not again. Vouth and old ago, twin destinies which sway The human leaves; youth feeleth not the blast But age though withered knoweth well that May Must pass December's threshold at the last. We turn the leaf of this the longer page By som.e as 3^et unfinished — let it stand A volume of our hearts, while hoping age Will lead us gently to the shadow land. And when at length our page is nearly closed With all our faults and virtues there impressed, Let age, its mortal garment — quit composed By the sweet thought: "Who made us knov/est best." AUSTRALIA TO THE EMPIRE MOTHER. Peace to thee. Mother of Empires; Austral, thy younger child Far removed from thj^ steadfast hand across the ocean wild, Sees not thy mighty cities, nor the pleasaunce of thy mead. Nor the glory of t!iy landscapes where tender flock- lets feed. 51 RUSTLING LEAVES Nor the ancient feudal castles flanked with turrets and with moats, The fane of great Westminster, nor hath heard Big Ben's deep notes. Thy palaces and heirlooms with proud earls and ladies fair, Of noble blood and long descent, and costly jewels rare. Thy w^ondrous wealth and poverty with streets one shining blaze. Where tiny children clad in rags are driven within the maze Of labyrinth of alleys, just to sell God's gift — the- flowers. With little bodies blue with cold to pass the mid- night hours. Oh, Britain! Thy great heart doth swell with passionate regret That thou hast so many mouths to rill; then thou must not forget That far away 'neath Southern Cross thy child doth bless thy name, For she hath written in her heart the story of thy fame. Thy battles fought, thy hopes for peace on that expectant day When the crimson tides of human blood for aye shall fade away. And see! Thy royal daughter waits to plead with Britain's race. To send her vessels filled with kin, to choose a dwelling-place Beneath tlie soft and balmy skies where giant forests gleam, And tlie yellow ribboned wattle grows beside the silver stream; Where golden sands of islets float beyond the pur- ple rim Of sapphire seas, and lofty palms wave langourously and slim. Where the vine and fig tree flourish within the rich, red soil. And poverty is never known save to those wlio will not toil. 52 RUSTLING LEAVES Oh, not with tones of other climes thy daughter Austral sings; Not as the bird of other lands their note's wild echo rings, The cadence of the bell-bird's call, the curlew's haunting cry, The green and scarlet plumage gay which sweep across the sky, The 'possum and the mopoke, and the soft-eyed kangaroo, Nature in all her curious shapes, with flowers of gorgeous hue. In solitary splendour Austral waits within her walls Of rocky sea-girt armoury and for population calls; Her empty Northern Territory hath smiling emerald plains, Her pasture land is waiting for the men who have the brains. Oh! Mother of ours, thy children in thine island of the west Will find a home though Britain's shore is where their hearts may rest. We know the name of Austral shines upon thy royal crown And that with thine own glorious seal her deeds are written down; And that Austral's heart is loyal and is ever beating true, And the women of her nation are not dreamers, but they do. And their ever-marching army with intelligence will prove That Australia is advancing in her work of peace and love. Oh! Empire Mother, whom we love, we know thy greatest need Is to teach thy sons to follow — where a little child may lead. 53 RUSTLING LEAVES THE LADDER OF YEARS. From the west in winged chariot, From the caverns of the night, Cometh one in filmy raiment, 'Tis the spirit of Delight, And it flusheth with such beauty Painteth with a tender grace, Turneth shadows into golden, Broidered paths that interlace, Casteth such a sweet spell o'er me, Girdeth with its magic sheen Till the peerless gate of Memory Opeth wide to let me in. To the alluring land of erstwhile. To the dreams of long ago. Where tlie flashing waters murmur To the tune we used to know, List ... it comes, the distant music Of the voices of the night, Now we see the faces saintly As in olden days so bright. And with eyes of solemn wonder Look we at the Pilgrims' Stone, Whence Crusaders "buried yonder," Told how valorous deeds were done. Through the Roman arch so stately, Pass we to the Abbot's tower, Where in decades long departed Beauvoir wielded princely power. Once again the spiral circling Of two hundred steps and three. Climb we to the leaden turrets Which command the grey North Sea. Ah those stairs, those hours long numbered, Ah! tiie ladder of the years! All the rungs we since have scaled, Impressed with our smiles and tears. Thus this gentle spirit cometh, Melteth me in its caress Leadeth to the golden ladder Near the door of youthful bliss. 54 RUSTLING LEAVES AT EVENTIDE . With trembling limbs and side by side Two old folks walk at eventide. Two dear old wrinkled faces bow, Two pairs of feet are weary now. At eventide. Hush! Now they reach the old house dooi, Where, more than fifty years before. The bride came on her wedding morn. And true love waited for his dawn. Ere eventide. They gaze with tender age-dimmed eyes Around the hearth while memories Surge backward down the vanished years, Fraught with their sweetness, blent with tears, This eventide. They talk of loved ones long since gone, And one whom they in silence mourn. The erring one, and thus they stay With bended heads for him to pray, At eventide. And he, with sudden, deep remorse Resolves to change his evil course. And plead forgiveness ere too late. So softly opes the old green gate, One eventide. The cottage door is open wide, He sweeps a vagrant tear aside. Sees empty dear familiar chairs, Then gently mounts the oaken stairs At eventide. Ah! Yes! it is their eventide, For see! he finds tliem side by side, Wrapped in magnificent repose, Beyond the golden light that glows At eventide. 55 RUSTLING LEAVES IMAGINATION . Swifter than light imagination springs Uniettered by its tenement of clay; One moment here, the next on joyous wings Poised o'er the stars which pave the "Milky Way." Oh boundless space! Oh mighty concaved dome! Graven with tessellated groups of stars; Tmaginaticn hears God's vibrant loom As the frail spirit soars beyond its bars. There jewelled in the blue empyreal heighi Gleam glittering Sirius, Deneb and Altair Lo, clustering gems of scintillating light, The brilliant retinue of Crucis fair. Lost in infinitude, it views with awe The majesty of rolling spheres around, Where golden argosies are speeding o'er The vast celestial seas without a bound. It is enough! We may not lift the veil Which shrouds the altar of the Eternal Throne; The thought doth the imagination quail As meek it kneels before the Gate alone. Alone a space, within that vastitude — Beyond all mundane things of time and sense. And change and swift vicissitude, To worship Him for his beneficence — Imagination's bounds are limitless, No star of eve trembling above the sea Hath wider path, or sheddeth sweeter bliss, For it, of all God's gifts, to man is free. THE AFTERMATH. Who telleth the tale of the World's great woe, Who telleth the tale of the vanquished foe. Who counteth the cost of each human life And the rack and ruin involved in strife. When in rhythmic measure as waves of ocean The long steel lines are set in motion? 56 RUSTLING LEAVES Who telleth of "one" vermilion robes, With smouldering fires in the Ir.rid orbs, Who sated with price through seas of gore, On his coal-black steed rides the God of War, And at whose decree as the waves of ocean The myriad humans are set in motion? Who telleth the tale of each heart's deep sorrow, Who telleth of some in the vast Gomorrah, Who worse than the pagan in days of old Fall down and worship the calf of gold? For 'mid the havoc, and din, and thunder The mask from their souls shall be torn asunder. Who telleth the prayer which the faint lips call. When men and dumb beast in their glory fall. For the Empire's cause on the reeking plain, 'Mid hurtling shells and blistering rain, While louder than stormy waves of ocean The iron stomachs are set in motion? Who telleth the tale of the hollow deep. Who taketh the toll of the brave who sleep In the wrinkled rind of the earth's brown crust. Mingling their elements with the dust. While with rhythmic measure as waves of ocean Still the lines of beings are set in motion? Who can tell how may swing the pendulum now? For the clock of Progress must needs run slow. And Beauty and Culture may lose their way In the moral mist which obscures the day; And the rhythmic music of life's grand ocean Will scarce be heard in the great commotion. Lord of the Universe — God of all hosts, Thou who upholdeth not man when he boasts, Grant unto our Empire, the mother of men. That answer to prayers which ascend not in vain. And the rhythmic voice of her guns shall thunder The sacred emblem will never go under. 