IC-NRLF 
 
 3^ 
 
 
 iMi 
 
 
 w$ 
 
 V^TJ 
 
1 * K I I g T 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 

; 
 
 fe 
 
ft VOICE 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 JBU^tt 
 
 BY 
 
 IR/DIBIEIR/r 
 
 WALLELBERDINA, S.A. 
 
 THREE J^ 
 
 HREE LATES. 
 
 ADELAIDE : 
 FREAR^ON & BRO., PRINTERS AND PUBLISHEH^. KING WILLIAM-ST. 
 
 1877. 
 
GIFT 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 HAVING, at different times of my life, so far forgotten myself as to 
 perpetrate rhymes on various subjects, I. like others afflicted with the 
 same incurable malady, became desirous that I should not be the 
 only sufferer, so, inflicted a small edition on my friends, the people 
 of South Australia ; and the critics of the said Province having been 
 very merciful, (I was going to sayjmt and merciful) and the public 
 most easy to please, why, the book sold, and I (being reinforced by a 
 friend who understands punctuation, and is a Severe, though kindly 
 critic) furbished up some of the old poems, and made some new 
 ones, and I now offer the same to be properly cut up by the critics, 
 if it will give them any satisfaction to do so ; and, thereafter to be 
 perused with all sorts of sensations, by more unsophisticated readers 
 who desire to see things described as they are, and to understand 
 what they read. 
 
 As what is pleasant and nutritious pabulum to one. is poison to 
 another, I have ranged from " the sublime to the ridiculous," so as 
 to have a plum for all who investigate my pudding. 
 
 In justice to my critical friend, I must here observe that several 
 pieces occupy pages in this book which he wished left out, but 
 I think, if they draw off the venom from a crabbed critic or two, 
 they will have served a good purpose, and I shall be recompensed 
 
 accordingly. 
 
 R. BRUCE. 
 
 WALLELBERDINA, 
 
 May Gth, 1877. 
 
 M865238 
 
LI8T OF PLATES. 
 
 No. Tage. 
 
 1. THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE LONDON (Frontispiece.) 
 
 2. THE DINGO HUNT 82 
 
 3. BURNING OF THE COSPATRICK 121 
 
THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE LONDON. 
 
 LIST to that capstan song, and with me view 
 
 The gallant steamship, which her active crew 
 
 Haul from the crowded dock, whose gates, thrown wide, 
 
 Permit her egress to the Thames' dark tide. 
 
 Slowly she glides, her ev'ry motion scann'd 
 
 By crowds of gazers gather'd on the land ; 
 
 And by the harbour-master who, alert, 
 
 Can well his brief authority assert, 
 
 And order all the ready tars obey 
 
 His short, sharp mandates, which brook no delay. 
 
 Out to mid-stream the good ship grandly glides ; 
 
 Swings with the tide, and there in safety rides. 
 
 Now, with colossal force, the prison'd steam 
 Drives the vast vessel o'er the deep, dark stream. 
 Proudly she moves, while from the crowded strand, 
 Loud cheers resound for her, and for her band 
 Of emigrants who, from the decks, reply 
 With fainter shouts and kerchiefs waved on high ; 
 And many tear-dimm'd eyes are strain 'd to keep 
 In view some friend, who tempts the stormy deep ; 
 Buoy'd by the hope that, in that southern land, 
 Wealth may repay the labour of his hand ; 
 That smiling fields and new found friends, in part, 
 May fill the void occasional in his heart 
 By this rude sev'rance of those social ties 
 Which men hold lightly ; but perversely prize 
 When they are sunder' d by stern strokes of fate 
 That, all too often, vex this mortal state. 
 
 With steady skill the quartermaster steers 
 
 The ship down stream, amid the crowded tiers 
 
 Of merchantmen, whose lofty hamper shows 
 
 Like a dense forest with incumbent snows 
 
 Piled on its branches, for the wind-worn sails, 
 
 (Bleach'd by exposure to unnumber'd gales), 
 
 Now trimly folded by the gallant tars, 
 
 Gleam, like bright snow-wreaths, on the taper spars : 
 
 These, nicely-balanced on each lofty mast, 
 
 Full oft have bravely borne them to the blast. 
 
 Onwards she steams, while many a vessel's crew 
 Crowd to the sides the stately ship to view), 
 
Her size, her spars, her graceful lines they praise, 
 And tell, with confidence, the tale of days 
 Her trip will occupy ; but not one word 
 Of evil augury is to be heard, 
 For all that skill, and all that wealth can do, 
 Has been expended on the ship they view. 
 Well-found, well-mann'd, and with a master-mind 
 To guide her motions, waves or stormy wind 
 Against her prestige, and her perfect state, 
 Seem to weigh nothing in the scales of fate. 
 But men are blind ; and what may her befall 
 Is known to Him, and Him alone whose call 
 Can wake the hurricane, and with it heap, 
 In awful waves, the bosom of the deep. 
 Then on, brave ship ! and ye who in her sail 
 Trust, in your hearts, the Ruler of the gale. 
 
 Gravesend is gain'd the engines stopp'd and now 
 
 The anchor plunges from her lofty bow ; 
 
 While, from the deck where it in folds has lain, 
 
 Out through the hawse-pipe surges forth the chain ; 
 
 And o'er the waves loud rolls a sullen roar, 
 
 In growling thunder, to the distant shore. 
 
 Now to and fro the busy wherries glide, 
 
 Urged by strong oarsmen, o'er the brackish tide, 
 
 To bring more emigrants, or to convey 
 
 Some from the ship, who, e'er they sail away 
 
 (Perhaps for ever) from their native shore, 
 
 Take this last chance to visit it once more ; 
 
 For very dear, unto a Briton's heart, 
 
 Is England's soil when from it he must part. 
 
 The grimy stokers, down below, once more 
 
 Heap high the fuel, and the red flames roar 
 
 Within the furnaces, and quickly raise 
 
 The toiling giant of these modern days, 
 
 Which, bred from water, by consuming fires 
 
 Within its prison fuming fierce perspires, 
 
 Ready to drive, with vast untiring force, 
 
 The noble vessel on her trackless course. 
 
 Forth from her funnel floats, in volumes vast, 
 
 The rolling smoke upon the chilly blast, 
 
 Which, through the shrouds, with mournful moaning sighs, 
 
 As if sad spirits, with prophetic eyes, 
 
 Lament above that gallant craft, which they 
 
 Presage to Ocean as its destined prey ! 
 
The ship is clear' d the anchor is aweigh, 
 And lingering friends no longer can delay 
 Their last farewell ; yet still, with wish to cheer, 
 They force the smile and check the rising tear ; 
 Exchange long clinging pressure of the hand, 
 Then gain their boats and row towards the land ; 
 Though still their eyes, fix'd on the vessel's deck, 
 Mark the lov'd face, till it becomes a speck 
 Soon lost to view, for 'neath full head of steam, 
 With hissing prow, the LONDON cleaves the stream, 
 Her broad red ensign gleaming darkly through 
 The smoky cloud, which almost hides from view 
 The long black hull ; tho' still distinct and clear, 
 Above it shows her taut and lofty gear. 
 That, too, with distance, disappears, and then 
 Naught, save the smoke, remains to gazer's ken. 
 
 The Nore is reach'd, but night is falling fast ; 
 And, from the Downs, the bitter, biting blast 
 Sweeps thro' the rigging ; while the seamen's eyes 
 Mark the wild scud that 'neath the black clouds flies, 
 Like evil harbinger of angry strife, 
 Which, in the elements, will soon be rife, 
 And warning gives to those who, on the deep, 
 'Midst rocks and shoals, their anxious vigils keep. 
 And so the captain, versed in nature's signs, 
 All thought of progress, for the time, resigns ; 
 At least till Phrebus, o'er the narrow sea 
 Shall shed his light, or winds become more free. 
 
 His will express'd the skilful pilot hears, 
 
 And for safe anchorage, the vessel steers ; 
 
 While toiling engines their vast labours stay, 
 
 And sullen rest, when, with fast failing way, 
 
 The ship sweeps on till, at a given word, 
 
 A rattling roar and heavy plunge are heard, 
 
 And once again amid the waves, which glide 
 
 With fretful splash along her dark strong side, 
 
 She anchor'd lies ; while, in a fleecy cloud, 
 
 The steam pours forth with clamours fierce and loud, 
 
 At once, with liberty, to lose its might, 
 
 And with the mists to swell the dews of night. 
 
 Four bells are struck, the evening's watch is set, 
 While, in the cabin, passengers have met 
 At the long tables, tempting cheer to try, 
 Which in profusion gladdens ev'ry eye ; 
 
8 
 
 For, 'neatli the swinging lamps' soft mellow light, 
 Bright comfort reigns, ami scares the dreary night. 
 
 When now the voyagers retire to rest, 
 
 What novel fancies agitate eacli breast ! 
 
 For all is strange, and, though they feel no fear, 
 
 Strange uncouth noises from outside they hear 
 
 The wind's shrill whistle thro' each pendant block ; 
 
 And, 'gainst the side, the constant splashing shock 
 
 Of dashing waves, which, fast succeeding, roll 
 
 O'er deep, dark channel and o'er sandy shoal ; 
 
 While sounding strokes, upon the ship's large bell, 
 
 The flight of time unto the wakeful tell ; 
 
 And on the deck, above their heads, with slow 
 
 And measured tread, parading to and fro, 
 
 The watch is heard, whose duty 'tis to keep 
 
 A keen look-out upon the trackless deep 
 
 To note huge dusky forms come driving past, 
 
 With spreading sails before the chilly blast. 
 
 Full in their front a lantern, gleaming bright, 
 
 Marks their advance, while phosphorescent light 
 
 Glimmers like gloww r onns 'mid the yeasty Hakes 
 
 Of dancing foam which gather in their wakes. 
 
 Swiftly they dash ! For them the wind is free, 
 
 Their port near gain'd ; the fatal, stormy sea, 
 
 Its rocks and shoals, its fierce tornado blast, 
 
 And wild lee shores are now but dangers past. 
 
 Blithe are their crews, and ready to obey 
 
 The pilot's orders ; for another clay 
 
 Of servitude their slavish duty ends ; 
 
 Then hey ! for home ! for sweethearts, wives, and friends ! 
 
 The Sabbath dawns tlie winter's sun once more, 
 
 With feeble beams, illumines sea and shore ; 
 
 But still, adverse, above the foam-fleck'd waves 
 
 The gale sweeps on, and through the rigging raves. 
 
 Still, overhead, the low scud swiftly flies, 
 
 And all betoken, to a seaman's eyes, 
 
 A time of trouble, with dread clangers fraught, 
 
 To those who needs must leave their friendly port. 
 
 The adverse signs the careful pilot notes, 
 
 And, with regret, another day devotes 
 
 To dull delay ; then, with the new-born year, 
 
 He will to sea his gallant vessel steer. 
 
 But now, witli cable straining to the tide, 
 
 And England's banner floating free and wide 
 
 From her high peak, the London, in her might, 
 
 Anchor'd remains, to all a noble sight. 
 
The hours glide by night falls is past and now, 
 With early dawn, the anchor at her bow 
 Is safely catted ; and, with prow of speed, 
 She dashes on like some high-mettled steed 
 That needs no spur, but, with collected force, 
 Champs his steel bit, and swiftly takes the course ; 
 So, like a thing of life, she seems to glide, 
 And, all majestic, cleaves the flashing tide. 
 Ramsgate and Margate fast recede from view, 
 Then Dover's famous cliff, of chalky hue, 
 (With its green brow, and ancient castle's walls), 
 Which long has braved stern time and gusty squalls. 
 Next, Goodwin Sands, (so oft the greedy grave 
 Of gallant vessels and their seamen brave), 
 Are safely passed ; and, o'er the dark green tide, 
 The Isle of Wight looms grandly in its pride, 
 While glancing sails of vessels homeward bound 
 Hover, like sea birds, o'er the waves around. 
 But soon again the fast-increasing wind 
 With fury raves, and drives the ship to find 
 Shelter in famed St. Helen's Roads till free 
 It should become, and less disturb'd the sea. 
 
 Now Night on ling'ring pinions takes her flight, 
 When with the early, cold grey morning light 
 They weigh the anchor, and the ship, again, 
 Urged by her engines, ploughs the restless main. 
 The curling billows seem to own her sway, 
 While 'neath her bows, engaged in glancing play, 
 The porpoises before her swiftly glide, 
 And, in succession, leap above the tide 
 Close to the prow ; confusedly they dash, 
 The sparkling waters from their bodies flash. 
 Amused, the passengers their antics view, 
 But, to the hardy, weather-beaten crew, 
 Their sprightly gambols tell a certain tale 
 Of rising waves, and fast increasing gale. 
 
 Onward she glides, and soon the Needle Rocks, 
 Which have, for ages, braved the tempests' shocks, 
 Are safely passed, and to the open main 
 The London steams, but to be foiled again ; 
 For, toiling hard, thro' adverse seas she ploughs, 
 Which, in fierce billows, thunder at her bows. 
 Wild wails the wind amongst the rigging high. 
 While with hoarse cries the wheeling seagulls fly 
 Toward the land, where now, with ceaseless roar, 
 The boiling breakers whiten all the shore. 
 
10 
 
 The pilot, warned by all those portents drear. 
 
 Now for Spithead designs the ship to steer. 
 
 Slu slowly wears, then, like a st:irtle<l steed, 
 
 Upon her course tlies with redoubled speed. 
 
 The wind, now free, seems shorn of half its might, 
 
 The erested waves scarce catch her in her flight. 
 
 From side to side her taper spars incline, 
 
 With graceful sweep, toward the Hashing brine ; 
 
 While far astern, in long extended line. 
 
 White seething foam-flakes on the waters shine. 
 
 Swiftly the outlines of the coast appear 
 
 To change in form cliffs rise and disappear ; 
 
 For, urg'd to speed by wedded steam and sail, 
 
 She skims the waves, and near outstrips the gale. 
 
 When now the sunset gun upon the shore 
 Sends pealing forth its booming sullen roar, 
 The London gains the harbour, where the pride 
 Of England's fleets has long adorn'd the tide ; 
 But night advancing spreads her mantle o'er 
 The lofty shipping and the busy shore ; 
 Then soon again the London on the deep 
 Is safely moor'd, and those within her sleep. 
 
 When two dull, cheerless winter-days are fled, 
 And Phoebus' beams again are coldly shed, 
 Forth steams the vessel, bound once more to fight 
 With wind's wild fury, and with ocean's might. 
 Onward all day and through the night she flies, 
 Till morn's grey twilight fills the eastern skies ; 
 Then through the fog, which curling floats around, 
 Dimly appears the mouth of Plymouth Sound ; 
 While a trim cutter, dashing o'er the sea, 
 Comes sweeping out, and brings to on her lee, 
 Where, bounding gaily on the billows high, 
 She seems perfection to a seaman's eye. 
 Her lofty sails gleam in the morning light, 
 Her copper sheathing glitters red and bright ; 
 Broad is her beam, a press of sail to stand 
 When, on a wind, she beats out from the land 
 Knife-like her bows to cleave the heaving brine, 
 Her long, straight floor all steeply doth incline 
 Toward the bends, so that no angle may 
 Gather dead water, and impede her way. 
 Her sharp, clean run allows the parted tide 
 Beneath her quarters easily to glide, 
 And meet again almost devoid of spray, 
 
11 
 
 As when lithe dolphins thro' the ocean play, 
 Urged by broad tails in curving lines they glide, 
 And leave no ripple in the azure tide. 
 
