SONG 5 
 
 FROM THE HILLS 
 
 arion Miller
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 OF
 
 f).
 
 SONGS FROM THE HILLS
 
 SONGS 
 
 FROM THE HILLS 
 
 BY 
 
 MARION MILLER 
 
 LONDON AND MELBOURNE 
 MELVILLE, MULLEN y SLADE
 
 Printed by BALLANTVNE, HANSON <V Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press
 
 PR 
 
 DEDICATED TO 
 MY DEAR MOTHER 
 
 1 440921
 
 Page 140, line 7, read "lion heart" for "lion of heart." 
 Page 144, line 14, read "dear" for "fond." 
 Page 152, in third line, second verse, read "fleet" for "float. 
 Page 168, line 21, read "enshrining" for "enshrined." 
 
 Page 171, line 18, read " Wa^ ever a day so fair?" instead of 
 "Was ever a lady so fair?" 
 
 Page 166, second verse, read " the purity" for "her purity
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 TOGETHER I 
 
 ERE THE SILVER CORD BE LOOSED .... 4 
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS 6 
 
 HEART OF MY HEART 8 
 
 "MY LITTLE GIRL" IO 
 
 FERNSHAW (BLACK SPUR) . . . . . 14 
 
 DEAR DARK HEAD -I? 
 
 CAMP DREAMS . .... . .' . . 19 
 
 A BUSH REVERIE . . . . ... .23 
 
 AMOR VINCIT MORTEM - . .26 
 
 NOBODY'S MOTHER . . ... . . .27 
 
 THE LAND OF OUR CHILDISH DREAMS .... . 29 
 
 LAID LOW . -32 
 
 " GOD BE WITH THEE, MIA CARA ! " . ... . 34 
 
 JENNINGS CARMICHAEL 37 
 
 THE WELL-SPRING OF THE HEART 39 
 
 THE LAND OF OUR YOUTH'S ROMANCE. ... 42
 
 x CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 OUR OWN HOME LAND . 45 
 
 LOVERS' LAND 49 
 
 THEN 51 
 
 "MIA CARINA " 53 
 
 "CAMP FIRES" 55 
 
 FATE 59 
 
 OVER THE HILLS WITH YOU 6l 
 
 SUNSET, MONT ALBERT 64 
 
 THE FIRST FOUNDATION DAY 6j 
 
 ST. FILLAN CREEK, NARBETHONG 70 
 
 WITH THE BLOOM AND THE GLORY OF SPRING . . 72 
 
 HEREDITY 76 
 
 THE MATCH-SELLER . . . . . . -79 
 
 THE BLACK SPUR . . . " . . . . 8l 
 
 THE ACHERON RIVER, DIVIDING RANGE . . . 89 
 
 A BALLAD OK NORMANDY 9! 
 
 THE OPEN DOOR . . . . . . . -95 
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW OF THY CROSS .... 97 
 
 IN SIGHT OF CAMP . ... - . -99 
 
 THE OLD ROAD, NARBETHONG . . . . .103 
 
 THREE MEN . . . * .... . . IO6 
 
 THE BLIND MUSICIAN IO8 
 
 WHERE WATER-LILIES SLEEP Ill 
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS 112
 
 CONTENTS xi 
 
 PAGE 
 
 AN ARMENIAN HEROINE IIS 
 
 S1GNOR CECCHI . . . . ? . ', . . Il8 
 
 THE CUCKOO OF THE SOUTH 119 
 
 WHEN THE LILAC BLOOMED AGAIN . . . . 122 
 
 AUSTRALIA'S HEROES . . . . . ... 125 
 
 GRANDMOTHER . . . . ... . 129 
 
 ERIN 131 
 
 THE SOUL'S EXPRESSION 133 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS ANGELS . . . . . .135 
 
 JOAN OF ARC IN THE CHAPEL OF DOMREMY .. . 138 
 GOD'S OWN "SONG WITHOUT WORDS " . . . .141 
 
 MY LADDIE . . . . 144 
 
 THE GRAVEYARD OF THE WEST 145 
 
 MEMORIES OF THE PAST 148 
 
 THE HEART'S ETERNAL YOUTH 152 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF THE EYE 155 
 
 THE FUTURE OF AUSTRALIA 157 
 
 THROUGH A MIST OF GOLDEN RAIN .... l62 
 THE WATCH-TOWER OF THE SOUL . . . .164 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE VIOLET 167 
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN CUCKOO I/O 
 
 AN ANGEL'S CHRISTMAS EVE 172 
 
 A SUNSET IDYLL 177 
 
 A BUSH TRAGEDY . . iSo
 
 xii CONTENTS 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 THE CRY OF THE WOMAN . . . . . . 187 
 
 THE GARDEN OF THE SEA 1 91 
 
 AT THE END 194 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE SUNSET 197 
 
 CEAN BAWN DEELISH 2OO 
 
 ACROSS SEAS . 2O2
 
 TOGETHER 
 
 I MET you in Life's bright morning 
 While the dew on the grass was wet, 
 
 And the birds' mellow joy-bells were ringing, - 
 Dear heart, I can hear them yet ! 
 
 The trees spread their branches above us, 
 The Sun shed its gold through the leaves ; 
 
 We were young on the green Earth together, 
 Like the flowers that her love interweaves ! 
 
 There was beauty in sky and in valley, 
 In the white lambs that dotted the hill, 
 
 And the children's far silvery laughter, 
 O love ! does it reach to you still ? 
 
 In my heart thro' the years it has echoed 
 With the sound of their small flying feet, 
 
 For the ring of our gladness was in it, 
 Like a fairy-call piercingly sweet ! 
 
 A
 
 2 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 There was music wherever we wandered ; 
 
 The wind made a harp of the trees. 
 There was joy in their tremulous motion 
 
 As it swept o'er their magical keys. 
 
 In that dreamy nocturne they had whispered 
 Sweet words for the Angels to hear. 
 
 Did you steal from their wandering music 
 The secret you breathed in my ear ? 
 
 If I stood in the shadow a moment, 
 
 'Twas to think that the world was fair ! 
 
 If I bent o'er the flowers an instant, 
 'Twas to offer a thankful prayer ! 
 
 I was glad with the glee of childhood, 
 Glad, too, with my woman's heart. 
 
 " From Shadow to Shine is the sweetest ! " 
 You smiled as you stood apart. 
 
 I kissed the red hearts of the roses 
 In the glow of their beautiful bloom, 
 
 And bore with me back to the sunshine 
 The breath of their sweet perfume. 
 
 The spring and the summer vanished 
 
 Like a radiant fairy dream, 
 But they bore in their boat of azure 
 
 TWO hearts on their golden stream !
 
 TOGETHER 
 
 I walked with you late in the autumn, 
 As its red leaves fluttered and fell, 
 
 And the wind rustled mournfully through them 
 With a sad, sobbing note in its swell. 
 
 But we drew but the closer together, 
 There was glory still over the land ! 
 
 And the hills in their mantle of purple 
 In the sunlight rose stately and grand. 
 
 To the banks of the fast-flowing river 
 Where we loitered with lingering feet, 
 
 With its sails of crimson and amber 
 Came gliding an elfin fleet. 
 
 Its crew were the old sweet fancies, 
 
 Returned in a soberer guise ; 
 Its cargo was gay with the splendour 
 
 Of First Love's glorious skies ! 
 
 We smiled and sighed as we watched it 
 Even Love hath its twilight of pain, 
 
 We had trod through the shine and the shadow, 
 And fathomed the loss and the gain ! 
 
 I sat by your side in the winter, 
 
 In the pitiless whirling snow, 
 But we'd found the fire in our hearts, Dear, 
 
 And we've never lost its glow J
 
 ERE THE SILVER CORD BE 
 LOOSED 
 
 ERE thy sweet soul doth sail the Silent Sea, 
 Lift up thy voice, O Love ! and answer me. 
 Do thy true eyes, lit by Faith's beacon-light, 
 See holy things still curtained from our sight ? 
 Fixed is their gaze ! A rapt and holy awe 
 Darkens their blue, as though God's strand they 
 
 saw. 
 
 Are other vessels coming from afar, 
 Nearing, like thee, the shining harbour bar? 
 On their dim decks perhaps old friends they see, 
 Dear heart, perchance e'en now they're hailing 
 
 thee ! 
 
 Borne far away by currents of the years, 
 Deaf to our cries, and blinder to our tears, 
 May not the loved for whom our spirits grieve, 
 At the same hour their summons, too, receive ? 
 Pass not away, sweet soul, without a word ! 
 Whisper the song by mortal ears unheard. 
 Doth its soft music float across to thee, 
 Or doth God's Silence guard Eternity ?
 
 THE SILVER CORD 5 
 
 Fain would we know that not into the dark, 
 Chilled and untended flies life's vital spark ; 
 Fain would be sure that loving hands would guide 
 The spirit bark that trembles on the tide ! 
 Leave thou some token, soul to us so dear, 
 Who watch thy flight, and yet must travail here ! 
 
 Till Earth's last sun in awful glory set, 
 Must we still question on ? unanswered yut !
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS 
 
 IN the far-off haze of the past, 
 
 In the land of the " Might-have-been," 
 There lies a little lonely grave, 
 
 By tears kept ever green. 
 With reverent hands I dug it, 
 
 In the dying sunset glow, 
 And buried there my sweetest hopes 
 
 Long years and years ago ! 
 
 I kissed their faces lingeringly 
 
 No broken heart may weep ! 
 And piled the earth-clods wide and high 
 
 Where naught could break their sleep ; 
 And when the mound was smooth to view, 
 
 A cross I placed above 
 The cross of pain that guards alike 
 
 Both dead and living love ! 
 
 The grass grew green upon the grave 
 
 E'en as I knelt beside ; 
 I set within it snowy flowers 
 
 That should have decked a bride !
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS 
 
 There is dew upon their petals yet, 
 And their scent is rare and sweet, 
 
 The shade and sunshine of my youth 
 Upon their bosom meet ! 
 
 I seem to hear the sound of bells 
 
 From somewhere far away, 
 Ring out with gladness in their tone 
 
 Then die with ebbing day ! 
 And sometimes in the silence there 
 
 I breathe a name that's dear, 
 But never, never answer comes, 
 
 For only God doth hear !
 
 HEART OF MY HEART 
 
 INSIDE, the firelight's glow 
 
 Outside, the rain, 
 Wild wind and falling snow, 
 
 Moorland and plain ! 
 Inside are warmth and light, 
 Outside but darkest night, 
 Shapes that thy soul affright, 
 
 Mocking thy pain ! 
 
 Why should the woes of years 
 
 Weigh on thee yet ? 
 Why, with those scalding tears 
 
 Thine eyes be wet ? 
 Life of my life, can I 
 See thee go forth to die 
 Without one pleading cry, 
 
 Wild with regret ! 
 
 Wet are thy wings, my dove, 
 
 Rest thou with me ! 
 Guarded by faithful love, 
 
 Safe thou wilt be.
 
 HEART OF MY HEART 
 
 Wildly the tempests blow, 
 Whirling the fallen snow ; 
 Why to their fury go ? 
 Love, stay with me ! 
 
 Lo, I would make for thee, 
 
 Cold as thou art, 
 A nest to shelter thee 
 
 Deep in my heart ! 
 Come in thy sore distress, 
 Come in thy loneliness ! 
 Ne'er shall I love thee less, 
 
 Heart of my heart !
 
 WHERE the wild birds sing their sweetest, and the 
 
 everlastings grow 
 
 In white and starry clusters in the grass, 
 There's a spot beneath the wattles which only 
 
 lovers know 
 
 By its beauty few have ever cared to pass. 
 There oft we sat together at the closing of the 
 
 day, 
 While the red sun sank in splendour in the 
 
 West ; 
 And the floating clouds, like islets in some blue 
 
 and placid bay, 
 
 Drifting slowly, seemed to follow him to 
 rest. 
 
 Their mimic shores were golden, but more golden 
 
 was her hair ; 
 
 I turned from them to watch its sunny gleam ; 
 I prized their mystic beauty, but her face was 
 
 passing fair 
 The sweetest poet wove into his dream !
 
 "MY LITTLE GIRL" n 
 
 In the sunset glow transfigured, that calm face 
 
 seemed to shine 
 With a light that somehow drew my thoughts 
 
 to God ; 
 He lends us masterpieces from the Land of the 
 
 Divine, 
 But the spirit quickens slowly in a clod ! 
 
 There were rays of Heaven's glory in the deep 
 
 and tender eyes. 
 Was she angel ? Then I grudged her heavenly 
 
 birth ! 
 I grudged each thought she wafted to the quiet, 
 
 holy skies 
 Heav'n had its host of angels I wanted mine 
 
 on Earth ! 
 The evening breezes whispered to the leaves that 
 
 gently swayed 
 
 And thrilled to keener life beneath their touch ; 
 The life in me was bounding, but I could have 
 
 knelt and prayed 
 God pity him who loveth over much ! 
 
 Is there ever joy that hath not its presentiment of 
 
 woe ? 
 There were moments when the thought flashed 
 
 o'er my mind 
 That the things we prize the dearest are the first 
 
 we must forego, 
 Our brightest hopes the ones we have resigned.
 
 12 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 I loved the girl beside me with a love God only 
 
 knew ! 
 
 I was never quick to tell each inward thought, 
 But I think, whate'er my history, she knew that 
 
 love was true, 
 That life itself without her was as naught. 
 
 And in the dreamy stillness, though I spoke no 
 
 loving word 
 Dumb with a longing born of joy and 
 
 pain 
 Her little head would nestle like some soft and 
 
 downy bird 
 On the heart no woman's touch can thrill 
 
 again 
 
 I would scale the skies above me, search the 
 
 yawning depths beneath, 
 Dare all that man ere ventured in his pride, 
 Pluck from the hand of science her fairest laurel 
 
 wreath 
 To bring her now one moment to my side. 
 
 But the red sun sinks at evening with a strange 
 
 and lurid light, 
 
 The glory of its cloudland dim and blurred, 
 And the everlastings chill me with their cold and 
 
 deathly white ; 
 The silence by no breath of life is stirred.
 
 MY LITTLE GIRL" 13 
 
 And I sit alone and ponder on the problems that 
 
 perplex 
 
 The heart of man while ages onward roll. 
 Well, no question now of mine can her purer 
 
 spirit vex ! 
 She hath learnt the deeper problem of the soul. 
 
 They preach of resignation who have never known 
 
 a loss ! 
 
 I turn from them unheeding, unimpressed ; 
 There is more for me of healing in the simple 
 
 marble cross 
 
 That shadows her last earthly place of rest. 
 Yet I long with passionate longing, with a crav- 
 ing naught can still, 
 For one look into the sweet and thoughtful 
 
 eyes ! 
 My little girl ! forget not the human heart you 
 
 fill 
 While you wander 'mid the flowers of Paradise !
 
 FERNSHAW (BLACK SPUR) 
 
 WHERE solitude still holds unbroken sway 
 
 O'er fern-clad slope and softly-flowing stream, 
 
 O'er purple hills that through the languid day 
 
 Seem distant castles in a fairy dream, 
 
 And passing shadows form a spirit band 
 
 To guard the brooding calm of their enchanted 
 
 land, 
 
 There man ne'er toils nor grieves, 
 But through the tender leaves 
 The sensuous Summer sunlight slowly weaves, 
 With heavy-lidded eyes, bright hues for Autumn 
 
 eves ! 
 
 There through the drowsy stillness ever steals 
 The sweet faint music of a choir unseen. 
 Though lulled to rest, the musing spirit feels 
 Time yet hath golden fields for her to glean. 
 But rest is sweet when fragrant odours steep 
 Tired soul and sense in self-forgetting sleep J
 
 FERNSHAW (BLACK SPUR) 15 
 
 Far away the lyre bird's call ; 
 Splash of a distant waterfall ; 
 The wind's sigh through the tree-tops tall 
 Weird, broken music, rising, floating, ever over 
 all. 
 
 Between the waving palm-fern branches shine 
 The swaying musk leaves, broad and silver-lined, 
 And with the lighter green their shades combine, 
 As chords of music blend within a master mind. 
 And ever rippling in sweet monotone 
 The river glides o'er rock and mossy stone. 
 Dreamy clouds float overhead 
 Snowdrifts on an azure bed, 
 Soft down by the angels spread 
 For the feet of some child spirit Heavenward 
 gently led. 
 
 Wherever home of man hath left its trace 
 
 (As here in gardens long o'ergrown with weeds) 
 
 Vague hints of mystery seem to fill the place 
 
 The shadow cf the old-time reckless deeds ! 
 
 The wild ride in the starlight dewy dusk 
 
 Thro' fresh winds fragrant with the breath of musk 
 
 Was but the prelude sweet 
 
 To song and dancing feet 
 
 The loud bush revel, where for youth and maid to 
 
 meet 
 Proved oft the preface to a tale Love only could 
 
 complete J
 
 16 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 The Past with lingering step before me steals ; 
 
 The rustic bridge above the river's flow 
 
 Resounds again beneath the coaches' wheels, 
 
 And phantom drivers of the long ago 
 
 Draw up before the poplar-shaded door 
 
 The quaint old inn threw wide in days of yore ! 
 
 No vestige of it stands, 
 
 But Nature's kindly hands 
 
 Have beckoned fairy sprites from all her magic 
 
 lands, 
 And fern and wild-flower now bend o'er the river's 
 
 silver sands.
 
 DEAR DARK HEAD 
 
 DEAR dark head, do you dream, I wonder, 
 
 Of all the thoughts that I think of you ? 
 Sweet, sweet thoughts, like the flowers of morning, 
 
 Bright with the glory of love's own hue ! 
 Dear dark head, have you ever listened 
 
 To chimes far distant at break of day ? 
 Never was joybell like heart music ! 
 
 Never was love-word it doth not say ! 
 
 A peal of bells, and a wild bird singing, 
 
 Singing, singing, and rising still ! 
 Hark to the echoes from wood and river 
 
 A fairy choir on the purple hill ! 
 Listen, listen ! for they are calling 
 
 That heart of thine from its slumber deep : 
 " Awake, O love ! It is Life's bright morning ; 
 
 When youth is over, then thou shalt sleep ! " 
 
 Awake, and thine eyes shall see the splendour 
 Hid in the depths of the lakes and streams, 
 
 The castles fair, and the wondrous bowers 
 Love hath built for the Queen of Dreams ! 
 
 B
 
 i8 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 I have stolen the key of her ivory tower, 
 
 And cast it deep in her silver sea, 
 That all that is beautiful may for ever 
 
 Be a joy and delight to thee ! 
 
 Not a shell but has some sweet message, 
 
 Breathed for thee in its dainty ear ; 
 Not a wave but its sunny ripple 
 
 Murmurs a poem for thee to hear ! 
 Fancy lends me her golden kingdom 
 
 For thy wandering feet to tread, 
 But had I the key of the gates of heaven, 
 
 Thou shouldst feel how I love thee, dear dark 
 head !
 
 CAMP DREAMS 
 
 WHEN the matin-bell's silvery warning 
 Rings the Queen of the Night to repose ; 
 
 In the glow and the gleam of the morning, 
 When the slumbering flowers unclose ; 
 
 In the first sunny smile of the dawning 
 When the dew is still wet on the rose, 
 
 There are times when the passionate yearning 
 
 Of the spirit breaks every bar, 
 And the gates of God's heaven are turning, 
 
 And swing on their hinges ajar ; 
 When the heart-censer's mystical burning 
 
 Throws the breath of its perfume afar. 
 
 In such hours, when the bright starry splendour 
 
 From Arabian Nights of the past, 
 With a glow that is dreamy and tender, 
 
 O'er my quickening spirit is cast, 
 All is mine that illusion may render 
 
 From a storehouse resplendent and vast.
 
 20 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 And I see the long 1 stretch by the river 
 Where the wattle-bloom showers its gold, 
 
 Where the sensitive seed-grasses quiver, 
 And the wild-flowers their glory unfold 
 
 By the sun-kissed, the beautiful river 
 Where I roamed in the glad days of old. 
 
 To the rhythm of its musical flowing 1 
 My heart sings a joyous refrain ; 
 
 Again the fresh breezes are blowing : 
 I am young, and a lover again 
 
 Is the reaping the better ? or solving' 
 The first shallow handfuls of grain ? 
 
 Is there ever a bliss like the pleasure 
 That falls dewy-sweet on the soul 
 
 Ere Fate hath apportioned its measure 
 To the young heart aglow for the goal ?- 
 
 Is the search dearer far than the treasure, 
 The half of a joy than the whole ? 
 
 I know not till Life be completer, 
 I know not and yet I believe 
 
 That the morning of life is the sweeter ; 
 Nothing fairer can Fantasy weave 
 
 O still to the old ringing metre 
 The songs of its memory cleave }
 
 CAMP DREAMS 21 
 
 O love, though we loved but to sever, 
 Though Fate tore us roughly apart, 
 
 The gleam of its gold glow for ever 
 
 Like a sunburst shall gladden our heart 
 
 Like the first morning glory, or ever 
 Its crimson and amber depart. 
 
 Sweetheart ! where we halted to listen 
 To the river-song, long, long ago, 
 
 The clear waters whisper and glisten, 
 The old music still in its flow 
 
 Still babble, and ripple, and glisten 
 
 With the song and the sheen that we know. 
 
 " We know ! " yet alone I'm retracing 
 The paths where we wandered of yore, 
 
 And I see not what odds she is facing, 
 Whose face I must gaze on no more ! 
 
 (All is dim and again I am pacing 
 The sands of an alien shore.) 
 
 I loved her as never loved woman 
 Knight-errant on tapestry quaint 
 
 With the passionate fire of the human, 
 With the rev'rence of monk for his saint, 
 
 With the worshipping awe of a true man 
 For a soul without evil or taint.
 