57 RUSTLING LEAVES TO SLEEP . Sweet seraph! Borne upon the wings of love, Softly thou Cometh from the realms above, With kiss as light as air, and gentler breath, More beauteous thou than thy pale brother Death, Yet not so calm as he, though both bestow A wondrous loveliness o'er cheek and brow; He with a regal majesty so marble cold In immobility of matchless grace doth mould Each feature with the waxen beauty of the tomb. While thou dost lend the blush of living bloom. And the soft dew of Heaven doth linger there, And lovely Peace imprints her image fair. When eve in crimson splendour of delight Falleth, thou Spirit of the starry night, And they, all million-eyed in radiance shine, Like scattered silver seeds o'er fields divine. Thou to dear children giveth dreamless rest. Softly embraced upon thy tender breast. While careworn sufferers on the tideless sea Of blissful dreams forget their misery. And bask in visions of the verdurous hills Of some enchanted isle where flashing rills, Gushing sweet music, to the green vales flow, Where cool, slim palms their graceful shadows throw — Angel of love, by dear Compassion led. To fold in deep repose each weary head. Nature's sweet nurse, oh ever near us stay Till, life's dreams o'er, "the shadows flee away." MOUNT TAMBOURINE, Q. How shall I paint in words thine image fair, Set in a background of red-winged light. Glinting through portieres of soft foliage there. Gold-flecked ere fading into deepening night? List to the music of cascades which pour Their liquid silver tribute down the steep To moss-clad boulders, where it bubbles o'er, And fronded ferns in verduous beauty peep. Breathless — T wait near thy pellucid stream To view some woodland nymph with flashing feet And brow, flower-bound for this alluring dream — A witching Flora in this cool retreat. i RUSTLING LEAVES Pensive I grow until the bell-bird's note — Organ-like, pealing in its grand solemnity — Brings haunting memories, as the deep tones float, Of vanished hours — lost chords of melody. Crowned in magnificence is thy majestic head, Queenlj' thy royal robe of purple grace, With tender nuances o'er dewy verdure spread, Where the Pacilic's jasper waves embrace. Whether in winnowed raiment of the crystal dawn. Or golden mantle of the sun's rich ore. Or jewelled scarf, star studded round thee worn, Thy smiles or tears but charm me more and more. Farewell, thy stately beauty! Stay — a thought Hath touched the deep recesses of my soul — Thou standest, thou Colossus, tempest-wrought. A Beacon on Time's sea to mark a shoal! ALIENATION . What gulf so deep, what arid desert plain. Or dreary vastitude of ocean main. So deep as the divide of hearts once stirred To sweet response, which only winds had heard? The dead v/ho live but love us now no more, Gone are the echoes of the tones of yore; The faces of our sighs and tears and dreams Are cold as gleaming ice on frozen streams. The days that were may ne'er return again. Though each perchance has felt the aching pain; Yet pride forbade thy wounded heart to let Me plead; but, oh! thou never canst forget 'Tis destiny's decree, and 'twere not meet That when I see thy cold eyes I should greet Thee more — thy burning heart 'neath snow Can never flame again with tender glow. And yet how strange that it should thus befall, Since love is dead, that fain we would recall Each note that trembled on the golden lyre, ' Ere it lay silent on the funeral pyre. So be it: Destiny for all sad mortals leaves Some little grains oi comfort from life's sheaves; So, though my love be lost to me for aye, The flowers of memory ne'er will fade away. 59 RUSTLING LEAVES AT NIGHT. When sinks the sun a globe of gold Across the ocean's breast, And night dotli all the world enfold, My spirit will not rest. And forth it speeds without a sound, For nought can bind my will. The moonbeams cast a halo round. And everything is still. Once more I tread the flowery field As in the days of yore, My beating heart doth almost yield When near the garden door There stand the stately old elm trees Which once my childhood knew, The tulips bend unto the breeze, The fountain plashes too. 1 hear the silvery laughter float From out the cool dim hall, I hear my brothers' merry shout As they each other call. I stand w^ithin the ancient room, T see the books so rare, And smell the olden rich perfume Of roses clustering there. And I become a child again, And listen to the prayer My father breathes, like a refrain Which all our beings stir. And from the stairs, so black wnth age The muUioned windows view, Through which once gazed some vanished sage The while he pensive grew. Its leaden panes with vitreous ej es Look ever o'er the sea. Which there in rolling grandeur lies, God's moving mystery. And as I through each chamber tread With footsteps light as rir, 1 feel that sorrow's years have fled And left me young and fair. 60 RUSTLING LEAVES And then the old clock in the tower, With solemn voice and deep, Booms out the ne'er returning hour, And wakes me from my sleep. Lo! from all sadness springs a joy The world may never give, And in these realms of memory My soul at night doth live. THE WATTLE. A maze of gorgeous golden bloom The yellow wattle gleams, A glorious wealth of sweet perfume, It dwells beside the streams. And deep in bush and forest glade On verdurous velvet lawn. Or avenues of waving shade. This empress — Austral born. With leaves of frosted silver chased, Their myriad tiny lieads By trembling drops of dew enlaced A glittering radiance sheds. And Auster's beauteous witching flower Hath e'er a jealous hue. For Helios breathed his passion there. And flamed it through and through. The dawn with heavy scent is sweet. The petals shower their gold In soft abandon at its feet New glory to unfold. 'Tis seen in Afric's torrid clime, Yet, though it bloometh there. Its spirit dreameth of the time It drank of Austral's air. Dear national flower, an emblem thou Of what our children need; To train with love their hands to do Each day some golden deed. fil RUSTLING LEAVES AUSTRAL'S SONG . Lo! from her long sleep of ages Austral now awakes; Hear the glorious strains, ye sages, Her glad morning breaks. Borne afar across the water Trembling to the sky, List! for Britain's royal daughter Chants her song of joy. 'Mid terrestrial constellations May her statesmen shine; Weld, O Lord, her vast foundations With the link divine. Righteousness be her attendant, Majesty her throne, Liberty her shield resplendent. Equity her crown. Guard her army and her navy, Citadel and fleet. Vanquish all her foes, we pray thee, Lord, if it be meet. May she ever be sustained In her darkest hour; Grant that peace be e'er maintained By thy grace and power. Hark! the grand refrain is swelling, Thrilling every ear; Lord of hosts, within thy dwelling Holy Spirit, hear. Though earth's empires all must crumble, Suns and systems wane, In magnificence, yet humble. Long rnay Austral reign. U RUSTLING LEAVES I KNOW NOT. 1 know not if my future years will be With sorrow crowned, Or if in solitude unknown to thee I may be bound. 1 know not, if, as down life's stream I float With look divine, Some other hand will guide my fragile boat Better than mine. I know not, when right out of sight of port, High on the crest Of raging billows which I vainly fought I shall find rest. I know not if dear spirit friends of yore Will hear my voice. And when they meet me safe upon yon shore They will rejoice. But this I know that He, mj'- Lord, will stand With glance of love And hand stretched out to lead me o'er the strand To Heaven above. MOBILITE. I sought the fragrance of the roses' breath, Bending beneath their burden of sweet dew; How could I reconcile the thought of death With blooms, which in such matchless beauty grew? I sought the lily, pure as a pale bride. So stately with its waxen petals wet. Green-stemmed and slender, and it gently sighed '"Yet a few days and all my sun is set." I sought the woods wherein the whispering wind Chanted a lullaby into my listening ear. And faintly came an echoing voice behind, "E'en as the leaves I change and disappear." 63 RUSTLING LEAVES I sought old ocean with its ceaseless moan, Flinging- white clinging arms of spumy spray To grasp the shore, then in a solemn tone It made reply, "I too must pass away." I sought the stars which in their orbits SAvay, And just as day obscures their brilliant light. The star of faith, though doubt may cloud the way, Illumes with fervent glow the mists of night. Oh! earth. Oh, h.eaven. Oh! death, which is but life. That still small voice within doth ever say, Here for a season set amid the strife, Live thou thy best — for all must pass away. Passing away where crowns and sceptred right, Kings, lov/ly, meekly lay before the Throne, And saints with creeds, and sinners, :a the light Of God's great dawn, will worship Him alone. MUSIC. Let the sound of sweet music my spirit fill. Come like the fall of a sparkling rill Which murmureth ever a golden hymn Of enchanting melody, or the dim Low symphony, soft as the zephyr's make. When they ruffle the face of the silver lake. Then pouring beauty, and grace, and light In voluptuous sounds of majestic might; Nearer the beat of the mystic winps,_ Sweet strains which only an angel sings, While stars as the dew seem to fall around, Then melt again at the heavenly sound. Breathing, ravishing, tender notes, A billow of chords which for ever floats O'er shimmering seas of exalted bliss, Touching the waves with a soft caress, Sighing through forests where pale moon flowers Glimmer and thirst for thy limpid showers. Or pulsing and thrilling the heart and brain, Oh! loosen the clouds of thy golden rain, And steep my soul in its precious dower Till it panteth o'erwhelmed 'neath thy magic power. 