 Now from the davits at her stern behold 
 
 A dingey launch'd, mann'd by two pilots bold. 
 
 Their brawny arms the bending paddles ply ; 
 
 Through driving spray the shallop seems to fly ! 
 
 Now, in the trough now, on the summit green 
 
 Of some huge billow is the dingey seen. 
 
 But ah ! a thrill of pain invades each breast, 
 
 For a vast wave, with overhanging crest, 
 
 Whirls the light boat high on its heaving side, 
 
 Then overturns it in the raging tide ! 
 
 " Lower the lifeboat !" Captain Martin cries. 
 
 Swift to the call each eager seaman flies ! 
 
 With nimble hands the gear they overhaul, 
 
 The sheaves revolve they ease away each fall, 
 
 Then ship their oars of tough and pliant ash, 
 
 The rowlocks rattle, and the oar-blades flash. 
 
 " Pull ! with a will !" the ardent steersman cries, 
 
 The strong ash buckles, and the lifeboat flies ! 
 
 But all too slow to save one seaman brave ; 
 
 The raging sea must now become his grave ! 
 
 Swift through his brain, with speed of lightning, gleam 
 
 The past and present like a vivid dream. 
 
 One cry he gives for mercy on his soul 
 
 One thought to home and then the billows roll, 
 
 With sullen fury, o'er that manly form, 
 
 Which oft has braved them in the fiercest storm ; 
 
 Invading torrents force its spirit's flight, 
 
 And seal its senses in an endless night. 
 
 But on, brave fellows ! if ye yet would save 
 A brother seaman from a wat'ry grave ; 
 For still the waves he battles for his life, 
 Nor yields to fear in the unequal strife. 
 A floating oar tenaciously he grasps ; 
 The brine near chokes him when for breath he gasps, 
 As wave on wave o'er him with fury pour, 
 While in his ears resounds their angry roar. 
 The driving spray stings like a knotted scourge, 
 The greedy waters round him fiercely surge ; 
 Cold's icy fingers grapple at his heart, 
 And Death, above him, seems to poise his dart- 
 Courage ! brave pilot ! for one moment more, 
 With stern resolve, clutch fast that buoyant oar ! 
 
12 
 
 For sec, high on the fast advancing wave 
 The lifeboat Hies to save tliee from tlie grave. 
 Bowman, prepare his sinking form to seize ; 
 Oarsmen, your labours for one moment ease : 
 Steersman, be skilful, and be cool withal, 
 For one false move, e'en yet, would ruin all ; 
 Back-water, hard ! for now you almost gra/e 
 The worn-out man, whom brawny arms soon raise 
 From out the deep, and tenderly bestow 
 Beneath the thwarts, upon the floor below. 
 Then, with faint hope, the other man to save, 
 They row around, and peer into each wave ; 
 But vain their search ; his troubles now are pass'd- 
 His grave, the deep ! his dirge, the howling blast ! 
 
 But when all fruitless would be longer stay, 
 
 The gallant tars reluctantly obey 
 
 Their captain's signal to return on board 
 
 With him, whose life they hardly have restored, 
 
 Whom now they question thus about the dead : 
 
 " Will helpless orphans want for daily bread ? 
 
 " Will loving wife list for his step in vain, 
 
 " Who ne'er shall cheer her longing sight again ? 
 
 " Had he a mother ? or an aged sire ? 
 
 " His name ? his age ? his country ?" they enquire. 
 
 To which the rescued man replies. But now 
 
 The London's side, with long-extended row 
 
 Of anxious faces peering o'er the rail, 
 
 Looms overhead, and screens them from the gale. 
 
 Beneath the falls once more they quickly glide, 
 
 And nimble seamen scramble up the side, 
 
 Save those who hook the tackles, and prepare 
 
 The boat to steady as she mounts in air, 
 
 For steam, resistless, gives the needful strain, 
 
 And to the davits soon she swings again. 
 
 With hollow splash the screw the water spurns, 
 
 Which, white with foam, around her rudder churns ; 
 
 Her hissing prow points in toward the land. 
 
 Which, right before her, parts on either hand, 
 
 Leaving a passage for the sea's salt tide 
 
 To enter in, and 'midst tall hills to hide ; 
 
 While, from the shore, toward the south, appears 
 
 A massive pier, the work of many year- : 
 
 Built of lin^-e stones, ami based on solid rocks, 
 
 It bears, unshaken, Ocejm's fiercest shoeks. 
 
 In clouds of foam the ballled waves recoil, 
 
13 
 
 And, at its base, in whirling eddies boil. 
 High on its end a lighthouse rears its form, 
 To guide the seaman, riving from the storm, 
 To the safe anchorage where often meet, 
 In peaceful times, the ships of England's fleet. 
 And thither now the London holds her way 
 With graceful sweep, and anchors in the bay. 
 
 Swiftly toward the stately steamer's side 
 The restless shore boats skim across the tide, 
 To bring those passengers who view'd with dread 
 The channel passage, with fell dangers spread, 
 When wint'ry gales with sullen fury roar, 
 And breakers thunder on the wild lee shore ; 
 And those who, loth to leave their friends, delay 
 The painful parting to the latest day. 
 
 But see ! " Blue Peter " flies more coals are stored- 
 The ship is clear' d the captain comes on board, 
 And all is ready (fatal Friday pass'd) 
 To brave once more the billow and the blast. 
 
 Now Phoebus setting, his brief duty ends, 
 And dusky night o'er all the scene descends, 
 Blotting the battery upon the height, 
 The busy dockyard, and the beach from sight ; 
 While, in their stead, unnumber'd lights appear 
 Along the shore, and on the shipping near, 
 Whose constant flames like glowing planets shine, 
 Their beams reflecting on the heaving brine ; 
 While, brighter far than other lights around, 
 The sea-wall beacon flashes o'er the Sound, 
 A certain guide unto those seamen's sight 
 Who seek to gain, or leave, the port by night. 
 
 Meanwhile within the London's cabins shine 
 
 The swinging lamps in long extended line 
 
 Above the passengers, now met around 
 
 The social board, with smiling plenty crown'd. 
 
 On snowy cloths the varied dishes steam, 
 
 And sparkling wines in polish'd crystal gleam ; 
 
 Comfort and elegance combine to cheer 
 
 The outward bound, and banish thoughts of fear. 
 
 Onward she steams, and in her rigging raves 
 
 The rising blast ; while huge white-crested waves 
 
 Beat at her bows as if to stop her way 
 
 She ploughs thro' all 'mid show'rs of sparkling spray 
 
14 
 
 Now from the vision of the favour' <1 few 
 
 Kxfiupt from sickness, fast recedes from view 
 
 The cloud-like streak last glimpse of England's slioro, 
 
 That inncli-lov'd land they ne'er may visit more ! 
 
 Anon, 'tis lost, for Ocean's wide expanse, 
 
 Dotted witli sails, is all that meets the glance ; 
 
 While, on the forecastle, the crew begin 
 
 To get the ponderous, crooked anchors in, 
 
 So that the hawsepipes may be plugg'd to stav 
 
 The hurtful ingress of the brine and spray. 
 
 Span 1 spars are lash'd, the litter of the port 
 
 Is quickly clear'd, and ropes are all haul'd taut ; 
 
 Then ends are coil'd upon the pins around, 
 
 And the brave ship is fairly outward bound. 
 
 The day wanes quickly, and the winter's night 
 In turn is banish'd by the God of light, 
 And Sabbath dawns, but not in peace, for o'er 
 The watr'y waste, wind's gusty forces roar ; 
 And, urged by these, huge billows swelling rise, 
 Like foam-crown'd giants, to insult the skies, 
 Or on the ship (which onward hardly ploughs) 
 To fiercely bound, and break above her bows ; 
 Or aft the mainmast, with dread shock and din, 
 O'er futile bulwarks rush impetuous in. 
 
 Woolley and Draper, pious men and true, 
 
 Of sects diverse, but with one end in view, 
 
 Expound the Word to passengers and crew ; 
 
 And, void of bigotry, unite to keep 
 
 The Sabbath sacred on the mighty deep. 
 
 With equal fervour either good man glows, 
 
 And each with love and kindness overflows. 
 
 No paltry envy lurks within their hearts, 
 
 They preach their faith, and act true Christians' parts. 
 
 Another night has slowly passed away, 
 And Monday dawns, a wild and stormy day, 
 For mountain-waves, impell'd by raging blast. 
 Come rushing on before each other fast 
 Against the ship, and o'er her plunging bow, 
 And rolling waist, in heavy masses flow ; 
 Though still the voyagers, secure and warm 
 Within their cabins, do but hear the storm ; 
 And the bold sailors very little reck 
 The wet discomfort of t he slipp'ry deck. 
 
15 
 
 To stop the engines Martin gives command ; 
 And in the rigging swarms a nimble band 
 Of gallant tars to loose each trim-stow'd sail, 
 Which, sheeted home, stands stiffly to the gale. 
 With lessen'd motion soon the ship careers, 
 But from her course a spreading angle steers, 
 While the vex'd passengers, confined below, 
 Suffer from landsmen's ever-dreaded foe. 
 Sick near to death, small pity do they find ; 
 The stewards deaf ! their loving friends inclin'd 
 To leave their patients to imagin'd care, 
 And mount the poop to breathe the bracing air. 
 
 The noontide past, the gale, with lessen'd force, 
 Sweeps o'er the ocean in its viewless course ; 
 And though the waves are monstrous as before, 
 Their foam-crown'd heads break with diminished roar ; 
 While warm, though scatter'd, sunbeams fleeting past, 
 A cheerful glint upon the waters cast ; 
 And Hope, to sanguine bosoms, now foretells 
 A pleasant passage o'er the ocean's swells. 
 
 Now Sol sinks coldly in the cheerless west, 
 
 And darksome Night broods o'er each billow's crest ; 
 
 Yet, like a phantom thing with gleaming eyes, 
 
 The ship glides on beneath the gloomy skies, 
 
 Until, compell'd before Aurora's face, 
 
 The sullen power withdraws with creeping pace ; 
 
 When with fresh fury roars the angry blast, 
 
 And rolling waves, from ocean's surface cast 
 
 Their mighty forms, whence flies, like winter rain, 
 
 The biting spray across the troubled main. 
 
 Yet onward still, with black and gleaming bows, 
 
 The gallant London thro' their masses ploughs, 
 
 Whose foam-crown'd crests, like headlong torrents, dash 
 
 Upon her deck with never ceasing splash, 
 
 Then, through the scuppers, forceful spout again, 
 
 In briny torrents, to the parent main. 
 
 But now a billow, of gigantic size, 
 Full on the ship like some huge monster flies, 
 And, all resistless, fiercely rends away 
 A buoyant lifeboat, to its might a prey, 
 This, with sad hearts the tempest-beaten crew 
 Watch, till astern it disappears from view. 
 But soon, alas, fresh dangers, thick and fast, 
 Come crowding on, each greater than the last ; 
 
16 
 
 For as il two bolls" proclaim Time's steady light, 
 Tlu 1 ship is hoisted to a giddy height ; 
 Then headlong down into the trough she dives. 
 And in the sea her flying-jibboom drives. 
 Above her liead tlie whirling waters Hy. 
 While, high in air, her stern invades the sky. 
 As stricken whale, with tail erected, darts 
 To 'scape its foes, and ease its burning smarts 
 (Down, down it dives ! then seeks again the air. 
 Death-dealing lance-thrusts helplessly to bear), 
 So that vast vessel, in that awful gale, 
 Impetuous plunges, and the boldest quail ; 
 For with a roar the raging Hood assails 
 Her buried head, and tears away its sails ; 
 Masts, yards, and cordage in one ruin lie 
 About the deck, or down to leeward fly ; 
 Though still aloft, the huge fore-topmast swings 
 Held by its rigging, while beside it hangs, 
 The wrench'd-oif royalmast, which joins the foe, 
 Sweeps with the ship, and deals out blow on blow. 
 The shatter'd jibl'oom, shorn of taper sail, 
 Drags in the water and assists the gale, 
 While the main-royalmast is also torn 
 From its high stand, and of its hamper shorn. 
 Thus, by one stroke of Ocean's angry tide, 
 The ship drives on despoil'd of half her pride. 
 
 But, all undaunted, strive her hardy crew 
 The trailing wreckage from the ship to hew ; 
 Yet, fruitlessly, unninnber'd strokes they try, 
 From iron ropes their axes glancing fly ; 
 For like tough canes that bow before the blast 
 To rise directly its full force has pass'd, 
 They hang in loops, and, swinging to and fro, 
 Kvade the edge, and disappoint each blow ; 
 While wave on wave, upon her cumber'd deck, 
 Incessant pour, and seem to claim the wreck ; 
 With rage increasing raves the awful storm 
 As night descends, and veils each seaman's form. 
 
 Slowly drag on the dreary hours of night, 
 And those below begin to yield to fright ; 
 And prayers arise from many who, till now, 
 Had quite forgot their stubborn knees to bow. 
 For, though the lamps still brightly burn within, 
 Loudly resounds the temper's dreadful din ; 
 While to and fro upon the slipp'rv deck 
 
17 
 
 The waters dash, suggesting thoughts of wreck 
 Of black despair of painful death and then 
 Of prayer to God for thus it is with men ! 
 They eat, they drink, they sleep while all is well, 
 Of heaven they think not, and they fear not hell ! 
 But danger comes destruction hovers near 
 Then, grov'ling low, they rave a useless prayer ! 
 
 But not so all ; some trustful spirits now, 
 With steady faith, before their Maker bow. 
 Or strive to cheer the sinking hearts of those 
 Whose terror points imnumber'd coming woes ; 
 Whose ears drink in and magnify each sound ; 
 Who see destruction hov'ring all around ; 
 In vain regret, who moaning pass the night, 
 And, all-impatient, wait for morning light. 
 
 Meanwhile the captain, true as temper'd steel, 
 Seeks not repose, but, station'd at the wheel, 
 Scans his ship's course, exposed to every blast 
 That sweeps the sea, and bows each groaning mast. 
 Out in the darkness, with keen, anxious sight, 
 He looks for squalls of more than common might, 
 Or giant seas which, high above the rest, 
 Come rolling down with fiercely foaming crest ; 
 Marks with what force they fall upon the deck, 
 Cumber'd with casks, with coals, and broken wreck ; 
 And, in his mind, weighs all the chances o'er 
 Of ever reaching far Australia's shore. 
 Shall he keep on, and dare the awful force 
 Of wind and wave which now oppose his course ? 
 Or shall he turn and seek to make his way 
 Back to the port where she so lately lay, 
 There to repair all damages, and wait 
 Till winds and waves their fury should abate ? 
 
 To this last view his notions most incline ; 
 
 He calls brave Harris, that he may combine 
 
 The judgment of his second with his own ; 
 
 And thus begins, with low and anxious tone : 
 
 " You see the state our noble craft is in ; 
 
 " You hear the tempest's fast increasing din ; 
 
 " You see those seas which, with increasing roar, 
 
 " Upon our decks their mighty volumes pour ; 
 
 " Say, then, shall we the ocean still engage, 
 
 " And struggle on against its awful rage ? 
 
 " Or turn again, and, homeward-bound once more, 
 
18 
 
 " Seek some safe harbour by Old Kn.irland's shore, 
 u Where OUT lost spars may be with speed replace.!, 
 And all the damage of the storm effaced ?" 
 