 22 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Through the sorrows that followed her after, 
 Through the gloom of her sad winter days, 
 
 Through the brief time of joy and of laughter, 
 Through the peace-time of prayer and praise, 
 
 May the sweet bells of Memory waft her 
 Refrains from Love's tenderest lays ! 
 
 May the glory of sunlight and starlight 
 
 Shine ever within her sweet eyes 
 That are blue with the mystical far-light 
 
 Which gleams from the soul's Paradise, 
 Ah, never was sunlight or starlight 
 
 As fair as those deep azure skies ! 
 
 That no shadow may darken their beauty 
 Earth-clouds blurring o'er the divine 
 
 The stern leading upward of Duty 
 I follow, and dare not repine. 
 
 For her be the peace and the beauty 
 Of a world that can never be mine !
 
 A BUSH REVERIE 
 
 WHEN the bell-bird stirs the echoes with her last 
 
 sweet AngeluS) 
 
 And upon my homeward way I slacken rein, 
 The dark blue hills around me seem to wake the 
 
 old unrest, 
 And the problems of my boyhood vex again. 
 
 Nature, still and holy, looks to heaven with yearn- 
 ing eyes ; 
 
 I watch the grey mist stealing o'er the range, 
 And the dim mysterious shadows creeping upward 
 
 fill my breast 
 With a sense of isolation sad and strange. 
 
 There are times when every spirit feels its power 
 
 to stand alone, 
 
 Its sense of oneness with a Power Divine, 
 And Earth's sorrows and its passions seem a 
 
 world from it apart 
 A thing one spirit-touch would undermine !
 
 24 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 There are thoughts we cannot fathom, there are 
 
 prayers we never hear 
 In the heart, to us the dearest here below ; 
 And the soul may rise to summits that the preacher 
 
 never sees, 
 As the whitest flower blooms amid the snow. 
 
 Vet though the air immortal is the soul's best 
 
 nourishment, 
 
 There is joy in travelling o'er Life's lower plane, 
 And I feel the warm blood tingle as it did in boy- 
 hood's days, 
 When I mark the untrod valleys that remain. 
 
 There are depths I have not sounded, there are 
 
 heights I have not climbed ; 
 There is something in me bids me strive for all : 
 For the nature that can suffer most shall reach the 
 
 highest joys, 
 And the strong in spirit rise, whate'er befall ! 
 
 They who have not known a sorrow cannot feel 
 
 for others' woe, 
 
 And the heart that never loved is but a shell. 
 He serves his kind the better who has soared to 
 
 heaven's hills, 
 He also serves who knows the pangs of hell.
 
 A BUSH REVERIE 25 
 
 Where the weak in terror falter, there the strong- 
 may firmly tread ; 
 
 We know not our resources till we're tried. 
 They who face the demon bravely are the first to 
 
 pass unscathed, 
 And the faint in heart gain courage by their side. 
 
 Where the bullets rained around them, in the 
 
 thickest of the fight, 
 
 The heroes that we worship stood like stone. 
 No thought of self disturbed them, and their aim 
 
 was swift and true, 
 Let their courage prove incentive to our own ! 
 
 For in us, and about us, far fiercer battles rage, 
 The storm-fire of the fiend who prompts to ill ; 
 
 And the spirit-world lies closer to the earthly than 
 
 we deem, 
 St. Michael and the devil wrestle still ! 
 
 lie who fights for home and country has a claim 
 
 upon his land, 
 
 Though his life-blood ebb away on foreign sod : 
 Who helps the forward movement of his brothers 
 
 in the van 
 Has a claim for time eternal on his God !
 
 AMOR VINCIT MORTEM 
 
 I LOVE thee with a love stronger than Death, 
 Dearer than Life, when Life is at its best, 
 Pure, as the heaven where I hope to rest, 
 True, with the truth of years of steadfast faith ! 
 I've loved thee through long hours of weary days, 
 Through nights of pain when Sorrow's self was 
 
 dumb, 
 
 And Hope lay silent. Yea, when Life grew numb, 
 And spirit worlds drew near my straining gaze. 
 In life or death, through weal and woe, thou art 
 So closely twined into my being's growth, 
 To pledge itself to thine in endless troth 
 God seemeth to have formed my woman's heart ! 
 So close it cleaves that heaven itself were loth 
 By even just decree our lives to part !
 
 NOBODY'S MOTHER 
 
 THE children played in the quiet street, 
 
 And the sound of their voices shrill and 
 
 sweet 
 
 Floated high in the evening air. 
 From a window o'erlooking the peaceful 
 
 town 
 A sweet-faced woman was gazing down 
 
 A woman once young and fair. 
 " God bless the children ! " she said, and 
 
 smiled, 
 " It is good to be blithe and a little child ! " 
 
 As she listened to laughter and merry song, 
 Two little girls in the happy throng 
 
 Looked up at the watcher lone. 
 " Is she your mother? " one, pointing, cried ; 
 " She's nobody's mother ! " the other replied, 
 
 In a petulant, wondering tone. 
 Clear as the note of a passing bird 
 The words rang out, and the listener heard.
 
 28 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 " Nobody's mother ! " the colours die 
 Out of the glorious sunset sky, 
 
 And fade to a sombre grey. 
 " Nobody's mother ! " the scene grew blurred, 
 A thousand slumbering feelings stirred 
 
 In her heart as she turned away. 
 " O child, you have struck with your little hand 
 A harder blow than you understand ! " 
 
 The words were true, and the shaft struck deep ; 
 Never for her would the heart-pulse leap 
 
 At the sound of a lisping tongue ! 
 Mothers with children around their knees, 
 Her place was not with the least of these, 
 
 No fond arms round her clung. 
 The heart knoweth best its tragedy, 
 She wept, and her weeping was sad to see ! 
 
 For the feelings starved and the spirit's strife, 
 For the loveless home and the lonely life 
 
 That were hers at that evenfall ; 
 For the something missed in her life's long day, 
 The sweetest name that a child can say, 
 
 Her tears were as tears of gall. 
 How many lives are as incomplete, 
 That a babe could fill with his dimpled feet !
 
 THE LAND OF OUR CHILDISH 
 DREAMS 
 
 INTO a beautiful land we creep 
 
 (My world-weary soul and I), 
 Where the years gone by in their beauty sleep 
 
 Undisturbed by our wailing cry. 
 
 Where the golden clouds of the days that were 
 
 Still hang in the radiant skies ; 
 And the incense of childhood's holiest prayer 
 
 Still reaches to Paradise. 
 
 Where the hills rise up thro' a purplish haze 
 
 Like a turreted castle tall, 
 And the spectral forms of an army gaze 
 
 From battlement, tower, and wall. 
 
 Where the crimson rays of a sun whose gleams 
 
 Shall be ever and aye the same, 
 In the flood of a setting glory beams 
 
 On a sea with a mystic name.
 
 30 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 A sea, on whose silent bosom glide, 
 
 With sails that are never unfurled, 
 Fair phantom ships from the waters wide 
 
 Of an earlier, unseen world ! 
 
 Where a rosy mist like a curtain falls 
 
 Dull Earth and its shore between, 
 And the voice of the Past like a sweet bell calls 
 
 The soul where it oft hath been. 
 
 And promises peace to the weary heart 
 
 Where never hath darkened night 
 (Tho* the spirit that enters must oft depart 
 
 From this realm of a lost delight). 
 
 Where the angels bend from the clouds o'erhead, 
 
 A smile in their heavenly eyes, 
 The snow of their glorious pinions spread 
 
 O'er the beauty that never dies. 
 
 Where the Peace of God in the fragrant air 
 
 Hallows ever the passing hours, 
 For all in the sight of His love is fair 
 
 That blooms in its holy bowers ! 
 
 Into this beautiful land we creep, 
 When the outside world grows cold ; 
 
 By its silent sea, in a restful sleep, 
 We live in a light of gold !
 
 LAND OF CHILDISH DREAMS 31 
 
 And the howling winds may rage without, 
 
 But never a sound hear we, 
 For safe in a haven that knows not doubt 
 
 We dream of Eternity !
 
 LAID LOW 
 
 As towers of strength upon the giant hills 
 Through changing years they'd stood ; 
 
 No winter storm had power to raze or quell 
 These monarchs of the wood. 
 
 Theirs now to see the fire-fiend's flaming eyes 
 
 Glare with revengeful hate ; 
 His hot breath sears them as they stand at bay 
 
 To meet like kings their fate. 
 
 The smoke-clouds' floating draperies swiftly pass, 
 
 Weird phantoms in the glow, 
 Their long, lean arms in wild despair are spread, 
 
 Presaging death and woe ! 
 
 The young leaves shrivel in the scorching blast, 
 
 The fire-fiend drinks their moan ; 
 The parent stem, unmoved, is in his grasp 
 
 We suffer best alone !
 
 LAID LOW 33 
 
 As one who raises up her martyr's face 
 
 With holy look and high, 
 And faces slow and agonising death 
 
 Without one feeble cry ; 
 
 So, in the clutch of their malignant foe, 
 
 Defiant in their pain, 
 
 The grand old trees, like soldiers, yield their 
 breath 
 
 On their last battle-plain ! 
 
 Higher and higher the flames, with serpent hiss, 
 
 Are gloating o'er their doom ; 
 The wind with ghoulish laughter whirls their 
 sparks 
 
 In red stars thro' night's gloom. 
 
 Majestic still, in death-throe greater far 
 
 Than in the pride of life, 
 Pillars of fire, o'er all they proudly tower, 
 
 Scorning ignoble strife. 
 
 Crash ! Earth trembles, and the prisoned hills 
 Echo the groan that quivers into space. 
 
 Another Rachel, Nature wildly mourns 
 The bravest of her race !
 
 "GOD BE WITH THEE, MIA 
 CARA ! " 
 
 "GoD be with thee, mia cara ! " 
 
 Hath Love sweeter words than these ? 
 Nay, I trow not ! With none other 
 
 He my longing heart could please ! 
 What though more than one soft language 
 
 Blend in them to greet my ear ? 
 Love is love the wide world over, 
 
 And his voice in both I hear. 
 
 " God be with thee, mia cara ! " 
 
 Colder is the French " ma chere," 
 Less expressive of the sweetness 
 
 Of a lover's tender care ; 
 Less expressive of emotion 
 
 Hidden deep from other eyes ; 
 Of the soul touch that embraces 
 
 Her on whom his heart relies.
 
 "MIA CAR A" 35 
 
 Parting from his weeping sweetheart, 
 
 Mayhap some brave cavalier 
 "God be with thee, mia cara," 
 
 Whispered softly in her ear. 
 Maybe through long years of sadness 
 
 Oft she heard it with a sigh 
 In the strains of martial music 
 
 From some army sweeping by. 
 
 In the noisy clang of battle 
 
 For her sweet face was there room ? 
 Did a girlish figure lighten 
 
 Even war clouds' blinding gloom ? 
 Did the hot tears rise unbidden 
 
 As he rested from the fray ? 
 Ah ! how often " mia cara, 
 
 God be with thee ! " did he pray ? 
 
 " God be with thee ! " Is there praying 
 
 That so much encompasseth ? 
 Prayer that feels the God-heart beating, 
 
 Even through the chill of Death ! 
 Prayer that craves deliverance ever, 
 
 For a loved one, from all ill, 
 To the very gates of heaven 
 
 One petition bearing still.
 
 36 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 " God be with thee ! " through Life's dangers, 
 
 Through the war-clash of the soul ! 
 Through the floods of many waters, 
 
 Through the storms that o'er thee roll ! 
 Unforgetful that exemption 
 
 From all woe is not our lot, 
 Yet the faith in Him who pilots 
 
 Our frail vessel, losing not. 
 
 Seeing through the mist around us 
 
 One strong Hand upon the helm, 
 Whose firm touch forbids the billows 
 
 Lightest bark to overwhelm. 
 Can a stronger prayer be wafted 
 
 To our dearest than the cry, 
 " God be with thee, mia cara ! " 
 
 Though we sever, He is nigh.
 
 TO JENNINGS CARMICHAEL 
 
 BIRD in the city singing 
 
 Thy heart out against its bars, 
 Sending thy sweet notes pealing 
 
 Up to the quiet stars ! 
 Sing on ! tho' thy song has ever 
 
 An undertone of pain : 
 Sing on ! for thy voice hath power to soothe 
 
 Sore heart and weary brain. 
 
 1 listen as one who heareth 
 
 Bells chime from a distant town, 
 In a vesper chorus swinging 
 
 As the summer sun goes down. 
 And the air around grows purer, 
 
 Hills rise thro' a purple haze, 
 And I wander afar in a world of dreams 
 
 From Life's thorn-covered ways ! 
 
 I ask for no sweeter music 
 
 Than the sound of thy liquid notes ! 
 In a sea of golden glory 
 
 My spirit with thee floats,
 
 38 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 And I live thro' years of rapture 
 That were never mine own before ; 
 
 Forgotten, forgiven, all wrongs from hands 
 Beloved in the days of yore. 
 
 Sing on, brave heart, tho' breaking, 
 
 There are those who love thy voice ; 
 Mourn on with the weeping mourner, 
 
 With the pure in heart rejoice ! 
 Tho' thy guerdon no man may tell thee, 
 
 In the Land of Perfect Song 
 A recompense awaits thee 
 
 Where only the angels throng !
 
 THE WELL-SPRING OF THE 
 HEART 
 
 O TO be out in the wild fresh breezes, 
 Borne on the breast of the wind away ! 
 
 Wandering 1 whither my fancy pleases, 
 O to be out on the hills to-day ! 
 
 O to gather the sweet wild flowers, 
 Smiling up from the fragrant sod ! 
 
 To bury my face in the golden showers 
 Of wattles wet with the dew of God ! 
 
 to thrill with the bliss of being ! 
 Singing my heart out in the sun. 
 
 Free as the songsters upward fleeing, 
 Blithe as the brooks that seaward run ! 
 
 Just to tread in the springing clover, 
 Feeling its blossoms round my feet ! 
 
 1 was ever a " gipsy rover," 
 
 Youth and Nature love to greet !
 
 40 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 O to bound with the old-time gladness 
 To the dear tunes of the Past ! 
 
 In my veins the old sweet madness 
 Like its mill-stream rushes fast ! 
 
 O to be out where the sun is shining ! 
 
 Out where the everlastings grow, 
 Out where the musk-leaves' silver lining 
 
 Gleams in the light of the golden glow ! 
 
 Out where the peaks of the purple mountains 
 Stand like sentinels guarding all ; 
 
 Out where the splash of the flowing fountains 
 Stirs my blood with its bugle-call ! 
 
 There I know are the glad birds singing, 
 Rippling carols of love and mirth : 
 
 There I know are the sheep-bells ringing 
 Fairy music o'er the earth ! 
 
 There in the grass are the shy wild daisies, 
 Hiding their bonny heads of snow ! 
 
 Ah, I would find you, winsome daisies, 
 Every sheltered nook I know ! 
 
 Gone are the days of my happy childhood, 
 Girlhood's diadem groweth small ; 
 
 Only the secrets of the wildwood 
 Womanhood mav still recall.
 
 WELL-SPRING OF THE HEART 41 
 
 What if my heart hath had its sorrows ? 
 
 Doth not its well-spring bubble clear ? 
 Ah ! I can dread no dark to-morrows, 
 
 While its whispering waters cheer ! 
 
 Every life hath had its losses, 
 
 Vet, let Nature do her part, 
 Over the ruins grow the mosses 
 
 In the JT \rden of the heart !
 
 THE LAND OF OUR YOUTH'S 
 ROMANCE 
 
 IT lay beside a tranquil sea 
 
 Whose rippling- waters laved its shore, 
 And with a mystic harmony 
 
 Bore witness to the charm it bore : 
 
 For on its ground a spell was laid 
 
 Which only Youth might strive to read ; 
 
 Who entered found his toil repaid, 
 
 Who dwelt there long was blest indeed. 
 
 Sweet music echoed from its heights, 
 Sweet music echoed from its dells : 
 
 At night were seen unearthly lights, 
 And heard the sound of magic bells ! 
 
 Fair flowers bloomed as in the day 
 Like stars the dewy grass above, 
 
 And shed their fragrance on our way, 
 Or thrilled the heart to thoughts of love.
 
 LAND OF YOUTH'S ROMANCE 43 
 
 The quivering branches of the trees 
 Flung mystic shadows on the grass ; 
 
 The soft, low soughing of the breeze 
 In murmured litanies seemed to pass. 
 
 White -winged vessels swept the streams, 
 
 Upon their decks a fairy crew 
 Embodiment of childhood's dreams, 
 
 Yet fairer than its fancy knew ! 
 
 And strange birds sang strange melodies 
 That stirred the fount of hidden tears, 
 
 Sweet as a mother's lullabies 
 
 Heard in the dawn of far-off years ! 
 
 In waking dreams the moments flew ; 
 
 The soul, entranced, resigned its will, 
 Yet nobler, purer, grander grew, 
 
 For perfect beauty breeds no ill. 
 
 And Love drew nigh with shining wings 
 And smiled with tender dreamy eyes, 
 
 Till half forgot were earthly things, 
 And nearer seemed God's Paradise ! 
 
 Dear Fairy Land of youth's romance, 
 
 Though closed long since thy gates of gold, 
 
 We journey on with backward glance, 
 And ever dear thy memory hold !
 
 44 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 While pulses have the power to beat 
 To echoes of a love-lit Past 
 
 So long shall thoughts of thee be sweet, 
 So long thy wondrous magic last !
 
 OUR OWN HOME LAND 
 
 WHERE the wild waves around her are flinging 
 
 Their challenge to Time, 
 And the rocks echo back to their clamour 
 
 In thunder sublime ! 
 Where the winds in their shrill eerie music 
 
 Defiantly sweep 
 Like a trumpet-call over the billows, 
 
 Stirring and deep, 
 She stands in her vigour exulting, 
 
 Strong, joyous, and free, 
 Her mountains her sentinels mighty, 
 
 Her rear-guard the sea ! 
 True, nations before her have risen, 
 
 Fought for a name ; 
 They rest on their blood-dappled weapons, 
 
 Weary of fame. 
 But the blood of the young and the restless 
 
 Swells in her veins ; 
 Fame's grandest height still untrodden 
 
 For her remains 
 Like a figure of Hope bright and queenly 
 
 In warlike guise,
 
 46 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 She scans her wide-acred dominions 
 
 With radiant eyes. 
 From the fresh emerald green of her valleys, 
 
 Dew-spangled and fair, 
 To the hill-tops whose bare jagged summits 
 
 No climber may dare ; 
 From the fern fairyland of her gullies 
 
 To limitless plains, 
 Where grey, haggard, grim Desolation 
 
 In misery reigns ; 
 From the sombre mysterious forests, 
 
 Gloomy and lone, 
 That echo the cry of the wanderer 
 
 Dying alone, 
 To the swift eager flow of her rivers, 
 
 Her clear mountain streams, 
 There is written the promise of ages 
 
 Futurity's dreams ! 
 They are types of the strength of her people 
 
 Born of a race 
 Who have won in the march of the Nations 
 
 The first royal place. 
 Ay, the blood of past heroes is in them ! 
 
 The pioneer strain, 
 The force that no hardship can conquer 
 
 Defiance of pain ! 
 They seek what their sires did before them 
 
 The front of the van ; 
 Theirs to press onward and upward 
 New worlds to scan.
 
 OUR OWN HOME LAND 47 
 
 Worlds that the closed hand of science 
 
 Yet must disclose, 
 Realms that the sages have sought for, 
 
 Yet no man knows ! 
 Through the crush and the storm of the battle 
 
 Of older days 
 They loomed on the far blue horizon, 
 
 Shrouded in haze. 
 In the dawn of the light that is breaking 
 
 Through sullen skies, 
 Clear as their message from heaven 
 
 Their peaks shall arise ; 
 When country to country is clinging 
 
 Hand clasped in hand, 
 And Federation shall scatter 
 
 Her gifts o'er the land : 
 When they stand as one nation, a bulwark 
 
 Mighty and strong, 
 Impregnable, ever victorious 
 
 Over all wrong. 
 Far-reaching, invincible, glorious > 
 
 A tower on the deep. 
 Above the dark waves of disunion 
 
 Its beacon to keep ! 
 O Land of the young and the virile, 
 
 Thy banner unfold ! 
 Let it wave in thy southern sunshine, 
 
 A standard of gold. 
 Let it stir in the heart of thy children 
 
 The patriot fire ;
 
 48 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 And extend with new zeal for thy glory 
 
 The wings of desire ! 
 " Unity " ever thy watchword, 
 
 Press eagerly on, 
 Till the sorrows that clouded thy morning 
 
 Have faded and gone ; 
 Till thou'rt seated, a queen on the waters, 
 
 All wrongs to redress 
 A land for all nations to honour 
 
 And heaven to bless !
 
 LOVERS' LAND 
 
 HAND in hand, o'er silver sand, 
 We wandered once to Lovers' Land ; 
 Fairy bells ringing, sweet voices singing, 
 Followed us ever over its strand. 
 
 Skies were blue, and hearts were true, 
 Heaven itself within our view ! 
 Golden clouds o'er us, flowers before us, 
 Earth in her splendour of diamond dew ! 
 
 Far away, beyond the grey 
 
 Of colder seas, our childhood lay : 
 
 What were its dreamings but pallid gleamings 
 
 Of the far dawning of such a day ? 
 
 In its shine, the Love Divine 
 
 Blent my spirit so with thine, 
 
 Though we should sever, for ever and ever, 
 
 Thy soul can never my soul resign ! 
 
 D
 
 5 o SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Hand in hand, o'er silver sand, 
 We found our way to Lovers' Land ; 
 Be the stay long, or swift in its fleetness, 
 Once, and once only, touch we its strand ! 
 