64 RUSTLING LEAVES TALB OP THE GREAT WHITE PLAINS. Day by clay and night by night, Till the great white plains in sight — Speeds the "Terra Nova" on; Britain's laurels must be won, So they press to reach their goal: Point they to the Southern Pole. What a tale thou dost unfold, Far surpassing deeds of old. Shades of Spartan heroes these Mightier see in southern seas, Mountain pillars gleaming white In the lone Antarctic night. Dazzling peaks, all tempest riven; Shrouded ghosts, which gaze at heaven; There, majestic, grand and free, Towering o'er that frigid sea, Terror, Erebus, look down From their smouldering fiery throne. Sunken eyes and cheeks so pale. Still the stout hearts do not quail, Though they pay a heavy toll Yet, at length, they reach the pole. Lo! the Union Jack unfurled, Britain's finger leads the world. Glory gained they may not stay. There is danger in delay. Back o'er that wide trackless plain, Mighty Scott with all his train Passed, while death the white steed rode Side by side the way they trode. Through the blizzard's freezing blast. Will he claim his prey at last? Buoyed with thoughts of northern skies Oft their drooping spirits rise. Where fond loved ones' hopes and fears Mingle with their prayers and tears — So they struggle weakly on, Strength and courage almost gone. On, until with grief they find Evans they must leave behind. Ah! The other hut in view. Will they see the blizzard through? Yes! The camp at last they reach Cold exhaustion numbing speech, 65 RUSTLING LEAVES And brave Oates! Oh! Gallant heart, Noblv doth he take his part In this awful tragedy Of the icy polar sea. Facing death 'mid ice and snow See the loyal comrade go; Knowing nought his life could save Sought he thus a lonely grave. Silently we draw the veil And his mournful end bewail. Months elapse — what is their fate? Wilson, Bowers, alas! Too late: With their chief at length they find In their sleeping bags enshrined, Fresh as when their parting breath Froze within the embrace of death. Saintly looking in their sleep, Only angels o'er them weep; There in royal robes of snow Lie our glorious heroes now. And the message Scott would send: "Guard our loved ones to the end." Britain's, Austral's hearts will be With their dead in that white sea, And their children, not in vain, Oft will read the tale again. And immortal memory shelve Nineteen hundred years and twelve. Not unmarked the way they trod, For it led them up to God. Lo! A cairn above them stands Raised by gentle, loving hands, And a cross upon the spot In that grand Antarctic grott, While for aye they will remain Martyrs of the Great White Plain. $s RUSTLING LEAVES AURELLE. I would frame a lyric sweet To ma belle Aurelle; Tresses rippling to her feet Laughing lips as well. She hath hands as lilies pure, Head of beauty's mould. Eyes like great brown pools so clear, Sparkling depths enfold. On a grassy knoll she stands, Clasping wattle bloom — Golden flower of Austral's lands, With its rich perfume. Roses grace her cheeks so fair. And she knoweth well That she doth my heart ensnare — Ma belle Aurelle. And she singeth like a^bird At heaven's gate, When its swelling" notes are stirred By its mate. And I know that Cupid's dart — Sharp, yet slender — Some fine day will pierce her heart, Oh, so tender. But this stately maid of mine Loveth none as me; For her summers are but nine — Aurelle mine, you see! AN AUSTRALIAN HYMN. God of earth's nations. Thee we sing — Loud may Australia's Anthem ring; Look down in mercy from Thy throne And with great empires make her one. Lord, not supreme alone in health. Or might, is she a Commonwealth, But by the grace which thou hast given To spread her seed beneath the Heaven. 67 RUSTLING LEAVES Grant t'nat her sons, her citadel. May ever hold impregnable; Swift to defend and slow to hate — The enemy within her gate. Fair waves her pennon on the breeze, Long may she reign in southern seas; Oh. may Thy power and glory wait Upon her mighty ship of state. Oh, may her empire builders be Faithful to base her dynasty On Truth, with Liberty for shield. And Battle-axe of Justice wield. Yea, Thine the glory, Lord, may she Fulfil her glorious destiny; And Austral's Anthem ever pour Thy praise till time shall be no more. THE LEGEND OF OSYTH'S WOOD. 'Now well I remember the tranquil hours We spent in the haunted wood; How fair was the glade and the primrose flowers Where the ruined abbey stood, For there, near the lake where water springs — It gushed in a crystal stream — From the mouth of a dragon with carven wings And eyes of a fearful gleam. And there was the grotto, with walls inlet With shells from the shining sands, And the floor with mosiac scenes was set. All relics from Eastern lands. We played, and we idly wondered who In the centuries past and gone Had chiselled the antique shape so true Of this monster in sculptured stone. And the legend weird of this ancient pile We many a time have heard, And oft in the dusk we would list, the while The leaves by the wind were stirred. For ages and ages ago 'twcis said A prince of the Saxon blood With the lad)' Osyth one day was wed By a priest of the holy roo'l. 63 RUSTLING LEAVES He bade adieu at the altar there, But, alas, for the vows they made, A rival prince took his bride so fair By force to the forest shade. She was rescued, assuming the sacred veil And a nun she had scarce been made, When up to the abbey, in coat of mail, Rode the prince with a gleaming blade. And with the sword held high he espied the face Of his wife in a window near, A moment more, in his fast embrace Swooned the lady in deadly fear. And fast on his palfrey they rode away These twain through the woodland deep. And saw not the rival till brought to bay Near the "Fatal Lover's Leap." And the enemy's knights came and bore them on And round to the moonlit lake And jeered: ''So perish each wicked one Who is false to the vows they make." The prince they bound to his steed and led The lady whose every limb Trembled, while faltering prayers she said And her glorious eyes grew dim. Then they bade her stand by the dragon's side, When with swift and sudden blow The rapier fell, and her life's red tide Welled o'er to the stream below. And the legend runs that the headless form Of the maiden quickly bent And lifted her head beneath her arm While a shriek the wild echoes rent. And the prince enraged, when he knew her fate, Unbuckled his heavy mail, And, stabbing himself as his steed he sate, He died with a mournful wail. And the story goes that the lady's shade Still walks, and her voice is heard. When the moon is old in the haunted glade — Like the cry of a wounded bird — And the headless image in marble chased Of this saint in the chancel old Still stands, though time hath its lines effaced And despoiled it of beauty's mould. And oft as I think of the woodland fair And the legend, T fain would be Once more near the dragon which standeth where St. Osyth livedj just by the sea. 69 RUSTLING LEAVES KOSCIUSKO, N.S.W.—jTo A.M.) Through long aeons past and gone Down vast corridors of time, Thou didst calmy stand alone Ere the earth was in its prime. Glorious patriarchal seer, Ancient of most ancient hills, Which in majesty appear, How the thought the spirit thrills. Once the loftiest of them all, They in meek obeisance bent While the seismic fiery pall With chaotic tempests blent. Thou didst mark the reptile's crawl. From archaic ooze and slime, And primeval forests tall, The Creator's work sublime. When the morning stars were young, Ere great suns had waxed old, Thou didst view dawn's curtain hung In translucent folds of gold. Then beneath the glacial wave Thou didst sink on darkness deep, Cataleptic in thy grave, Silent in thy deathly sleep. Lo! from myriad years of night, Softly wakened from thy dreams. Melting snows at heat and light, Pled away in mighty streams. Long ere the Adamic race Thou had lost the fire of youth, And e'en then thy furrowed face But proclaimed the unerring truth. See each cicatrice appears In thy granulated side, And the tear drops of the years Lave them in an azure tide. 70 RUSTLING LEAVES Now entranced we gaze upon All thy wondrous snow-clad spurs, Cleave the Great Divide so lone Till thy elusive head appears. Tlien from thy Titanic frame, Lo! magnificence unrolled. And we whisper as we name God — and watch the sight unfold. Far beneath the IMurray glides, With the gorgeous mountains crowned, While King Sol in splendour rides, Shedding glory all around. Here a vast expanse of plain. There the jewelled Blue Lake lies. With the Lake of Clubs enlain And Albina's beauteous eyes. Great Von Mueller, Wragge, have seen Kosciusko's ice-clad form, And the Snowy River's sheen, Oft in calm, and stress, and storm. So we climb the Artist's Chair, Granite bouldered, then must we Bow, great Kosciusko there, To thy vast antiquity. THE PALACE OF PEACE . A scene, the hall of prophecy, Magnificent to feast the eye. The massive portals swinging wide From arched imposing colonnade. And o'er the flight of marble stars The chastely moulded form appears; From height supreme a vision bright Gushing pure rays of golden light The angel peace serenely stands Leaning on sheathed sword her hands, While Wisdom, Eloquence, and Law With Art and Science symbols are. Here truth in nudity displays Her mirrored shape, which she surveys, 71 RUSTLING LEAVES And Justice, with well-tempered sword, Stands ready to confirm her word, The noble hall from every State Is filled from peer to potentate . . . Arise, ye nations, and receive The olive branch which Peace would give. Alas, one year from that great hour A spectre gazed from palace tower, Ther? Knvy dwelt unloved alone. For Peace, the whilom guest, had flown. A sound, the sudden rise and fall. Of bells with solemn vibrant call; Now near, now far, the mournful toll, As though to speed the parting soul. Lo, hear the cry, "To arms, ye men," The savant drops his eager pen. The artisan forgets his tools, A nameless dread the senses rules, Britain, a million blades are thine. A million blazing scabbards shine. Each manly loyal heart lies bare. For God and Empire he will dare; Stupendous grows the fearful fight To appease voracious appetite. And Vandalism — baleful sound — Hath mutilated Holy ground. And Freedom, who hath borne and bred Literature, Art, within its bed, Kindling the magic spark of flame Which lighteth genius on to fame Must live, we must survive it all Or shroud its face 'neath funeral pall. Nature convulsed conceals the sun, As war clouds hide the good deeds done, Awake from sleep and lethargy. Approach, oh man, the Deity. The terrene mother's sacred shrine Will shrive till he becomes Divine. 