 Tlie careful seaman in his mind revoh 
 Each chance and danger either course involves, 
 Which, quickly done, he with his chief agrees 
 That it were wise to leave the angry seas 
 For some safe port, where they might renovate 
 Their crippled spars, and for fair weather wait. 
 But, e'er they try to wear the ship, they go 
 To scan the chart, and work her course, below, 
 With nicest care her speed for days now past 
 Likewise her course, and leeway from it lost. 
 This figured up, and marked upon the map, 
 They both consider (maugre ires]) mishap) 
 In Plymouth Sound, before two days are o'er, 
 Their noble craft shall safely ride once more. 
 
 Now, as " six bells " send forth their measured sound 
 
 Into the tumult rioting around, 
 
 To raise full steam the captain gives command. 
 
 The sooty stokers, in a willing band, 
 
 With iron rakes turn the caked cinders o'er, 
 
 And useless refuse from each furnace draAv, 
 
 Then heap fresh coals, until the blinding heat 
 
 Flies fiercely forth, and urges swift retreat. 
 
 The doors are slamm'd upon the rising blaze, 
 
 Which, with loud crackle, on the fuel plays ; 
 
 High mounts the steam, and, with Titanic sway, 
 
 Propels the London on her storm-vex'd way. 
 
 Sharply the helmsmen whirl the polish'd wheel ; 
 The ship sweeps round with heavy pitch and reel ; 
 While, flutt'ring fiercely in the raging blast, 
 Her mizen-staysails rise from mast to mast. 
 Loud o'er the din the seamen's cries resound, 
 As the huge yards come sweeping slowly round 
 To meet the wind, which, from the icy north, 
 Rushes along, terrific in its wrath, 
 Across her path, as once more, bound for home, 
 The vessel staggers in a sea of foam. 
 
 Now, o'er the waves which heap the troubled main, 
 Tin- young day dawns in sullen gloom again ; 
 While the fierce gale, with still increasing wrath, 
 A --ails the London on her fated path. 
 
19 
 
 But though her hamper is in partial wreck, 
 And waves enormous roll upon her deck, 
 Her hull, yet proof against the forceful tide, 
 Contains no water in its dark inside. 
 Still unimpair'd, and shining to the view, 
 Her willing engines swiftly whirl the screw ; 
 Onward she drives, while in her rigging swarm 
 The nimble seamen, careless of the storm, 
 With axe and knife intent to cut away 
 All useless wreck, or hamper slack to stay. 
 Seamen and officers alike engage 
 To make all snug despite the tempest's rage ; 
 Then set the staysails to each lofty mast, 
 Now made secure to stand against the blast. 
 
 Meanwhile, o'erhead, the driving clouds divide, 
 
 And scatter'd sunbeams gild the steamer's side ; 
 
 While on the poop, with instrument in hand, 
 
 The gallant Harris and his chieftain stand, 
 
 And through stain'd lenses note the sun's slow race, 
 
 Till of his course he gains the highest place, 
 
 Which makes the noon ; they tell the time and go 
 
 Down the companion to the deck below 
 
 To certify their place upon the deep, 
 
 And work the course their vessel now must keep, 
 
 To gain their port, full seventy leagues away ; 
 
 For, labouring in Biscay's dreaded bay, 
 
 The London tosses in a cloud of spray. 
 
 As evening falls the wind, increasing still, 
 Howls, as if urged by fell demoniac will ! 
 While awful waves their baleful forms uprear, 
 And like dread Genii of the storm appear, 
 From out the gloom, in never ceasing throng, 
 They seem to glide, then, ruthless, rush along 
 Toward the ship, which steering N.N. East, 
 Still struggles on like some poor hunted beast. 
 Which, spent with toil, betakes it to the flood, 
 When hounds dash after, thirsting for its blood : 
 Swimming around they glory in its pangs, 
 And rend its flesh with sharp, white, tearing fangs. 
 So, girt with waves which rave in wrath around, 
 The ship drives on, to sure destruction bound. 
 
 And now black Night its darkest robe extends 
 
 O'er all the scene, and sky with ocean blends 
 
 In one dread chaos, whence, with wild shrill wail, 
 
20 
 
 The squalls terrific still the ship assail, 
 
 Which, mitlcr staysails, wallows in the sea. 
 
 While fear-struck passengers how low the knee. 
 
 And mutter prayers, the while they scarcely know 
 
 What words they are which from their white lips flow. 
 
 But ] lions Draper, in his trumpet tones, 
 
 l>iils them to cease their troubled tears and moans, 
 
 Exhorting all in humble faith to llv 
 
 To Him who looks Avith ever-watchful eve 
 
 Upon His servants, and, with mighty arm, 
 
 Can, if He will it, save from every harm. 
 
 Thus they below ; while overhead the crew, 
 With doubts increasing, their position view : 
 For now two staysails, with a deaden'd roar, 
 Burst from their bolt-ropes, and are seen no more. 
 In whirling shreds to leeward they are blown ; 
 The masts relieved, reel backward with a groan ; 
 While on her deck the raging billows beat, 
 And the drench'd crew to shelter'd nooks retreat 
 To 'scape the bitter blast and waves, which fly 
 O'er even r part, and leave no corner dry. 
 
 But now a billow, vaster than the rest, 
 
 With curling head, and fiercely foaming crest, 
 
 Swoops on two boats stow'd on the starboard side, 
 
 And in small fragments strews them on the tide. 
 
 A cutter that, a buoyant lifeboat this, 
 
 Their loss adds largely to the great distress. 
 
 But for regret no time the storm allows, 
 
 Which ev'ry instant to fresh fury grows, 
 
 Till at " two bells," in the first watch of night, 
 
 The hurricane is nearly at its height ; 
 
 For in vast chasms is the ocean riven, 
 
 And to their depths the hapless ship is driven, 
 
 Involv'd in foam which gleams with ghastly light, 
 
 And swells the horror of the awful night ; 
 
 Then upward heav'd, upon stupendous wave, 
 
 As if ejected from a yawning grave, 
 
 She meets the blast that, with a deaf ning roar, 
 
 Hends all her sails, and seems to howl for more. 
 
 Meanwhile brave Martin, to his duty true, 
 With great example animates the crew. 
 Now here now then his manly accents sound 
 O'er strife of elements which roar around ; 
 And, when the sails are from the vessel torn, 
 
21 
 
 By telegraph his will below is borne 
 
 To loose the might of fuming steam again, 
 
 And with its aid to stem the wind-scourg'd main. 
 
 Onwards she drives, but soon remorseless fate 
 
 Hurls fresh disasters of a crushing weight 
 
 On the doom'd ship which, girt with terrors round, 
 
 Battles the billows of the vast profound. 
 
 For as five strokes upon the ship's large bell 
 
 The march of time proclaim with measured swell, 
 
 O'er the port gangway, with prodigious weight, 
 
 A huge wave falls, and seals the vessel's fate ! 
 
 For thro' the engine hatch of teak and brass, 
 
 With iron gratings o'er its thick plate glass, 
 
 The waters burst with terrifying crash, 
 
 And thro' the breech resistless torrents dash, 
 
 Hurling two seaman to the lower deck, 
 
 Where waves, usurping, herald coming wreck ; 
 
 While, of the late strong hatch, now naught remains 
 
 Save splinter'd wood, bent bars, and shatter'd panes ! 
 
 For, as an avalanche, down Alpine steeps 
 
 From icy glacier, with fell fury sweeps, 
 
 Trees, rocks, and chalets, in one ruin hurl'd, 
 
 Are borne before it to the lower world, 
 
 Grim desolation marks it as it flies, 
 
 And sullen thunders shake the earth and skies, 
 
 So, with like fury, fell that sea on board, 
 
 Burst in the hatch, and thro' the chasm roar'd. 
 
 Swift to the place the mate and captain fly, 
 And shout for help the ready crew reply. 
 With spars and sails the torrent they would stay ! 
 The sea sweeps each impediment away ! 
 Tarpaulins, blankets, mattrasses they bring, 
 And booms and ladders o'er the opening fling ! 
 Yet 'tis in vain such barricades they heap, 
 For, all implacable, the raging deep 
 Its billows hurls, as if in scorn of those 
 Poor puny mortals who its might oppose. 
 They strive in vain ! the waters bear away 
 Their frail devices to retard its way. 
 Men, sails, and spars it dashes to and fro, 
 And, thro' the rift, descends in tons below. 
 
 Brave Jones and Greenhill by their engines stand, 
 While stokers huddle in a frighten'd band, 
 Watching the waters, with dilated eyes, 
 
As the cold waves around their bodies rise ; 
 While, in their ears, resounds the hollow roar 
 Of mighty seas which down the hatchway pour. 
 
 Meanwhile, on deck, brave Martin and his crew 
 
 Do all that merely mortal men can do. 
 
 Some work the pumps the passengers assist ; 
 
 Heroic Brooke and Woolley swell the list ; 
 
 With soft white hands, but with undaunted hearts, 
 
 Through that dread night they act strong heroes' parts, 
 
 And, by example, greatly animate 
 
 The faint of heart to fight against the fate 
 
 That clamours for them from the howling gale, 
 
 And from each sea which dashes o'er the rail. 
 
 Now, as the hours to midnight near approach, 
 The rising waters on the fires encroach. 
 First hiss the bars ; and, in a moment more, 
 The vanquish'd flames expire with splutt'ring roar. 
 Thick, noisome vapours all below assail, 
 And gallant Greenhill must convey the tale, 
 Fraught with distress, to his commander, who, 
 Calm and collected, animates the crew 
 To vast exertions, when their worn-out frames, 
 And sinking hearts for rest put forth their claims. 
 True to his trust he labours here and there, 
 All things directs, and battles with despair ! 
 
 With unmov'd face heroic Martin hears 
 
 The dreadful news, that Greenhill to him bears ; 
 
 Of fires put out of engines which no more 
 
 Will pump the ship, or urge her to the shore. 
 
 He thinks a moment ; then, unto his band 
 
 Of British seamen, give the loud command 
 
 To loose the huge maintopsail ; at the word 
 
 That splendid crew, by danger undeterr'd, 
 
 Scale the bleak rigging and, despite the gale, 
 
 Undo the buntlines, and set free the sail, 
 
 Which flutters fiercely in the passing squall, 
 
 As brawny arms upon its halyard haul. 
 
 Up the smooth mast the huge yard slowly creeps 
 
 Hoarse is the cry that time for haulage keeps ; 
 
 But soon the rope yields nothing to the hands, 
 
 And, to the blast, the sail like armour stands. 
 
 It stands not long, for, with a dread report 
 
 As when a shell, exploding in a fort, 
 
 Ignites the magazine, and hurls on high 
 
23 
 
 The blazing ruinB to the startled sky 
 It bursts in twain ! then, in long ragged shreds, 
 Streams on the gale above the seamen's heads, 
 Who, for an instant, their endeavours stay, 
 And, breathless, watch it as it flies away 
 Into the darkness of the murky night ; 
 Then turn, once more, to wage unequal fight 
 With raging ocean, which but mocks their pain, 
 And seems to rave and surge with deep disdain. 
 Well may the captain say, amidst his cares, 
 " My gallant fellows, we may say our prayers !" 
 For, through the hatchway, wave succeeding wave 
 Resistless pours, and sinks her in her grave. 
 
 'Tis twelve o'clock of night the solemn noon 
 And all who can meet in the large saloon 
 To pray to Him who now alone hath power 
 To show them mercy in this dreadful hour, 
 And save their lives, if such should be His will, 
 For, to the waves, He sayeth, " Peace, be still !" 
 And they obey Him ; who of old hath said, 
 " Have faith in Me, and be ye not afraid." 
 Also to those, by pain and grief oppress'd, 
 " Come unto Me, and I will give you rest." 
 To Him they pray ; while Draper's accents sound 
 Like words of life to those who kneel around. 
 Strong in his faith, by trouble undismay'd, 
 He sees, past Death, bright Paradise display'd, 
 With gates wide open to receive the band 
 He fain would pilot to that better land, 
 Where death is not, and where no pain or strife 
 Can enter in to mar Eternal Life. 
 
 Oh ! faith most wonderful ! to thee is given 
 To lift from terror to glad thoughts of heaven 
 The souls of men ; though dreadful death be near, 
 They who the words of consolation hear, 
 Forget their anguish of despair, and find 
 A peaceful calm pervading every mind. 
 Scales seem to fall from off their eyes they see 
 A parted passage through the raging sea 
 To peace for ever ! now, no more they hear 
 The ocean's roar with sickly qualms of fear, 
 But calmly wait their near approaching fate, 
 And humbly hope a bright eternal state. 
 
 These thus employed ; upon the sea-drench'd deck, 
 The seamen toil to save the sinking wreck. 
 
24 
 
 Nerv'd by despair they work the pumps in vain, 
 
 The inside waters on them swiftly gain. 
 
 Still, on the hatchway, gallant fellows strive 
 
 To fasten sails, which briny torrents drive 
 
 Down through the aperture, while to and fro 
 
 Themselves are driven by the ebb and flow 
 
 Of the vast seas, which breaking o'er the rail, 
 
 Relentlessly the weary men assail. 
 
 So shaggy wolves, on Russia's dreary plains, 
 
 Made bold and fierce by hunger's gnawing pains, 
 
 With dismal howls some traveller attack ; 
 
 His madden'd horses foam along the track ; 
 
 In vain the driver his red scourge applies, 
 
 Death in his soul, and horror in his eyes, 
 
 They can no more, for, closing all around, 
 
 The brutes dash in and drag them to the ground ; 
 
 Then awful cries of agony ascend, 
 
 As countless fangs the hapless victims rend ; 
 
 Wolves heaped on wolves above their bodies rise, 
 
 And fiercely wrangle for the bloody prize ! 
 
 So raging waves around the London rave, 
 
 To wreck destruction on her seamen brave. 
 
 Now, from the noontide of that fatal night, 
 
 Into the past, four hours have wing'd their flight, 
 
 When a huge sea, with overwhelming force, 
 
 Thro' the poop windows takes its ruthless course, 
 
 Driving the shutters of the dead lights back, 
 
 And spreading ruin on its onward track. 
 
 Tons of salt water thro' the cabins flow, 
 
 And penetrate unto the decks below, 
 
 Flooding the place where Draper still consoles, 
 
 And preaches mercy to repentant souls. 
 
 " Father," he prays, " may those who round me bow 
 
 " In deed and truth become converted now, 
 
 " And humbly bend beneath Thy chastening rod, 
 
 " Nor dread Thy call, ' prepare to meet thy God !' 
 
 " Faith over fear the victory has won, 
 
 " Father,' we answer ' Lord, Thy will be done !' " 
 
 Meanwnile the carpenter, the ports to bar, 
 Shores up the shutters with a strong spare spar, 
 The which, sustain'd by main deck post, may foil 
 The ocean's fury for a little while. 
 A brief success ! for, in the engine room, 
 The waters rise, and hurry on her doom. 
 Deeper she sinks, and soon the sea once more 
 
25 
 
 Drives in the ports, despite the strutting shore ; 
 Then hurls its billows, wave on wave, within, 
 With tenfold fury, and with splashing din. 
 
 But as brave soldiers, in a fortress pent, 
 
 Beset by foes upon their death intent, 
 
 Still, with stern valour, fight for fame and life, 
 
 And falter not in the ensanguin'd strife ; 
 
 80, with like brave bravery, the seamen toil 
 
 Amid the waves which round them surge and boil ; 
 
 Prompt to obey their officers' commands, 
 
 They struggle on in two unflinching bands. 
 
 One, with the captain, strives, with efforts vast, 
 
 To bar the hatch, courageous to the last ; 
 
 But all their struggles are of no avail, 
 
 Their best devices, and their labours fail. 
 