 Though with tears, across the years, 
 We crave for all that Life endears ; 
 Ne'er shall we follow o'er vale and hollow, 
 The sweet fairy music that ravished our ears ! 
 
 Never more that glittering shore 
 Our lingering steps shall wander o'er ; 
 Others may meet us, tender hearts greet us, 
 Spent are the treasures our spirits would pour !
 
 THEN 
 
 IN the days that are coming, darling, darling ! 
 
 When your love grows less than my love for 
 
 you ; 
 When your spirit chafes at the old allegiance, 
 
 And, pitying me, you are falsely true ; 
 Come to me in the gathering shadows, 
 
 Saying, <( I need thee, thou faithful friend, 
 In the years that have gone I was thy true lover, 
 
 Now, Love's reign draweth near its end." 
 
 Tell me all in the dear old garden 
 
 Where oft we wandered on summer eves, 
 When our hearts beat fast to their own wild 
 music 
 
 And the wind's soft sighing that stirred the 
 
 leaves. 
 Tell me all and I'll absolve you 
 
 From vows once made in the heat of youth. 
 Ah, laddie ! love is the gift divinest, 
 
 But more than love I shall value truth !
 
 52 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 I will lean, beloved, on your heart a moment, 
 
 Though each word stab me with torturing pain ; 
 I will kiss you once with the old-time fervour 
 
 For the past that ne'er can be born again ! 
 And I'll lay my hands on your head and bless you 
 
 While I speak the words I have strength to 
 
 say 
 The words that send you from me for ever ! 
 
 No sob's mute pleading shall bid you stay. 
 
 I shall hear your footfall echoes dying, 
 
 Dying fast on the fragrant air, 
 And the gate shall close as my heart is closing 
 
 To all Life gave that was bright and fair ! 
 Reproach shall follow you not, my darling ; 
 
 Though the sweet flowers listen, tear-wet with 
 
 dew, 
 The words I breathe may be words of sadness, 
 
 But ne'er of harshness or blame for you ! 
 
 God be good to you, darling, darling ! 
 
 God be good to you, what come may 
 To the weary heart and the restless spirit 
 
 That loved not " once," but must love for aye ! 
 Like the scent of a rose long faded, 
 
 The love that was shall be with me yet, 
 And one spot still shall be bright with verdure, 
 
 For the heart keeps ever its mignonette !
 
 "MIA CARINA" 
 
 WHEN the sigh of the wandering breeze 
 
 Falls on my ear, 
 Or the song of a bird from the trees, 
 
 Sweetly and clear ; 
 When the hills like a land of romance 
 
 Shrouded in haze, 
 Darkly blue in the sun's golden glance, 
 
 Loom on my gaze, 
 Then do I feel thee draw near, 
 
 Close to the gate of my heart, 
 Which, hearing footsteps so dear, 
 
 Swings on its hinges apart ! 
 
 When the soft velvet touch of a flower 
 
 Brushes my cheek, 
 In the spell of its magical power 
 
 I hear thee speak ; 
 And its touch is as thy tender kiss 
 
 From days of old, 
 The love that my sadder hours miss 
 
 'Mid strangers cold !
 
 54 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 And I fold thee again to my breast 
 With a passionate gladness and pain ; 
 
 Thou who art solace and rest, 
 I hold and caress thee again ! 
 
 When the chime of a far vesper bell 
 
 Calls to my soul, 
 As the glad echoes answer its swell 
 
 From hill and knoll, 
 The sound of thy last whispered prayer 
 
 Sobs through its peace ; 
 The pain of its burden I bear 
 
 Till life shall cease ! 
 Yet the love that hath held us in bond, 
 
 Though " the stars in their courses " assail, 
 Is a joy still and shall be, Beyond, 
 
 Till the tides of Eternity fail !
 
 "CAMP FIRES" 
 
 WHEN the night-winds through the sheoak like a 
 
 weary spirit moan, 
 And the red camp-fire is gleaming thro' the 
 
 gloom, 
 I leave the group around it, and I wander off 
 
 alone 
 Where the shadows of the sombre ranges loom. 
 
 I leave each trusty comrade to the laughter, joke, 
 
 and song 
 
 That at the close of each day's work prevail, 
 While Jim, the old bush shepherd, spins some 
 
 gruesome yarn of wrong 
 Did he know it, I could tell a grimmer tale ! 
 
 There are tragedies around us when all looks 
 
 bright and fair, 
 
 The sorrows that are deepest show no sign ; 
 There is no calm serener than the stillness of 
 
 despair, 
 The suicide ne'er loiters to repine !
 
 56 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 I have known what " race for life" meant with the 
 
 trackers at my heels, 
 
 To ride all night and hide at break of dawn ; 
 I have known each dark emotion that the hunted 
 
 outlaw feels 
 
 Yet my hand was guiltless as the babe's 
 unborn. 
 
 I have borne another's sorrow, I have suffered for 
 
 his sin 
 
 What matter now he lieth cold and still ? 
 When Youth's first flush is over, there is little left 
 
 to win, 
 Nor hope worth the fruition to fulfil ! 
 
 Is the peace we crave at morning worth possession 
 
 by the night ? 
 
 I doubt it, while there's strength to labour on ; 
 I would rather be the storm-bird on his long and 
 
 weary flight 
 Than, dove-like, croon for ever in the sun ! 
 
 But when broken-winged and crippled by the iron 
 
 hand of Fate, 
 The down of youth torn roughly from the 
 
 heart, 
 There's little left to work for, and the rest we can 
 
 await 
 
 Why race, when we were <( scratched " before 
 the start ?
 
 "CAMP FIRES" 57 
 
 Yet I fain would see the Future roll her leaden 
 
 curtain back. 
 There is one bright gleam she owes my darkened 
 
 soul ; 
 One figure should come gliding upon my stormy 
 
 track, 
 One loved voice cheer me onward to the goal. 
 
 Did she ever know, I wonder that slender, sweet- 
 faced girl 
 That not I, but her own brother, struck the 
 
 blow ? 
 Through the changeful moods and seasons of her 
 
 life's unceasing whirl 
 
 Does she give one thought to days of long 
 ago? 
 
 I saw the crime, and hid it ; he was but a craven 
 
 hound : 
 
 He knew for love of her I would not speak. 
 Ah, well ! he's safe for ever beneath an English 
 
 mound, 
 Her tears the last to fall upon his cheek. 
 
 At the last he may have told her. He used to 
 
 think she cared 
 
 A little for me in the days of old. 
 And if not well, I am thankful his dread secret 
 
 she is spared, 
 My darling ! Heaven guard your heart of gold !
 
 58 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 If luck would bless my labour, I might see her 
 
 sweet face yet 
 
 (They say good women's faces rarely change) ; 
 If she but knew my story, and if once again we 
 
 met ! 
 
 Well, Life hath had love stories still more 
 strange !
 
 FATE 
 
 I SEE thee come when twilight shades are falling, 
 
 And watch and pray ; 
 I hear thy voice down in the garden calling, 
 
 Yet here must stay ! 
 
 Love, with her crown, hath given to my keeping 
 
 Her cruel cross, 
 So joy must die in floods of bitter weeping, 
 
 With sense of loss ! 
 
 The music of thy voice I hear for ever> 
 
 Yet must forego ; 
 The fate that linked as quickly stoops to sever, 
 
 And love is woe ! 
 
 The harp-strings rust, untouched by loving fingers, 
 
 And, as it lies 
 Where never dew of morn upon it lingers, 
 
 The rosebud dies !
 
 60 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 I would have been to thee all thou art dreaming, 
 
 Till life should fail, 
 Yet here must stand, beyond thy fond redeeming, 
 
 " Without the pale !"
 
 OVER THE HILLS WITH YOU 
 
 IN the first sunny hour of the morn, 
 When the meadows were wet with dew, 
 
 Singing 1 , I wandered, life of my life, 
 Over the hills with you ! 
 
 And the birds grew glad in our mirth, 
 
 And answered my song with joy ; 
 So fair looked all the world, my love, 
 
 When we were girl and boy ! 
 
 How the wild wind ruffled my hair, 
 
 In the maddest, merriest way ! 
 And we laughed, and clung to each other's hands 
 
 Like children let out to play. 
 
 And the young leaves swayed in the breeze, 
 As their tints gleamed bright in the sun 
 
 The tender, roseate, virgin hues, 
 Of a life that is just begun !
 
 6 2 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 And out of the stern old rocks, 
 With the glee of a living- thing, 
 
 From under the dainty mountain fern 
 Came gushing a tiny spring. 
 
 The forget-me-nots of the hills, 
 The blue-bells dreamily swung 
 
 Like azure lamps on their slender stalks, 
 By the art of the fairies hung. 
 
 Star-like amid the grass 
 
 A type of undying love 
 The everlastings pure and sweet 
 
 Gazed at the heaven above. 
 
 You gathered the snowy flowers, 
 
 And put them into my hand ; 
 With words that changed that lone hillside 
 
 Into enchanted land ! 
 
 You were king of dominions vast, 
 And I was your chosen queen ! 
 
 O love ! Whate'er Fate may deny, 
 It cannot take what has been ! 
 
 What music on earth hath power 
 
 In its limitless control, 
 As the first " I love you ! " whispered low 
 
 To the newly-wakened soul !
 
 OVER THE HILLS WITH YOU 63 
 
 I ask no more from the passing hour, 
 
 No more from the days to be ; 
 In the long, long kiss that made me thine, 
 
 Life gave its best to me ! 
 
 The purple hills, and those golden days, 
 
 I wander through them at will ; 
 'Tis joy enough, sweetheart, to me, 
 
 To know you love me still.
 
 SUNSET, MONT ALBERT 
 
 DAY hears the footfall of the Night, 
 And, scattering jewels in her flight, 
 Bathes hill and vale in rosy light, 
 Till grassy slope and purple height 
 Seem part of Heaven's portal. 
 Transfigured in her smile divine, 
 With changing hues their glories shine- 
 A picture from God's own design 
 To breathe of scenes immortal. 
 
 Her thoughts afar in mystic lands 
 Boats that drift to foreign strands 
 At her lattice idly stands 
 The weary Earth with folded hands 
 
 And pensive gaze and tender. 
 She lifts her wistful, wondering eyes, 
 And sees beyond the crimson skies, 
 Above the hills of Paradise, 
 The dawn of greater splendour.
 
 SUNSET, MONT ALBERT 65 
 
 With fairy turrets lifted high, 
 Against the ever-changing sky, 
 In opal seas fair islets lie, 
 Or drift like Fancy's visions by 
 
 One moment bright as fleeting ! 
 Below, on light, ethereal wing, 
 The evening breezes swiftly bring 
 The faint, sweet odours of the spring 
 For mortals' grateful greeting. 
 
 Low in the grass the daisies dream, 
 The sunset rays with reverent gleam 
 Upon their pale meek faces stream, 
 Until some holy thing they seem, 
 
 Too pure for Nature's keeping. 
 And bowing tiny heads of gold, 
 Leaf on leaf, and fold on fold, 
 Golden drops upon the wold, 
 The buttercups lie sleeping. 
 
 And through the silence softly steals 
 The peace that sometimes half reveals 
 The truths the mystic veil conceals, 
 Until the yearning spirit feels 
 
 Drawn close to Heaven's sweetness 
 We count our pangs, discount our gains, 
 Yet find some balm in what remains, 
 And taste the elixir that sustains 
 Through life's long incompleteness.
 
 66 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Dear is this springtide of the heart, 
 Glad thoughts like swallows round us dart, 
 New hopes like young leaves swiftly start, 
 And push the sheaths of self apart 
 
 To let in God's revealings. 
 And at His own appointed time 
 Rings matin bell or sunset chime, 
 Until within a golden clime, 
 
 Flower naught but holy feelings !
 
 THE FIRST FOUNDATION DAY 
 
 As one who sleeps, yet keeps her consciousness 
 
 Of passing shadows formless, indistinct, 
 
 Clouds sweeping o'er a grey and starless sky, 
 
 Pregnant with promise of some change to be, 
 
 Australia lay ; while sad waves of the sea 
 
 Broke dully in upon her fitful dreams. 
 
 In fretful clamour at her lethargy, 
 
 Or, with the charm of murmuring melody 
 
 On shell-strewn sands, to soft winds' minstrelsy 
 
 Sang of the fuller life that might be hers, 
 
 Yet at her feet the sceptre rusted still ! 
 
 She knew not of the fire within her veins, 
 
 The strength, the power, within her giant limbs, 
 
 Till alien hands, with rough but kindly force 
 
 Sent through her heart the wild electric thrill 
 
 Which now, as then, binds new worlds with the 
 
 old- 
 Man's kingly grasp upon his heritage ! 
 Slowly her eyes ope'd wide to a new sun ; 
 If, dazzled first by its resplendent rays, 
 She scarce did more than grope with feeble hands,
 
 68 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 They who had roused her from ignoble sleep 
 Looked in her face, and smiled to find it fair ! 
 Seeing the promise of Fame's lingering kiss 
 They hailed her Queen of all the years to be ! 
 Brave pioneers ! your strong hearts long are still, 
 Yet shall your life-work, like some Indian gem 
 Brought from the deep dark storehouse of the 
 
 earth, 
 
 Shine in the setting of our loyal love 
 The dearest treasure of our native land ! 
 Where you found wastes, behold fair cities rise, 
 Their commerce fruit of your past energies. 
 Whate'er we own, to your brave hearts is due ! 
 Your adamantine will and daring enterprise 
 Planted the nation we are proud to claim, 
 Lo, now it stretches far from sea to sea ! 
 The flower-clad coast your feet in gladness trod 
 Turns her bright face up to the golden West 
 Her younger sister hailing her with hope, 
 The star-clad herald of a grander dawn ! 
 There, once again strong hearts and dauntless 
 
 souls, 
 
 Fired by remembrance of your valiant deeds, 
 Toil manfully upon an arid soil, 
 Wrenching from earth the power that moves the 
 world. 
 
 Closer and closer grows the bond of love 
 Which yet must weld us into unity : 
 From North to South, from East to West, the 
 
 sky
 
 THE FIRST FOUNDATION DAY 69 
 
 Glows, meteor-lit, with signs of what shall be ! 
 While older nations rest on well-won fields 
 A breathing space, mtr march must onward trend, 
 The goal for e'er in sight that we can reach, 
 Though faint and weary, songless, craving rest. 
 From small beginnings have sprung glorious 
 
 ends ; 
 
 Let us look back to that eventful hour, 
 And see with quickened vision once again 
 The little band upon a new-found shore, 
 Then cast our eyes on what we have to-day 
 A greater Britain, with her lion's heart, 
 A country fruitful, prosperous and beloved 
 And say is not she worthy of our toil ? 
 Let us not rest until Fame's laurel wreath 
 By our own hands is laid upon her brow !
 
 ST. FILLAN CREEK, NARBETHONG 
 
 BRIGHTLY flows the babbling river where the white 
 
 bridge spans it o'er, 
 And the wattles bend their branches in its waters 
 
 evermore ; 
 While the grasses whisper, whisper, to the pebbles 
 
 clear below 
 All the secrets and the love-words of a joyous long 
 
 ago. 
 
 Deep within the moss-strewn gullies slanting sun- 
 beams strive to fall, 
 
 And no sound disturbs the silence save the lyre- 
 bird's lonely call. 
 
 Like the wondrous panorama from some wood- 
 land fairy scene, 
 
 Tier on tier, the fern-tree raises graceful fronds of 
 living green. 
 
 And the white gum blossoms' fragrance, honey- 
 sweet, is in the air, 
 
 All the lost years of my childhood in that faint 
 perfume they bear !
 
 ST. FILLAN CREEK 71 
 
 And I hear clear, ringing laughter, and the sound 
 
 of flying feet 
 Like the echoes from the mountains far away, 
 
 yet passing sweet ! 
 
 Sing, O wind, and rippling river ! there is all 
 
 within your strain 
 That the heart may know of gladness, that the 
 
 soul can feel of pain ! 
 All the secrets Nature keepeth of the Heaven's 
 
 unopened Book 
 Lie within a breeze's whisper, and the babble of 
 
 a brook !
 
 WITH THE BLOOM AND THE 
 GLORY OF SPRING 
 
 SHE will come with the scent of the violets' breath, 
 
 With the bloom and the glory of Spring, 
 With the carol of birds, and the gladness of life 
 
 Of every created thing. 
 With the flush of the dawn on her pale, pure cheek, 
 
 As it crimsons the eastern skies, 
 With the gleam of the sun on her golden hair, 
 
 And the light of its warmth in her eyes ! 
 
 Afar where the fishermen trail their nets, 
 
 On a wild and a sea-worn shore, 
 Where the voice of the Ocean through her dreams 
 
 Is whispering evermore, 
 I know that she waits, and hopes, and prays, 
 
 With the prayers that the angels hear, 
 For a beautiful soul looks out of those eyes 
 
 So tender, and pure, and clear ! 
 
 Sweetheart ! even now in the mist and the rain 
 
 Of a day that is sombre and drear, 
 I picture thy land of romance and song 
 
 As it is in the fall of the year ;
 
 WITH THE BLOOM OF SPRING 73 
 
 And I wander again, with thy hand in mine, 
 By the shore of its murmuring sea 
 
 Forgetful of all in Heaven or Earth, 
 But that I am home with thee ! 
 
 And the corn and the " colza " turn to gold, 
 
 And ripple like summer seas, 
 And the fields of clover change to red, 
 
 And the fruit hangs ripe on the trees ! 
 There is work for all both man and maid 
 
 O list to the reapers' song ! 
 To the echoing cliffs it finds its way 
 
 In a chorus deep and strong ! 
 
 Now is the time for the flashing flail 
 
 And the binding of yellow sheaves, 
 For the glorious tints of the golden days 
 
 To rest on the falling leaves ! 
 With labour and mirth, and the weird refrain 
 
 Of the songs of an age gone by, 
 So passeth the blithesome morn away 
 
 Till the sun is high in the sky. 
 
 Then the sound of the Angelus bell rings out, 
 
 And hushes the laugh and song 
 Till the sweet old prayer of a thousand years 
 
 Goes up from the bending throng. 
 To work again with a hearty will 
 
 And the strength of an honest hand, 
 While the fickle waves their vraic fling 
 
 On the wide and barren strand.
 
 74 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Now out on the bay, in the quaint old rafts 
 
 That are made from a drifted wreck, 
 The fishermen crowd with a hearty cheer, 
 
 And a joke at their mimic deck, 
 And they float away to gather in, 
 
 And heap on the shining shore, 
 The piles of the briny, green seaweed 
 
 That the strife of the waves upbore. 
 
 Oh ! a merry life has the Breton lad 
 
 When the breeze blows light and fair ! 
 When Plenty smiles within his home, 
 
 And his heart is free from care ! 
 But I envy him not as he sails away, 
 
 Away o'er the rippling sea, 
 For the bonniest lass that his land can boast 
 
 Has plighted her troth to me ! 
 
 A kiss on thy crimson lips, beloved ! 
 
 A kiss that has sanctified 
 Less holy lips that for thy sake 
 
 Shall never Life's good deride ; 
 A kiss on thy pure white brow, a sigh, 
 
 And the sound of a whispered prayer, 
 A throb of pain and I wake to life 
 
 Where naught in my eyes is fair ! 
 
 Where naught shall be fair, beloved, till thou, 
 
 A pearl on the Ocean's breast, 
 Shall glide to my keeping for evermore 
 
 Till I enter the harbour of Rest !
 
 WITH THE BLOOM OF SPRING 75 
 
 Till my heart forgets all the longing and pain 
 
 Of the wearisome burden of years 
 That have sundered us twain since the golden 
 rain 
 
 Of thy tresses hid parting tears ! 
 
 She will come with the music and shine of the 
 Spring, 
 
 My love with the beautiful eyes ! 
 The eyes that outrival in sunniest blue 
 
 The hue of our southern skies. 
 With the sunshine of God in her faithful heart, 
 
 And the lily of Peace in her hand, 
 She will journey with me for evermore 
 
 To the Gates of the Promised Land ! 
 
 Though each gate be a pearl, and the lustre 
 thereof 
 
 Be dazzling to mortal sight, 
 
 Though I close mine eyes, yet my hand shall 
 cling 
 
 To her as an Angel of Light ! 
 With the simple and pure I have linked my lot 
 
 Though hidden the Future must be, 
 I have chosen my guide and I fear not the path 
 
 That leads to Eternity !
 
 HEREDITY 
 
 WE talk of our lives and our spirits, 
 Our hopes, and our fears, and our joys 
 
 In the days when, our pilgrimage ending, 
 We can smile at the world and its toys. 
 
 But, ah ! do we ever consider 
 
 TJiat we are not ourselves at all! 
 But a growth from the lives that have vanished 
 
 For ever beyond recall ? 
 
 I am /, we say, but the ages 
 
 That are steadily marching on 
 Say " Nay, ye are but evolutions 
 
 Of those that are dead and gone. 
 
 " Your vices, virtues, and failings 
 
 Are shadows of their design : 
 How much is you is a question 
 
 No power on earth can define !
 
 HEREDITY 77 
 
 " They have gone, but have left their traces 
 
 Duly attested and signed. 
 Not one but a thousand spirits 
 
 Have moulded your heart and mind." 
 
 Is this so ? I wonder, when fancies 
 
 Dream-like sweep over my brain ; 
 Do the thoughts of their waking hours haunt us, 
 
 And live in our slumbers again ? 
 
 Do the shades of their sorrows oppress us, 
 Their loves rise again in our heart ? 
 
 Do their fears in the darkness distress us ? 
 How much of their lives are we part ? 
 
 Do we hear their sighs in the silence, 
 
 In the hush of the twilight's calm ? 
 When sadness steals over our spirits 
 
 Deep yet with a healing balm ! 
 