72 RUSTLING LEAVES MOUNT GAMBIER, S.A. In lone magnificence and stately pride Majestic in thy ruin and decay, Thou, whose unfathomed crater yawned wide When Pluto's furies in thy depths held sway; And forked lightning on black clouds astride, And igneous rocks, their glowing masses hurled While streams of lava in a ceaseless tide Flowed o'er thy base upon a darkened world. What hast thou felt in cycles long untdd? What hast thou heard within thine eyrie there, That scalding tears of rage hath down thee rolled Scarring thine image and thy bosom bare? AVhat hath the glorious sun-god looked upon, Searching thy heart with brilliant-zoned light? What hath the silver-veiled Fingari, lone Viewed from her vantage in the solemn night? Thou must have breathed when regal Pomoeii. placed On proud Italia's oilve-mounted shore Was by Vesuvius wrath engulfed and rased, And eighteen centuries was covered o'er. If thou but had a tongue, mayhap thou would Tell us when fair Lemuria disappeared. Or how the dusky tribes, with rites of blooJ, In bora rings their writhing victims speared. Thou antique dial: scarce thou feeleth, though Thy faint spasmodic tremblings still are felt, And o'er thy sunken cranium waters flow. The rocky amphitheatre thy belt. Now, foliage green adorns thy noble form — Lo! Mansions fair are nestling there serene Around thy neck, and in the gathering gloom At eve we picture what thou once hath been. And Oh! Thou mighty Gambier, not in vain Thou teacheth like a sad and silent sage The wisdom and the pleasure we may gain While pondering on thy splendour and thine age. 73 RUSTLING LEAVES WITHERED FLOWERS . Crossing the bridge at dusk, there lay, Unheeded, some withered flowers. Which in winsome beauty at break of day Were steeped in the humid showers. And into my heart came a touch of pain, That these blossoms so tightly pressed Had drooped and died while they still had lain On the wearer's throbbing breast. So the human sap in crimson streams Is oozing in these dark hours. And gone are the hopes and radiant dreams, And the jewelled dew and flowers. For they, as the withered blooms, must lie, Brave mortals who will not yield. With dim eyes turned to the starry sky, Strewn far o'er the battlefield. Withered and cold, while the orb of the night Hath silvered each marble brow. But a halo clearer than earthly light Clusters around them now. Oh! when we look on the tender grace And velvety petals rare. Mirrored within as a babe's sweet face We shall find Love's presence there. SO LONG AGO . It Cometh in my dream that long ago. When all the world seemed bathed in golden light. And when you told me that you loved me so The hours were burnished suns; there was no So long ago. night; Thy voice alone could calm my latent fears. And tliou alone my every thought expressed. Thy presence stayed my unrestrained tears. Thy soft arms held me close against thy breast, So long ago. RUSTLING LEAVES Thy dear lips spoke tlie tender words so sweet, It was thy hand which sought to guide the way Along life's road, and set my faltering feet Upon the narrow path which leads to day, So long ago. So long ago; I see thee, heart of gold, Just as of yore, thou pure, fair spirit — yet Though o'er thy grave the flowers their buds unfold I mourn thee still with passionate regret, For long ago. It Cometh in my dreams, that olden grace. And grave, sweet look, but lo; upon thy brow A soft light shines. And, Oh! thy gentle face Presses my tearful one as closely now As long ago. Dear eyes which shimmered in a silver mist, I see them now as in the dim, sweet past Smiling on me, ere death had softly kissed And sealed them, but to ope in Heaven at last As long ago. ENGLAND. Heart of all hearts! Oh mother of the free, What joys and sorrows have disturbed your breast; Firm as thy rocky bulwarks in the sea. The links that bind us to the golden West. We see thee as in youth, dear mother sweet. Set in deep forests of the long ago; A wild rose beauty, with white dimpled feet. Reared with the ancient oak and mistletoe. And sped the years, strange men made stranger laws, Till knights of Arthur made your wrongs their own; The mystic warrior, champion of your cause, Fought many battles for that glorious crown. And round the "Table" near tlie blazing fire, What brave raconteurs of the bond and free; What stirring talcs of love or vengeful ire. Fables and truths which carved your dynasty. 75 RUSTLING LEAVES England of Alfred, first-born son and heir To all the myriad acres, broad and green; With lowing herds upon the landscape fair, And silver streams amid the tranquil scene. England, when Roman legions woke a fear. When the long column marched along the Tay; England, when Norman William came austere And yet for you it was a glorious day. England, of stately feudal moat and keep. Of Coeur de Lion and his mighty bow; And now for this "the world's great wrong," we weep, Because, oh England, we have loved thee so. England of old, England which is to be, Scotia and Erin, limbs of thy fair frame; What homage shall we render unto thee. Oh little kingdom of the mighty name. Sometimes our spirit haunts your leafy lanes, When flower-laden comes the goddess spring. Whose basket, fresh with tender, dewy rains, Brims with its maze of beauty's offering, Ah me; we see her starred with fairy gems. The velvet primrose for her eyes of gold; Brow bound with violets, her gown she hems, Broidered of daffodils, in pattern old. Summer, luxurious summer, lifts the screen. Her girdle trails with silken roses set; With soft seduction in her glance serene. The elusive beauty deftly spreads her net. The faint perfume of lilac stirs the sense. The tulips flame to passion's scarlet blush; Laburnum yields its erstwhile redolence, And holds us spell-bound in the sylvan hush. What is the spirit's quest in that far spot? Why fall our tears as though the heart should break? Because of some who were but now are not, Oh England, whom we love for their dear sake. 76 RUSTLING LEAVES SOLITUDE. I love the solitude of woods, The leafy archways overhead, The dim, rich light where Silence broods. The ferny dell, the mossy bed. I love the softly mellowed sod, So moist and odorous is the scent, All breathing beauty wrought of God, A living, loving sacrament. I love the trees, which ever weave Each one a different tender tune, They bend and whisper, and they leave Dream-laden thoughts as they commune. I love the sea, the shimmering sea. The foaming, dancing, glittering waves, With seaweeds clinging tenderly, As earth's fair feet it gently laves. J love the hills, with lofty heads,' Looking toward the glowing sun. Whose golden heart its radiance sheds Until the garish day is done. I love the night, my heart awakes. My pulses throb with life anew. The dull inertia swiftly breaks Beneath the influence of the dew. The glow-worms with their red lamps gleam, The crickets chirp, the beetles creep Forth from their haunts, a countless stream Of bright green flames while humans sleep. But oh! the woodland glades for me. Enchantments veil, so softly sweet Bids thought to shape its imagery. Where sky and tree tops seem to meet. There, free from care, a rest I find, A deep and calm tranquillity. And leaving all the world behind, I dwell in rapt soliloquy. 77 RUSTLING LEAVES ECHO. Echo, genius of clear sound, Falling, calling, falling Mountain buttresses around, All the air enthralling. Spirit of trembling sweet 'phone, Every soft note trilling. Echo answers magically. Listening ears enthrilling. As a shadow doth it follow Where, all lucient, gleameth Silvery lakes within the hollow Which the moon ensheeneth. Echo, like a sweet refrain Haunteth as it faintly Giveth its response again As a spirit saintly. In the dim recess of mountains, To the fair dawn singeth, Past the gushing, murmuring fountains. Till each ravine ringeth. Thus would I, a lesson taking. Make my heart so sure Of love's echo soon awaking One whom I adore. THE GREAT DESIDERATUM. Far down the labyrinth we file. And seem to hear the ceaseless beat Of ancient dwellers of the Nile, Scoring deep tracks of human feet. Those hewers of stupendous stones, Which shaped the Sphinx' colossal form, And sarcophagi for the bones Of swarthy kings and queenly charm, And lofty Pyramids whose gloom. Where bandaged lay the royal clay — In cryptic chambers of their tombs — O'ershadows Austrpl's camp to-day. 78 RUSTLING LEAVES Lo, Thebes' hundred pillared halls, Where Memnon's statue faced the dawn And priceless frescoes grace the walls, And Rameses the Great was born, Who towering obelisks upraised, Ciphered with hieroglyphic myths. In fair supernal beauty poised As everlasting monoliths; Where the enchantress deemed divine By him who once his Kingdom lost — Who drowned the pearl in regal wine Regardless of the fearful cost. The galaxy of stars look down On Babylonia's barren plain, Once so resplendent, now long gone, The victim of licentious reign. And Palmyra's magnificence And proud Zenobia — where are they? Through ruined arches once immense The desert winds in mockery play, Assyria, Greece, Imperial Rome, Their part in life's great drama bore But see a mightier drama loom The world hath never seen before; In long procession o'er the stage. For paper "bond" which Britain penned. The assembled actors battle wage. And "one" shall see the bitter end. And all the players must obey. The myrmidon, the man. the knight. For time will in the balance weigh Against the Wrong the grains of Right. The glories of each dynasty May slowly moulder to decay. Though chronicled in mvstery Time cannot wear its charm away. The great desideratum we As nations, just as souls, lament Is higher ideality, With peace to make the world content. And not as ancient empires; we Will make our faults the stepning-stones To heights of virtue which shall be Nearer to God than earthlv thrones. 