 For the dread cohorts of the ocean leap 
 
 Into the hold, to swell the volumes deep 
 
 Of fatal floods, which in it darkly flow, 
 
 Forcing their prey to wreck-strewn shades below ; 
 
 And the brave captain owns with bitter pain 
 
 No cheering hope can in his breast remain. 
 
 But still he cries (when he regains the deck) 
 
 To those who would the deadly leakage check, 
 
 " Put down your buckets, men, and strive, with me, 
 
 " To bar the hatchway to the raging sea ; 
 
 " Which, could we do, perhaps we yet may save 
 
 " Ourselves and vessel from an ocean's grave." 
 
 They answer to his call ! again ! again ! 
 
 Unheeding hunger, weariness, and pain. 
 
 With valiant hearts strive hard, but strive in vain ; 
 
 For the wild waves their labours all confound, 
 
 Beating their bodies on the wreck around ; 
 
 Death, for his victims, with impatience craves, 
 
 Shrieks in the blast, and rides the rolling waves. 
 
 Thus they. The others work the pumps and bale, 
 
 With half-nude forms exposed to biting gale. 
 
 Woolley and Wilson, Grant, and others toil 
 
 To wrest from ocean its expected spoil. 
 
 There too is Brooke, who, on the mimic stage, 
 
 Has oft affected Hope, Fear, Joy, and Rage ; 
 
 But now, all fearless on the stage of life, 
 
 No weakness shows amid the tempest's strife 
 
 Which round him roars. He sees huge waves descend 
 
 Upon the ship, as if at once to end 
 
26 
 
 The painful struggle ; sees the sails all torn 
 In ragged shreds, ami on the tempest home ; 
 Sees fellow-shipmates driven o'er the side 
 To meet their death beneath the cruel tide ; 
 And knows the ship (now brimful of her foe) 
 May, any instant, to the bottom go ; 
 Yet, with brave heart, and mighty, iron will, 
 Remains undaunted and collected still. 
 
 With naked feet and head to tempest bare, 
 
 He seems all present, aiding here and there ; 
 
 Now from the cabin striving hard to bale 
 
 The rising floods which threat its inmates pale ; 
 
 Then at the pumps is he a host indeed 
 
 To give relief to those who rest most need. 
 
 He seeks no rest, but still toils bravely on, 
 
 Till all may see that no more can be done ; 
 
 Then stands aside ; and soon his musing brain 
 
 Rolls back the tide of his past life again ; 
 
 His home, his friends, his joys and troubles past, 
 
 Throng to its call, before him thick and fast ; 
 
 His happy childhood, his maturer years, 
 
 Triumphs reverses mingled hopes and fears 
 
 By turns excite th' emotions of his heart, 
 
 But, from his eyes, can cause no tears to start. 
 
 So hours drag on ; and still he silent stands, 
 
 His thoughtful visage resting on his hands, 
 
 As, leaning o'er the half companion door, 
 
 He views the scene, and hears the tempest roar, 
 
 Calmly awaiting till his soul shall be, 
 
 By rushing waters, from his frame set free ; 
 
 And in his last grand character appears 
 
 A man superior to human fears ! 
 
 Then ye, who honour valour good and true, 
 
 Weep, as ye bid heroic Brooke adieu ! 
 
 Now, once again, unto their longing eyes, 
 The dawn gleams coldly from the eastern skies, 
 But brings no comfort, on its wings of light, 
 To scare the terrors of the bygone night. 
 For, like foul vultures flocking to the slain 
 < )n fatal desert or ensanguin'd plain, 
 Dangers unnumber'd harpy-wing' d appear. 
 Dread harbingers of dissolution near ; 
 And hover round, the last faint hope to scare 
 From human hearts, fast yielding to despair. 
 For in the sea, now level with the deck. 
 
27 
 
 Labours the ship, a helpless, sinking wreck ; 
 Waves rolling o'er her in their ruthless course, 
 As, in a battle, rush the charging horse 1 
 Full of dark seething brine ; she scarcely floats ; 
 And now 'tis death ! or rescue by the boats ! 
 
 Vain hope, indeed ! for four alone remain, 
 The rest are swallow'd in the raging main ; 
 But these are plugg'd, and soon a scanty load 
 Of bread and water in their depths bestow'd. 
 Then, first the starboard pinnace they design 
 To heave aloft, and to the sea consign. 
 This, built of iron, will with safety bear 
 Full fifty men, if launch'd with skill and care. 
 Six seamen enter as the rail she leaves, 
 And swings above the angry leaping waves, 
 Towards which she glides, but far too swiftly, for 
 The foaming billows o'er the gunwale pour ; 
 Headlong she dives, and, vanishing from view, 
 Leaves in the water her unlucky crew ; 
 But waves, o'er-ravenous, disgorge the men, 
 Bruis'd, and half-drown'd, upon the deck again, 
 Which, scarcely safer than the greedy wave, 
 Is still a respite from a wat'ry grave. 
 
 Now the spent crew and passengers refrain 
 From painful toils they feel to be in vain, 
 And to the chief saloon at once descend, 
 As if in company their lives to end. 
 Then the brave captain, with a solemn air, 
 Bids them at once for painful death prepare ; 
 The awful warning they in silence hear, 
 For no loud outcries testify their fear ; 
 But to the place where Draper prays aloud 
 They move, a pallid, but collected crowd. 
 
 Here, hapless mothers o'er their offspring weep, 
 
 So soon to perish in the raging deep ! 
 
 While they, with piteous accents, beg to know 
 
 Why yield their parents to such hopeless woe ? 
 
 There, men and women, crouching low, are seen 
 
 To search their Bibles, as if thence to glean 
 
 Assuring hope from passages, wherein 
 
 Pardon is promised to repented sin. 
 
 But when brave Martin presently appears, 
 
 All eyes throw on him, thro' their welling tears, 
 
 Enquiring glances ; he at once replies 
 
28 
 
 To that mute question from imploring eves. 
 
 " Ladies, no hope remains for us I tear ; 
 
 " Nought save a miracle can interfere 
 
 " To save our lives !" A voice is heard to say 
 
 (It is the preacher's), " Come then, let us pray." 
 
 And solemnly to hcav'n ascends once more 
 
 The voice of prayer amidst the tempest's roar. 
 
 The hours drag on their weary, leaden flight, 
 
 And Sol once more attains his midday height ; 
 
 Still, in the ship, the deadly fluid gains, 
 
 And the wild sea is level with her chains ; 
 
 Round her vast stern the greedy waters swirl, 
 
 And mighty billows o'er her bulwarks curl, 
 
 When mate and captain once more make a stand, 
 
 And seek to animate a gallant band 
 
 Of mariners, to make one effort more 
 
 To launch a boat wherein to gain the shore. 
 
 King, Grant, and Daniels aid with willing hands, 
 
 And brave young Angel by his engine stands,* 
 
 Ready to hoist her o'er the vessel's side, 
 
 And drop her lightly on the seething tide. 
 
 Warn'd by mishap, three men alone descend 
 
 Within the boat ; from off the side to fend 
 
 Their small frail ark, which seems as if 'twould be 
 
 At once engulph'd within the raging sea. 
 
 But, like a cork upon the ocean cast, 
 
 (Her sides too low to catch the mighty blast), 
 
 She rises buoyantly, on billows high, 
 
 From horrid depths, as if to scale the sky. 
 
 But so unsafe she seems that very few 
 
 Seek to augment the number of her crew ; 
 
 But, in pale groups, cling on the sca-lash'd deck, 
 
 And wait destruction with the sinking wreck. 
 
 To Greenhill, now, brave Martin gives command 
 To leave the ship, and head the hardy band ; 
 Who, nimbly springing o'er a chasm wide, 
 Gains the light cutter from the vessel's side. 
 An awful leap ! but desperation lends 
 A stern resolve, that far mere strength transcends. 
 For nerves and sinews, in the human kind, 
 Are urg'd and govern'd by the mighty mind. 
 " Go," Martin says, " the cutter is //<!/// care. 
 " And, though not likely, mayjn safety bcar^ 
 " You through tin- t-iiipr<t : as lor me. I >tay 
 
 * Donkey-engine on deck. 
 
29 
 
 " My evil fortune's hard demands to pay ; 
 " For, with my passengers, in death I'll sloop 
 " Far in the soundings of the mighty deep !" 
 
 Meanwhile, below, the pious Draper still 
 Exhorts compliance witli the Heavenly will. 
 " Prepare," he cries, " prepare at once to meet 
 " The Great Creator at the Judgment Seat ! 
 " Your hour is near. Repent ! repent ! before 
 " The fatal floods annihilation pour 
 " In wrath upon you ! There is now no hope, 
 " Saith our good captain, with the storm to cope. 
 " Yet, to the penitent, the hope remains 
 " Of life, for ever, where Jehovah reigns !" 
 
 The faithful wife beside her husband stands 
 
 With quiet eyes, and meekly folded hands. 
 
 Buoy'd by her faith she sees the waves encroach, 
 
 And falters not at dreadful Death's approach ; 
 
 But, with true kindness in her woman's heart, 
 
 Can feel for those who in the boat depart. 
 
 " Take this," she says unto a seaman bold, 
 
 (And gives her rug) " 'twill shield you from the cold." 
 
 And when he urges, " Madam you will need 
 
 " It for yourself," she answers, " Take no heed 
 
 " Or care for me ; a few short moments more, 
 
 " And all my pain and trouble will be o'er." 
 
 Oh, noble woman ! pious, good, and true ! 
 
 Death must be blind to seize on such as you ! 
 
 Now earthly numbers all too meanly sound 
 
 The praise of him who, by his duty bound, 
 
 Stands with his wife and children, hand in hand, 
 
 A loving, lovely, undivided band ! 
 
 He, though the water, on the leeward side, 
 
 Rolls in a deep and fast increasing tide, 
 
 Firmly withstands the efforts which a friend 
 
 With words persuasive makes, his soul to bend. 
 
 " No !" he replies, when urged the boat to gain, 
 
 " My promise made, with these I will remain. 
 
 " Words cannot shake the purpose of my heart ; 
 
 " For, as thro' life, in death we will not part ! 
 
 " But help the children to this side with me, 
 
 " Where, for a time, the greedy rushing sea 
 
 " Cannot assail them. Now give me your hand 
 
 " Good-bye, dear Jack ! and should you reach the land, 
 
 " Seek out my friends, and tell them Hickman died 
 
 " With a clear conscience by his lov'd one's side." 
 
30 
 
 No more is said, for Wilson hastes away. 
 
 ( MMU'S strongest instinct eager to obey !) 
 
 And liails tin 1 boat : but no\v its crew declare 
 
 That it another passenger will bear. 
 
 " Go, bring a lady," is the seaman's cry, 
 
 And Wilson stays not to give back reply, 
 
 Hut, in wild baste, seeks eagerly in vain 
 
 For one, alas ! he ne'er will see again. 
 
 And, as the moments all too swiftly fly, 
 
 He asks a maiden, who is standing nigh, 
 
 Will she for life cast in with them her lot ?" 
 
 She looks compliance, though she answers not. 
 
 With willing arm he bears her to the rail, 
 
 When, horror struck, she shrinks from sea and gale, 
 
 And cries, " Oh, no ! I cannot make that leap." 
 
 This seals her fate ; for Wilson o'er the deep 
 
 Springs to the boat, and leaves her to the fate 
 
 She now, perforce, must with the others wait. 
 
 But Mrs. Owen would attempt to save 
 
 Herself and infant from an ocean grave 
 
 On board the cutter. This brave Martin hears 
 
 Her tell young Edwards ; and (mov'd e'en to tears) 
 
 He begs she will not needlessly expose 
 
 Herself and infant to protracted woes. 
 
 No chance, he owns, his vessel has to float, 
 
 But drunken men may be on board the boat, 
 
 Who, all unruly, would soon cause to fill 
 
 The craft, converted into a screaming hell ! 
 
 She listens sadly to his warning voice, 
 
 And with the ship remains her mournful choice. 
 
 Now the young middy looks with longing eyes, 
 
 And for admission to the crew applies. 
 
 They answer, " Yes ;" he leaps the chasm o'er, 
 
 And the foil'd billows for him vainly roar. 
 
 Then Jones, the last man from the fated bark, 
 
 Bounds from her bulwarks to the tossing ark. 
 
 " Come ! captain, come !" the eager seamen call ; 
 
 But death approaching cannot him appal ; 
 
 For, to their offers, he replies, " No ! no ! 
 
 " Here, at my )><>st, down with the ship I'll go ! 
 
 " That none, with truth, shall, in the future, say 
 
 " He, scared by danger, did his trust betray ! 
 
 " My passengers, my all, remain, and 1, 
 
 " A British seaman, at my post will die ! 
 
 Your course i< Xor.-Xor.-Kast to Ilrest. and, here 
 
31 
 
 " Catcli you this compass, by its aid to steer, 
 
 " With God's good blessing, safely to the land. 
 
 " Good-bye ! Good-bye !" Then, waving high his hand, 
 
 A last farewell he signals to the band ; 
 
 And on his ship, now level with the sea, 
 
 Calmly awaits till all engulph'd shall be. 
 
 But, as the boat deserts the sinking wreck, 
 
 A woman's voice comes shrieking from her deck ; 
 
 And o'er its rail a livid face appears, 
 
 The starting eyes exhausted of all tears. 
 
 Wildly the men she with her arms would stay, 
 
 Her soul to anguish and despair a prey ; 
 
 Then shrieks the offer, through the tempest's din, 
 
 " A thousand guineas if you take me in !" 
 
 But no response comes back against the blast, 
 
 The fatal die, for life or death, is cast ! 
 
 Xot all the wealth of all the world could stay 
 
 Those seamen stern ! for life they pull away. 
 
 Soon from the boat the members of its crew 
 
 The last dread struggles of the London view. 
 
 For high in air ascends her giant bows, 
 
 As, o'er her stern, the rolling billows close ; 
 
 While from below the air, till now close pent, 
 
 Through bursting decks gives its fell fury vent, 
 
 Driving the people, with terrific force, 
 
 Toward the prow in its resistless course. 
 
 Down ! Down ! she plunges, and vast whirlpools sweep 
 
 Round awful vortex in the riven deep ; 
 
 Whence, madly shrill, a wild, heartrending cry 
 
 Pierces the tempest to the frowning sky ! 
 
 Then rav'ning ocean, rushing on its prey, 
 
 Hides its sad victims from the face of day. 
 
 They sink for ever ! and the sullen blast 
 
 Raves a hoarse requiem as it hurtles past ! 
 
32 
 
 THE CALL OF DEATH. 
 
 i 
 
 O THOU, to whom both youn# and old, 
 The cringing slave, the freeman bold, 
 
 Resign their breath : 
 At whose dread call must pass away 
 The spirit from its house of clay 
 
 Thy name is Death ! 
 
 2. 
 
 The ailing infant wildly press'd 
 Unto its anguish'd mother's breast, 
 
 At thy request 
 To its Creator yields its life, 
 Escaping sorrow, sin, and strife, 
 
 And findeth rest. 
 
 3. 
 
 The aged man with silver hair, 
 Weighed down by weary years of care, 
 
 His blear'd eyes dim : 
 A weak resistance makes in vain 
 To thee, when from his life of pain 
 
 Thou callest him. 
 
 4. 
 
 The king upon his couch of state 
 Must yield him tamely to his fate 
 
 When thou dost call ; 
 For bishop's prayer or army's might 
 Avail him nothing in thy sight, 
 
 Thou king of all ! 
 
 5. 
 