 And that strange, sweet scent of a flower 
 
 Out of season, yet seeming near 
 That perfume which baffles our senses 
 
 Can it be that to them it was dear ? 
 
 When our hearts bound within us to whispers 
 (Vague, puzzling, yet strangely sweet !) 
 
 At the sound of a footstep we know not, 
 The glimpse of a face in the street,
 
 78 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Can it be then that their love-story 
 
 Sprang from just such things as these ? 
 
 Did he walk that way to the trysting ? 
 She glance aside to tease ? 
 
 Can it be that the strain of music, 
 Which hath power to stir our tears, 
 
 Spoke to hearts estranged and lonely 
 In the mists of other years ? 
 
 Who knows ? We live in the present ; 
 
 They have reached the bourne of rest ! 
 To hallow the dower they've left us 
 
 Is the way to serve them best !
 
 THE MATCH-SELLER 
 
 WEARY and faint, yet patient still, she stands 
 
 Beside the crowded street, 
 Unheeded by the never-ceasing throng 
 
 Who pass with hurrying feet. 
 The shrunken look that tells of years of care, 
 
 The timid, trembling hand, 
 Only the few who feel for others' woe 
 
 Would note or understand. 
 
 The child that lies against her aching heart 
 
 In fitful sleep of pain, 
 Bears, too, the impress on its infant face 
 
 Of struggles long and vain. 
 For such, alas ! joy hath no heritage, 
 
 And Peace no flowery wreath, 
 Sad mother, better it should lie at rest 
 
 The grass-grown sod beneath ! 
 
 The sound of music from a violin 
 
 At some street-corner floats ; 
 A master's hand is on the quivering strings, 
 
 A heart speaks in their notes !
 
 80 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 The woman turns her soul is still awake 
 
 To Life's diviner things ; 
 She, too, hath heard in youth's departed day 
 
 An angel's rustling wings ! 
 
 The years roll back, and, under wattle bloom, 
 
 She stands, a laughing girl, 
 Nor dreams among the quiet purple hills 
 
 Of a city's ceaseless whirl ! 
 The rose of summer later still she plucks 
 
 Herself a rose more fair 
 And hears, where'er she bends her shining head, 
 
 A lover's whisper there ! 
 
 Again she breathes the wild free mountain air ! 
 
 Her wares drop from her hand, 
 The city's sordidness hath given place 
 
 To an enchanted land ! 
 Less close she holds the infant at her breast 
 
 It gives a fretful cry ! 
 The glory of her Dreamland fades away 
 
 Beneath a darkened sky !
 
 THE BLACK SPUR 
 
 FAR where shadows are drifting o'er mountains 
 king-like in their grandeur 
 
 Clad in their own royal purple, tipped with its 
 ermine of snow, 
 
 Lieth a land that is lonely, but fair as the forfeited 
 Eden 
 
 Where lingered, pure-hearted and happy, the first- 
 plighted lovers of earth. 
 
 Bright is the flow of its rivers ; filling the wood- 
 land with music, 
 
 Singing a song that is wordless, joyously wander 
 they on. 
 
 And, with the vows of a lover, the winds through 
 the branches above them 
 
 Answer their song, or grow silent, faint with love's 
 passionate pain. 
 
 For the waters list but to one love, and far must 
 they travel to greet him, 
 
 Strong in his strength he awaits them the 
 mutable, fathomless sea. 
 
 F
 
 82 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 When in her sorrows enshrouded, night passes 
 
 onward in silence, 
 And, like a sultana unveiling, the dawn blushes 
 
 deep on the hills, 
 Swiftly the sun's golden fingers open the lattice 
 
 leaf-woven, 
 And dip in the stream's crystal flowing his myriad 
 
 jewels of fire ! 
 Down where the pebbles' mosaic, with shadow 
 
 and shine alternating, 
 Paveth the bed of the waters, the long sedges 
 
 flutter and float, 
 
 Ever and ever down-bending, as seeking for deep- 
 hidden faces, 
 The grasses and maiden-hair quiver, athrill to the 
 
 sighs of the wind. 
 Seeking and sighing for ever, like the spirit ot 
 
 man, are the grasses 
 Seeking and finding not even so, even so, is the 
 
 spirit ! 
 
 Flowers, lilac and golden, gleam in the glistening 
 
 sunlight, 
 Bearing on petals of velvet a diamond tiara or 
 
 dew. 
 Sweet is their fragrance of honey, far-reaching, 
 
 and subtle with essence 
 Of all things divine and far-distant, instinctively 
 
 sought by the soul,
 
 THE BLACK SPUR 83 
 
 Long- is the path that the spirit, groping, must 
 follow through darkness ; 
 
 Yet as she travelleth onward ever sweet odours 
 arise, 
 
 Stirring within her strong yearnings for all by the 
 future enshrouded, 
 
 Quickening the sense of a mystery round, about, 
 and beyond her, 
 
 Towards which to unravel, though hastening, she 
 knows not how far she has sped. 
 
 Long are the journey, the night-watch, the God- 
 portioned quest of the soul ! 
 
 Where the wild flowers are thickest, and long and 
 
 drooping the branches, 
 Scarlet and emerald and golden a glimmer ot 
 
 light through the leaves 
 Birds that are songless flit ever, and brighten the 
 
 woods with their beauty, 
 Like to the hopes of our youth as brilliant, 
 
 elusive, and fair ! 
 Others, ambitiously soaring, seek the blue dome 
 
 up above them ; 
 Wanderers they, and types of the restless yet high 
 
 aspirations 
 Swelling the heart of man till he shatters the 
 
 fetters that bind him, 
 And riseth on wings of the spirit to beat at the 
 
 portals of Heav'n ;
 
 To beat on, though no one replieth, till spent with 
 
 the ardour of striving", 
 Downward he sinks, and, in falling, sees the 
 
 barred doorway unclose ! 
 
 Lone though the land, and far distant, the moun- 
 tains, the caves, and the valleys, 
 
 The rivers and murmuring streams are haunted by 
 spirits of joy. 
 
 Spirits of music and beauty, and all that endureth 
 for ever, 
 
 Mystic, impalpable shadows there wander, or in 
 them abide. 
 
 Weavers are spinning their webs ethereal, delicate, 
 tender, 
 
 In tapestry quainter than princess, by royal hand- 
 maidens surrounded, 
 
 Embroidered in silence and sorrow afar from her 
 warrior-lord. 
 
 Not brighter her tears on the canvas than the dew 
 'twixt the shine and the shadow, 
 
 Here in the wide loom of Nature in arabesque 
 patterns fashioned 
 
 By hands invisible, tireless, through the changeful 
 aeons of time. 
 
 Painters and poets are here, musicians and edifice- 
 builders. 
 
 Not a leaf but hath known the touch of the artist 
 upon it,
 
 THE BLACK SPUR 85 
 
 Not a stream but hath sung the wonderful words 
 
 of the poet, 
 Not a bough but hath bent to the plan of the 
 
 edifice-builder. 
 Colour, and music, and grandeur of tower, and 
 
 column, and portal, 
 Blend in a vision of beauty, majestic, unspeakably 
 
 fair. 
 All of the dreamland of fancy enshrined in the 
 
 heart of the poet, 
 All the musician hath stolen from the far golden 
 
 organ of Heav'n, 
 
 All that sublimity granteth to the architect heaven- 
 ward soaring, 
 In forest and woodland are blended in a peerless, 
 
 magnificent whole. 
 
 Strong and tender the~chords of the harp of the 
 
 woodland magician, 
 Thrilling the air with the sigh of the first waking 
 
 breeze of the morn, 
 Swelling to love's plaintive cry in the voice of a 
 
 bird from the tree-tops 
 Bereaved of the nestling it nourished, or, lonely, 
 
 awaiting its mate 
 Rising to passionate longing in a whirlwind that 
 
 stirreth the forest, 
 And sweeps the dead leaves of the past onward in 
 
 anger and pain ;
 
 86 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Sinking- then with a moan like the last inarticulate 
 
 whisper 
 Breathed by a sufferer forsaking the world with its 
 
 burthen of woe 
 To rest in the haven of peace on the shores of the 
 
 kingdom immortal, 
 Where longing is lost in the marvels that dawn on 
 
 the unfettered soul ! 
 
 As harper to harper replying, tuning to exquisite 
 
 sweetness, 
 Response that in harmony blends with the voice of 
 
 the master who sings, 
 
 Cometh the voice of the poet desire in its tremu- 
 lous accents 
 Aflame with delirious joy to haste to its ultimate 
 
 goal : 
 To lose itself in the music that without it were 
 
 still uncompleted 
 A harp still of ravishing sweetness, but bereft of 
 
 its tenderest string ! 
 Wind and water and bell-note of birds from the 
 
 hill and the valley 
 Music and poetry blended in secrets of forest and 
 
 sky 
 In union that knows no dissolving, send through 
 
 the ages unending 
 From nature's echoing minster their volume of 
 
 silvery sound.
 
 THE BLACK SPUR 87 
 
 What were the songs of the forest in a world of 
 colourless beauty 
 
 But like the wax-lights that flicker on the still, 
 pallid face of the dead ? 
 
 Waking no human emotion, no pulsating atom of 
 feeling 
 
 Warm with the life-blood that quickens the sensi- 
 tive pulses of man. 
 
 But the hand of the painter is busy here in the 
 heart of the woodland, 
 
 The wide earth his limitless canvas, the berry, the 
 flower, and the leaf. 
 
 Rich are the hues of the painter purple and crim- 
 son and golden 
 
 Yet blended to tenderest shadows with a patient 
 and infinite art. 
 
 Heart-longings of ruby and crimson, thoughts 
 golden with fancy's illusions, 
 
 Hath not the painter his poem deep writ on the 
 heart of a leaf ? 
 
 Meet for the hand of the painter is the work of the 
 edifice-builder, 
 
 Palace on palace he rears, colonnades, arches, and 
 domes ; 
 
 Stately pillars of trees, and trellis of leaves inter- 
 twining ; 
 
 Porticoes elfishly carven, festooned with their 
 hangings of moss ;
 
 88 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Fairyland bowers of fern, dreamlike in their deli- 
 cate beauty ; 
 
 Caves by the lichen o'ershaded, and dark with 
 the mystery of earth ; 
 
 Passage, and panel, and gateway, spire, and 
 column, and portal 
 
 All hath the Omnipotent Builder fashioned with 
 consummate care. 
 
 Spirit of Spirit Divinest, he stands on the threshold 
 Eternal 
 
 To the heart of man the expounder of the measure- 
 less meaning of " GOD ! "
 
 THE ACHERON RIVER, DIVIDING 
 RANGE 
 
 HERE Nature might have spent the force of dark 
 
 and stormy moods : 
 A brooding horror lurks within its gloomy 
 
 solitudes. 
 In every slumbering pool there seems a dead man's 
 
 pallid face ; 
 The very air is heavy with the mystery ot the 
 
 place. 
 
 Long lines of trees, like skeletons, gaunt arms 
 
 fling open wide ; 
 Out from the glowering shadows might a headless 
 
 horseman ride ! 
 No cheerful gleam of sun appears, slow slanting 
 
 to the grass, 
 But waving shapes, in mimic fight, for ever seem 
 
 to pass. 
 
 The winding river flows along, so wide, and dark, 
 
 and deep, 
 Lost souls its waters might have fed with tears, 
 
 but they can weep !
 
 90 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 No river of forgetfulness, no Lethe ripples nigh ; 
 The ghosts of bitter memories wake, and happy 
 visions fly. 
 
 The scenery heaves with man's despair, with years 
 
 of hapless woe, 
 Of patient unavailing toil, till youth has lost its 
 
 glow. 
 Of baulked ambitions, barren hopes, of love sought 
 
 for in vain 
 Mirages that the mind uplifts above Life's mallee 
 
 plain ! 
 
 Remorseful man his deeds might rue, or certain 
 doom await, 
 
 Or fugitives in vain elude the iron grasp of fate. 
 
 No song of joy the scene inspires, no lofty battle- 
 hymn, 
 
 But here enthroned sits Tragedy, wild-eyed, and 
 gaunt, and grim !
 
 A BALLAD OF NORMANDY 
 
 ON the slope of the hill, where the grapes grew 
 ripe 
 
 In the glow of the summer sun, 
 Sweet Marie Leroux stood shading her eyes, 
 
 And wishing that day were done. 
 
 " O long are the hours when my love's afar ! 
 
 But he'll come at the even fall." 
 As she spake, the road grew white with dust, 
 
 And she heard her lover's call. 
 
 He rode to the gate, and tied his steed 
 
 'Neath the shade of an olive tree 
 " Now far have I travelled since morning light, 
 
 Sweet Marie Leroux, to thee ! 
 
 " I come not as oft I have come before, 
 
 To linger at love's behest ; 
 I part to-day from my home and kin, 
 
 And the maid that I love the best !
 
 92 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 " Sweet Marie Leroux, say adieu to me, 
 
 For my boat lies out on the bay, 
 And long ere the light of another dawn 
 
 Far must I sail away ! " 
 
 Then paler than death grew the winsome face, 
 
 But never a word said she. 
 " Sweetheart ! have you never a loving look 
 
 Nor a welcoming kiss for me ? " 
 
 She threw herself in his outstretched arms, 
 And he pressed her close to his heart ; 
 
 " Sweet Marie Leroux, at no wish of mine 
 From thy love and thy truth I part ! 
 
 " My father needs my strong right arm 
 In a cause that is good and true." 
 
 She raised her head, with a dumb appeal 
 In her tear-wet eyes of blue ! 
 
 11 Thou need'st me more, thy sweet eyes say ? 
 
 Nay, maid, it will not be long 
 Till once again, 'neath the olive tree, 
 
 I join in thy vesper song ! 
 
 " Farewell ! Farewell ! True heart and warm, 
 
 Grieve not so bitterly ! 
 The stars shall fade, and the sun grow dim 
 
 Ere I false and faithless be ! "
 
 A BALLAD OF NORMANDY 93 
 
 She laid her hands on his bended head, 
 And her white lips moved in prayer ; 
 
 He kissed her thrice, and he held her close, 
 Then he left her weeping there. 
 
 Now the year may go by, and the grapes grow 
 ripe 
 
 Once more in the glowing sun, 
 But never beside them Marie Leroux 
 
 Will linger till day be done ! 
 
 To the garden gate, on a bright spring morn, 
 
 A horseman came at last ; 
 " Sweet Marie Leroux, I've come back to thee, 
 
 The time of thy waiting's past ! " 
 
 He left his steed by the olive tree, 
 
 And walked to the cottage door 
 "Now, sweetheart, come and welcome me, 
 
 As thou didst in the days of yore ! " 
 
 The birds sang blithe in the budding trees, 
 
 But never a voice replied ! 
 An old man looked o'er the hedgerow white, 
 
 And beckoned him to his side. 
 
 " The churchyard gleams in the morning sun, 
 
 She whom you seek is there ! 
 A marble cross and a lily wreath 
 
 Tell she was pure and fair.
 
 94 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 " Of the broken heart and the lonely life 
 
 Never a word they say ! 
 To Love that is higher and truer than thine, 
 
 Sweet Marie has gone for aye ! "
 
 THE OPEN DOOR 
 
 GLOAMING and vesper prayer, 
 
 And one heart-cry for thee ! 
 Somewhere the sunlight gilds thy golden hair 
 
 Beside a foreign sea ! 
 
 Bells from the cloister chime 
 
 Peals thou were wont to hear 
 But now the joy-bells of another clime 
 
 Speak to thy listening ear. 
 
 Night with its holy calm, 
 
 But neither peace nor rest ! 
 Within thy soul thou hold'st the only charm 
 
 That soothes my troubled breast. 
 
 Winds whisper low thy name, 
 
 Thy flowers droop forlorn, 
 But thou art deaf to either praise or blame, 
 
 As cold to love or scorn !
 
 96 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 The night-dews fall, the stars shine overhead ; 
 
 I heed not star nor shine ! 
 The leaden hours that once too lightly sped 
 
 Bring neither word nor sign. 
 
 Perfume of violet 
 
 Ah, me ! so like thy breath ! 
 Steals o'er me, soothing as with fond regret 
 
 This weary life in death ! 
 
 Though love did not avail, 
 
 And thou wilt further roam, 
 Sweetheart, some day when all thy friends shall 
 fail, 
 
 Remember then thy home ! 
 
 Once thou didst cling to me, 
 
 O clear, then, be thy call ! 
 My life, my heart, my very soul's in thee, 
 
 And true love pardons all !
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW OF THY 
 CROSS 
 
 UNDER the shadow of Thy Cross we toil 
 
 Through the burning heats of day, 
 Its holy shade the sole relief we find 
 
 Upon Life's sterile way. 
 Hope so oft mocks us, Love comes but to wound, 
 
 Friendship so oft betrays to bitter pain ! 
 Only the echo of Thy words is sweet, 
 
 Only Thy truths remain ! 
 
 Here, where the greeting words of love are blent 
 
 So close with its farewell, 
 And hearts that thrilled to joy-bells wild-and high 
 
 As soon with anguish swell ! 
 Here, so oft tortured, gasping with our load, 
 
 Yet struggling still each day's new task to do, 
 That Thou, with sweat of blood, didst strive as we, 
 
 Doth our lost strength renew ! 
 
 G
 
 98 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Under the shadow of Thy Cross we live, 
 
 Content in that it's Thine, 
 
 Lifting our eyes, when Faith hath cleared our 
 sight, 
 
 To find Thy Face Divine ! 
 When Death draws nigh us, and no friend is near, 
 
 And Earth receives our last most bitter cry, 
 Under the shadow of Thy Cross we sleep, 
 
 Thy Peace to share on High !
 
 IN SIGHT OF CAMP 
 
 ACROSS the distant ranges the darkening shadows 
 
 fall, 
 
 And the sky is one red glory in the West ; 
 A rising wind is stirring the gum-trees dark and 
 
 tall, 
 But the wild flowers in the grasses sink to rest. 
 
 I have ridden far and fast since the breaking of 
 
 the dawn, 
 
 Through vale and over hill, nor slackened rein, 
 Yet the first sweet dewy freshness of the newly- 
 wakened morn 
 In the sunset seems to steal o'er me again. 
 
 There's the sound of falling waters, and the 
 
 twitter of a bird, 
 
 And the scent of wattle blossoms in the air ; 
 Could we harmonise each whisper by the wander- 
 ing bushman heard, 
 Never singer sang a song as sweet and rare,
 
 ioo SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 I have little left to hope for, yet a feeling thrills 
 
 my blood 
 
 That's been foreign to my nature many a day, 
 And my lost boyhood's illusions sweep o'er me 
 
 like a flood, 
 
 The oldest heart grows younger 'neath their 
 sway. 
 
 The lurid fire of passion, though it well-nigh 
 
 wrecked my soul, 
 
 Left one green spot unshrivelled by its breath 
 One spot that's unpolluted, and clean, and strong, 
 
 and whole, 
 And shall be though I say it until death. 
 
 For the reckless life I've followed I have no 
 
 excuse to plead, 
 
 Nor would I, while my soul is still my own ; 
 Beside the fairest blossom springs ever foulest 
 
 weed, 
 I have sinned, may be full often, but alone. 
 
 I have dragged no other with me o'er the darkened 
 
 road I've trod ; 
 
 Not mine the merit if there merit lies. 
 There was one who went before me with a pure 
 
 heart to her God, 
 Have you ever felt the check of woman's eyes ?
 
 IN SIGHT OF CAMP 101 
 
 There are times when I can see them with a fond 
 
 reproachful gaze 
 
 Looking deep into my own as oft of old, 
 And her clinging arms are round me till I'm hidden 
 
 in the maze 
 Of her soft hair's twining locks of ruddy gold. 
 
 Though my foe stood there before me, and my 
 
 pistol at his heart, 
 While her eyes were on me so, my arm would 
 
 fall. 
 No man dare call me coward, but that look can 
 
 e'er impart 
 A power that even Death could not recall. 
 
 There is nothing Life can offer half so sweet as 
 
 bygone bliss, 
 
 No glory like the halo of the past ; 
 Even now my heart is leaping at the memory of 
 
 her kiss, 
 
 And the hot blood through my veins is rushing 
 fast. 
 
 little head, that nestled on my breast without a 
 
 fear, 
 O loving eyes ! that searched my inmost soul, 
 
 1 will ford Fate's rushing waters, be they e'er so 
 
 dark and drear, 
 For I feel that you are waiting at the goal.
 
 102 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 I see the white tents glimmer in the slowly waning 
 
 light, 
 
 And the smoke of camp-fires rises to the sky : 
 My journey here is ended, but through long and 
 
 starless night, 
 The spirit seeks the God-lit Camp on high.
 
 THE OLD ROAD, NARBETHONG 
 
 I TREAD the same old path again 
 
 Our feet in gladness trod 
 When we were one in heart, my love, 
 
 And nearer still to God ! 
 
 The same dark trees above me bend 
 Old friends unchanged and true 
 
 Is it fancy that their rustling leaves 
 For ever ask for you ? 
 
 The sunlight, peering through the boughs, 
 
 Showers over me its gold, 
 And climbs with shining feet the hills, 
 
 To bid the flowers unfold ; 
 
 Or stoops to touch the dew-wet moss 
 The " corduroy " between 
 
 And straightway fairy jewels gleam 
 Upon its golden sheen !
 
 104 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 A soft breeze sways the dainty bloom 
 Of the fair wild lilac tree, 
 
 Where first within your eyes I read 
 Your faithful love for me. 
 
 The air is sweet with fragrant scents, 
 And rich as Rhenish wine ; 
 
 One draught would stir a calmer pulse 
 And colder heart than mine ! 
 
 Here is no break in Nature's hush, 
 
 Still is each living- thing, 
 Save for the weird, staccato note 
 
 Of wild birds on the wing ; 
 
 Or, ringing sweet, and clear, and slow, 
 In an old-world, eerie rhyme, 
 
 Rising, falling, fitfully, 
 
 The sheep-bells' silver chime ! 
 