79 RUSTLING LEAVES LIFE'S SONG. My love is the rosy-fingered dawn, Which heralds the birth of the fragrant morn, It beareth a chalice which sheddeth showers Of crystal dew o'er the dreaming flowers. My love is the king with the torch of gold, Whose flambent rays doth dear earth enfold, Who kisseth the amorous, waiting west, And gildeth a path o'er the ocean's breast. My love is that queenly vision meek. With pale fires quenched, and a paler cheek, Who walketh so softly and regal, yet sad, But who wreathed in such beauty doth make me glad. My love is that temple with dome so blue, Where those gleaming jewels the stars peep through, With the swinging earth a cushion, whence Ave May behold the celestial pageantry. My love is life's music — the deep rich chords Hath the soul for a reed, though it breathe no words, Like a string of gems in a holy shrine, Each gem a pure note on a lute divine. Oh, love! Life's song which is sweetest flows To the stately measure the dreamer knows. With a thrilling cadenza in mortal ears. Where life's song endeth there are no tears. THE BARRON FALLS, Q . Where the coolibah and the elm tree grow, And the bower bird rears its feathery shrine, The Barron Falls in their grandeur flow 'Mid forests of cedar and oak and pine. And the bell bird chanteth its solemn psalm, And he of the stately, beauteous lyre That dwelleth in shadowy groves of palm, 'Neath skies which are flushed with the opal's fire. Where on each shining pellucid pool The swans in their dusky plumage pass, 80 RUSTLING LEAVES And the heated cattle their tired feet cool As they chew the cud of the green, ripe grass. Where the flame tree sheddeth its scarlet leaves. And heavy odours caress the air, And the giant spider so deftly weaves Its silvery web for a mammoth snare. And the fireflies gleam, and the golden bees Suck the sweet lips of the loveliest flowers, Where the saurian sprawls in its sluggish ease Like a log in the garish noontide hours. There in wildness and majesty roar the falls, And a sadness blent with a rare delight Casteth its charm and the spell enthralls At the scene of the matchless, moving night. For the cascades sparkling for ever leap, . Shrouding the boulders with cloaks of snow, Till as hooded nuns they seem to weep, While their white stoles trail to the gorge below — One eve — when the zephyrs began to stir. And the orange sunset changed to blue, A glimpse of a figure enchained me there, And a dimness over my vision grew, For was it a fancy — or was it real? The sight of a tall, slim form alone That thus in the waning light should steal, A shadow of something moving on? Or was it the image of one, indeed, Who long years ago in his youth and pride Had skilfully sought to plunge astride The half-flooding stream to the other side And the foaming waters had sucked him down, As ancient Niagara too oft hath done. And none but his Maker had heard him moan, And the faltering prayer of the drowning one. Perchance, it was only my nerves unstrung, And imagination the rest had wrought; For I looked — but only the spray was flung O'er the spot where vanished the form I sought. Oh! Barron! below thy brows of jet. Where the battlements rise to the lofty steep, Some one is lying and dreaming yet In my dark embrace and a deathless sleep. 81 RUSTLING LEAVES THE RED CROSS KNIGHTS . The Red Cross Knights to the West have gone Where the Empire wrestles with Goth and Hun. And our Red Cross sisters are comrades too, Who bear the insignia, red, white, and blue. We breathed farewell Avith a throb of pain. And our thoughts will follow thee o'er the main. Oh! loyal hearts and dear lips and eyes, Ye are weaving the web of the destinies. Brave Knights and Maidens where'er ye be, In din of battle, unflinchingly, Bearing the burdens for which ye went, Making your lives a sweet sacrament. When the glistening snow the earth hath kissed, Remember the land of the golden mist And that Austral's skies and her seas so blue Ever and ever are calling to you. And when in the presence of pale King Death Thou grieve for the faintly ebbing breath, Forget not, if faithful amid the strife, Thy Lord will give thee "a crown of life." PEARLS. A face so beautiful and fair, With eyes of amethyst and tears, A dream face, framed in silken hair. Shines through the silver mist of years. Oh, when we wandered o'er the dune And fairy moonbeams kissed the sea Amid the tangle seaweed strewn You found a pearl and gave it to me. Slowly I turned it o'er and o'er. Its beauty luminous I scanned, Alas, the treasure which I bore Slipped and was buried 'neath the sand. So thou my pearl wert lost to me Ere I could grasp the prize thou gave. It vanished into life's deep sea To drift with its tumultuous wave. S2 RUSTLING LEAVES How many pearls their radiance shed In loveliness about our path? We pass them by with careless tread, And deem them of but little worth. Dear eyes of amethyst and tears, It may be that I dream in vain, Yet hope hath whispered in mine ears That I shall see thy face again. CROSS AND CROWN. From the womb of ocean's splendour Pale pearls clasp her peerless brow. Veiled in mist which morn doth lend her Regal Auster standeth now. And she saith "by Cross and crown" Bless the sceptre we have won. O'er her azure veined bosom Steals the wattle-scented breeze Eyes unfathomed as lake's chasm Reflex of her summer seas. And she saith "by Cross and crown" Bless the sceptre we have won. From her night of storm and anguish Forth she comes a mighty queen. Doth she falter, doth she languish? Doth she on her children lean? No! she saith "by Cross and crown" Bless the sceptre we have won. Auster with her wondrous story, Nursed and nourished by the sea, Long may she preserve her glory With the shield of liberty. For she saith "by Cross and crown" Bless the sceptre we have won. Boundless is her wealth and beauty Points the Southern Cross at night To the goal of life's duty Far from realms of earthly light. Lord, she saith, "by Cross and crown" Bless the sceptre we have won. 83 RUSTLING LEAVES THE HEIRLOOMS . Griffons that crouch above the spikes Which guard the ancient oaken door, Whence armoured rode with brazen pikes, Knights of one ilk in days of yore, On Arab mount, with martial mien, Crusaders 'gainst great Saladin. A terrace, flanked by balustrade. Stone steps descend to smooth green lawns, Where gorgeous Peacocks promenade, And peep the timid, dark-eyed fawns. From stately beech, or spiral firs, A Cuckoo's note the silence stirs. Parterres where dewy roses blow, A riot of bright colour-blaze. Deep blush and creamy, pale buds grow, A galaxy in beauty's maze . . . The princely stems embracing bent, And made them ever redolent. Fine Motors . . Groom, and Bride, with gown Of satin sown with seed-pearls rare. The priceless lace veils eyes cast down. . A coronet gleams in her hair. Proudly he leads her through his halls. While ancestors look from the walls. A dream of pure idyllic bliss, He sees her pace the velvet turl, A vision of fair loveliness The echo of her silvery laugh Floats on the air. . . then comes between A shadow. . Fate's dividing screen. The moon her lap of jewels spills In filagree of pearly trace. Across the mullioned window-sills Her own inimitable grace. The diamond panes so coldly stare. As eyes with soul no longer there. 84 RUSTLING LEAVES Pushing, the door wide open swings, The moonbeams slant across the floor. He mounts, for Love has lent him wings. One look . . he knows that all is o'er, For there in sleep she lies revealed, But death's caress her lips has sealed. A distant sound comes from the dim, Long corridor, and brilliant light. . A nurse who clasps a little slim, Sweet burden . . his own smiling mite. The last few moments seem like years, His aching heart now breaks to tears. The paintings and the vellum books, The tapestries, the antique chairs. Each on his infant scion looks .... Who boasts the name of his forbears. Bot dearer than all else will be His Father's spurs, and his '"V-C." ONLY FOR THOU AND ME. Our ivory barque doth float upon Yon rippling sea of jade. Freighted with Hope, its sails are spun With dreams which ne'er may fade. The lotus llower with fragrant mouth And passion blooms enwound, And roses breathing of the south About the spars are bound. Lo! gleaming amethystine isles Rise o'er the ocean's rim. Where golden sunlight ever smiles Till Day's sweet eyes grow dim. Come, thou and I, dear love, we'll plough The waves in rough or calm. How long the way we may not know. So we but brave each storm. 