 The beggar on his bed of straw, 
 Spread on the mouldy cellar floor, 
 
 Can not prevail 
 
 On thee to lengthen out the span 
 Allotted to him as a man 
 
 By whining tale. 
 
 6. 
 
 The lawyer, like the common thief, 
 Is gammoned from existence brief 
 
 BY writ of thine, 
 To answer for his moral flaws, 
 And plead his soul's eternal cause, 
 
 In courts divine. 
 
33 
 
 7. 
 
 No legal quibble can avail, 
 No human law 'gainst thee prevail, 
 
 He must away, 
 
 And wait (with those whom for a fee 
 In earthly court defended he) 
 
 The judgment day. 
 
 8. 
 
 The soldier in the battle's din, 
 Eager a crown of fame to win, 
 
 By foeman's hand 
 
 Goes down beneath war's horrid wave, 
 And sinks into a blood-stain'd grave, 
 
 At thy command. 
 
 9. 
 
 The sailor, calm when tempests lower, 
 And resolute e'en in the hour 
 
 He meets with thee : 
 Storm toss'd upon the coast is cast, 
 And midst fierce breakers breathes his last, 
 
 At thy decree. 
 
 10. 
 
 The widow's only darling son, 
 Whose toil alone her bread has won, 
 
 No pity gains ; 
 
 For stalking grimly on your prey, 
 You force his fainting soul away 
 
 With racking pains. 
 
 11. 
 
 The prodigal, who all his life, 
 
 At home has been the cause of strife, 
 
 And now away 
 
 Against his parent's just command, 
 Must quit his wanton comrade band, 
 
 And thee obey. 
 
 12. 
 
 The faithful brother, bold and strong, 
 Who to his only brother clung 
 
 With single heart, 
 All helpless on the level plain, 
 Thrown from his quiet horse was slain 
 
 Swift by thy dart. 
 
 13. 
 
 The sneaking coward, who afraid 
 Of e'en the shade himself has made, 
 
34 
 
 And dauber sliirks : 
 Altho' he double like a hare. 
 J/Wf fall at last into the snare 
 
 Thy fell hand works. 
 
 14. 
 
 The miser old thou dost surprise 
 At midnight, when with greedy eyes 
 
 He counts his gold ; 
 Than tliee, he fears the parting more 
 From it, that yellow shining store, 
 So often told ; 
 
 15. 
 
 The lucre gain'd in many lands, 
 He clutches in his skinny hands, 
 
 Till his last grasp ; 
 But what no tale of misery 
 Or want could gain, is torn by thee 
 From his close grasp. 
 
 16. 
 
 At thy approach the infidel, 
 Who oft has laugh'd at heav'n and hell, 
 
 Now with despair 
 
 Beseeches thee with sighs and tears 
 To grant him yet a few more years ; 
 Ah ! fruitless prayer ! 
 
 17. 
 
 His time is come, he must away 
 Whither ? ah ! whither, who shall say ? 
 
 He will be tried 
 
 By Him who gave a soul to man, 
 And in whose sight no mortal can 
 Be justified. 
 
 18. 
 
 The dying Christian calmly waits 
 Thy call, and thro' thy frowning gates 
 
 Can glory see ; 
 
 And longing for the joys above, 
 Where all is painless peace and love, 
 He fears not thee ! 
 
 19. 
 
 Tho' thou canst claim the mortal frame, 
 Thou canst not interfere with fame : 
 
 For tho' all die, 
 
 A good man's name is ever dear, 
 And lives with his descendants here 
 In memory. 
 
35 
 
 20. 
 
 Then let us all improve each day 
 Of sojourn here, that when away 
 
 We too must hie : 
 
 Like Christians we may meet our end, 
 And bid each sorrow-stricken friend 
 
 A calm good-bye. 
 
 THE BUSHMAN'S REVERIE. 
 
 i. 
 
 PLEASANT it is of home to muse, 
 
 When from it far away ; 
 Of woodland walks we used to choose, 
 Where oaks and elms and sombre yews 
 Lent their cool shade to joyous crews 
 
 Of children at their play. 
 
 2. 
 Often I lie at close of day 
 
 Upon my sheepskin bed, 
 When memories both sad and gay 
 Of bygone times, long pass'd away, 
 My fancy's magic call obey, 
 
 And are before me spread. 
 
 3. 
 I seem to see each face again 
 
 Well-known to me of yore : 
 The cripple's, with its look of pain ; 
 The merchant's, shrewd and keen for gain ; 
 And fellow-schoolmates, who would fain 
 
 Dispense with bookish lore. 
 
 4. 
 And scenes in which each took a share 
 
 Are brought back to my mind : 
 The gay and festive village fair, 
 With happy rustics gather'd there, 
 Who for the time devoid of care 
 
 Such pleasure seem'd to find. 
 
36 
 
 5. 
 
 In viewing certain learned pigs, 
 
 Which seeniM strange tilings to know ; 
 Or gaping at the merry rigs 
 Of harlequins with supple legs, 
 In particoloured tights, and wigs, 
 
 Before some strolling show. 
 
 6. 
 I see them crowding up to pay 
 
 The small admission fee, 
 Eager to view the wretched play 
 (" George Barnwell " mostly, by the way. 
 Was the one acted in my day 
 
 A doleful tragedy). 
 
 7. 
 
 The boys who purchased gingerbread, 
 And swing-boats swung in then, 
 
 How many of them now are dead ! 
 
 Others, by fickle fortune led, 
 
 In wild bush lands their life-paths tread 
 Time-sobered, bearded men. 
 
 8. 
 The merry girls are matrons staid, 
 
 And care is on each brow ; 
 To me they seem as when we play'd 
 Together in each copse and glade, 
 Or by the stream for cowslips stray'd ; 
 
 'Tis so I see them now. 
 
 9. 
 And she on whom I used to look 
 
 With lover-like regard, 
 Who paddled with me in the brook, 
 And in my sport such interest took 
 She slumbers in a quiet nook 
 
 Within the old churchyard. 
 
 10. 
 But still her form and features, aye, 
 
 Her very smile I sec, 
 In dreams by night, in thoughts by day, 
 As when we sported in the hay, 
 Or sought for violets in May ; 
 
 Ah ! pleasant memory ! 
 
 11. 
 
 The skylark singing merrily 
 I seem to hear again, 
 
37 
 
 As almost past the ken of eye 
 He mounted toward the glowing sky, 
 And sang his wild sweet melody, 
 Unconscious of all pain. 
 
 12. 
 I see again the village green 
 
 Upon a cricket day ; 
 
 When, grouped wherever trees would screen, 
 The village folk with happy mien, 
 Watch'd well the match ; a homely scene, 
 
 Yet picturesque and gay. 
 
 13. 
 I hear them raise the cheering shout, 
 
 Delighted one and all, 
 When old Tom Sewell, hale and stout, 
 80 neatly caught some batsman out, 
 Or Sherman put the stumps to rout 
 
 With well-delivered ball. 
 
 14. 
 I see the church, with carvings queer 
 
 Beside each window tall, 
 The heads of storied saint and seer, 
 And one with lengthy ass-like ear, 
 With crooked horn and horrid lear, 
 
 The enemy of all ! 
 15. 
 I see its massive tower high, 
 
 Its grey and buttress'd wall ; 
 Its green graveyard where thousands lie, 
 Hidden for aye from mortal eye, 
 Waiting the summons from the sky, 
 
 Of quick and dead the call. 
 
 16. 
 The Sabbath bells remember'd well 
 
 I seem to hear again : 
 As when with clear resounding swell 
 They summoned those who near did dwell 
 To come, and hear the pastor tell 
 
 Of Him who sufier'd pain 
 
 17. 
 And ignominy, so that He 
 
 Might all lost nations save ; 
 And how He walk'd upon the sea, 
 And always succor'd misery, 
 Until He died on Calvary, 
 
 And was laid in the grave. 
 
38 
 
 18. 
 
 And how in silent death lie lay. 
 
 Then woke to life again : 
 Kxrmplifying how that they 
 Who on this earth the Lord obey, 
 From death awake, to speed away 
 To life devoid of pain. 
 
 19. 
 And then the chimes ; so soft and clear 
 
 Their music seems to fall 
 Again upon my list'ning ear, 
 As when they knell'd the dying year, 
 And seem'd to welcome, without fear, 
 
 The conqueror of all, 
 
 20. 
 
 In person of the ruddy heir, 
 
 That Phoenix-like arose 
 From off the snow-encumber'd bier 
 Of the decrepit wom-out year 
 That had just closed his short career 
 
 Of mingled joys and woes. 
 
 21. 
 
 And wedding bells with seeming glee 
 Engage in tuneful strife ; 
 
 While village rustics flock to see 
 
 The couple who now vow to be 
 
 Partners in joy or misery 
 
 While they shall be in life. 
 
 22. 
 I hear again the tolling bell 
 
 With measured solemn boom 
 Float o'er each verdant hill and dell, 
 Casting on some a pensive spell, 
 To others sounding as a knell 
 
 Of their own earthly doom. 
 
 23. 
 And oft I seem to hear again 
 
 The corncrake's pleasant cry 
 Proceeding from the waving grain, 
 As when in some green shady lane 
 I've often waited long in vain 
 
 The pretty bird to spy. 
 
 24. 
 
 The slimy snail at dewy eve 
 
 Across the pathway crawls, 
 
39 
 
 As tired farm men slowly leave 
 The standing grain, and surly grieve, 
 From toil to gain a short reprieve 
 Within their cottage walls. 
 
 25. 
 
 The timid hare steals to the crop, 
 
 And frogs begin to croak, 
 While from the copse wild rabbits hop, 
 And gay cock pheasants cry " cock-op," 
 When flying to the spreading top 
 Of some low sturdy oak. 
 
 26. 
 Then night's shades veil each fertile dell 
 
 So late with sunshine bright ; 
 And on the ear with soothing spell 
 Falls the clear notes of philomel, 
 While some adjacent village bell 
 
 Proclaims the hour of night. 
 
 27. 
 But now mosquitoes fiercely sing 
 
 Upon my startled ear ; 
 With grating discord does it ring, 
 As lightning down with venom'd sting 
 They cause my vision to take wing, 
 
 And from me disappear. 
 
 CHKISTMAS, 1876. 
 
 HAIL, much-lov'd Christmas ! hail, thou festive time ! 
 
 So dear to Christians, spread o'er all the earth. 
 In icy region, and in burning clime, 
 
 Hearts glow with gladness, and with harmless mirth, 
 
 And men's bright angels hover near each hearth. 
 Care flies, with Sorrow, for a little space, 
 
 Even from those who from their very birth 
 Have known privation, and the carking race 
 Of all the haunting ills of poor man's dwelling place. 
 
40 
 
 Now glow with light the mansions of the great, 
 And music Hoats upon the evening air ; 
 
 Blithe are the measures, as with hearts elate, 
 Whirl in the dance each animated pair, 
 Youths gay and stalwart link'd with maidens fair. 
 
 Jocund the laughter at the merry jest 
 
 Flashing from tongues which wines of vintage rare 
 
 Loosen right glibly ; while they warm the breast 
 
 Of even pompous age beneath its costly vest ! 
 
 Hark to the riddle in that lowly cot ! 
 
 List to those voices in a chorus blent ! 
 Say, do their owners envy grandeur's lot ? 
 
 Now that their hearts on harmony are bent, 
 
 And all their thoughts to happiness are lent ? 
 No ! for to-night they own the jolly sway 
 
 Of pleasant Christmas, to us mortals sent 
 To crown with joy each year, and drive away 
 The troubles of this life, at least for one short day. 
 
 Here, in Australia, may this Christmas be 
 A sunny stepping-stone in life's wide stream ; 
 
 A resting-place of fragrant memory ; 
 
 A page of history, from whence shall gleam 
 Fair illustration for Old Age's dream ; 
 
 Fresh to remain, a picture bright and clear, 
 For future converse aye a cheerful theme. 
 
 And now I'll bid you all, my readers dear, 
 
 A pleasant Christmas Day, also a blithe New Year. 
 
 A BUSHMAN'S ADDRESS TO THE 
 MORNING STAR. 
 
 i. 
 
 HAIL, morning star ! thou fairest gem 
 In night's refulgent diadem ! 
 
 I hail thee with delight, 
 When, just before the dawn's first gleam, 
 Like spirit's eye you softly beam 
 
 All beautiful and bright. 
 
 '2. 
 
 Though constellations, hung on high 
 To grace the glowing midnight sky, 
 
41 
 
 Like heav'nly jewels shine, 
 Not they, nor meteoric flame, 
 Nor even Phoebe's self, can claim 
 {Such loveliness as thine ! 
 
 3. 
 
 Through winter's night my vigils drear ' 
 I keep, among the saltbush sere, 
 
 In lonely solitude, 
 
 Where nought is heard save curlew's cry, 
 Or dingo's howl ; while, hobbled nigh, 
 My horses crop their food. 
 
 4. 
 
 Time, like an endless phantom vast, 
 Glides noiselessly into the past, 
 
 And sleep deserts mine eyes ; 
 When thoughts and scenes of bygone days 
 Crowd thickly o'er me as I gaze 
 Into the starlit skies. 
 
 5. 
 
 Stars slowly set ; but still the night 
 Waves not her sable wings in flight 
 
 Before the God of Day, 
 Till in pure radiance you rise 
 To herald, in the eastern skies, 
 Aurora's first faint ray. 
 
 6. 
 
 No longer lonely do I feel, 
 For o'er my senses seems to steal 
 
 A train of musing fair ; 
 When ah ! what luxury for me ! 
 My mind, like soaring lark, is free 
 Awhile from earthly care. 
 
 7. 
 
 Then hail ! all hail ! thou planet bright ! 
 So dear to lonely bushman's sight ! 
 
 No star can vie with thee, 
 When, like some guardian serapli fair 
 Watching the world from upper air, 
 You seem to smile on me. 
 
 8. 
 
 But now an all-pervading light 
 Gilds old Mount Arden's craggy height, 
 
 Announcing Phoebus near ; 
 The stars have vanish'd one by one, 
 And thou, thy cheering mission done, 
 Must also disappear. 
 
42 
 THE DINGOES. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 ONE cold and cheerless night in May, 
 
 When clouds obscured the milky way, 
 
 Two Dingoes quite a pretty pair 
 
 Went prowling round in search of fare, 
 
 Resolved to kill, if not to eat, 
 
 All helpless creatures they might meet ; 
 
 Warrachie,* Pingo,f Boorachie,J 
 
 Or tasty lamb, if such should be 
 
 Abandoned, when in slumber deep 
 
 It lay, unnoticed by the sheep 
 
 When they for home had drawn away 
 
 A little past the turn of day ; 
 
 In fact, those dogs would tear the throat 
 
 Of valiant ram, or sharp-horn'd goat. 
 
 They ran with noses to the ground ; 
 And ears keen cock'd to catch each sound ; 
 But they heard nothing save the cry 
 Of ghost-like night-bird sailing by, 
 And the wild moaning of the breeze 
 Among the scrubby sandhill trees ; 
 And they saw nothing save the bird 
 That gave vent to the cry they heard, 
 But which, with noiseless, stealthy flight, 
 Was quickly lost unto their sight ; 
 Besides, their eyes were elsewhere bent, 
 Searching each nook with fell intent, 
 While from them glared a savage light ; 
 Those thieves were ravenous that night. 
 