 I feel the spirit in me rise 
 Above Life's sombre moods, 
 
 As though some angel bore me up 
 To higher altitudes. 
 
 Who has not felt his soul expand, 
 
 And strive for fuller life, 
 When Nature's finger stills his lips 
 
 And checks all inward strife?
 
 OLD ROAD, NARBETHONG 105 
 
 A hidden sorrow may find vent 
 
 On her maternal breast, 
 But the love that probes is ever first 
 
 To give the sufferer rest !
 
 THREE MEN 
 
 THREE men have I loved in the brief sweet time 
 Of the first glad days of my girlhood's prime, 
 Three men and one was as dark as night, 
 With a strong proud soul and an eye of light. 
 And one was fair, with a gentle mien, 
 And a pure true heart where a child might lean ; 
 And one was patient, and slow, and old, 
 With a generous hand and a heart of gold. 
 
 Each one turned on his upward track, 
 
 And ever with lovelit eyes looked back, 
 
 And beckoned me on, or tenderly led 
 
 My feet to the heights that they tried to tread. 
 
 When none would strengthen, or help, or heed, 
 
 These gave of their best in my hour of need, 
 
 All that I have, and all that I know 
 
 To these three men that all I owe ! 
 
 The fair one drew from his priceless store 
 Lessons of wisdom and saintly lore,
 
 THREE MEN 107 
 
 Brightened my vision, and bade me look 
 Deep in the centre of Nature's Book, 
 Opened new wonders to heart and brain, 
 Making Life's mystery clear and plain 
 A rod and a staff to lean upon, 
 I loved him as angels love St. John. 
 
 The dark one lent from his valiant soul 
 
 The priceless lesson of self-control, 
 
 The courage that faces and kills a lie, 
 
 And passes the Pharisee coldly by, 
 
 That stands unmoved 'mid the tauntings hurled 
 
 By the cruel sneers of a craven world ! 
 
 And, as women prize strength most gifts above, 
 
 To him I have given enduring love. 
 
 The old and patient ? ah, me ! too late 
 
 I understood how the old can wait 
 
 With yearning heart for the love they crave 
 
 Till hope is sunk in the quiet grave 1 
 
 The love I gave him, was it worth the hold ? 
 
 I shall never know if he found it cold. 
 
 Did he die as he lived ? unsatisfied ? 
 
 I weep as I wander his grave beside !
 
 THE BLIND MUSICIAN 
 
 FAR beyond the purple mountains 
 
 That encircle yonder lake, 
 Where the rippling waters glory 
 
 From the dying sunset take, 
 Dwells a singer of sweet music 
 
 Sweeter than the world hath known- 
 Music drawn from vaults of darkness 
 
 Where the spirit dreams alone. 
 
 She is blind ; and never beauty 
 
 Of the earth or of the sea 
 Hath it been her lot to gaze on 
 
 Light to her is mystery. 
 But, as God in compensation 
 
 When on one He shuts the door, 
 That the heart may have the sunlight 
 
 Quickens other senses more ; 
 
 So to her the gloom is lightened 
 
 By a radiance within : 
 There are flowers never fading, 
 
 With the world's they have no kin.
 
 THE BLIND MUSICIAN 109 
 
 There the melodies of Heaven 
 
 In one grand harmonious whole 
 Roll in golden, molten music 
 
 O'er the harpstrings of the soul. 
 
 Like a downbent face reflected 
 
 In clear waters of a well, 
 Looks she inward, sees she only 
 
 Beauty in her prison cell ; 
 Nothing knows of sin's dominion, 
 
 But lives in a world of dreams, 
 Where green pastures starred with flowers 
 
 Border ever-silver streams. 
 
 At the portal, barring entrance 
 
 To an uninvited guest, 
 Standeth innocence enwreathing 
 
 Snowy lilies in her breast. 
 Lovelight in her soft eyes gleaming 
 
 Like some image poised in air, 
 With her pinions gently folded, 
 
 Peace, the White Dove, broodeth there. 
 
 Such the soul of that blind singer ! 
 
 Outwardly we see a form 
 Far too fragile e'er to weather 
 
 Life's relentless night of storm ; 
 Winsome face and eyes pathetic 
 
 (Where the soul shines through the blue), 
 Eyes that dumbly crave affection 
 
 Eyes like violets bathed in dew !
 
 no SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Should you speak, her voice will answer 
 
 With a melody of sound, 
 Sending every air-wave beating, 
 
 Causing every pulse to bound. 
 There is more than soul within it ! 
 
 Echo of life's hidden tears, 
 In each deep, sweet intonation 
 
 Throbs the heart-beat of the years ! 
 
 No one hears it without longing 
 
 For its trembling notes to pour 
 In one perfect song of gladness 
 
 From the soul's o'erladen store. 
 Gentle hearts are generous givers : 
 
 To the wanderer by the way, 
 Be his bearing rough or courteous, 
 
 She will never say him nay. 
 
 Hence it is that, through a lifetime, 
 
 Some are privileged to keep 
 Echoes of a wondrous music 
 
 Others only hear in sleep. 
 They have seen the Blind Musician, 
 
 They have listened to her strains 
 Youth may go, and passion alter, 
 
 But her song for e'er remains !
 
 WHERE WATER-LILIES SLEEP 
 
 SING sweetly and low ! 
 
 The waves ebb and flow, 
 
 Where a dead woman's face gleameth whiter than 
 snow ! 
 
 Sing 1 softly and slow ! 
 
 That dear face I know, 
 As it lieth upturned in the red sunset glow. 
 
 Toll on, vesper bell, 
 
 The waves ebb and swell, 
 The sobbing winds chant to thy funeral knell ! 
 
 Toll softly and slow ; 
 
 God reigneth, I trow, 
 Yet where shall the soul of the suicide go ? 
 
 Cold, cold is thy breast ! 
 Yet calm be thy rest ; 
 
 Though darkness brood o'er thee, there's light in 
 the West. 
 
 Fair, fair was thy face. 
 Now God grant thee grace ! 
 
 Where angels weep o'er thee, Christ keep thee a 
 place !
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS 
 
 I WANDERED o'er the wide, wide world, 
 
 With Truth for company, 
 And saw beneath its showy glare 
 
 Its ghastly mummery. 
 
 Beside each puppet of its wiles 
 
 A grinning demon stood ; 
 The fruit of knowledge most had tried, 
 
 But had not found it "good." 
 
 And he that knew its bitter taste 
 Its burning after-drouth 
 
 Most pitiless, still passed it on 
 To scorch another's mouth ! 
 
 And some who passed in flaunting pride 
 
 A death's head bore within, 
 And many a face most fair to see 
 
 Had sold its light to sin.
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS 113 
 
 The hand befouled with darkest dye, 
 
 When Innocence did flower, 
 Its snowy petals strove to crush 
 
 With all its baleful power. 
 
 I saw the strong man strike the weak, 
 
 The poor with stones for bread, 
 While to Pain's cruel slaughter-house 
 
 God's little lambs were led. 
 
 The very sun did cease to shine, 
 
 So sick my heart did grow ; 
 Yet in the silence, steadily, 
 
 Full many a flower did blow ! 
 
 And suddenly a light shone out 
 
 So strongly, bright and clear, 
 My spirit hearkened for a voice 
 
 With rapt and holy fear ! 
 
 In accents sweet and low it came ; 
 
 " Truth is the heavenly guide. 
 Thou hast done well ! Yet look again, 
 
 Life hath a brighter side." 
 
 I looked, and lo ! a shining crowd 
 
 Did glide Sin's brood among, 
 Like mists through which the sun doth shine 
 
 While yet the day is young ! 
 
 H
 
 ii4 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 I saw them lift the fallen up, 
 And give the hungry bread ; 
 
 I saw them soothe the dying's pain, 
 And shroud the lonely dead. 
 
 I heard them check the foul of tongue, 
 And make the scoffer pray, 
 
 And whisper words of hope to cheer 
 The weary on their way. 
 
 No armour wore they, but a shield 
 That gleamed where'er they trod. 
 
 I asked them what their pass-word was, 
 They answered, " It is GOD ! " 
 
 And then they sang the grandest song 
 That gladdens earth or sea 
 
 " The gates of hell shall not prevail 
 Against God's charity ! "
 
 AN ARMENIAN HEROINE 
 
 DUMB with the dread that chills the soul, the 
 
 shuddering 1 women lie, 
 But she, serene, her face uplifts to Heaven's 
 
 serener sky. 
 She clasps her child close to her heart the crags 
 
 are sharp and steep 
 And death is sore but Life hath woes too dark 
 
 and dread to weep ! 
 
 A high resolve lights up her face, she lifteth up 
 
 her hand : 
 " God knows the cup of woe is full of this unhappy 
 
 land! 
 Where'er we look, a blood-red stream flows swift 
 
 before our eyes, 
 And visions of our slaughtered dead in ghastly 
 
 groups arise. 
 
 "We've given our best and bravest even now 
 
 their doom is met ! 
 Yet with no tear of mourning love our pallid cheeks 
 
 are wet*
 
 n6 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Not now the time for weeping ! Hark to the 
 
 tumult there ! 
 The Turk's foul curse, his fouler breath, float on 
 
 the tainted air. 
 
 "Their ranks are close upon us! Rise! Ay! 
 
 Heroes' blood is well, 
 But us it hath availed not to save from fiends of 
 
 hell. 
 Yet one way still lies open ! hark to the waters' 
 
 roar ! 
 O women of Armenia ! life is sweet, but honour's 
 
 more ! 
 
 "Nay, moan not, feebler sisters! Shrink not, 
 
 though flesh be weak. 
 One leap, and Death is swift and sure from yonder 
 
 jagged peak. 
 Lift up your babes ! Kiss once again the tender 
 
 lips you love. 
 They die with us ! O steel our hearts one moment, 
 
 God above ! 
 
 "Father, forgive! The pure are Thine. Thy 
 
 laws we die to keep. 
 Death rather than dishonour ! In God's name let 
 
 us leap ! " 
 Forward she springs, a moment stands, clasps 
 
 closer still her child. 
 One look above, one leap below, from crag to 
 
 waters wild !
 
 AN ARMENIAN HEROINE 117 
 
 Brave leader of a noble cause, who would not 
 
 follow thee ? 
 
 What marvel thy heroic band seek, too, Eternity ! 
 The death ye died for Honour's sake shall live for 
 
 endless time, 
 While History's pages still record the deeds we 
 
 hold sublime !
 
 SIGNOR CECCHI 
 
 THE music of his harp for ever stilled, 
 
 The minstrel sleeps, whose touch was holy fire, 
 Whose fingers, as an angel's, ever thrilled 
 
 All hearts responsive to his magic lyre. 
 The last long quivering chords he gave to earth 
 
 Still vibrate with far-reaching melody, 
 Though that ripe heart to which they owe their 
 birth 
 
 Lies like a broken shell beside a tideless sea ! 
 
 Never in vain the Singer's songs are sung 
 
 Whose soul hath wandered in Elysian fields, 
 And learnt of God to voice the golden tongue 
 
 Of that grand harmony Creation yields. 
 Naught that interprets one God-Word is vain ; 
 
 The sweet, suggestive miracle of sound 
 From one faint broken chord, may through the 
 years remain 
 
 Till Heaven rolls it back deep, rich, and 
 round !
 
 THE CUCKOO OF THE SOUTH 
 
 THE breath of Spring thrills every vein 
 
 Of the grand old forest trees ; 
 
 A thousand flower-censers waft 
 
 Their incense on the breeze. 
 
 The song of many a bird is heard, 
 
 But sweeter far is thine ! 
 
 We call thee cuckoo, but thou seem'st 
 
 A voice from lands divine ! 
 
 One silver note thy magic throat 
 
 Repeats with even chime, 
 
 And seems to speak of joys we seek 
 
 In fancy's golden clime. 
 
 Old mem'ries of my happier days 
 Sweet violets of the past ! 
 Revive beneath its silver rain, 
 And cluster thick and fast. 
 I hear the voices that I loved, 
 The ringing laughter clear ; 
 Dear faces with bright starry eyes 
 And angel-look appear.
 
 120 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 And, low and sweet, their lips repeat 
 The chant of the pilgrim band 
 Whose feet have trod the heights of God, 
 And reached the Promised Land ! 
 
 I see again my vanished hopes 
 
 In glorious garb arise, 
 
 And point with shining spirit hands 
 
 To gold and crimson skies. 
 
 They seem to tell fruition waits, 
 
 That I may yet embrace 
 
 The lost ideals of my youth 
 
 In some star- world of space ! 
 
 Then fitful gleams of childhood's dreams 
 
 Dawn over a rippling sea ; 
 
 My pulses thrill, old joys instil 
 
 A heavenly ecstasy. 
 
 And something stirs in my waking heart 
 
 That never hath stirred before ; 
 
 God calleth me out of the crowd apart, 
 
 I open a golden door. 
 
 I see the snow of angel wings, 
 
 A dazzling splendour gleams ; 
 
 Its waves up-roll ; o'er sense and soul 
 
 Its mystic glory streams ! 
 
 And music floats in quivering notes 
 
 An anthem of angel-birth 
 
 Then louder swells, like Christmas-bells, 
 
 In a joy too deep for earth !
 
 CUCKOO OF THE SOUTH 121 
 
 bird of our southern land, sing on ! 
 Scene after scene unfolds. 
 
 Time's corridors seem all too small 
 For half that fancy holds ! 
 
 1 wander through a wondrous world 
 Where cries of pain are stilled, 
 
 And see what this broad earth of ours 
 
 Might be if man so willed ! 
 
 If love to each her creed could teach, 
 
 If we but helped each other, 
 
 And reason found no empty sound 
 
 The holy name of " Brother ! "
 
 WHEN THE LILAC BLOOMED 
 AGAIN 
 
 LILAC-BLOOM in the soft wind swaying, 
 Filling 1 the air with its fragrant breath ; 
 
 Lovers' lips 'neath its shadow saying 
 " Darling, we will be true till death ! " 
 
 One long gaze in the face down-bending, 
 Reading the love that is written there, 
 
 Youth and strength in his tall form blending 
 She so girlish, and sweet, and fair ! 
 
 Lilac leaves, with a faint weird sighing, 
 Listen dreamily, whispering low 
 
 " Love the immortal knows no dying, 
 Love shall last, though all else should go ! " 
 
 Sweet is love in the blithe spring weather, 
 When woods are green and the skies are blue ! 
 
 Over the sunlit meads together 
 Wander the lovers fond and true.
 
 THE LILAC 123 
 
 Seasons change, and the heart hath ever 
 Changing seasons of shine and storm ; 
 
 There is naught but that Time may sever 
 Chill blows the blast o'er a nest once warm. 
 
 A year has flown, and the spring is flinging 
 Wreaths of glory o'er hill and tree ; 
 
 Joyous birds in the sunlight singing 
 Fill Earth's garden with melody. 
 
 Lilac leaves in the soft wind swaying 
 Rustle dreamily, whispering low 
 
 " Why from our shade are the lovers straying 
 Who held us dear in the long ago ? " 
 
 A voice from the purple distance crying 
 Answers mournfully, sweet and clear : 
 
 " Only for one Love knows no dying ! 
 Sad is the dirge of the fading year. 
 
 " Ne'er again where the lilac showers 
 Fragrant clusters of dainty bloom, 
 
 Ne'er again in the fair spring hours 
 In its shadow shall they find room. 
 
 " Ne'er shall the music of brook and river 
 Chime again to the old glad strain ! 
 
 Only the reeds in their chill bed quiver 
 To a sorrowing heart's refrain J
 
 124 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 " Only the merciful night may cover 
 
 The soul that is stabbed by a broken vow 
 
 A breaking heart and a faithless lover, 
 Ye have no part in their story now ! " 
 
 Lilac leaves with a faint weird sighing 
 Listen dreamily, moaning low, 
 
 " Love the Immortal knows no dying ; 
 Life is over when it shall go ! "
 
 AUSTRALIA'S HEROES 
 
 No proud Victoria Cross upon their breasts they 
 
 bear, 
 
 No flag hath waved their glorious ranks before. 
 Yet far, from sea to sea, their gathering forces 
 
 pour 
 Not man's, but God's the uniform they wear. 
 
 Their blood hath stained no sodden battle-field, 
 Yet life for life they risked, and knew no fear ; 
 Their bugle call rang ever clarion-clear, 
 Even to Death their strong hearts could not yield. 
 
 Through fire and flood in steady march they pass, 
 Through poisoned air where Life grows faint with 
 
 dread, 
 
 Through countless lines of dying and of dead 
 On to the deep-dug graves amid the grass. 
 
 Where the foul choke-damp fiend-like waits his 
 
 prey, 
 
 Where man must toil in fevered search for gold, 
 Deep in the Caves of Nature's treasure-hold 
 That silent army, tireless, finds its way.
 
 126 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 These, these are they who in a brother's need, 
 Hearing 1 of wife and child the piteous cry, 
 Daring their all, tho' loath themselves to die, 
 At the pit's mouth the rescue-workers lead. 
 
 No trumpet peals the miners' meed of praise, 
 Who goes to death a comrade's life to save ; 
 No monument e'er marks his lonely grave, 
 No sweet-voiced choir a song of victory raise. 
 
 Yet none the less a hero's part he played, 
 Fought his Trafalgar, gained his "crown of 
 
 life ; " 
 
 We, weaker spirits in a lower strife, 
 Fail still to follow through the breach he made. 
 
 Long is our list of such heroic souls, 
 From colliery, from mine, and desert plain ; 
 Tales of their deeds fall like refreshing rain 
 Where Self s Dead Sea its heaving slime uprolls. 
 
 Love the Divine still holds the Victor's crown ; 
 " No man hath greater love for friend than this," 
 Not that he welcome him with smile or kiss, 
 But that for him his life he doth lay down. 
 
 II. 
 
 Brave hearts and true the reckless oft possess, 
 The passing swagman had his days of gold ; 
 Seed sown within, in brighter days of old, 
 Springs to swift bloom in danger and distress.
 
 AUSTRALIA'S HEROES 117 
 
 In the bush annals of Australia's past 
 He, too, hath well and bravely done his part : 
 A ragged vest oft hides a noble heart, 
 Pearls in the mire of circumstance are cast. 
 
 Where dust and drought have held their demon- 
 sway 
 
 Out on the arid, world-forgotten wastes, 
 Where raging thirst to hapless victims hastes, 
 And men have learned to curse the light of day ; 
 
 There have the Philip Sidneys of our race 
 Giv'n from their store, to still a sufferer's moan, 
 Their last cool draught and died in pain alone 
 From cross to crown is but a moment's space ! 
 
 For such an act, who knows what Heaven for- 
 gives ? 
 
 Self-sacrifice no barrier may withstand, 
 Since Christ once walked in a despairing land. 
 And all that is of Him for ever lives. 
 
 in. 
 
 Where giant gums their stately branches rear 
 Line on line of forest sentinels 
 Where never chime the Church's holy bells, 
 And song of bird but rarely greets the ear ; 
 
 Deep in the heart of valleys lone and far, 
 Where human step before hath never trod, 
 Where never knee hath bent to worship God, 
 Nor spirit crossed the sunset's golden bar :
 
 n8 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 There with his dauntless heart, long used to toil, 
 The Pioneer throws off his City mask : 
 His now a mighty, but congenial task, 
 A King he treads upon the virgin soil. 
 
 Sweeter than bells the axe's merry ring ! 
 The voice of man than song of any bird ! 
 And dearer far the shepherd's bleating herd 
 Than the weird music whispering breezes sing. 
 
 What though the shivering forest monarchs fall, 
 And pang on pang rends Nature's Mother-heart ? 
 Unnumbered souls from that far City mart 
 With cry on cry for room to labour call. 
 
 All hail to him who leads the millions on 
 From death's dark shadow up to Liberty ! 
 Have we no word for him, who, for the free, 
 Prepares the way that Freedom's self hath gone /
 
 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 SHE saw no mellowing tints of autumn years, 
 
 No summer's ripening corn, 
 The perfume of spring violets was ne'er 
 
 From her bright pathway borne. 
 
 Youth's winning smile still on her gentle face, 
 A lily-of-the-valley gravely sweet, 
 
 She bore the mother's crown a few short years, 
 Then laid it at God's feet ! 
 
 They softly combed her glorious gold-brown hair, 
 She was so young to join the quiet dead ! 
 
 Her little one drew near, and touched the cheek, 
 Whose faded rose as yet was faintly red ! 
 
 Fair as a statue fresh from sculptor's hand, 
 
 She lay a snow queen 'mid the starry flowers ; 
 
 Her spirit wandered, maybe smiling so 
 With angel guides, among God's holy bowers.
 
 130 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Life's tragedies were not for her to know 
 The long 1 heart-sickness and the vain regret, 
 
 The weary waiting that the spirit chafes, 
 The eyes with tears all unavailing wet ! 
 
 So fair thou wert, and art, where all is fair, 
 I, thy descendant, by thy pictured form, 
 
 Am, as against a dove of holy Grail, 
 
 Some draggled sea-bird beaten by the storm ! 
 
 Yet, even so for God is merciful, 
 
 And binds the bleeding heart with tender hand, 
 For me may dawn, as for all weary ones, 
 
 The perfect sunrise of His Glory-Land !
 