85 RUSTLING LEAVES A tender whisper soft and low Will all our fears o'erwhelm, For thou and I alone will know That love is at the helm. With patience seated at the oar;?, On some enchanted isle We'll pass the long ambrosial hours. And grow in grace the while. And love will lead us all along Life's rainbow-coloured sea, Which chanteth e'er its siren song Onlv for thou and me. OH! ASK ME NOT. Oh! ask me not wherefore my lips are mute, And why no sound escapes my silent lute. The skies are dark, grey clouds are hanging low, I cannot say good-bye, I love thee so. The clarion call of battle bids us part, And thou must bear the sabre, noble heart. And duty tears thee from me, thou must go, But, oh! remember that I love thee so. And if it happen that thy hand must slay Thy brother, ere thou smite him, pause, and pray, The King of Kings be with thee as thou go; I cannot say good-bye, I love thee so. And when thy heart is burdened with its care. And cannons boom and Death broods in tin- lir. With rustling wings thy country bade thee go. And L who love thee best, would have it so. The nations bow and pray with one accord For Peace to reign and sheathe the cruel ;worJ, Which maketh tears as mighty streams to flow, God guard thy destiny, I love thee so. Go, for my heart is heavy with its pain, Should thou return not unto me again; We may not murmur, on to battle go, I cannot say good-bye, I love thee so. 86 RUSTLING LEAVES THE TEMPLE OF FATE. We are bnilcJing, we are moulding Every moment of our lives, Massive columns are unfolding To the earnest one who strives. Stone on stone, if placed securely And cemented with due care, Must reflect the worker truly And his impress it must bear. Slowly, surely, in rare beauty Pillars, architraves appear, Just as deeds of love and duty Gleam in pristine pureness there Every unimportant fraction Helps to rear Fate's edifice, And each little trivial action Hath its own especial place In the structure of Fate's temple, Or for evil or for good, Be it grand or be it simple, It will bring its own reward. Thus the seeds that each man sowcth, Teemeth with potential power, As the pile majestic groweth They will flourish hour by hour. Human minds are like a rivei — Ceaselessly it floweth on, But it changeth, as it ever With its rapid thoughts must run. Thus to-day we are not really That which yesterday we were. Thoughts have changed us — the ideally Youness of ourselves is there. For the ego is the forceful Master of the human brain. Let us live that no remorseful Deeds the temples' walls shall stain. Though our years are swiftly setting, We with firm endeavour may Smile at Fate, while not forgetting We are on its broad highway. 87 RUSTLING LEAVES THE SOUTHERN CROSS. She stood with me by the river, Watching the Southern Cross, And just as the dewdrops quiver, Stole tears from their hidden source. Then softlty she murmured, "Dearest, When you look at the Southern Cross, Sweet emblem of all that is purest. It breathes of love's deepest force." She went, and my heart went with her O'er the sea with the mist and rain; Ah, how little I recked that never Would I look in her eyes again! I sought the world and its pleasure, Forgetting the Southern Cross. And I steeped my soul in its measure, Nor wearied of all its dross; But one night I woke from dreaming, And I struggled with remorse. For her beautiful face seemed gleaming From out of the Southern Cross. And now when it lustrous beameth, As it did on that eve of yore, A musical whisper seemeth To float from some other shore. O, hush! for a new hope glowing, I can bear both the pain and loss; I know that her soul is growing Far, far o'er the Southern Cross. NATURE . Though all the world be changed, we still have thee- The lyre we love to breathe a symphony; Thy strings are tuned to chords we so well know, And errant thoughts are chastened as they flow. From thee we drew the lesson that from Change, Self-will, Desire, is but a little range; From thee we learn Change ruleth all we love. As moon and stars circle the space above. RUSTLING LEAVES But yesterday we clasped with Peace the hand, To-day the bitterest foes opposed we stand: Not ours the fault — so changed becomes mankind When Pride, Ambition, Passion, makes them blind. Behold the scene! What holocaust of rage Hath stirred men's vitals, blood alone may assuage? The sword of Damocles suspended high Hath fallen now, and vengeance is the cry. Woe is abroad, and Sorrow walks unclad With striken Fear, all hollow-eyed and sad. While wanton Lust lurks unconcealed in guile To seize its prey and feed on battle spoil. Ten thousand legions massed on every side Turn thy magnificence to ruined pride; Our vestal altars glow with purest flame. And Death or Victory shall seal our fame. Oh! Britain, in these hours of dark distress, See Austral rise to aid thee and to bless: Nature protesteth through her bloodstained sod To Christendom, her Conscience, and her God. THERE WAS A TIME. There was a time, and not long past. Ere the Titanic trumpet blast Had roused the world from peaceful sleep For men to fight and women weep. Because of war. There was a time, we will not name. When Europe wore no blush of shame, And her escutcheon blazoned fair, But now a crimson stain is there. Because of war. There was a time . . . but vain to muse, Since love hath turned to base abuse. Swifter than fire the flames have spread. While little children cry for bread. Because of war. 89 RUSTLING LEAVES There was a time — who hath not heard "Mutata nomine", which stirred The nations from their apathy To find the foe's deep nerfidy The cause of war. The air is reeking with the fumes Of deadly gas and fiery plumes, Which fall on some historic pile With devastating breath, the whilp Still marches war. There is a time to come ere long, When Justice will condemn the wrong And from the ashes of our dead, Phoenix-like, Peace will lift her head, And war be o'er. IN LOVING MEMORY OF MRS. COW LI- SHAW, LATE PRESIDENT OF THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL, BRISBANE. Oh, winds breath softly, flowers with fragrance bloom; Oh, thoughts cling closely round her hallowed tomb. A spirit fair, she walked in beauty's mould; A pearl 'mid women, with a heart of gold, A gentle being, whose sweet influence shed Its glory o'er each little sufferer's head; Exalted and unwearied day by day, She moved a bright reflection o'er the way; Where pain and sorrow dwell — with chastened thought And steadfast eyes, selfless, she ever sought To alleviate distress with tender touch, As only mothers can who love so much. Faithful to duty, in the old sweet way. From twilight she hath passed to endless day; The echo of her voice is heard no more, But Time hath traced her steps upon its shore. Beloved, softly sleep, thou art not dead; Oh, faint night winds, sigh gently o'er her head. 90 RUSTLING LEAVES THE ROSEBUD.— {To Minne Markwell.) From out the fragrant basket of the blushing morn I took a golden rose, A bud of hope 'mid leaves of promise borne, Would its pure heart unclose? From out noon's bowl of molten radiance bright I stole one jewelled hour, Its facets flamed with pulsing, quivering light, Charged with enchantments power. From out the lap of eve a guerdon sweet I e'er so softly drew. How the pale moments fled on dewy feet Only one spirit knew. From out night's arch, which half her charm conceals, Swept as the flash of oars Those golden steeds which move the whirring wheels Of her resplendent cars. From out the arms of rapturous repose The answer came to me, Love smiling held my full-blown golden rose Its glowing heart to see. From out that garden with the wondrous maze Which mortals know as Time There sounds a luring note where parts the ways And we can hear the chime. THE VISION OF CROESUS. Now Auster's wing o'er Hellespont is found, Our thoughts fly with them to the historic ground. And thence to Sardis we will wend our way. And warm to life the unforgotten clay; While the great sages once again we face. Those master minds of eloquence and grace, Which clothed philosophy and round them hung The immortal wreaths of which the poets sung. To Sardis Solon came, whose code of laws Framed for Athenians was the only cause Of his long journej's, lest he abrogate The treaty bound by oaths inviolate. Croesus, the Lydian king, in royal state Receives his guest within the palace gate, 91 RUSTLING LEAVES The banquet cloth, a sea of pure spun glass, And jeM^elled cups of gold around they pass, While precious goblets flash a hundred fires, Which Croesus deems is all that man desires. Pleased with the great philosopher as guest, Resolved to put his wisdom to the test, His treasure unto Splon next doth show. Who scanty admiration doth bestow On urns of beaten gold and ewers rare, Barbaric splendour rich beyond compare. He unto Solon then himself addressed. Believing he of mortals most was blest: "Thou man of Athens, great must be thy fame, Which reached me e're I spake to thee by name: Tell me by truth in which thou hast excelled. Which is the happiest man thou e'er beheld?" Oh King! wise Solon unto him replied. Tellus of Athens is the man beside Which may be lain the palm of happiness. For all who know him join his name to bless. "Call no man happy till he meet with death, For rich and poor alike yield up their breath,'* Croesus with anger waxed indifferent. And from his palace Solon sadly went. Two sons had Croesus, one, so frail, is dumb, The other brave, distinguished has become. Croesus awakes one night o'erwhelmed with fear. He dreams his son is slain with iron spear. Alarmed his Atys' nuptial feast is laid, When that same day a Phrygian came for aid, Claimed kin, and soon behold him in a race With Atys, a wild boar with hounds, doth chase At Mount Olympus, but ere it was won The Phrygian, unaware, slays Croesus' son. Distressed, his wealth, invoking all the powers On the great oracle at Delphi showers, Which tells him Cappadocia to invade And Cyrus soon his funeral pyre hath made; Then Croesus captive Cyrus doth beseech. Who spares him for the wisdom of his speech, For Solon's wisdom, whicli he once had spurned. Stood in good stead and now his life had earned, 92 RUSTLING LEAVES There is a crowned head which breathes to-day, And Croesus' fate a moral can convey, Not palaces nor wealth or envy give. More right than e'en the veriest slave to live. The love of wealth hath reared that "bridge of sighs," Which spans the gulf of reeling dynasties. LILIES . The woods, the hush of woods green, silken-stoled, Whose eyes are gleaming pools of amethyst. Fringed with soft dreaming lilies, white and gold, Steeped in the fragrance of a dewy mist. Here beauty dwells in lovelj" solitude. Where on the ear is borne that under-tune Of music of the leaves, its interlude Haunting the memory with its tender rune. Sweet, mossy cushions whence pale flowers peep, Fair, fronded aisles, where shadows come and go. Mid cloudless blue, see yonder lofty steep Of rugged Alpine glaciers clothed in snow. And when the moon has spread her shimmering shawl The lilies veiled hold midnight carnival. Oh sorrow that the lilies sometimes should Die all unseen by they who love them best, And mid the myrtle and the cypress brood And close their eyes on pools of amethyst. Oh sorrow that the Queen of Lilies must Give up her lilies ere they yet had blown Immortal flowers to mingle with the dust. That breaking hearts no more may look upon. Oh life; Oh death, what hast thou taught 'Tis pain. And she has wept until her eyes are dim, But lilies yet for her will bloom again, And she will sing life's sad but glorious hymn. And in the hush of woods green, silken-stoled. Steeped in the fragrance of the dewy mist, Fringed with soft dreaming lilies, white and gold. Their eyes shall close on pools of amethyst. 