 But they were doom'd to hunt in vain ; 
 For nothing did those dingoes gain, 
 On scrubby plain or sandy hill, 
 Whereon to work their ruthless will ; 
 For hunters swart, (as keen as they), 
 Had hunted there that very day ; 
 So Boorachie and Mudla small, 
 Swift Warrachie and Coodla|| tall, 
 Were either captured in the chase, 
 Or fairly scar'd from off the place. 
 Our dingoes, therefore, noticed naught 
 
 Emu, t Large blue anteater. J Kangaroo rat. 5 Small wallaby. H Kangaroo. 
 
43 
 
 In shape of game that could be caught ; 
 
 Though, when across a creek they pass'd, 
 
 They saw, as up their eyes they cast, 
 
 A ring-tailed 'possum, fine and fat, 
 
 That on a lofty gum-branch sat ; 
 
 Where, supping heartily on leaves, 
 
 He cared not for the canine thieves ; 
 
 Which on him glared with longing glance, 
 
 Altho' they knew they had no chance, 
 
 Of making off that tasty beast 
 
 A very temporary feast. 
 
 So, like the fox, in ^5sop's fable, 
 
 Who said, because he was not able 
 
 To reach the grapes, that they were green, 
 
 And pass'd on with a look of spleen 
 
 Our brace of dingoes cantered on, 
 
 And said the brute was carrion ; 
 
 Which, looking down with cunning glance, 
 
 Hoped they would have a fruitless dance, 
 
 And that they both might 'scape nightmare, 
 
 By reason of their meagre fare. 
 
 Onward those dingoes went until 
 A light they saw, beneath a hill, 
 Which shone as steady and as clear 
 As planet from its azure sphere ; 
 While a strange sound upon the breeze 
 Came bonie, as tho' a hive of bees 
 Were swarming ; but with booming roar, 
 As loud as breakers on a shore ! 
 For in a yard a thousand lambs 
 Were bleating loudly for their dams, 
 Which last, with motherly concern, 
 Were bleating loudly in return ! 
 In tenor, treble, and in bass ; 
 The whole, combined, invading space 
 With such a din, as nature can 
 Sometimes thrust on the ears of man, 
 To soothe or irritate his mind 
 Whichever way he feels inclin'd ! 
 This sound, like music of the spheres, 
 May seem unto one person's ears ! 
 Another, in a surly mood, 
 Would use a word extremely rude, 
 And ban it as a horrid noise, 
 As bad as that some organ-boys, 
 In an excruciating way. 
 
44 
 
 Grind to the tune of " Old Dog Tray !" 
 Music may " soothe the savage breast," 
 But 'gainst " sheep music " J protest. 
 
 Not so those dingoes ; it to them 
 
 Was sweet as sacrificial hymn ; 
 
 For be it known they both loved lamb, 
 
 As common people love fried ham, 
 
 ( Or bacon, should their slender hoard 
 
 Not furnish ham to grace the board) ; 
 
 And that strange sound, which they knew well, 
 
 Invited, as a dinner bell, 
 
 Or gong, does human dinner waiters 
 
 Who, of delay, are such known haters, 
 
 And our two friends were ready then 
 
 To take pot luck, we'll say, like men ! 
 
 But I have heard that " 'twixt the lip 
 
 " And cup, there often is a slip ;" 
 
 These wild dogs found that proverb true, 
 
 As I may soon explain to you. 
 
 I said a bright and steady light 
 Appeared unto those dingoes sight. 
 It shone from out a window small 
 (If you a window it could call, 
 For it was but ten inches square, 
 And not a pane of glass was there 
 To shut in hot, and out cold air) 
 Of a pine hut, with roof of thatch, 
 And paling door, with wooden latch, 
 Which shut within that narrow den 
 Four very dirty-looking men, 
 One woman, and three children small ! 
 I marvel it contain'd them all ! 
 
 And in the rough stone chimney, bare, 
 
 (No mantelpiece or i^rate was there, 
 
 Or whitewashed plaster to efface 
 
 The cracks in that rude chimney-place), 
 
 A large wood fire was brightly blazing, 
 
 (Just what a Paddy would call " plasing,") 
 
 A fine shin roaster ; and its light 
 
 Put in the shade the " slush-lamp " quite, 
 
 Whose- fat-fed, flaring, smoky flame 
 
 Was quite in keeping with its name. 
 
 (A pannican, in which some clay 
 
 1^ kneaded down in such a way 
 
45 
 
 As to support a piece of stick, 
 
 Round which is rolled a largo rag wick, 
 
 Then refuse fat is added, and 
 
 A slush-lamp's made, you understand). 
 
 The lintels and the rafters, too, 
 Were smoke-stained to an ebon hue ; 
 For when the wind was from the north, 
 The smoke in volumes issued forth 
 Toward the roof-tree, wreathing blue, 
 Instead of flying up the flue, 
 And often brought unbidden tears 
 Into hard eyes, that had for years 
 Seldom been seen as aught but dry, 
 Undimm'd by grief or sympathy. 
 
 Along the wall-plate, o'er the jambs, 
 Hung several salted mutton hams, 
 Which, quite divested of all bone, 
 Were hams by courtesy alone ; 
 Beside them hung some wooden crooks, 
 To serve the housewife as pot-hooks, 
 Wherewith to shift the three-legg'd pot 
 A most unwieldy thing when hot 
 And very apt to burn or scald one 
 (For it was like a witch's cauldron, 
 Or the great pot the gipsies use, 
 Or pitch-pot known to vessels' crews). 
 
 The article in question stood, 
 Together with some kindling wood, 
 Beneath a bunk, upon the floor, 
 Between the chimney and the door. 
 This bedstead, rude, was rough and strong, 
 Size, two feet wide by six feet long, 
 And so it just filled up the space 
 Between the door and chimney-place ; 
 Some sun-dried sheepskins on it lay, 
 To serve as cushions thro' the day, 
 As bed and palliass at night 
 (For bushmen need no feathers light, 
 Or snowy curtains round them spn-sul. 
 But sleep where'er they lay their head). 
 
 And next the chimney, on the bed, 
 Were roll'd a pair of blankets red ; 
 The sleeping kit of him who lay 
 
46 
 
 Upon them in a careless way ; 
 For he was coiled, quite at his eae 
 With left hand thrust between his knees, 
 His dexter held a dark dudheen, 
 A blue cloud issued from between 
 His parted lips, while in the blaze 
 He peered, and mused on bygone days ; 
 For he, as any one might see, 
 Was far gone in a reverie. 
 
 A mate upon the other side 
 A like position occupied, 
 For there a similar rough settle 
 Was placed, and near to it a kettle. 
 Upon its handle sat a Scot, 
 Who raked among the ashes hot, 
 (With a burnt-ended mallee poker, 
 Extemporised by that old stoker), 
 And fancied as they changed in hue 
 That visages which once he knew, 
 Were pictured in those embers bright, 
 Only to vanish from his sight 
 Before he well could call to mind 
 Whose face he fancied was outlined ! 
 
 But soon lie poked right viciously, 
 
 As if a bogle he did see ; 
 
 Then quickly turning, said, " Friend Pat, 
 
 " Just let us hae the story that 
 
 " Ye promised." Now the man nam'd Paddy 
 
 (Of those sweet children three the daddy) 
 
 Was with his darlings taking tea, 
 
 With hunger keen, as one might see ; 
 
 Or rather supper, for 'twas late, 
 
 And the hot mutton on his plate 
 
 Seem'd to affirm the meal was what 
 
 Some folks would call a " supper hot." 
 
 But all his meals were just the same, 
 
 And varied merely in the name, 
 
 A course of mutton, bread, and tea, 
 
 Recurring everlastingly. 
 
 For here which makes the growlers mutter 
 
 In summer time there is no butter. 
 
 So Pat ate meat three times a day ; 
 
 Except on Friday, by the way. 
 
 When he ate eggs, if to be got, 
 
 Or bread alone, if they wen- not. 
 
 A< for his wife she did the same, 
 
47 
 
 For both of them in deed and name 
 Were Catholics, sincere and staid 
 As ever Pater nosier said. 
 Both had the bump of credence, too, 
 For both believed the story true, 
 Which, Pat his hunger being sated 
 Somewhat as follows then narrated : 
 
 PAT MURPHY'S STORY. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE COUNTY CLARE. 
 1 
 
 Well, thin, d'ye see, 'twas in the County Clare 
 
 I lived afore I lift ould Ireland, 
 In a swate shpot as ye'd see anywhere, 
 
 Where blackthorn wis familiar to the hand, 
 And flourished at aich faste, an' wake, an' fair, 
 
 As it was wont to do in that green land, 
 Where there has lived no shnake, nor bug, nor toad, 
 Since Great St. Pathrick in it once abode. 
 
 2. 
 I held on rint a little patch of land, 
 
 The quality of which wis pretty fair, 
 Jist the right shpot to grow good praties, and 
 
 Anything else which might be planted there ; 
 But praties wis the things, ye understand, 
 
 I mostly put in ; they need little care 
 At laste they did not in thim good ould days 
 Afore the blissed fruit tuck the disase. 
 
 3. 
 I kipt a pig or two to pay the rint, 
 
 A lurcher, and an ould flea-bitten mare. 
 Tne dog shtuck to me ivery where I wint, 
 
 And wis the baste that jist could grab a hare ; 
 He used to git upon the crature's scint, 
 
 While I kipt out upon the thoroughfare, 
 And thin he'd grab thim in their forms ere they 
 Had half a shlant to shtart an' git away. 
 
 4. 
 And, tkin, beside, me and me brother Phil 
 
 Had got a pot and worm, and used to make 
 Some poteen in a hole benathe a hill, 
 
 Which came in handy at a faste or wake ; 
 'Twis mild as milk, and niver made ye ill, 
 
 Atho' it was the shtuff to make ye shpake 
 Of absint friends, and private matthers such 
 As ye'd not like repated overmuch ! 
 
48 
 
 5. 
 
 Me landlord wis a tall and Mack-haired man, 
 And had a big black bushy board to match ; 
 
 And sich a bright and piercing eye ! Bad scran 
 To it ! ye'd really fancy 'twas ( )nld Scratch 
 
 Wis looking thro' ye. as they say ho can ! 
 And troth, I never since seen eyes a patch 
 
 Upon the piercing pair that gentleman 
 
 Wis owner of ! his name wis Nid McGan. 
 
 6. 
 A married man he wis, and his poor wife 
 
 (A purty lady, as ye'd wish to see), 
 Wis sid to lade a virry writched life, 
 
 By rason that they niver could agree. 
 But what at firsht shtirr'd up their conshtant sthrife 
 
 I niver heerd the rights of properly ; 
 I think it wis bccase a nashty crature 
 He liked too well, of gipsey air and fature. 
 
 7. 
 
 'Tis said, the wife, (a pious Catholic), 
 Would be a wantin' to attind confission, 
 
 When bully Ned, the grate big herritic, 
 W< mid git into a mosht infernal passion, 
 
 And cruelly illthrate her wid a shtick 
 In a cantankerous an' brutal fashion, 
 
 For which (altho' she might have give him tongue) 
 
 There's no mishtake, he ought to have been hung. 
 
 8. 
 They used to kape three sarvints, that is, they 
 
 Had work for three, and would have kipt thim on 
 If they could have persuaded them to shtay ; 
 
 But that wis much more aisy thried than done, 
 For all of thim was sure to run away, 
 
 And long before their hiring time was run ; 
 For what with divils, and McGan, indade, 
 They in their graves would have been betther laid. 
 
 9. 
 For all the pisanthry did use to say 
 
 He'd nightly dalings wid the Evil One ! 
 For often of a night he'd si it ale away 
 
 To an ould room, where murther had been done, 
 Of which himsilfdid always kape the kay 
 
 In his own fob, and thrusted it to none ; 
 An' to him then- there's plinty says there came 
 Tin- Prince of Darkness, Nicholas by name, 
 
49 
 
 10. 
 And sundhry of his imps, both shmall and great ; 
 
 For boys wis sometimes bould enough to shtray 
 About the house he lived in rather late, 
 
 (As 'tis mesilf has often heard thim say,) 
 And seen things that had caus'd thim to retrate 
 
 Much quicker thin they wint ! and long e'er they 
 Could make out wither it wis ghost or man 
 That hild ungodly rivils wid McGan ! 
 
 11. 
 But all agreed that on that windey blind 
 
 Queer shaddys danc'd like Jacky Lanterns there ; 
 And strange wild sounds past on the midnight wind ; 
 
 Which they considhered warnings to beware 
 Of peeping farder, list that they might find 
 
 Thimsilves give over to the kindly care 
 Of thim dark visithors, which they wis sartin 
 Wis cratures, that a body might be liurtin. 
 
 12. 
 And so they started home, wid hair on ind, 
 
 Shtartin at iviry shaddy deep that fell 
 Acrass the pathway, and ye may dipind 
 
 They did not loiter much or take a shpell ! 
 In fact, me brother Phil the divil mind 
 
 Him ! coming home from there fell down a well ! 
 But whither fear or whiskey made him fall, 
 I niver could find out at all ! at all ! 
 
 13. 
 
 For he had been to ould Tim Casey's wake, 
 And had drank lashins of fine sthrong poteen ; 
 
 So whin he thravelled home wid Paddy Blake, 
 Who liv'd on the nixt sixion patch I mane, 
 
 They both resolved that they would thin betake 
 Thim to Me Gan's, to see what might be seen ; 
 
 And if they mit The Divil on the road, 
 
 They'd tan the hide of that ould skulkin toad. 
 
 14. 
 Talk of the divil, and his horns he'll show, 
 
 Is an ould sayin, and I think a thrue ; 
 And thim two boys found out that night as how 
 
 'Tis aysier to threaten than to do ; 
 Espicially if 'tis to have a row 
 
 Wid the Ould Gintilman ah ! wirrasthru ! 
 Betune him and the grog they made a miss 
 That blissed night, as both had to confiss. 
 
50 
 
 15. 
 
 Av course Phil said it wasn't thro' the grog ; 
 
 He wis as sober as a jidge he swore ; 
 But said that as they throtted past a bog, 
 
 They heerd a dhredful scraming, and they saw 
 A hare close followed by a big black dog, 
 
 And at a distance by a many more : 
 The hare a cryin' as she bounded by 
 " O, blissid virgin ! save me, or I die !" 
 
 16. 
 And thin the dogs sit up terrific cries, 
 
 While from their gaping jaws there did ascind 
 Red jits of flame, and thin their wicked eyes 
 
 Like livin' coals biased out ! Ye may depind 
 They did jist frighten Phil and Pat ! O, boys ! 
 
 Their hair as shtift' as shtubble shtood on ind, 
 While their two pair of eyes prothruded out 
 Like you've seen crabs, or maybe heerd about. 
 
 17. 
 
 A tall dark rider rode upon each horse, 
 The biggest looming up to such a height 
 
 As proved him, out and out, past mortial force ; 
 Besides, both Phil and Paddy caught a sight 
 
 Of something shticking from behind ! (av course 
 A tail it was !) which so increased their fright 
 
 That they saw nothing more, till Pat in bed 
 
 Awoke next morn. And Phil wis fish'd half dead 
 
 18. 
 Out of the shaft I tould ye of jist now, 
 
 Where he was yilling like a lunatic ; 
 An' Paddy Connor, hearin' sich a row 
 
 Come from his well, got a long laddher quick, 
 And shoved it down so quickly, that I vow, 
 
 It risted on the back of poor Phil's nick. 
 Whin down Pat wint a heavy man, bedad 
 To find he'd nearly finish'd the poor lad. 
 