 ERIN 
 
 ON her harp there are fairy bells ringing 
 
 With silvery tongue,' 
 Her songs are the sweetest and saddest 
 
 That ever were sung ! 
 Never faltered the clarion sweetness 
 
 Of war-cry or hymn, 
 Though she bled with her saints and her heroes 
 
 On battlefields grim. 
 When defeat scattered far her battalions 
 
 She lifted the Cross, 
 And sang of the glory eternal 
 
 That triumphs o'er loss ! 
 Though her tears flowed like rain on the waters 
 
 Of fathomless seas, 
 Though her sighs, like the moaning of Rachel, 
 
 Made heavy the breeze, 
 Never once was her high spirit daunted, 
 
 And, stronger than Death, 
 Faith fanned her heart's clouded embers 
 
 With life-giving breath !
 
 132 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 O love ! that through ages hath triumphed 
 
 O'er slavery and pain, 
 O faith ! that hath never once pandered 
 
 To power or gain, 
 Were ye all that her sons and her daughters 
 
 Could venture to claim, 
 More precious such treasures of Heaven 
 
 Than riches or fame ! 
 They are like the round towers of her valleys, 
 
 Her sentinels strong, 
 And stand undespoiled thro' the ages, 
 
 A protest o'er wrong ! 
 O Erin ! thou " Mary of Nations," 
 
 Fair jewel of God, 
 Let thy hopes be as green as the grasses 
 
 That wave o'er the sod ! 
 For thee is the truth of the promise 
 
 That, " sowing in tears," 
 Thou shalt reap never-fading possessions 
 
 Through Heaven's bright years !
 
 THE SOUL'S EXPRESSION 
 
 WHE.V shall my trembling fingers touch the notes, 
 
 The chords, that will interpret that sweet song 
 Which round me in a thousand murmurs floats 
 
 And thrills me with its rapture deep and strong ? 
 It draws my soul up with its wondrous strains 
 
 My heart, responsive, beats in ecstasy ! 
 It knows not of earth's lower joys or pains, 
 
 It speaks but of a higher life to be ; 
 And, taking form, it seems an angel face 
 
 Such as Cecilia summoned with her lyre 
 When, raised above this world by inward grace, 
 
 Her soul was touched by Music's heavenly fire. 
 Yea, saints could hold thee, rapturous song divine ! 
 
 But no saint's glory rests upon my brow ; 
 I come not from " the masters' " honoured line 
 
 Yet, as thou cam'st to them, thou'rt with me 
 
 now ! 
 And as thou deign'st to speak unto my soul, 
 
 I would that I, too, could thy voice express ! 
 Great waves of longing o'er my being roll 
 
 Some other soul with thy sweet strains to bless /
 
 134 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 O guide my trembling fingers to the keys 
 
 That most are in sweet harmony with thee ; 
 Let not my powerless efforts thee displease, 
 
 But do thou lead whose voice inspireth me ! 
 Then shall my life not seem a worthless thing-, 
 
 Then shall my soul a fuller being find, 
 Interpreting what choirs celestial sing 
 
 To cheer the fainting spirits of mankind !
 
 THE CHRISTMAS ANGELS 
 
 ON the sunset ladder of liquid gold 
 
 That stretches from earth to heaven, 
 Gliding down like the soft snowflakes, 
 
 Came silently angels seven. 
 Their eyes were bright with a starry light, 
 
 They smiled, and the world grew glad ! 
 It was Christmas Eve, and they came to cheer 
 
 God's weary, and worn, and sad. 
 
 And the air was filled with a fragrance sweet, 
 
 And forest and woodland heard 
 A joyous note in the good-night cry 
 
 Of insect and twittering bird. 
 Mothers stood at their doors and gazed, 
 
 With awe in their patient eyes, 
 At the wondrous splendour of changing hues 
 
 That lit up the peaceful skies. 
 
 The children stopped in their merry play, 
 And thought of their evening prayers, 
 
 And whispered " Our Father," and knew not why 
 Hill and valley had grown so fair.
 
 136 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Swiftly the ministering angels passed ; 
 
 To the heart, not the eyes, of man 
 It was theirs to unfold the holiest truths 
 
 Of the loving Creator's plan. 
 
 For ever jarring, like broken strings, 
 
 In the perfect music on high, 
 The sob of the weak and the moan of the strong 
 
 Ascend in one pitiful cry ! 
 And the seven bright angels God loveth the most, 
 
 That are highest where seraphim throng, 
 Spread quivering wings, and pause in the midst 
 
 Of their joyous and mystical song. 
 
 And the heart that is thrilled by the faintest sigh, 
 
 Whose holy command they await, 
 Bidding them haste to His suffering ones, 
 
 Ope's wider the golden gate. 
 And the light of heaven grows brighter still, 
 
 And the song that was hushed more sweet ! 
 As pinion to pinion, and hand in hand, 
 
 They arise from that Holy One's feet. 
 
 The greatest one of these seven is Love 
 
 A glorious crown she wears ; 
 Beside her is Pity a vase of gold 
 
 With balm for Earth's woe she bears. 
 Forgiveness holdeth a banner white, 
 
 And, a dove on her tranquil breast, 
 Peace followeth ever, with tender smile, 
 
 The beautiful angel of Rest !
 
 THE CHRISTMAS ANGELS 137 
 
 A jewel burneth with living fire, 
 
 Hope's radiant brow above ; 
 She holdeth the hand of Faith, and walks 
 
 In the light from the crown of Love ! 
 " Faith," and " Pity," and " Hope," and ' Rest," 
 
 Sweet " Peace," with her brooding dove, 
 " Forgiveness," that stoopeth, yet conquereth all, 
 
 But the greatest of these is LOVE
 
 JOAN OF ARC IN THE CHAPEL 
 OF DOMREMY 
 
 DOWN through the stained glass windows, 
 
 In purple and gold and red, 
 
 The last rays of the setting sun 
 
 Upon her face were shed. 
 
 She knelt before the altar, 
 
 Her pure hands raised on high, 
 
 The light of other worlds within 
 
 Her calm and holy eye. 
 
 She heard the voice of angels, 
 
 She saw their gleaming forms, 
 
 And heard far off the clash of arms 
 
 Through War's terrific storms. 
 
 She blenched not at the clarion call 
 
 That bade her lead the van ; 
 
 In her the Woman's soul was blent 
 
 With something more than man. 
 
 Not hers to lie and wonder, 
 
 Not hers to choose the way : 
 
 A hero's blood was in her veins 
 
 She could not disobey !
 
 JOAN OF ARC 139 
 
 St. Catherine and St. Michael 
 Stood in the sunset glow ; 
 With high command and word of cheer 
 They urged her towards the foe ; 
 
 " Maid of the snow-white armour, 
 
 Maid of the spotless soul, 
 
 Thy country waits thy saving hand, 
 
 Press onward to the goal ! 
 
 The foe shall fly before thee 
 
 Where'er thy banner streams ; 
 
 For ever at thy side shall be 
 
 The angels of thy dreams. 
 
 To thee the mission holy 
 
 To free thy land is given : 
 
 On, on ! thou highly-favoured one 
 
 The instrument of Heaven ! 
 
 Before thy dazzling purity 
 
 The alien host shall fall, 
 
 And thou stand victor in their midst 
 
 Before Orleans' wall ! 
 
 Rough hearts shall bow before thee, 
 
 And seek thy benison, 
 
 And tongues shall praise thy wondrous deeds 
 
 Till Time itself be run. 
 
 By the Cross thy hand shall conquer, 
 
 But that Cross is wreathed in flame ! 
 
 And awestruck crowds beside it sob 
 
 The martyr's deathless name ! 
 
 The curtain o'er thy destiny 
 
 It is not ours to raise,
 
 140 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Enough that at its close thou'lt hear 
 
 The Master's loving praise ! 
 
 The last words that thy lips shall say 
 
 Shall be the Name of Him 
 
 Who keeps the starry worlds in place, 
 
 And rules the seraphim. 
 
 O lion of heart in woman's frame, 
 
 O dauntless Virgin Soul ! 
 
 Thy country waits thy fearless arm, 
 
 Press onward to the goal ! 
 
 On ! for the cry of thousands 
 
 Is rising to the sky ; 
 
 On ! for thy mangled countrymen 
 
 In blood-red trenches lie ! 
 
 Thou Judith of a later day 
 
 In God's great Name advance, 
 
 Nor rest till Peace smiles once again 
 
 On the sunny lands of France ! " 
 
 She rose. A loud triumphant peal 
 
 Broke from a choir unseen, 
 
 And spirit-hands with glory crowned 
 
 Fair France's crownless queen. 
 
 The twilight deepened. Earth grew still ; 
 
 The great Creator's Hand 
 
 Dispelled the mist that overhung 
 
 A fear-distracted land : 
 
 Martyr, and Saint, and Warrior, 
 
 A star where all was dark, 
 
 Upon the World's horizon gleamed 
 
 God's handmaid "Joan of Arc ! "
 
 GOD'S OWN "SONG WITHOUT 
 WORDS " 
 
 'Tis the song the spheres have sung 
 From Creation's Dawn till now, 
 Since first God placed their starry crown 
 Upon Night's regal brow ! 
 
 'Tis the song the wild sea waves 
 Sing aye from shore to shore 
 The chant of praise that soars to God 
 Till Time shall be no more ! 
 
 Or the mystic martial music 
 Stirring pulses faint and cold, 
 Ringing down throughout the ages 
 From St. Michael's harp of gold ! 
 
 That paean of spiritual victory 
 
 Which the demons shrink to hear 
 
 Since the first soul-battle on Earth was won 
 
 And sin succumbed to fear !
 
 142 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Tis the song the Poet hears 
 
 In Nature's " Holy Hour," 
 
 When her twilight robe of silence wraps 
 
 His soul within its power ! 
 
 'Tis the song Cecilia sang 
 While listening angels bent, 
 In awe that mortal fingers touched 
 Their own grand instrument ! 
 
 'Tis the music of the soul 
 Chords of immortal life ! 
 A harmony of wondrous tones 
 To check all human strife. 
 
 'Tis the message Gabriel told 
 
 To the Virgin undefiled, 
 
 As she knelt adoring Him who chose 
 
 Her mother of His Child ! 
 
 'Tis the song the shepherds heard 
 
 At midnight on the wold, 
 
 When the Saviour of men came down to bring 
 
 His sheep within the fold ! 
 
 'Tis the song the spirit hears 
 In the lone watch of the Night, 
 When borne by angel hands away 
 Some soul hath ta'en its flight.
 
 "SONG WITHOUT WORDS" 143 
 
 God's Own Song Without Words 
 That choirs celestial sing- 
 Since the grave was robbed of victory, 
 And Death has lost its sting ! 
 
 God's Own Song Without Words ! 
 We may learn it if we will 
 For His Own Son played its music, 
 And the echo's im'th its still!
 
 MY LADDIE 
 
 As the sunlight beams of the morning 
 
 After the mists of the night, 
 As the singing of birds in the silence 
 At the first, faint glimmer of light, 
 As the perfume of the flowers 
 
 After the gentle rain, 
 As a word of sweet compassion 
 
 To a weary soul in pain, 
 As the sight of a friendly vessel 
 
 To the shipwrecked on the sea, 
 As a gift of bread to the hungry 
 
 Is thy true love to me ! 
 While thy hands are fondly clinging, 
 
 And thy fond eyes look in mine, 
 The mists may " gather and gather " 
 
 And the sun refuse to shine ! 
 I care not, so thou'rt near me ; 
 Thou art life and light to me. 
 May the blessing of God be with thee 
 Through all eternity !
 
 THE GRAVEYARD OF THE WEST 
 
 MOTHER, where are the stalwart sons who left you 
 in manhood's prime, 
 
 To seek the work denied them in their own fair 
 natal clime ? 
 
 The lads that kissed your trembling 1 lips, with a 
 tear in their honest eyes, 
 
 Then sailed away in a crowded ship, to toil 'neath 
 torrid skies? 
 
 Where are the brave, true hearts you held that day 
 to your aching breast ? 
 
 " They have laid them both together in the Grave- 
 yard of the West." 
 
 Maiden, where is the lover bold who fondly hoped 
 
 to win 
 A home for your sweet, modest face to scatter 
 
 sunshine in ? 
 Who pressed you proudly to his heart, and 
 
 whispered of the day 
 When there would never more be need from you 
 
 and love to stray 
 
 K
 
 146 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Who thrilled to your low, tender words, then set 
 
 out on his quest ? 
 " They have laid my love where hundreds sleep in 
 
 the Graveyard of the West ! " 
 
 Oh, wife, whose dark grey, earnest eyes are dim 
 
 with mists of pain, 
 Upon whose cheeks no rosy hues of youth or 
 
 health remain, 
 Where is the husband who before God's altar 
 
 swore to guide 
 The barque that bore you through the swell of 
 
 life's tempestuous tide ? . 
 Where is the heart on which your head of old was 
 
 wont to rest? 
 ' ' Alone it lies far from my tears, in the Graveyard 
 
 of the West!" 
 
 Little child, whose soft eyes glisten at the touch 
 
 of love's caress, 
 Whose pure heart was sent to gladden all in pain's 
 
 wide wilderness, 
 Why should sadness mar the beauty of your white 
 
 brow's holy calm ? 
 Fairyland is yours to enter ; lend to ours its 
 
 golden charm ! 
 Why those tears, O little dreamer? " Lonely is 
 
 the warm home nest, 
 And my father sleeps, unheeding, in the Graveyard 
 
 of the West ! "
 
 GRAVEYARD OF THE WEST 147 
 
 Sister, your kind hands were the first whose care 
 
 your brother knew, 
 Your love through changing years he found more 
 
 steadfast, still, and true ; 
 His parting words within your heart, can never 
 
 lose their place : 
 " Of all my kin, I love you best ! God bless your 
 
 loving face ! " 
 Where is that brother, sister? "They have laid 
 
 him down to rest 
 Where the typhoid counts its victims, in the 
 
 Graveyard of the West ! " 
 
 Mother, sweetheart, wife, and sister, little child 
 
 all swell the cry ! 
 They have lost their best and bravest where ours, 
 
 too, may fail and die. 
 Must the nation drain her life-blood for her lack 
 
 of golden store ? 
 Nerveless, see her sons desert her for that fatal 
 
 western shore, 
 Where, though Fortune favours many, others 
 
 suffer pangs untold 
 Falling hopeless where they laboured in the 
 
 fevered search for gold !
 
 MEMORIES OF THE PAST 
 
 UNDER light of pallid star, thro' the bush I've 
 
 travelled far, 
 Now the station lights are twinkling through 
 
 the mist ; 
 I see, and little heed, but my good horse quickens 
 
 speed, 
 For once he leads me howsoe'er he list I 
 
 Night is the time for thought ; what if memories 
 
 are fraught 
 
 Full often with an anguish few may know ? 
 There is sweetness in their pain if the germ of 
 
 good remain 
 Some loving hand sowed heartward long ago ! 
 
 Such a one we all have known, as no mortal 
 
 stands alone ; 
 
 Some other life is bound up in his own, 
 And friends may drift apart, but that one within 
 
 the heart 
 Our love will keep supreme upon her throne.
 
 MEMORIES OF THE PAST 149 
 
 Tis a reckless life at best, with its hours of wild 
 
 unrest ! 
 
 That has fallen to my lot upon the plains. 
 'Twould have ended long ere this with its chance 
 
 of bane or bliss 
 But for the one dream picture that remains ! 
 
 O eyes of Heaven's blue, ye were sweet and pure 
 and true ! 
 
 I never sought your sunny depths in vain. 
 Now in a mist of tears I see them thro' the years 
 
 Grow dark as purple pansies in their pain ! 
 
 Grow dark as on that night, when with sad face 
 
 drawn and white, 
 
 You listened to my slow words of farewell : 
 A curlew's passing cry drew our shuddering spirits 
 
 nigh, 
 
 And your trembling hand told more than tongue 
 could tell ; 
 
 I clasped it long and hard, for my own emotion 
 
 barred, 
 
 As with a wall of iron, word or cry, 
 Where the hawthorn bushes shed their snow-stars 
 
 on your head, 
 The silence was our question and reply !
 
 No need for word or sign I knew your heart was 
 
 mine, 
 You felt the thoughts my full heart could not 
 
 speak. 
 Fate hath deeper woes in store, but I'll feel for 
 
 evermore 
 Your tear-drops fall like lava on my cheek ! 
 
 O trembling lips I pressed, soft hair that I 
 
 caressed, 
 
 For your sweet sakes all sin I have foresworn : 
 That I might worthy be of her white purity, 
 
 I have braved the World's derision and its 
 scorn. 
 
 For what to her and me are the dark and baleful 
 
 three 
 
 The flesh, the devil, and his snare the world ! 
 Our love shall outlast time, and must seek the 
 
 higher clime, 
 Where the banners of its Author are unfurled. 
 
 The path man may have trod leading downward 
 
 from his God, 
 
 For the sake of one true heart he may forsake ; 
 And we are prone to miss no greater truth than 
 
 this 
 That woman hath the power to mar or make !
 
 MEMORIES OF THE PAST 151 
 
 Like a lonely spirit's sigh, from the pine trees 
 
 dark and high, 
 
 The wind's sad music steals across the plain, 
 And the station fences loom thro' the dense 
 
 unearthly gloom. 
 Old horse, we're back to earth and toil again !
 
 THE HEART'S ETERNAL YOUTH 
 
 THE flowers in the sunshine bud, 
 
 And blossom to widest bloom, 
 With a golden urn, or a goblet bright 
 Red with their own heart's blood, 
 
 Sweet with their soul's perfume, 
 To thrill the world with a wild delight 
 
 After the winter's gloom. 
 
 And the young lambs play on the grass, 
 
 And the children play on the hill, 
 While the echoes float of their flying feet 
 From hollow to hollow pass 
 
 With the sound of their voices shrill, 
 And, like waves on a far-off ocean, beat 
 
 Through the morning pure and still. 
 
 My heart leaps, too, in their joy ! 
 
 On the threshold of life they stand, 
 But my day has been long, and my burden sore 
 Since first with a broken toy 
 
 Held fast in a trembling hand, 
 I heard the sound of the breakers roar 
 
 On the shore of a shadowed land !
 
 HEART'S ETERNAL YOUTH 153 
 
 Wonder, and joy, and pain, 
 
 Child and woman they hold in thrall, 
 
 And the past with its glints of a holier light 
 
 The years that are won, retain 
 A silver edge on a pall, 
 
 The sheen of a star on a stormy night 
 To cheer us, whate'er befall. 
 
 Be glad in your youth, O child ! 
 
 Sing loud in your harmless glee 
 With the song of brook and the song of bird 
 And all that is undefined. 
 
 Let your music ring blithe and free ! 
 Far sweeter your wood-notes clear and wild 
 
 Than a city's minstrelsy. 
 
 As a tale that never is told 
 
 To an ending that all may know, 
 Your life, as mine, hath its opening page 
 Edged with a rim of gold, 
 
 White as the drifted snow, 
 Never to lose in the dusk of age 
 
 The charm that it now doth hold ! 
 
 The rivers sweep to the main 
 
 With a tumult of waters deep, 
 But the song they sing has the old sweet ring 
 Of the brook's first soft refrain 
 
 As it woke from its frozen sleep 
 To the whisper of flower and the whirr of wing, 
 
 To wander o'er hill and plain.
 
 154 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 The heart clings fast to its youth, 
 
 It is young through the change of years, 
 
 Thro' the springtide of toil ere the hopes despond 
 
 To the summer of woe and ruth 
 With its scorching rain of tears, 
 
 And bridges the gulf to the Light Beyond 
 
 [_ Of God's great after-truth !
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF THE EYE 
 
 THERE is a language of the eye, 
 
 That speaks the soul's most guarded thought ; 
 The heart can on its truth rely, 
 
 When words and acts with guile are fraught. 
 A voice may grow so cold in tone, 
 
 A word may sting so cruelly deep, 
 The heart beneath will seem a stone, 
 
 Where never human passions leap. 
 
 But in the eye a softened beam 
 
 May feelings in the heart betray, 
 As when upon a darkened stream 
 
 A gleam of sunshine finds its way ; 
 And shows, unsullied, clear, and pure, 
 
 The depths that seemed so dark and drear 
 An index true, and strong, and sure 
 
 Of more than on its waves appear. 
 
 A window where the spirit stands, 
 
 Unfettered by terrestrial things, 
 And dreams of far-off holy lands, 
 
 Where truth for ever lightly sings.
 
 156 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 The eye a magic mirror is, 
 
 Reflecting life's chameleon hue 
 
 The soul, its " Lady of Shalott," 
 That in herself is pure and true !
 
 THE FUTURE OF AUSTRALIA 
 
 SHE stood unclaimed, unsought, through centuries 
 
 of years, 
 While restless seas foamed round her rugged 
 
 coasts, 
 And weird, dark forests thro' their endless aisles 
 
 of trees 
 
 Expectant thrilled to every wandering wind 
 That brought them tidings of an overburdened 
 
 land, 
 
 Of men of eagle gaze and iron will, 
 Whose restless energy was spanning oceans' 
 
 breadth 
 To find how vast, how goodly, Earth's fair 
 
 heritage, 
 
 And plant new colonies on her virgin soil. 
 Long years have passed since first their footsteps 
 
 thrilled 
 Her heart to its deep centre, yet she still is 
 
 young ! 
 
 With all the promise of Youth's brightest 
 days,
 
 158 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Though Suffering hath not passed her by, nor 
 
 Want 
 Forgot to flaunt its misery in her smiling 
 
 face ! 
 Strong in her youth and strength she firmly 
 
 stands, 
 
 A regal Queen beside her Southern sea ; 
 Her sceptre pointing to her fruitful fields, 
 
 Her wealth of golden ore, and countless 
 
 herds, 
 
 Her cities that have risen like a dream. 
 What march of Progress hath been like to hers ? 
 She looks back o'er the Past with kindling 
 
 eye, 
 Her proud breast swelling with a conscious 
 
 power ; 
 
 Though great her triumphs in an age of won- 
 drous deeds, 
 
 Her Future shall eclipse that radiant Past ! 
 Her history's pages, still uncut, shall bear 
 
 The record of a race of noble men, 
 Her faithful sons, a Federated nation's pride, 
 
 Whose hands shall fling the gauntlet in the 
 
 teeth of Wrong, 
 
 And oust the sycophant from Honour's place ! 
 The statue of a one-armed man * shall prove 
 
 The symbol of a Nation's liberty, 
 The watchword of "Eureka" mean from patriot 
 lips 
 
 * Peter Lalor.
 