93 RUSTLING LEAVES THE LAND OF DREAMS . The Tigris and the great Euphrates streams Meander softly through the land of dreams, The groves of Lebanon's dark heights look o'er As in the antique past, Phoenicia's shore Where queenly Tyre was first to navigate With frail barque the waves on which she sate. "Daughter of Sidon" from its lofty brows And giant limbs were shaped the mighty prows Of future argosies which ploughed the main Through Hercules' huge pillars to the gain, And vast magnificence of lands unknown Whose regions girt her with a bright renown Sea-girdled Tyre, a haughty eastern bride. With opulence becomes imbued with pride. Matchless in wealth her skilful brilliant dye Of Tyrian purple gains celebrity. Thus did her riches all the world obsess, Mythology saith Dido came to bless; And Persia and Chaldea, who combined With vice and flattery soon hath undermined The beauty, who before their very eyes Dangles the jewel Cyprus as her prize, Whose bowels give forth copper and rich yields Of ore for her brave javelins and shields. But in the wake of vanity there came With Alexander loss of all her fame, Who, conqueror, built himself on Egypt's shore. The city, whose distinctive name it bore. And next Antigonus for his blockade A thousand oxen in Libanus lade; With cedar woods and Cyprus to frustrate. Closes the Tripoli and Byblus gate; The battle of Tiberius now behold. The army of Crusaders doth enfold, Annihilating in its ever ruthless way Saladin's orders, which they must obey. Jerusalem's last king is overthrown, And Guy de Lusignan to Tyre is gone, Armenia's scion of a noble race, Whose Cyprian tombs proclaim their resting-place. A galaxy of memories, Plains of Troy. The Argonauts enraptureth the eye, Sardis, the home of Croesus, Nicca, 94 RUSTLING LEAVES Of Credo, and fair Anatolia. A rope of pearls, each pearl a hero's name, Lustrous and clear, unblemished twines the fame Around the old and new, for Austerland Hath sent her units o'er that ancient strand. From the dim twilight of the distant dawn The matchless form of Liberty is borne. Dispelling with its torch of liquid light The mists of superstition's feeble night. Passing by virtue of its new found powers Ambition's Ijarriers that this world of ours Untramelled by the vain hj'pocrisy Of blatant words more purified and free Will be, as down life's changing streams We see the peerless land of gleaming dreams. POETRY I am the oflfspring of the soul's desire, An atom of imperishable thought; My cradle yon great crescent of pale fire Which sways in space of fretted pearl inwrought. Music, my sister, with magnetic charm. Breathed her pent longings in harmonious chords, And mine own untamed spirit souglit to form Its faint reflection in expressive words. How shall I tell thee? With each breath I drew Something intangible within my breast Assumed a shape, and hour by hour it grew Till mortals named me Poetry as best. I quaff the dewy nectar from the brim Of those slim chalices, the lovely flowers. And feast on sunset skies o'er ocean's rim, Whose golden tissue veils the dying hours. And in my garden of enchanted bliss, Inspired, I pen with all a lover's art. In cryptic measure, which none others guess Save they who know the cipher of the heart. I am the wine of which ye may all drink A deep libation. Lo! within her shrine Music, bay-crowned, hath clasped me as a link Of the charmed circle Art hath called divine. 95 RUSTLING LEAVES TO THE SUNFLOWER. Thou orbed emblem of the sun, How deeply glow thy fires; So thrilled with life thy magic zone, Aflame with dear desires. Tell me! Oh spirit of the flowers, One thing I fain would learn, Why thou, as mortals, dream swift l\ours, Then unto dust return. Thy life is briefer than our own. And lovely is thy core; Wherefore, sweet flower, for thee alone, I weave this metaphor. As planets of the solar sphere Move round a central sun, The tapering golden leaves, so fair, Surround thy cushioned throne. I am, though brief my span may be, For him who doubts or grieves A mentor of Eternity. Go; seek it in my leaves. THE PRICE OF CONQUEST. He who hath mused on Marathon, That mound which covers mighty clay, Whose hills still mutely gaze upon The haunts of the immortal fray. In spirit sees them as they lie In common grave a deathless heap, Unmarked in its simplicity, Yet hallowed in its glorious sleep. A fragrant halo rings around The names of these great ones of old. What time they hotly spurned the ground, And thundering hoofs upturned the mould. 96 RUSTLING LEAVES Oh, shades of Tiryns and Mycenae, Had ye the breath of life again, The throes that shook thy dynasty Were naught compared to this campaign. Thine ancient Cyclopean walls, Matchless in their significance. N'er echoed to such trumpet calls, Or saw the shells as demons dance. This war of pride and tyranny Which holds the nations in its thrall Doth build a sacred reliquary, Which holds our sons who gave their all. Lo! falchions flash from east to west Now rides the Goth to slay the Frank, And Britain comes with victor's crest. Leading the Belgian at her flank. The tread of Slav with heavy thud Is heard across Europa's soil And standards mingle with the blood Of Austria's victims 'mid the spoil. Marshalled the hosts on every plain, Boom the great guns with hideous roar, Storm the big drops of leaden rain, Falleth the brave to rise no more. And this the price, Oh Lord of life, Of envy, pride for worldly gain. Forgive the unholy, needless strife. And wipe awaj' this awful stain. Is this the way to brotherhood? Is this our love or earthly greed? Is tliis, if here the Master stood. The leaven He would have us knead? Lord, turn men's swords into a pen Which writeth words with ink of fire Upon each brow. Then, not till then. Will he to ethereal heights aspire. 97 RUSTLING LEAVES THE LAST POST. Hark to the booming voice of cannons' might, List, Queen Elizabeth's deep throats reply As sons of Auster scale the classic height. "The Allies come," they hear the Turk's mad cry. And 'mid the deafening screams of living shells, Dauntless, impetuous, their forms appear In quick advance along the Dardanelles. Nor cover seek, for bushmen know no fear. Softly the giant Reaper garners in The toll of manhood just as e'er of yore, Magnificent, intrepid, they must win The honour of the Empire they adore. Lo! Auster stands brow bound with cypress wreath, Yet is her anguish blent with tender pride, That those she loves so softly sleep beneath The silent stars where olden heroes died. No mournful sound of muffled drum so lone Disturbs our dreamers, no more clash of spears, But up to Heaven ascends a woman's moan — The bitter agony of unshed tears. We emulate their deeds nor may we boast Of Auster's valour 'neath the fiery rain. And still the clarion sounds "for the last post" The Empire calls, and will not call in vain. The Turkish crescent and the star must wane, Oh men! resplendent in thy might, arise And plant upon Constantine's ancient fane The symbol of our common sacrifice. THE GORDIAN KNOT. From out the Golden Age of Greece once sprung A Macedonian, as a meteor flung From the celestial interstellar spheres. To move within his orbit of the years, Whose iridescence, brief but fervent, glowed O'er the proud nations which his force subdued. Tracing new paths which others ne'er had trod — A royal Pagan, for he knew not God. 98 RUSTLING LEAVES The temple of Diana, chaste and cold, Matchless in perfect symmetry of mould. With columns of rare beauty, which displayed The subtle art its statuary conveyed At Ephesus, upon the self-same morn That Alexander, called the great, was born. Behold reduced to ashes by a man, Erostratus by name, till then unknown. And these occurrences, through years to be. Were chronicled, and live as history. His father, Philip, wishing to devote His son to good, to Aristotle wrote An elegant epistle, charging him To educate his mind as well as limb: "Unto none other would I give the task, Make him but worthy, that is all I ask." At twenty crowned a king, but yet untamed. Fired with ambition, wiser counsels shamed. The Danube crossed, thence into Tribelli, Plis martial air, marked with serenity, Was greatly ruffled by Demosthenes, Who asked ironically, "What child is this?" He with his army through Thermopylae Then passed, and unto them said he: "Demosthenes thinks me a child, forsooth, In Thessaly I have become a youth. Before the walls of Athens if I can, I there will show him I have grown a man." Thebes he sacked, and Athens to him bent, Then on to Corinth this great conqueror went. There called a council, which in debate met. And he his views before the Diet set. Nobles and Governors to the youth soon turned. Who vowed ere long the world he would command. But old Diogenes no homage paid, So to his house, with all his cavalcade. King Alexander went, and there alone The old philosopher lay in the sun. Distressed, the king then asked the reason why He dwelt in such apparent misery. "Let me relieve thee, friend, and in what way." "Move but thy royal shadow from my day. So that its beams still shine upon my face. 