 19. 
 Av coorse the laddher poked poor Philip's head 
 
 Benathe the wather, an' 'tis rally thrue, 
 Near killed the boy, for all thought he wis dead, 
 
 Altho' they thried great manes to bring him to. 
 They rouled him on a barrel, so they did, 
 
 Wid head hung down ; but that same would not do 
 And thin they shtood him heels up in the air ; 
 Thin laid him out quite dacent, I declare ! 
 
51 
 
 20. 
 They thought that he wis passed all earthly strife ; 
 
 But Mary Connor differed, and said, " Sure 
 " Afore they wint away and tould his wife 
 
 " They'd bether thry another splindid cure," 
 And that wis " jist the shmallest tashte in life 
 
 " Of poteen ; there was some benathe the floore, 
 " And he would take it kindly, if so be 
 " He wis not clane gone dead intirely !" 
 
 21. 
 They thried him wid a noggin ! In a crack 
 
 It disappeared like rain-dhrops in the s-iy ! 
 As nate as whate into an impty sack, 
 
 Or donkey's head into a bag of hay ; 
 And thin he give his lips a knowin shmack 
 
 And thin he muttherd to himsilf this way 
 " Bedad, but Purgathry is not so bad 
 " If shtuff like this is always to be had !" 
 
 22. 
 
 ! thin there wis some laughing and some noise 
 Wid thim around the bed, where poor Phil sat ! 
 
 Which put to flight his unixpictid joys, 
 And made him lape up like a startled cat, 
 
 When off he boulted, followed by the boys 
 Headed by Paddy Connor, wid no hat 
 
 Upon his head, and nothing but his shirt 
 
 And throusers on ! and thim all smear'd with dirt 
 
 23. 
 
 And wather from his ducking in the well 
 
 Whin he wint down to take me brother out ; 
 
 And so he could not hit out up the hill, 
 
 Becase his throusers they shtuck close about 
 
 His ligs ; the same wid master Phil, but still 
 About his running there was little doubt ! 
 
 Ould Nick and crew were afther him, he thought, 
 
 And so he did not mane to be soon caught ! 
 
 24. 
 Away he wint, and as it happened, sthraight 
 
 Up the bye-lane in which his sheelin stood ; 
 Which he jist raclied as Katty from the gate 
 
 Wis coming out ; and then, bedad, she could 
 Not undherstand why Phil ran at that rate, 
 
 Followed by such a many, young and old ; 
 But thinking he'd been at some divilmint, 
 She opened wide the gate, and in he wint. 
 
52 
 
 25. 
 Acrass tin- pratie-patch, jist like a liare, 
 
 Round the back way, and out of sight lie wint ; 
 While Katty could not shpake, but only shtare 
 
 After him with the greatest woiidhennint. 
 She thought the whole affair wis virry quare, 
 
 Altlio' she had a strong prrsintimmt 
 That Phil had got into sonic party light, 
 And killed a Murphy, somewhere in the night. 
 
 26. 
 But whin Pat Connor came and tould her how 
 
 He'd found the crature roaring down his well, 
 She found the way to shpakc agin. Ow, wow ! 
 
 She vow'd she'd make me brother quickly tell 
 What he'd been up to ye should hear the row 
 
 She made by way av wilcome to poor Phil ! 
 And said, the nasty, dhrunken, dirty baste 
 Disarved a good sound bating at the laste. 
 
 27. 
 I don't know how the pair of thim got on, 
 
 For Paddy Connor and the boys wint back, 
 Laving the two to go in pro and con. 
 
 (That's Latin, I belave, for scratch and whack !) 
 I know there wis a scratch or so upon 
 
 Me brother's face, and that his eyes wis black 
 Whin nixt I see him ; and she used to boast 
 She soon persuaded him she was no ghost ! 
 
 28. 
 But here the Scot broke in with " I say, Pat, 
 
 " Your brither maun hae been a stupid fule 
 " To let the limmer crack the like, the cant ! 
 
 " I would hae comb'd her hair wie the first stule 
 " I could hae lain my haunds on ; wantin' that, 
 
 " I would hae gotten something else to cool 
 " The wratches temper, and I would hae hung 
 " But I'd hae stoppit her blaetherskiting tongue !" 
 
 29. 
 " Maybe ye would, maybe ye wouldn't, now," 
 
 Said Pat, giving his rib a knowing wink ; 
 " Ive lieerd yer own ould woman for a row 
 
 " Is always mighty ready, and I think, 
 " If she did he about and heerd ye crow, 
 
 " Ye'd virry likely have a nashty kink 
 " About yer back afore ye wint to bed, 
 " If ye got off widout a broldn head." 
 
53 
 
 30. 
 (For Mack's old woman was, or rather is, 
 
 A regular " old nut," in the full sense 
 Of that slang phrase ! Now for her vixen phiz 
 
 Low forehead, hungry-looking mouth, from whence 
 Her teeth had fallen, but where still doth biz 
 
 Her hornet tongue, which darts full oft from thence 
 To propagate malicious and foul lies ; 
 While malice gleams from out her snake-like eyes ! 
 
 31. 
 These sunk within their sockets, are o'erhung 
 
 By grizzled eyebrows, which completely span 
 Her long, coarse nose, which seems form'd to be wrung ; 
 
 And would be often, were she but a man, 
 And did allow her ever active tongue 
 
 To wag as only such a vixen's can ; 
 But she's a woman, tho' the great display 
 Of beard upon her chin says almost nay ! ) 
 
 32. 
 That villain Mack just laugh'd, and said " 0, aye ! 
 
 " Yere reight there, Paddy, but ye brawly ken 
 " She's far away the noo, and so ye may 
 
 " As well gie's oor bit story quick, and then 
 " We'll gang to bed in gunyah ower the way, 
 
 " For time's a reiver, and is weel on ten, 
 " And we maun rise the morn by caundle leight, 
 " For they auld yowes are drappin fast the neight." 
 
 33. 
 
 " Well, thin," quoth Pat, " I wish ye'd hould yis jaw, 
 " Or kape yis tongue shtill wid a clout-head nail, 
 
 " And thin I'll tell ye how / afther saw 
 
 " The hounds, an' hare, and hunther wid the tail ! 
 
 " As thro' the counthry side one night they tore 
 " In a big shtorm ov lightning an' ov hail, 
 
 " Ov which same, me an' Phil, we got our fill 
 
 " Whin boultin' from the thraps to hide our shtill." 
 
 34. 
 Well, to their shtory Phil and Paddy shtuck, 
 
 Whin quishtiond be the boys whin all wis right, 
 But did not thry agin to run a muck 
 
 Wid Ned an' Nick ! They got a mortial fright ! 
 Indade they did not think it promis'd luck 
 
 To be too near that silf-same house at night, 
 For 'twis thim worthies, they would shtoutly swear, 
 Wis huntin' Nid's poor wife in shape of hare. 
 
54 
 
 35. 
 And sure now wo belavod thim, for imlade 
 
 That innocint poor crature tuck to bed 
 Tliat virry night, in troth ! an' there she stay'd, 
 
 Wid bad pain in her back an' swimmin head ! 
 While her shwate face to dead carpse-white did fade 
 
 Whin cryin' to hersilf her woniin said 
 And her two eyes would shtart, like fri^hten'd hare's, 
 At creakin noises on the ould oak shtairs ! 
 
 36. 
 The praste she wantid thin, but Nid said, " No ! 
 
 " Come to yis juty, if ye likes, to me ! 
 " If praste comes here, (and thin he laugh'd, Ho ! ho !) 
 
 " 'Tis glad his riverince will likely be 
 " To git outside agin, for my boot's toe 
 
 " Shall make the shtairs one shtip to him, dye see ! 
 " For, be the < Rock of Cashel !' he shall rue 
 " The day an' hour he dares to visit you !" 
 
 37. 
 As darkest midnight thin his eyes grew black, 
 
 And his poor lady shrank from his fierce eyes, 
 While her own shwill'd till they did seem to crack, 
 
 And, ! she give a cry, that rach'd the skies ! 
 A cry like hare's sharp scrame, whin in her back 
 
 She feels the greyhound's fangs, and quickly dies ! 
 An' thin her wits for three long weeks did lave her, 
 While it wis sid about she had brain faver. 
 
 38. 
 But afther that the ginthry, one and all, 
 
 Cut Nid McGan, and would not shpake to him ; 
 And if they chanced to meet him at a ball 
 
 Or racecoorse, sure their eyes got mighty dim : 
 They didn't see him ! which made him feel small, 
 
 And want to put a ball in some of thim ; 
 And he'd ha' done it too, for he could shnuff 
 A candle wid a bullet nate enough. 
 
 39. 
 But faix, they did'nt give him half a chance 
 
 To lit the daylight into thim, bedad ! 
 They knew he'd virry likely make thim dance 
 
 An ugly stip ; for once before, a lad 
 He had shot dead, in some hotel in France, 
 
 For thramping on a dressing-gownd he had, 
 Wid tails that draggled half a yard or more 
 Behind him whin he walked acrass the floore. 
 
55 
 
 40. 
 The chap he killed wis a young Englishman, 
 
 Jist out upon his thravels, so they say, 
 A younger son of some great nobleman ; 
 
 And at his death there wis the deuce to pay, 
 His people thrying hard to git McGan 
 
 Hung or transpoorted ; but he ran away 
 To Spain, or Portingale, or India, 
 And stayed there till the row had died away. 
 
 41. 
 But while he wis abroad, the ould man died, 
 
 And lift him all his property in Clare, 
 Wid a fine fortin in the bank beside, 
 
 By rason that he had no other heir ; 
 And Nid invited all the counthry side 
 
 To come and have a grate housewarmin' there ; 
 And thim most sit agin him which was funny 
 Seemed his bist friends whin he came to his money. 
 
 42. 
 And thin he married, but could not agree 
 
 Wid his poor lady, as I said afore ; 
 And thin, 'twas worse as ye might think, whin ye 
 
 Tuck to that girl, whom on some furrin shore 
 He'd seen too many times afore, maybe, 
 
 For his own good ; 'tis sartin no one saw 
 Her in thim parts, till wid a caravan 
 She came, some tin months afther Nid McGan. 
 
 43. 
 And thin he lit her have a splendid cot, 
 
 Wid a fine gardin and a pratie patch, 
 In a nice, quiet, purty little shpot ; 
 
 And sure himsilf did often raise the latch, 
 No doubt wid that dark gipsy queen to plot ; 
 
 And there wis thim as said that cottage thatch 
 Was as unburnable as stone or brick, 
 For they had thried it wid a lighted shtick, 
 
 44. 
 
 And 'twouldn't catch ; oh, no, it wouldn't light, 
 It was bewitched, they said ; I think so, too, 
 
 For that girl wis a witch, and rode at night 
 Upon a broomstick, wid the demon crew 
 
 That hauntid Nid's poor wife. I caught a sight 
 Of her, as past like lightning on she flew, 
 
 Giving a scrame like Banshee's boding cry, 
 
 Jist at the moment whin she bundled by. 
 
56 
 
 45. 
 
 And now I'll tell ye how I came to see 
 
 That divil's hunt on that same shtormy night. 
 
 Ye ricolict me saving Phil and me 
 
 Had got a shtill, and made some of the right 
 
 Sort of poteen rare stuff it used to be ; 
 We tippled lashings, and shtill sold a sight 
 
 To boys that kipt the sheebeen shops about, 
 
 Until, bad luck to it ! we got found out ! 
 
 46. 
 Into thim parts the gangers sildom came, 
 
 Or if they did, they ginerally wint 
 Away much quicker, if not dead or lame ; 
 
 They moshtly having a presintimint 
 That they wis likely to be shot like game ; 
 
 And with the same benivolint intint 
 That is to make a hash of thim, but not 
 By manes of aither fryingpan or pot. 
 
 47. 
 Until one time there came a lameter ; 
 
 A bully boy he wis, an' no mishtake ! 
 And his short lig did not the laste deter 
 
 His thrampin off to ivry fair and wake, 
 Attindid always by a crass-brid cur 
 
 An ugly baste, that look'd as if he'd take 
 A leg of mutton from a butcher's shop, . 
 Or wantin that, a beefsteak or a chop. 
 
 48. 
 His master used a shtick uncommon nate ; 
 
 If he got mixed up into any row 
 Wid friend or inimy, he'd sure to thrate 
 
 Him to a tidy tashte of it ; somehow 
 He seem'd to know jist where to tap a pate 
 
 To floore his man. I think I see him now 
 Giving his shprig an illigant twisht round, 
 Whin, sure, a boy or two would bite the ground. 
 
 49. 
 All thought he wis a pidlar whin he came 
 
 Around their firsht, for thin he had a pack 
 Wid knives and ribbins, rhubarb and could crame, 
 
 Scint, small tooth-combs, and any shmall nick-nack 
 As women buy, but which I need not name ; 
 
 But this I'll say, him and his shiny sack 
 Wis always wilcome in ache wayside sheelin, 
 For he wis free and asy in his dalin ; 
 
57 
 
 50. 
 
 And wis, beside, a jolly chap, for he 
 
 Could dhrink poteen, and fight wid any lad 
 
 I've seen out here, or in the ould counthry ; 
 And the desateful beggar always had 
 
 A friendly way wid him as if, maybe, 
 
 He'd been your mate for years thro' good and bad ; 
 
 And had no ind of yarns, how the Excise 
 
 He'd chated, right afore their virry eyes. 
 
 51. 
 In fact, the villin once declared to me 
 
 He did be lamed whin fighting wid the thraps 
 Upon the coast of England whin, d'ye see, 
 
 He thried to run a lot of fine Dutch schnaps, 
 Besides tobaccy, and some fillagaree 
 
 That the great ginthry put in their caps 
 I mane the ladies, bliss their sowls whin they 
 Attind the praste, to give thimsilves away ; 
 
 52. 
 And sure now, now I think of it, they call 
 
 It Brusshell's lace 'tis mighty scarce I hear ; 
 And landin' it, this chap he got a ball 
 
 Into his knee, which cost the fellow dear 
 Who fired the shot, for he in turn did fall, 
 
 Niver agin a cuther taut to steer ! 
 For sure the pidlar said, right thro' the head 
 He put a pistol ball, and kill'd him dead. 
 
 53. 
 
 And thin, with all his mates got clare off, for 
 They fought for life, and kipt the thraps at bay 
 
 Until their lugger, running close in shore, 
 Tuck thim on board, and made all sail away, 
 
 Not caring thin to sittle up the score ; 
 
 For will they knew their nicks would have to pay 
 
 For their night's work, if they fell in the claws 
 
 Of thim hell-hounds that carry out the laws ; 
 
 54. 
 And as it was, the crature said that they 
 
 Was almost run down by a revenue, 
 And only jist conthrived to git away 
 
 In a tremenjus heavy squall, that blew 
 The cuther's topsail clane into the say, 
 
 And sthrained her mast so badly that her crew 
 To fish the spar had all their hands full quite, 
 And lost the lugger in the dirty night. 
 
58 
 
 55. 
 
 She made nixt day the friendly coast of Franco, 
 But where about I disremembere now, 
 
 And lift the lametcr to take his chance ; 
 His shipmates caring very little how, 
 
 So that thimsilves got clare and did not dance 
 On nothing for their share in that night's row ; 
 
 Thin takin in some brandy, made a shtart, 
 
 To thry their fortin in some other part, 
 
 56. 
 Laving the chap at a small wine shop, where 
 
 A praste from the ould counthry found him out, 
 Thin tuck him home and docthor'd him wid care, 
 
 Till his wound haling, he could git about, 
 Whin he gave him sich coin as he could spare, 
 
 His blissin, and a Frenchified rig out ; 
 For which he kindly thanked him, tuck his hand, 
 And found his way back to ould Ireland. 
 