 THE FUTURE OF AUSTRALIA 159 
 
 That Freedom, in its highest, grandest sense, 
 Which none dare challenge, for with years 
 Of riper wisdom still shall strengthen patriot fires, 
 
 And older lands no longer stand alone 
 In their proud boast of hard-won battle-fields 
 
 And deeds of prowess, nor alone 
 In their long list of honoured heroes' names. 
 
 A universal brotherhood shall be 
 Our guarantee of power, and serve to weld 
 Our colonies in empire wide and free 
 Australia with an England's destiny ! 
 Yet as God marked her with a mystic seal, 
 Creating for her birthright curious forms 
 Of animal and vegetable life 
 Strange songless birds, and bright-hued scentless 
 
 flowers 
 And made their weird, peculiar beauty all her 
 
 own ; 
 
 So shall her poet singers in the future rise 
 To set the songs of Nature in original keys, 
 And strike a harmony unknown before ! 
 A music quainter, sweeter than the melodies 
 
 Of other climes sweeps through her forest 
 
 trees, 
 
 Setting the soul athrill with hints of mysteries 
 Unravelled yet, awaiting golden keys, 
 Held by some master hand whose magic 
 
 touch 
 
 Their meaning shall interpret with unerring skill. 
 Lo ! even now upon the altars of her hills
 
 160 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 The Dawn light glimmers, and the clouds are rent, 
 
 And angel faces smile the breaks between, 
 And urge her children on to falter not, but climb 
 The heights their feet e'en now essay to 
 
 tread. 
 The restless energy that fired their fathers' blood, 
 
 Their bold ambition, and their iron will, 
 In these not wanting, give them power to build 
 A literature that shall be racy of the soil, 
 
 And hold its place in archives of the 
 
 World ! 
 O native land ! it needs no prophet eye to see 
 
 That, spite of suffering, sorrow, want, and 
 
 woe, 
 
 Thy destiny must brighten with the years, 
 No borrowed glow its boast ! Thro' bitter throes 
 
 Thou shall wake up to fuller, stronger life, 
 As older lands before thee. Never yet 
 Was Fame achieved but some heart-string was 
 
 stretched 
 
 To utmost tension on the rack of pain ! 
 What though Hope hath walked beside thee with 
 
 averted head, 
 And for a time thy hands hung helpless by 
 
 thy side ? 
 Vitality like thine can conquer every ill, and make 
 
 disasters serve 
 
 As stepping stones to higher, nobler things ! 
 Wave then thy banners in each passing breeze 
 As proudly as thy forest trees of old
 
 THE FUTURE OF AUSTRALIA 161 
 
 Waved their broad branches to the seer-like wind 
 That first brought whispers of a coming 
 
 change, 
 And thrilled thy being to its inmost fibre. Once 
 
 again 
 Its voice is rising, and the answering sea 
 
 With deep-voiced melody intones a wondrous 
 
 song, 
 
 Which speaks of glorious triumphs yet to be, 
 Australia federated, and Australia crowned 
 
 Beside her sister Continents the last, yet 
 fairest one !
 
 THRO' A MIST OF GOLDEN RAIN 
 
 WHY do I love the wattle bloom 
 
 Above all other flowers ? 
 Ah, child, its perfume speaks to me 
 
 Of bygone happy hours ! 
 
 With the sight of its graceful quivering leaves, 
 
 Its blossoms of golden rain, 
 Old memories sweet as its fragrant breath 
 
 Sweep over my heart again ! 
 
 And I feel the rush of the mountain breeze 
 
 As fresh as in days of yore, 
 When I gathered the wild flowers on the hills 
 
 My feet shall tread no more ; 
 
 Where I roamed as a happy child, and loved 
 
 Each tone of Nature's voice, 
 In its wild sweet music finding aye 
 
 Some bidding to rejoice. 
 
 Never a sunrise but stirs my heart, 
 And my soul with its beauty thrills, 
 
 But ne'er have I seen the sunlight shine 
 As it shone on the Wood's Point hills !
 
 A MIST OF GOLDEN RAIN 163 
 
 And never did wild birds sing more sweet, 
 
 And never were skies so blue 
 As in the dear spot where I first saw light : 
 
 The home that my childhood knew ! 
 
 I'd forfeit a lifetime of dreamful ease 
 
 To be as I once have been ! 
 To lie 'neath the shade of its whispering trees 
 
 And gaze on each peaceful scene. 
 
 To have the pure heart of a child again, 
 As pure as the mountain streams, 
 
 To live near to God as I used to do 
 In my girlhood's innocent dreams ! 
 
 Ah ! only thoughts of the beautiful 
 
 In my heart were given room 
 When I smiled in my childish ignorance 
 
 Beneath the wattle bloom ! 
 
 I used to think that angel forms 
 
 Bent o'er me as 1 lay ; 
 A'ow I pray God there may be one 
 
 Will ever with me stay ! 
 
 I have felt a few of the fleeting joys 
 
 To youth in its spring-tide given, 
 But the only joy I wish for now 
 
 Is the deep sweet Rest of Heaven !
 
 THE WATCH-TOWER OF THE 
 SOUL 
 
 "MIZPAH" was graven on her ring, and " Miz- 
 
 pah " in her heart, 
 Mizpah the last word that he spake as they tore 
 
 themselves apart. 
 The avenue's funereal trees loomed ever on her 
 
 sight ; 
 The tramp of horse's hoofs rang through the dark 
 
 and silent night. 
 
 He came again in the morning light. With his 
 
 hand on his bridle-rein, 
 He bent and kissed the quivering lips that could 
 
 not hide her pain. 
 " I go," he said, "to a far lone land, to the chill 
 
 of its ice and snow, 
 But that soul of thine and its warm true heart, my 
 
 soul shall ne'er forego !
 
 WATCH-TOWER OF THE SOUL 165 
 
 "Thou art mine by a law no man may break, by 
 
 a law no angel rends ; 
 For this shall a man leave native land, his home, 
 
 and his childhood's friends ! 
 Farewell ! yet not farewell, beloved ! as the lark 
 
 doth seek the sky, 
 Thou shalt come to me or I to thee ! however 
 
 the years go by ! " 
 
 He rode away with a backward look she was 
 
 sweet and fair to see ! 
 He had claimed her troth, he had sworn his own, 
 
 by rood on his bended knee. 
 The sun grew dark ; a cold wind blew from a land 
 
 that was far and lone, 
 And love may moan, but the valiant knight must 
 
 ride to the vast unknown ! 
 
 The long years passed with their weight of woe, 
 
 and silvered her shining hair, 
 But the face that her lover kissed that morn was 
 
 ever as sweet and fair ! 
 And her soul grew white as the lily-buds that 
 
 gleam in the morning sun, 
 And her heart-cup full of the rare red wine Love 
 
 only may keep for one.
 
 166 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 She watched and waited, serene and mild, no 
 
 cloud in her faithful eyes, 
 She saw the sun sink down to rest, and again in 
 
 his beauty rise. 
 The stars above knew her vigil long, and the 
 
 night wind heard her prayers, 
 As her spirit sought for his absent soul at the foot 
 
 of God's altar-stairs ! 
 
 The angels bent o'er her drooping head, and folded 
 
 their shining wings ; 
 Akin to their own pure souls she was, with her 
 
 purity sorrow brings. 
 They gathered a flower from the far lone land 
 
 the soul's white Edelweiss ; 
 They laid it close at her heart one morn with its 
 
 message of joy and peace. 
 
 She woke, and the sky was aflame with gold ! the 
 
 air grew clear and light ; 
 Across the rose hills of the dawn, a pathway 
 
 glimmered bright ! 
 Adown it came a gleaming form, star unto star at 
 
 last, 
 Her soul went forth his soul to meet, her last long 
 
 vigil past !
 
 A LEGEND OF THE VIOLET 
 
 AN eastern sky aflame with sunset gleams, 
 
 A landscape fairer than our childhood's dreams ! 
 
 Hollow and hill all bathed in golden light, 
 
 Meadows with starry flowers of spotless white, 
 
 And in the ambered distance city towers 
 
 Like Paynim castles set in fairy bowers ! 
 
 Through such a scene, in days of long ago, 
 
 A lady passed with quiet steps and slow. 
 
 Around her, bright as moonbeams on a sea, 
 
 A halo glimmered yet, so meek was she, 
 
 Her calm eyes, clear as Heaven, seemed to give 
 
 Mute homage to all things God bade to live. 
 
 Sweet " Stars of Bethlehem " her mantle looped, 
 
 Adown her robe fair shimmering lilies drooped ; 
 
 And ever as she went, where'er was set 
 
 Her footstep light, uprose sweet mignonette. 
 
 A little child was playing on the grass, 
 
 And stood with flower-filled hands to see her 
 
 pass. 
 
 And as he gazed, upon her lips the while 
 There dawned the tender shadow of a smile.
 
 1 68 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 She bent, and touched the shining, curly head : 
 "Art fond of flowers, my little one ? " she said. 
 With awe he looked into the holy face, 
 For Angel voices seemed to fill the place ! 
 Then, ere his baby lips had answer made, 
 She drew him 'neath a drooping olive's shade. 
 There, as she sat, each flower that ever grew 
 In earth's fair garden slowly rose to view, 
 And every hue God made for man's delight. 
 Forget-me-nots with meek blue eyes looked up, 
 The lily-of-the-valley raised her snowy cup ; 
 Heartsease her winsome face turned to the 
 
 light, 
 
 And stately tulips waved their banners bright. 
 The snowdrop hung her bells on elfin wires, 
 The scarlet poppies glowed with changing fires. 
 Below her sisters, at the lady's feet, 
 The daisy, blushing, took her lowly seat. 
 The buttercup her golden urn upreared, 
 The passion-flower, to Christian hearts endeared 
 By wondrous symbols, formed an arch above 
 Fit frame enshrined her whom angels love ! 
 The hyacinth her purple bells hung low, 
 The jasmine opened wide her heart of snow. 
 Regardless of the seasons, every bloom 
 From tropic clime or Arctic there found room. 
 God's vases, lent from Heaven's plenteous store, 
 They filled the air with scents unknown before ! 
 But none in lingering sweetness there outdid 
 The fragrant breath of violets low hid
 
 A LEGEND OF THE VIOLET 169 
 
 By clustering leaves, whose strong protecting 
 
 wings 
 Seemed fitting shield for earth's ethereal things. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The child, transfixed, gazed on in breathless awe, 
 
 Half fearful that the wondrous sight he saw 
 
 Would melt away like dreams divinely fair, 
 
 A golden vapour lost in waves of air. 
 
 But, smiling still, the lady reassured 
 
 The trembling childish soul, and gently lured 
 
 Him closer to her side, and bade him pull 
 
 Whatever flowers he deemed most beautiful. 
 
 But he, bewildered, prayed her to decide 
 
 Which he should love the best, nor was his prayer 
 
 denied. 
 The violets softly leant against her garment's 
 
 hem, 
 " They breathe of faith and hope. My child, go 
 
 gather them ! "
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN CUCKOO 
 
 IT sings in the tender gloaming 
 
 Of the first glad days of Spring, 
 When the mother-heart of Nature yearns 
 
 O'er every living thing. 
 It has but one sweet quivering note, 
 
 Like the sound of a silver bell, 
 Yet Love stirs in his sleep and smiles 
 
 Beneath its magic spell ! 
 
 And a soft and dreamy languor 
 
 Steals over heart and brain, 
 And a thousand spirit voices 
 
 Seem speaking in its strain, 
 Till the gloaming gleams and widens 
 
 To a northern golden noon, 
 Athrob with the glowing warmth and life 
 
 Of a rose-crowned day in June ! 
 
 And the air blows fresh and bracing, 
 With a faint sweet smell of hay, 
 
 While the reaper's song on its fragrant wings 
 Is borne seaward away ;
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN CUCKOO 171 
 
 And I stand where a beech-tree's branches 
 Throw wide their sheltering shade, 
 
 And listen to the sweetest tale 
 Man ever told to maid. 
 
 Flushing and paling, trembling 
 
 With the shock of a glad surprise, 
 Heart and soul and sense aswoon 
 
 In the light of a lover's eyes, 
 I hear the sigh of the breezes 
 
 (Blent with the whispering leaves) 
 Thrill with its eerie music 
 
 The heart of the golden sheaves ! 
 
 And they nod and dream in the sunshine 
 
 With the drowsiness Peace instils, 
 And Earth seems one vast Fairyland 
 
 Girt round with purple hills ! 
 He draws me nearer, nearer 
 
 Was ever a lady so fair ? JL#M 
 Ah ! years may come and go, my love, 
 
 But Heaven was closest there ! 
 
 The noon-tide fades to gloaming ; 
 
 The stars of a Southern sky 
 Like jewels gleam above me 
 
 Love is no longer nigh. 
 Yet I hear the same sweet story, 
 
 And I never feel alone 
 While the cuckoo pipes of life and love 
 
 In his silvery monotone !
 
 AN ANGEL'S CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 IT was Christmas Eve, and the silver bells 
 Of Heaven rang sweet and low, 
 Chiming the wondrous canticles 
 Which only the Angels know ! 
 Calling the ministering messengers home 
 Who had toiled in the world all day, 
 Gloom and weariness, pain and woe 
 From mortals to chase away. 
 
 Two by two, with their snow-white wings 
 
 Gleaming in golden light 
 
 They came ere the hallowed twilight calm 
 
 Had flown at the step of night. 
 
 And the Angel who stood at the Gates of Pearl 
 
 Holding the glittering key, 
 
 Counted them slowly with earnest face, 
 
 Blessing them solemnly. 
 
 For each bore the tidings of penitent souls, 
 
 Of deeds of mercy and love ; 
 
 Through the great heart of Earth a tremor had 
 
 passed 
 In response to the God-Heart above !
 
 AN ANGEL'S CHRISTMAS EVE 173 
 
 Two and two did he count them, 
 
 As also the bright array 
 
 Who downward flew in their sisters' stead 
 
 To watch till the dawn of day. 
 
 Two and two did he count them 
 As singing they glided in 
 Singing of Him Who for man had died 
 To loosen the bonds of sin. 
 
 Yet his gaze grew strained and anxious, 
 
 And the Gates were still ajar ; 
 
 From the jewels of God's fair Kingdom 
 
 Was missing a tiny star, 
 
 A little child-angel had wandered 
 
 Away from the shining band ! 
 
 The bells' sweet call more clear and loud 
 
 Ranqf over sea and land. 
 
 She came not till the midnight 
 
 O'er earth was brooding low, 
 
 Then her wings were torn and draggled, 
 
 Her steps infirm and slow ; 
 
 And her voice made piteous music 
 
 As it rose in plaintive strain, 
 
 " Glory to God in the Highest ! " 
 
 Then sank to a moan of pain.
 
 174 SONGS FROM THE HILLS . 
 
 St. Peter's fingers trembled 
 
 As he touched the drooping head : 
 
 " Why art thou late ? Why dost thou weep, 
 
 My little one ? " he said. 
 
 " I heard the bell's sweet summons 
 
 Ring over land and sea, 
 
 But I was fighting for a soul 
 
 As dear as Heaven to me ! 
 
 " I stood beside a dying bed 
 
 As the evening shadows fell, 
 
 And deeper shadows gathered fast 
 
 From the denser gloom of hell ; 
 
 For the life that ebbed with the fleeting hours 
 
 Was foul with the stains of sin. 
 
 Nay ! open not the Gate for me, 
 
 For I cannot enter in ! 
 
 " I have fought with the powers of darkness, 
 
 But my strength has not prevailed ; 
 
 My love for the suffering soul is strong, 
 
 But love and prayers have failed ! " 
 
 A wailing wind_irose Heavenward, 
 
 She sank upon her knee : 
 
 " By the first Christmas Morn I pray, 
 
 Dear God, come unto me ! " 
 
 A light streamed through the portals ; 
 With pitying look benign 
 Upon the troubled, weeping child 
 There gleamed the Face Divine.
 
 AN ANGEL'S CHRISTMAS EVE 175 
 
 " Saviour ! " she cried, " men know Thy love, 
 
 Yet stubbornly live on 
 
 In bold defiance of Thy laws 
 
 Till faith and hope are gone. 
 
 " Yet even these Thy mercy hath 
 Entwined with bonds so sweet 
 Of earthly love, their children may 
 In Heaven play round Thy feet. 
 Lo, through the long and dreary night 
 For him who gave me life, 
 With demons I have wrestled 
 In strong and anguished strife ! 
 
 " The other angels miss my voice 
 
 From their triumphant song ; 
 
 I love Thee, too, Lord, yet I could 
 
 Not join the joyful throng. 
 
 They all have borne a Birthday gift, 
 
 But I, unlike the rest, 
 
 Have not one sinner's prayer to bring 
 
 And lay upon Thy Breast ! 
 
 " Thou Who art Love in highest sense, 
 
 Who hast created love 
 
 In every human heart, that it 
 
 May reach to Love above, 
 
 Say must this love all powerless be 
 
 Against sin's foul control ? 
 
 O let me suffer in his stead, 
 
 But save my father's soul ! "
 
 i-6 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Where the children of men lay sleeping 
 
 Came the herald of the Dawn, 
 
 And bade earth haste to welcome in 
 
 The smiling Christmas Morn. 
 
 " Peace, peace on Earth ! Goodwill to men ! " 
 
 He sang with triumphant voice, 
 
 " O rise up, ye who slumber, 
 
 And with all Heaven rejoice ! " 
 
 A dying man raised weary eyes 
 
 To greet him as he passed, 
 
 " My God, 'tis Christmas Day ! " he said, 
 
 " And it will be my last ! 
 
 I have not dared to pray for years, 
 
 I know no prayer to say, 
 
 Yet, Lord, have mercy on my soul ! 
 
 Forget me not this day ! " 
 
 A sudden burst of music broke 
 
 From the harp of an angel there, 
 
 As she bent to catch each broken word 
 
 Of the parting spirit's prayer ; 
 
 And the Gates of the Heavenly Bethlehem 
 
 At her touch flew wide apart, 
 
 For she bore the gift Christ prizes most 
 
 The gift of a contrite heart !
 
 A SUNSET IDYLL 
 
 SHE stood in the light of the sunset glow 
 
 Of a fragrant eve in Spring ; 
 The Vesper bell rang sweet and low, 
 But sweeter far was her voice, I trow, 
 
 For its tones to my heart still cling ! 
 
 By the old Church Tower, where the ivy creeps, 
 
 She gazed on the changing sky 
 With the tranquil look of a babe that sleeps, 
 But the tear-dimmed eye of a soul that weeps 
 
 For rapture she knows not why ! 
 
 To the glory of Heaven she saw the key ; 
 
 I saw but her golden hair ! 
 For brighter far was its hue to me, 
 Than all the tints on sky or sea 
 
 In a land where all is fair. 
 
 Her spirit beheld but the Gates afar, 
 
 I saw but her saintly eyes ! 
 I needed no beauty of Evening Star, 
 No angel message, nor Gates ajar, 
 
 No glimpses of Paradise ! 
 
 M
 
 178 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 She saw the splendour of streets of gold, 
 
 I saw but her lovely face ! 
 As the crimson buds of a rose unfold, 
 Her sweet lips faltered the tale of old 
 
 Of a Cross in a darkened place ! 
 
 The sunset lingered o'er sea and town, 
 
 Now golden, now rosy red ; 
 From the stained windows the saints looked 
 
 down, 
 For the sunbeams had woven a golden crown 
 
 Like a halo around her head ! 
 
 She spoke of the Love of the Heart Divine ; 
 
 I traced its seal on her brow, 
 " O love ! " I cried, " in that heart of thine 
 Burn holier fires than blaze in mine, 
 
 But I cannot forego them now ! " 
 
 O sweet and clear was the Vesper bell, 
 
 But sweeter her whispered prayer, 
 For the depth of its pleading the tale did tell 
 She loved God best but she loved me well 
 
 And my spirit grew light as air ! 
 
 The years have come, and the years have gone, 
 
 And the hot blood of youth is cold ; 
 But the Angelus bell still at eve rings on, 
 Still I worship the features I gazed upon 
 In the light of the sunset's gold.
 
 A SUNSET IDYLL 179 
 
 Yet the sun may set, and the sun may rise, 
 
 And the Vesper call be sweet, 
 But the upraised face and the dreamy eyes 
 I shall see no more, till in Paradise 
 
 The lover and loved may meet ! 
 
 The sun still shines on her golden hair, 
 Though damp is the churchyard sod, 
 And the face of my darling is passing fair, 
 But it beareth the look that the Angels wear 
 In the beautiful City of God ! 
 
 The years may come, and the years may go 
 
 Life holdeth no charm for me, 
 But away somewhere in the sunset glow, 
 An Angel waiteth for me, I know, 
 
 By the shore of a crystal sea ! 
 
 With saintly eyes and gleaming hair, 
 She stands in the wondrous light ; 
 With fair white hands upheld in prayer, 
 As I saw her then, I shall see her there, 
 In her robe of spotless white !
 