'Tis all I need. I thank thee for thy grace." And Alexander pondered: "He is such He wanteth nought; I cannot wish too much " 99 RUSTLING LEAVES From Eleontes now he steers his way, And in mid-Hellespont his galleys stay To sacrifice to Neptune there a bull, And the Nereides a libation full He gives from out a massive golden stoup, Which, sinking in the waves, is swallowed up. At Abydos he there a javeiin throws, Which strikes the shore, and his ambition grows. Arrived at Uion, Achilles' tomb he seeks — With garlands fresh the hero's dust bedecks. "Patroclus was thy friend in life," he said, "But Homer is thy herald now thou'rt dead." For his own heart with love for Homer thrilled. And bore his poems o'er each battlefield. Now into Gordium see the conqueror ride, In all the flower of youth, and joy, and pride, That ancient home of Midas, where was found The Gordian knot which could not be unbound Save by the one who should be Asia's king. Thus Alexander to the knot they bring. He spies the chariot, tries the knot in vain, Then draws his sword and cuts the knot in twain Uncurbed, his will still not content, he takes Assyria, Persia, as his lawful stakes — But one dark shadow followed in his course. The murdered Clitus lashed him with remorse, To Iiid he went, defeated Porus there. Turning, for all his troops were in despair, The fond Bucephalus, his steed, now dead. Weary and ill a fever racked his head. . . . Lay all his faults, and virtues side by side, His two great faults, intemperance and pride, His virtues far outshone his deepest vice, He who had spared himself no sacrifice. Thus, after thirteen years, at Babylon, Died Alexander of old Macedon. 100 RUSTLING LEAVES THE EMPTY BOWL. Lo, once thy loveliness a radiance shed, The lustre of the stars was in thine eye, An aureole of beauty o er thy head. Marked thee too glorious a thing to die. Silent and still, no breath of fragrance now Wafteth its balm to lead me to my goal, The silken hair that traileth o'er thy brow A girdle was which bound me to thy soul. Or so I dreamed — thy voice so softly low, The deepest fibres of my being stirred, Falling in silver quivers from the bow Of thy curved lips as a sweet harpsichord. And when thy slender fingers touched the strings In cadence sad or passionate lament, In spirit I could feel the mystic wings Of love which sanctified our sacrament. The golden bowl is empty, and in vain My burning tears on thy frail heart have shone Living, yet dead, thou art another's gain. Thou whom it breaks my heart to look upon. IN MEMORIAM—GALLIPOLI. The classic peaks surround thy grand demesne. The Orient moon, sweet with the mist of tears. Hath woven thee a shroud of argent sheen To shield thee from the stress and fret of years. High in dim distance rise the sentinels, Snow capped, which greet the roseate shafts of dawn; The groves are hushed where bend the asphodels, And silence broods where Chrysa once was born. The silver lilies scarcely draw their breath. The perfumed lotus languishes alone. While ye, our heroes — faithful unto death — With dust of flowers commingle into one. 101 H RUSTLING LEAVES The troops of stars on the celestial fields Must scintillate as thee, then cease to be. And ye are heralds of a race which yields Mortals who fight for immortality. Verdure will crown the mounds 'neath which ye sleep. Though shock of battle makes the hills to quake Dream on, dream on, the crystal dew will steep Thine eyelids though thy mother's heart may break. There, where the dusky-headed cypress waves. Where tower and minaret are overthrown. The rocky battlements Aegea laves Guardeth our dead — the children of the sun. The grave hath hid thee from our straining sights But set in Auster's gleaming diadem Thy names emit an ever radiant light, And Orient winds will chant thy requiem. THE SILENT WORLD. Far from the haunts of grief and scenes of strife, And combat 'twixt the powers of death and life, Where hideous shambles mid the carnage reek, Bringing the blush of shame to Reason's cheek, While the sun's disc reflects the nation's ire, And our pale satellite shows paler fire; Aghast at the unparalleled display Of the tellurian hosts for mastery. The vaunted glory of the sword of might Hath vanished as the dark before the light, And Science now with deadly sickle mows The human corn in long, resistless rows, And still unsolved the riddle there remains: How long, how long. Ambition versus brains? See wrathful Vulcan rending rocks in twain As if in protest asking, "Is man sane?" Give me a reed that I may pensive play Some olden theme to charm dull hours away, And at the strain the massive golden key Which bindeth portals of earth's treasury Will turn upon its hinge that we explore The spacious vault with all its antique lore. 102 RUSTLING LEAVES With beating heart, expectant, we may trace The long, weird story of that mystic race Of reptiles, which, without a rival, ranged Within this vast and silent world so changed. When man was not — and in their dark abode Was nought but they, and nothingness — but God Then the young earth espoused the ocean lone. Which chanteth aye a tender monotone. And here primeval man the bison slew With flinty blade to feed liis life anew: Sheltered in caves where he his banquet spread, And sketched upon the wall the victim's head. These stony ghosts in solemn silence stand, We disinter them here on every hand; The mighty forests lie a stately pile; And reeling thought can scarcely reconcile These curious shapes in rocky matrix pressed With man who lives to-day on earth's fair breast. But her strange story, as a book, conceals Strata on strata what the end reveals. Petrified forms in deep recesses laid. When our great debt to Nature hath been paid; We must become, in aeons long ahead. Within this silent region of the dead; And may we with that caravan lie down. Assured the world at length hath wiser grown. And in the charnel house of ancient Time Millions unborn will still engrave the rhyme, Not with ignoble, but with \ohy zeal. When peace hath set on earth its holy seal, For only through Adversity's dark eyes Can we behold the glories of the skies. BEAUTY'S EYES. I walked the shore and sought the precious balm Which beauty lends, my wounded soul to cure, The slumbering ocean lay in pulseless calm, Its shimmering bosom cold, and still, and pure. I walked the bush amid the solemn hush. And breath of wattle came to me at even. And flowers and trees were trembling in the flush Of glory from that radiant arc of Heaven. 103 RUSTLING LEAVES I walked where matins from the feathery throats Swelled from that aerial altar far above, A rhapsody of sweetest golden notes, A melody of dear, undying love. I walked with beauty where pale lilies grow In avenues whence silvery waters gleam, And roses rare, with damask hearts aglow, Dew laden, bend in loveliness to dream. I walked the sward where velvet heart's-ease bloom, And there I found in beauty's eyes so meek My solace — for of life beyond the tomb These tender blossoms in dumb fashion speak — Of God's own image, the immortal soul, Pregnant with force which in each atom lies. And we shall reach through deeds of love the goal Which our dim vision sees through beauty's eyes. WHERER I WALK. Wher'er I walk doth Beauty trace Its odour-breathing charm In lineaments of tender grace. Wafting its precious balm. From out these tranquil depths, methought I heard a spirit call, It must have been the Bell-bird's note That doth my soul enthrall. Ah! there again it seems to ring Within my listening ear, Is it a mortal that doth sing Sweetly, divinely clear? Still, still I hear the melody, My being now is stirred. . . . Sublimely soft it reacheth me As if it framed a word. Lo! in this deep and soulful hush, Unravished, limitless There comes a flower-faced maid, with blush Of radiant loveliness. 104 RUSTLING LEAVES BYZANTIUM. *Tis night ... a night of tenderness and dreams, No signs portentous in the sparkling air, And Luna's glowing lamp in lucient streams Sheds a so'"! lustre as it hangs so fair. 'Neath the pale splendour of the golden stars, But Islam's hosts, impatient of delay O'er slippery plane, must pull from Bosphorus shores Full fourscore galleons 'ere the break of day. See: with a consummate, unrivalled skill Mohammed, bold in strategy, convey His ships o'er land, surmounting e'en a hill, And in the higher harbour anchor weigh. The Greeks below too late the danger see. And frenzied, fair Byzantium seek to save; 'Twere better far to die at once than be Chained in ignominy, a hated slave. Alas! the Christian Church is careless grown, And Moslem eyes are ever to it turned; And of the myriad seeds that grace hath sewn, But few disciples for the fruit have yearned. In dazzling glory smiles the orb of day, From Heaven's blue arch o'er proud Byzantium's head; And Saint Sophia gleameth o'er the way, The golden cross upon its fane outspread. A sound of arms; and pouring through the street, With guns and catapults the Sultan rides, And Turk and Christian in the melee meet, The dark blood spurting from the chargers' sides. The Emperor comes — the last Constantine stands 'Mid that vast mob, brave and undaunted, still One glance of triumph, as he clasps his hands. "Some Christian friend behead me if he will!'' He casts the purple mantle from him, while He listens to great Palaelogus there Give his oration until Rome so frail. Conspicuous for his courage of