 A BUSH TRAGEDY 
 
 HOLD on, give her head, let us gallop together ! 
 Our last ride ! who knows ? Then what matter 
 
 our fate ? 
 We never were cowards to show the white 
 
 feather ; 
 
 We've galloped together both early and late ! 
 So she gave you the slip? Thro' her we must 
 
 sunder 
 
 My curse on her beautiful, treacherous face ! 
 She laughed at your love ? Ay, small matter for 
 
 wonder 
 
 You are sick unto death of the sight of the place ! 
 Yet I would you remained, Dick. Remember, old 
 
 fellow, 
 
 You're not the first man disappointed in love ; 
 And beaut)' itself must grow withered and yellow 
 If ihe heart be not lit with the fire from above. 
 The snow on yon hill-top's not harder or colder 
 Than the heart of the woman whose love you have 
 
 craved ; 
 Some day in the future, when wiser and older,
 
 A BUSH TRAGEDY 181 
 
 You'll thank God from such as her stamp you 
 
 were saved ! 
 What sort of a wife would her mightiness make 
 
 you ? 
 
 You in whose veins runs the blood of the Gaul ? 
 Likely as not she would gladly forsake you ; 
 On such as she home affection would pall. 
 From your mind fling her, despise her or curse 
 
 her! 
 
 Why let her darken your life in its prime ? 
 Take my advice (it could scarcely be terser) 
 Scorn her or hate her while yet there is time. 
 But you love her, you say? Odds, man, don't I 
 
 know it ? 
 
 You were not made in a ramshackle way. 
 When men like you love and are jilted why, 
 
 blow it ! 
 
 Your life is a hell, with the devil to pay. 
 Slacken rein ! You may think, p'raps, I'm too 
 
 rough and ready, 
 
 Prone to harsh judgment of woman or man. 
 Let the mare trot so ! Even and steady ; 
 There's a tale I must tell you 'twas here it 
 
 began. 
 You remember Jack Halliday? Well, you have 
 
 seen him 
 At the time you were down on the Wimmera 
 
 plains, 
 
 I was here, as you know, with the other sur- 
 veyors,
 
 1 82 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Working hard enough, too, with small thanks for 
 
 our pains. 
 Jack was our draughtsman the boss's own 
 
 brother 
 
 As smart a young fellow as ever crossed sea ; 
 Straight, manly, and true as he came from his 
 
 mother, 
 
 Yet for all that, somehow, we could never agree. 
 You see, 'twas like this we both loved the same 
 
 woman 
 "Without rhyme or reason." Tis often the 
 
 case ! 
 She smiled on us both ; we were men and but 
 
 human, 
 
 And soon learned to live by the light of her face 
 Jack had advantages Nature denied me ; 
 Strength I had plenty, good looks I had none. 
 He looked like a prince or a poet beside me 
 With his pale, dreamy face mine was tanned with 
 
 the sun. 
 
 His love was the purer mine blazed like a furnace ! 
 I worshipped the girl with the fire of our race. 
 She was haughty and cold quite sufficient to 
 
 turn us 
 To snow, one would think, in the heat of the 
 
 chase ! 
 
 But we were mad then ay, as mad as old Turner 
 Who yesterday flung himself under the train. 
 Did she treat me so now I would hasten to spurn 
 
 her,
 
 A BUSH TRAGEDY 183 
 
 For her power has vanished to come not again ! 
 We were mad then, I tell you ! But changes were 
 
 brewing ; 
 
 She began to evince a strong peiicliant for Jack. 
 She forged the first link of the poor lad's undoing, 
 And let loose the sleuth hounds of Fate on his 
 
 track. 
 At first we all thought that she loved him but 
 
 slowly, 
 
 Little by little, we soon learned the truth : 
 She was amused at affection so holy ! 
 Laughed at his worship, sneered at his youth. 
 Not to his face, mark ! to him she was sweetness, 
 Beauty, and light, in such glory combined ; 
 What marvel if worshipping perfect completeness 
 No thought of Life's evil e'er entered his mind. 
 I was not as he was ; though loathing deception, 
 I loved the deceiver, forgave her her sin, 
 Thus preparing my soul for the further reception 
 Of any base thought seeking entrance within : 
 I had drawn back for his sake, just " out of pity," 
 Now I was eager again for the fray, 
 Forgetting that he who can pillage a city 
 Is not greater than he who his spirit can sway, 
 /would tame her, I said with an oath, I would 
 
 make her 
 
 Love me as I loved, though I perilled my soul ! 
 " She should yet be my wife " ay ! and no other 
 
 should take her 
 While the sands of existence were destined to roll !
 
 184 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Well, I entered the lists once again, and suc- 
 ceeded 
 
 So well that poor Jack was left out in the cold, 
 
 They say that he knelt at her feet, wept, and 
 pleaded, 
 
 She laughed in his face ! turned him out, I was 
 told. 
 
 He was missing that night. The camp fire was 
 
 burning 
 
 All hours, while I lay wide awake in my bunk. 
 All night in remorse I kept restlessly turning, 
 Why on earth was he absent ? Could it be he was 
 
 drunk? 
 
 Yet Jack never drank. In the dawning his brother 
 Strode anxiously in. He had searched, but in 
 
 vain. 
 I could stand it no longer. For sake of his 
 
 mother 
 I must find where he went in the sting of his 
 
 pain. 
 Are you listening ? Look there where the sheoak 
 
 boughs quiver, 
 Where the water flows silently, darkly, and 
 
 deep 
 
 In the loneliest depths of that fiend-haunted river 
 Jack Halliday lay in his self-taken sleep ! 
 You shudder ! Ah God, could you feel the cold 
 
 grasping
 
 A BUSH TRAGEDY 185 
 
 That clutches my heart as in Death's icy grip ! 
 For ever and ever those wet hands are clasping 
 Life's long cup of agony for me to sip ! 
 
 And she whom we loved ? She still smiles in her 
 
 beauty, 
 
 No sign on her proud face of grief or remorse. 
 I gave her up long since ! Some instinct of duty 
 Woke in me too late at the sight of his corse. 
 His grave stands between us. My blame is the 
 
 greater ; 
 
 On my head alone be the curse and the shame ! 
 I have kept well her secret, but sooner or later 
 The fate of her lover I'm forced to proclaim. 
 Would you know who she is ? Listen close ! You 
 
 have kissed her, 
 
 Toyed -with the curls of her beautiful hair ; 
 Dearer than father ; or mother, or sister, 
 You have sworn that you loved her, tho 1 bidden 
 
 beware ! 
 
 I warned you, remember ! O God, he is falling ! 
 Dick, dear old Dick ! Rouse yourself, man ! Be 
 
 strong ! 
 
 (If he is ill, there are none within calling !) 
 Dick, dear old chap ! (Have I kept it too long? 
 Yet I warned him thrice over !) Dick ! Ah, that 
 
 is better ! 
 Let me get you a drink " not that poison down 
 
 there ? "
 
 i86 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 No, no ! This is brandy, I have the flask handy, 
 Thank goodness you're right again. Have a good 
 
 swear ! 
 
 Get it all out ! Call her demon or devil 
 Anything all that will help to kill love ! 
 Keep your life pure for some modest, good woman 
 Who'll give you a lift to the Mansions Above !
 
 THE CRY OF THE WOMAN 
 
 DOWN through the ages 
 Our burden we carry, 
 Groaning, travailing, 
 In anguish of spirit ; 
 Or patiently, mournfully, 
 White-lipped and voiceless, 
 Endure with the calm strength 
 At Eden's gate given ; 
 And hasten still onward 
 With Pain for companion 
 Taskmaster who tires not, 
 But quickens his scourges, 
 Till, fainting, we languish, 
 Or drop by the wayside. 
 Man loves us and leaves us, 
 Or, loving on, leads us 
 Through labyrinths dusky, 
 Ambition to follow ; 
 And, strong in his own strength, 
 Is blind to our weakness, 
 And sees not our torn feet,
 
 i88 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Nor heareth our sobbing ! 
 
 We creep on we love him 
 
 (For his Love is our being), 
 
 And, though he scorn us, 
 
 We work out our doom ! 
 
 Created to help him, 
 
 Each feeling within us 
 
 Extendeth its tendrils 
 
 His life to entwine. 
 
 If it be he abuseth 
 
 The purpose of Heaven, 
 
 Then his is the reckoning, 
 
 The Father the Judge ! 
 
 If he loveth us purely, 
 
 The angels attend him, 
 
 And smooth goes our journey 
 
 And peaceful his breast. 
 
 Through fire and thro' water, 
 
 Through darkness and danger, 
 
 Unscathed he shall wander 
 
 Who pitieth woman, 
 
 And bears with her weakness 
 
 And maketh a shelter 
 
 For her with his strength ! 
 
 But woe to the cruel, 
 
 The base, the betrayer 
 
 Of trust in his manhood, 
 
 Of innocent love ! 
 
 Who adds to our burthens, 
 
 Who buildeth up sorrow
 
 THE CRY OF THE WOMAN 189 
 
 To crush and o'erwhelm u, 
 And mocks at our pain, 
 On him shall the Lord God 
 Hurl fire-bolts from Heaven, 
 On him shall the vials 
 Of vengeance be poured ! 
 From the beginning 
 The path was set for us, 
 In sadness to traverse, 
 Bearing a cross. 
 But the Hand that created 
 Lies lightly upon us, 
 Protecting and guiding, 
 With love in Its touch ! 
 The hand of man only 
 Brought anguish upon us 
 Upon the heart closing, 
 Or, falling too roughly, 
 Bruising the spirit 
 For God alone made. 
 Ours is the night-watch, 
 The tears in the darkness, 
 The hope against hoping, 
 The prayer for the lost ! 
 The ushering the infant 
 Through Life's open portal, 
 The leading the dying 
 To measureless Rest ! 
 Recalling the wand'rer 
 To paths long forsaken,
 
 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Reclaiming the fallen, 
 
 Or, weeping and praying-, 
 
 Striving to conquer 
 
 The stronghold of Sin ! 
 
 Help us, not hinder, 
 
 O brothers beside us ! 
 
 O strong men and true men, 
 
 Watch o'er us, defend us, 
 Love us not only to while away moments, 
 
 But tenderly, truly, 
 
 With reverence duly, 
 As patient co-workers in God's holy plan, 
 
 Bear with us, feel for us, 
 
 Stretch out your hand to us, 
 Lead us but lead where the Angels may follow ! 
 
 On to the Home above, 
 
 Pure in your human love, 
 
 Strong in your great strength Christ's type of a 
 Man !
 
 THE GARDEN OF THE SEA 
 
 THAT Earth has fairer flowers, sweeter song-brds, 
 
 I agree, 
 But give to me the Music and the " Garden of the 
 
 Sea ! " 
 Where the seaweeds wave their fringes, and the 
 
 shells in beauty vie 
 With the dainty faint pink flushing of the early 
 
 morning sky ; 
 Where the wavelets croon their dirges, or low 
 
 whisper as they throng 
 The deep and mystic meaning of the surge's 
 
 rhythmic song ; 
 Where the coral mountains proudly rear their 
 
 wondrous snowy peaks, 
 Indifferent to man's ravage and his countless petty 
 
 freaks ; 
 Where the pearls in shining splendour in their 
 
 jewel-case lie hid 
 A mine of untold wealth, to all but daring souls 
 
 forbid ! 
 Where the merry fish for gladness in the shining 
 
 waters leap,
 
 192 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Or, like gay courtiers, cluster round the monarchs 
 
 of the deep 
 Now peeping at the sunshine, and now diving in 
 
 their glee, 
 I trow that they appreciate the " Garden of the 
 
 Sea ! " 
 
 For flowers we have the seaweeds are not their 
 
 colours fair ? 
 For birds we have the seagulls so bold to do and 
 
 dare ! 
 They care not for the tempest, but they love to 
 
 shriek aloud 
 Their war-whoop of defiance to each dark and 
 
 driving cloud ! 
 From the sweetest rippling music to the organ's 
 
 thunder- roll, 
 The sea is master of all songs that thrill the 
 
 human soul. 
 Ay ! she has fed the noblest minds with thoughts 
 
 so grand and pure 
 That their sweetness through the ages as poet's 
 
 songs endure, 
 Or else float up to Heaven, by sweet echoing 
 
 voices borne 
 From some dim vast Cathedral on a peaceful 
 
 Sabbath morn ! 
 Musician, poet, painter, ye will gladly own your 
 
 debt,
 
 THE GARDEN OF THE SEA 193 
 
 For those whom she has whispered once, can 
 
 ne'er her song forget ! 
 It mingles with their waking hours, it murmurs 
 
 through their dreams 
 An undertone of melody, like Heaven's choir it 
 
 seems ! 
 Nor leaves them till their fancy weaves some 
 
 strain for Earth to keep 
 A charm to rouse up sluggish hearts, and waken 
 
 those that sleep. 
 Earth may have fairer flowers, sweeter song-birds 
 
 I agree, 
 But her heart-strings throb responsive to the 
 
 Music of the Sea !
 
 AT THE END 
 
 1 WOULD like to die in the sunshine on a soft, 
 
 sweet day of spring, 
 Under the leaves of a branching tree, where blithe 
 
 wood-minstrels sing ; 
 To feel the wind upon my face, the mountain 
 
 bree2e I love, 
 And passing from all earthly things, see last God's 
 
 sky above. 
 
 Ah, then from the dim, far distance, an organ's 
 
 solemn peal, 
 The music of some grand old hymn on soul and 
 
 sense to steal ! 
 Some deep, rich Agnus Dei, or a Gloria loud and 
 
 clear, 
 In ringing, sweet, triumphant chords ; or the 
 
 Kyrie, ever dear ! 
 
 And what if the organ-playing be but wind among 
 
 the leaves, 
 Or its restless, rushing motion through the 
 
 grasses' swaying sheaves?
 
 AT THE END 195 
 
 Might not angels sing the Gloria to an organ far 
 
 less sweet ? 
 Methinks my soul, upon such wings, could reach 
 
 the Master's feet, 
 
 Could break the bonds that chain her, and with 
 
 one exultant thrill 
 Arise where God's sweet healing dews eternal 
 
 peace instil. 
 Ay, let me die in the sunshine, with the wind upon 
 
 my face, 
 For the blood within my veins is that of a brav e 
 
 old mountain race. 
 
 No gloomy city walls for them ! Upon the green 
 
 hillside, 
 At morn and eve, they watched the swell of 
 
 Shannon's rolling tide, 
 Or trod with springing steps the heights where 
 
 heart and soul expand, 
 Great Nature's freemen, ever true to Faith and 
 
 Fatherland. 
 
 They fell on many a battle plain, the cool wind on 
 
 their brow ; 
 They gained the wish my own heart craves so 
 
 passionately now. 
 The last breath that they drew on earth was in a 
 
 forest glade, 
 The dark blue hills the latest scene their dying 
 
 eyes surveyed.
 
 196 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 Their prowess never can be mine, nor can I 
 
 emulate 
 The deeds that won them just renown in field, and 
 
 Church, and State ; 
 Bui still their memory fires my blood and nerves 
 
 my woman's heart, 
 Through life's long conflict here below to act the 
 
 nobler part. 
 
 To help the weak against the strong, to battle for 
 
 the right, 
 
 Be that the only war I wage the spiritual fight ; 
 And when 'tis o'er, and angels bid each jarring 
 
 discord cease, 
 May I, like them, in God's free air breathe forth 
 
 my soul in peace !
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE SUNSET 
 
 HE came with a blaze of splendour 
 
 Just as the day was done, 
 Tinging the clouds with a golden light 
 
 Above the setting sun ; 
 Deep'ning the hills dim purple, 
 
 Bright'ning the dark blue sea, 
 Painting the sky with the wondrous hues 
 
 Of the glory that is to be. 
 
 Making the winds obey his call, 
 
 And sweep thro' the heavenly strings 
 Of the harp invisible reaching down 
 
 From God to created things ; 
 The harp that thrills to the weakest sigh, 
 
 Or the sob of a little child, 
 Throbbing with joy to the whispered prayer 
 
 Or the praise of the undefined. 
 
 He came with the rushing of snow-white wings, 
 With the glimmer of golden light, 
 
 And lit up the sombre hues of earth 
 With a glory unearthly bright ;
 
 198 SONGS FROM THE HILLS 
 
 He spoke to the weary, the sorrowful ones, 
 And promised them peace and rest ; 
 
 He lulled the dying to dreamless sleep 
 On the snow of his angel breast. 
 
 And the suffering turned and blessed him, 
 
 Forgetting their life of pain ; 
 The fainting by him were strengthened, 
 
 The hopeless took heart again ; 
 By the pure in spirit he lingered, 
 
 And smiled in their dreamy eyes, 
 And straightway they saw the streets of gold, 
 
 The glories of Paradise. 
 
 He gazed in the stained windows 
 
 Of chapel and ivied tower ; 
 He brought the blessing of Heaven 
 
 To hallow the vesper hour ; 
 He touched the brow of a maiden 
 
 As she knelt at the holy shrine, 
 And her glad blue eyes saw the golden gates 
 
 Of the land of his home divine. 
 
 He bent o'er the little children 
 
 As they knelt at their mother's knee, 
 And their faces shone with the wondrous seal 
 
 Of the Saviour of Galilee ; 
 O'er cottage and ruined castle 
 
 He swept in his radiant flight ; 
 He filled the world with beauty 
 
 In the power of his heavenly might.
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE SUNSET 199 
 
 But not long could his presence linger, 
 
 Already the choir above 
 Were calling him home in their evensong 
 
 To the realm of peace and love ! 
 Shaking his shining wings, he bade 
 
 Farewell to the changing sky, 
 Drawing back to himself the hues 
 
 That on earth were loath to die. 
 
 Soon the world grew sad and silent 
 
 In its twilight robe of gre)* 
 For the Angel of the Sunset 
 
 Had flown from it away ! 
 But one heart prayed on, joy-laden, 
 
 All her soul within her eyes, 
 For her spirit saw the splendour 
 
 Of his home in Paradise. 
 
 And when day his slow departure 
 
 Takes for lands beyond the sea, 
 Gazing westward, she stands watching 
 
 For the glory yet to be ! 
 For the hour when angel pinions, 
 
 Breaking through the sunset bars, 
 On their shield of snow shall bear her 
 
 To the land beyond the stars.
 
 CEAN BAWN DEELISH 
 
 (DEAR FAIR HEAD) 
 
 Cean bawn deelish, nor night nor morning 
 
 Passes, astore, but I see you still, 
 With your deep true eyes like the daylight 
 dawning 
 
 My yearning spirit with joy to fill ! 
 Cean baton deelish, who would not love you ? 
 
 What heart not thrill at your tender gaze ? 
 O may the angels bend low above you, 
 
 And shed about you their glorious rays ! 
 
 Cean bawn deelish, the birds are singing 
 
 Their blithest carols when you are nigh ; 
 A thousand joy-bells in welcome ringing 
 
 With their sweet chorus in gladness vie ! 
 Dearer far than their sweetest music 
 
 \syour quick step to my listening ear ; 
 Night is sunlight, and flowers are blooming 
 
 With fairest blossoms when you appear !
 
 CEAN BAWN DEELISH 201 
 
 Cean bawn deelish, your true heart's beating 
 
 Every pulse of my life-blood thrills, 
 One glad song in its throbs repeating 
 
 Through the peace that its joy instils ; 
 " Love is love ! and the God who gave it 
 
 In deep heart-chalice when pain was sore, 
 For His own dear sake will so prize and save it, 
 
 Ours it shall be for evermore ! " 
 
 Dear fair head, where my fingers wander, 
 
 With loving touch, its thick waves between, 
 Friends may change, but the heart grows fonder 
 
 That God hath given, on yours to lean. 
 Cean dawn deelish^ though all should leave you, 
 
 And troubles darken your toilsome way, 
 One true spirit shall ne'er deceive you, 
 
 One fond heart is your own for aye !
 
 ACROSS SEAS 
 
 ROLL back, O years ! for but one moment's space, 
 Shine out, O moon ! as in Australian skies ! 
 
 Show me once more my darling's holy face, 
 The cloudless lakes of her deep azure eyes ! 
 
 Winds cold and bleak, oh, borrow summer's 
 smile ! 
 
 The scent of wattle sweet as love's own song ! 
 Till in my heart old memories wake the while, 
 
 And spirit forms around me haste to throng ! 
 
 Once more I stand where grand huge mountains 
 
 loom 
 Through semi-darkness, tho' the moon rides 
 
 high, 
 Like sentries posted in the outer gloom 
 
 Where night's dark warriors, waiting, silent lie,
 
 ACROSS SEAS 203 
 
 Once more the breath of wild flowers wet with dew 
 Wraps all my senses in a vague delight, 
 
 And all the buried hopes of youth renew 
 
 Which made life dear to both that summer 
 night ! 
 
 Like perfumed censers in the breezy air 
 The dark boronia's branches wave again ; 
 
 The sassifras's creamy goblets bear 
 
 Their odorous burden of sweet honeyed rain ! 
 
 And, leaping down with swift and sudden bound. 
 
 From fern-clad heights a streamlet finds its 
 
 way, 
 Winding the lichen-covered rocks around 
 
 Now smooth as glass, now wanton in its play. 
 
 Just where the wattles tell their golden beads, 
 Dipping their branches in the waters' flow, 
 
 Hearing responses in the music of the reeds 
 As the soft breezes wave them to and fro 
 
 There, as she stood when first I told my love, 
 Whispering my hopes into her listening ears, 
 
 So stands she now, and, to the skies above, 
 Lifts shining eyes dew-wet with happy tears !
 
 204 SONGS FROM THE HlLJjS 
 
 v ' " . 
 
 And once again her soft hand steals in mine ; 
 
 Love's eloquence lies not in words alone.! 
 O loving eyes ! O summer night divine ( 
 
 Life' is not vain that claims ye for its own ! 
 
 For what has been, has been, and still is now 
 In that its memory lives for evermore. 
 
 Dear heart ! was ever woman loved as thou ? 
 Can naught bring back the happy days of yore ? 
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNF, HANSON <5r Co. 
 London &> Edinburgh
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.
 
 A 000 864 597