 57. 
 Bad luck to him, for a big lying villin ! 
 
 And him a blashted ganger all the while ! 
 He wis so kindly thrated in each sheelin ; 
 
 Sure, even now, it raises up my bile 
 To think how he found out each private shtill in 
 
 The villages around for miny a mile, 
 And how he wint away, but soon kern back 
 Wid a full score of peelers in his thrack. 
 
 58. 
 But sorra one he cought tho', afther all, 
 
 For Phil's wife's sister (Honor Mooney) got 
 Her man one of the " thraps " jist to lit fall 
 
 The saycret of the dirty ganger's plot ; 
 Thin, unbeknownst to him, she sint a shmall 
 
 Gossoon to tell us all to hide aich pot, 
 And worm, and head, and all our maut away, 
 For the excise would be on us nixt day. 
 
 59. 
 We work'd away that night, ye may depind, 
 
 Thramping wid loads of maut upon our backs, 
 To hide among the shtones ; there wis no ind 
 
 Of thim upon the hills, besides big cracks 
 BeMine the rocks, which shtrangors could not find, 
 
 Excipt be chance, or running up our thracks ; 
 No asy matther, tho' a gauger's eye 
 Is, like thase dirty nsi.^un-s', horrid shpry ! 
 
59 
 
 60. 
 While Phil and me wis gitting all things shnug, 
 
 A big black cloud rose in the western sky, 
 And brewed a shtorm, while we two brewed a jug 
 
 Of whiskey punch, wherewid to wit our eye, 
 Afore we wid the pot and worm did jog ; 
 
 We tippled that, and as we shtill felt dhry, 
 We thried another, jist as Paddy Flinn 
 Flung back the doore, and out of breath rushed in. 
 
 61. 
 " 'Tis asy ye are takin it," sez he, 
 
 " And all thim thraps a coming up the road." 
 " The thraps ?" sez we. " I'm not desaving ye, 
 
 " They're handy now, and that big skulkin toad, 
 " The ganger's at their head ; and now, maybe, 
 
 " Ye won't be long in taking up yer load 
 " And thramping wid it ; but now, be me sowl, 
 " Jist listen to the thunder roar and grovd. !" 
 
 62. 
 " A purty night ye'll have, so dhrink yer grog, 
 
 " I'll help ye wid the same. t Here's to ye now !' 
 " A plisint journey to yez round the bog, 
 
 " And don't be rowling in it like a sow ; 
 " Ye've got the worm ? have up the pot now, jog, 
 
 " 'Tis time ye did ! Och ! murther ! hear the row 
 " They are makin up the village ; be the noise, 
 " The thraps are at a scrimmage with the boys !" 
 
 63. 
 He boulted down his grog, thin boulted out, 
 
 The lightning flashing fiercely through the doore, 
 Which blinded Phil, and made him reel about 
 
 And dhrop the pot down on the shanty floore, 
 Whin crack it wint, not being over stout, 
 
 And there we lift it, for 'twis past all cure ; 
 Besides, in ividence it would not tell, 
 Widout they got the head and worm as well. 
 
 64. 
 Away we wint, and soon the noise behind 
 
 Wis dhrowned in the peltin of the shtorm, 
 The growling tundher and the howlin wind ; 
 
 But with the grog in us to kape us warm 
 We thramped along, tho' often nearly blind 
 
 Afther a flash of lightning showed the form 
 Of all the counthry round, thin lift it dark 
 As it would be at night in Noah's ark ! 
 
60 
 
 65. 
 We got on fine for the first mile or so, 
 
 By rason of the finces, lift and right. 
 And thought we'd soon be where we wished to go, 
 
 For sure the head and worm wis only light, 
 And handy things to carry ; for ye know 
 
 A wooden " head," so that it is does fit tight 
 And doesn't lit the stame out, is as good 
 As if 'twis cast ; and this same one wis wood. 
 
 66. 
 The worm wis of shquare pipe, and made of tin, 
 
 Which answers jist as will as copper, and 
 'Tis much more asy to be got ; and thin 
 
 We wanted chape and useful things, not grand 
 Expinsive ones, and did not care a pin 
 
 For their appearance, so that they would slitand 
 Some wear and tear, and brew the sort of shtuff 
 To raise the sowl of any but a muff. 
 
 67. 
 But to me shtory : all at once the rain 
 
 Lift off, and one or two bright shtars shone out 
 Jist as we enthered on a sort of plain 
 
 Of heath and bog, and as we had no doubt 
 The shtorm would soon be coming on again, 
 
 We lighted our dudheens, and looked about 
 To see if we wis follow'd, and to take 
 A lunar observation, so to shpake, 
 
 68. 
 And findin all wis clare, we thought we might 
 
 As will turn off to old Tim Rooney's cot 
 Up in the hills, a short stip to the right 
 
 From the main thrack, and see what he had got 
 By way of tipple, and to shtay the night 
 
 Wid him, if anything like whiskey hot 
 Wis to be had, our damp insides to air, 
 While our ould coats wis dhrying on a chair 
 
 69. 
 Afore a good turf fire ; but " O, ulloo !" 
 
 Says Phil, while thramping up a steepish hill, 
 " Look at thim lights out on the bog below, 
 
 " And, holy mother ! listen to that yill ! 
 " 'Tis Nid McGan again and Nick, I know, 
 
 " Come wid a clutch of imps, Irish out of hell, 
 " To hunt Nid's wife ;" but 'fore he could say more, 
 The shtorm bursht on M.irin wid hm-rid roar. 
 
61 
 
 70. 
 The lightning ran along the ground like flame, 
 
 The tundher rowled as if the clouds would fall, 
 While out of thim, like pibblc shtones there came 
 
 A heavy fall of hail, that did bate all 
 I iver see before ; beside the same 
 
 A flight of good-sized bin's eggs would be shmall ; 
 And whin Phil hild the worm to save his hat, 
 They in a jiffy bather'd it quite flat. 
 
 71. 
 On came the howlin and the scrames more near, 
 
 And Phil sit up a horrid yilling chorus ; 
 And thin a big brown hare, half mad with fear, 
 
 And eyes that shone like shtars, ran close afore us, 
 While afther her, above the ground quite clear, 
 
 Came on the hellish pack, which might have tore us 
 In half a jiffy into smitthereens, 
 And ate us, sowl and body, widout greens. 
 
 72. 
 
 On wint the hell-hounds wid a mighty yowlin, 
 
 While a shtrong slimcll of sulphur floated round, 
 
 On wint Ould Nick and Nid McGan all scrowlin 
 Upon us as we cowered on the ground ; 
 
 Whiz wint that gipsey on a broomshtick, bowlin 
 Like a big scrache owl, wid a rushin sound 
 
 Till jist above us, whin a scrame she gave 
 
 Would scare a dacent corpse out of its grave ! 
 
 73. 
 
 The tundher rattled and the lightning flashed 
 Down came the hail, I think a thrifle harder, 
 
 So did a big oak-tree, by lightning smasb'd, 
 Which nearly shtop'd meself from goin farder ; 
 
 While in the-dork'ness on the demons dashed 
 To grab the hare for their infernal larder. 
 
 I look'd at Phil, and Phil he look'd at me, 
 
 And both wis white as dirty min could be. 
 
 74. 
 On wint the hunt till out of sight and hearing, 
 
 And wid it, too, the shtorm soon pass'd away, 
 And one by one, betune the dark clouds peerin, 
 
 The shtars came out wid bright and plasing ray ; 
 Thin, as no imps or gangers wis appearm, 
 
 We to ould Kooney's cottage tuck our way ; 
 And as the bather'd worm could not be minded, 
 We threw it in a big hole, and so hided 
 
62 
 
 75. 
 All cause for running from the gangers ; so 
 
 We stipt out quickly for Tim Rooney's cot, 
 And in five minutes more wis all the go, 
 
 Afore a good shin-roaster, blasin hot, 
 A tellin him what ye already know, 
 
 About the divil's hunt and ganger's plot ; 
 Thin dhrank poteen, till rowling off the form 
 We dream'd of divils, ganger's, and the shtorm. 
 
 END OF PAT MURPHY'S STORY. 
 
 " But listen ! be the holy fly 
 
 " There is the same infernal cry 
 
 " That I heerd by that quakin'bog !" 
 
 Said Mac, " It is a dang'd wild dog 
 
 " Close to the yard ; hark ! there again, 
 
 " And Spot and Rover's on the chain !" 
 
 Which said, he opened wide the door, 
 
 And gave vent to a lusty roar ; 
 
 Then rush'd to where the dogs on chain 
 
 Strove hard their liberty to gain, 
 
 Giving the dingoes howl for howl, 
 
 And now and then a bark or growl. 
 
 He loos'd them quickly, off they went, 
 Seeming on dingocide intent, 
 Close followed by old Mac and Pat ; 
 The latter minus coat or hat, 
 But with a stick stuck in his fist, 
 A thing few skulls could well resist, 
 When wielded by the pliant wrist 
 Of him who was the boy to dig 
 Potatoes, or to wield a sprig 
 Of blackthorn at a dacent wake, 
 To break a friend's head by mistake ; 
 (But that was e'er he left the land 
 Of peace and praties old Ireland). 
 
 Y'-t still he liked to have one by, 
 If merely up the flue to dry ; 
 For a stout stick, with knotty end, 
 He always looked on as a friend : 
 But as for coaxing you to tread 
 I*] mil his coat, so that your hrad 
 
63 
 
 Might so be duly qualified 
 
 To have its strength and thickness tried, 
 
 By introduction to that waddy, 
 
 Had not been lately tried by Paddy. 
 
 But now when starting, his hand sought 
 
 His caubeen, but the waddy caught, 
 
 And seeming satisfied with that, 
 
 He forthwith rushed out, minus hat 
 
 Or jumper, tho' the night was keen, 
 
 But did not catch a cold, I ween, 
 
 Nor any other thing that night ; 
 
 For neither tame dog cared to fight 
 
 The wild ones, which oft made a stand, 
 
 Until the men were close at hand, 
 
 Then, with raised bristles and slow gait, 
 
 They trotted on, again to wait 
 
 For those two curs, and seemed to jeer 
 
 At them, and taunt them to come near, 
 
 And try their prowess in a fight 
 
 Beneath the stars' uncertain light ; 
 
 But Spot and Rover e'er to-night 
 
 Had learn'd that dingoes snap and bite 
 
 In such a disagreeable manner, 
 
 As to make worthless to a tanner 
 
 The skins they tore ; and furthermore, 
 
 The wounds would long continue sore : 
 
 For poison lurks their teeth around, 
 
 To canker each deep gaping wound 
 
 They tear in dog, or timid sheep ; 
 
 And so our cowards thought they'd keep 
 
 Out of harm's way, and this they did, 
 
 Altho' old Mac and Paddy bid 
 
 Them " hould him !" till they both were sick 
 
 Of bawling ; and Pat shook his stick, 
 
 And vowed he'd " give thim dogs a batin, 
 
 " If they for him would jist be watin !" 
 
 He'd " lave thim in a purty plight ;" 
 
 And furthermore, that " not a bite 
 
 " Of supper should they get that night ;" 
 
 But they took every kind of care 
 
 The wild dogs should not raise their hair. 
 
 Dingoes will kill for slaughter sake, 
 And often a great havoc make 
 Among a flock of sheep, and slay 
 A number in a reckless way, 
 
64 
 
 To drink their blood, but not to eat 
 
 The mutton ; so a stock of moat 
 
 Is left for curs, which else would find 
 
 Themselves to hunger oft consigned, 
 
 Because a fruitful married pair 
 
 Must exercise no little care 
 
 To make a forty-pound old ewe 
 
 Feed for a week their hungry crew ; 
 
 And so two dogs, on paunch and head, 
 
 Can't be considered over-fed ! 
 
 In fact, they often want a meal 
 
 Of victuals, if they do not steal 
 
 Food for themselves or catch a rat 
 
 And then, if caught, they're thrash'd for that ! 
 
 And thus I think I've proved right well 
 That each cute canine sentinel 
 Should claim the dingo as a friend, 
 And soundly sleep, or else pretend 
 To do so, till the slinking beast 
 Has slain sufficient for a feast ! 
 Then wake to sound, and scent, and sight, 
 And rouse the echoes of the night 
 With warning bark, and savage growl, 
 And melancholy long-drawn howl, 
 Which, striking on the shepherd's ear, 
 Apprises him of wild dogs near ! 
 
 Yet though their masters use them ill, 
 The shepherds' dogs are faithful still ; 
 Ho, in reverse, they all begin 
 To make a most tremendous din 
 Directly they can smell or hear 
 A friendly dingo prowling near, 
 Thus fully warning ev'ry one 
 Before the slightest harm is done ; 
 And so they lose, by their hot haste, 
 Full many a good mutton feast ! 
 But lest my readers' patience fail, 
 Causing them to consign this talc 
 To a warm corner in the Derate, 
 And wish me some such pleasant fate, 
 I'll quickly shift back to old Mac, 
 Friend Paddy, and the canine pack, 
 Who now far from the hut had j*ot, 
 Altho' the chase was much less hot ; 
 For l)oth the men began to find 
 
65 
 
 That they were falling far behind, 
 
 Also that both were out of wind, 
 
 And that it would be useless quite 
 
 To follow up the chase that night, 
 
 So called the dogs, for fear that they 
 
 Might get a poison'd bait, which lay 
 
 Beside a circular bush-yard 
 
 With woven fence, built high to guard 
 
 The weakly lambs, which else had been 
 
 An easy prey to dingoes keen. 
 
 For often in this dry hot clime 
 
 Feed is so scarce at lambing time, 
 
 That save dry grass or herbage sear, 
 
 The produce of a former year, 
 
 The sheep can nothing else obtain 
 
 On scrubby hill or saltbush plain, 
 
 And e'en for that they have to stray 
 
 Some three miles from the yard each day ; 
 
 So lambs, a few hours only old, 
 
 Are much to weak to reach the fold, 
 
 And what is more, they will not try, 
 
 As they, in fact, would rather die 
 
 Than freely walk the homeward road ; 
 
 For each long-legged bleating toad 
 
 In obstinacy far surpasses 
 
 The most pig-headed mules or asses : 
 
 For switch them smartly as you will, 
 
 They will run back or stand stock still, 
 
 And while you well belabour one, 
 
 The other little wretches run 
 
 In all directions, though the sun 
 
 Declares his daily duty done ; 
 
 But heedless quite they race away, 
 
 To be pick'd up some time next day, 
 
 Minus their intestines and breath, 
 
 For they run to the jaws of death 
 
 Or dingoes it is much the same, 
 
 Differing merely in the name. 
 
 0, Job ! if you with your own hand, 
 
 Join'd with your brown-skinn'd shepherd band, 
 
 To drive the pertinacious lambs 
 
 And their most perverse stupid dams 
 
 Home to the fold at eventide, 
 
 When from the rugged mountain side 
 
 Came down the famished lion's roar, 
 
 Which made the sweat from every pore 
 
66 
 
 Stream with anxiety and fear : 
 While ewes and lambs ran there and here, 
 And tried what scattering would do 
 To lose of lambs a goodly few. 
 //"then yon kept your temper cool, 
 And called no one a something fool ! 
 Nor kicked the lambs, nor swore amain, 
 When half the ewes broke back again, 
 J say, yon earned your appellation 
 Of Man most patient since creation. 
 
 But then the sheep of eastern breed 
 
 Were very different indeed, 
 
 And varied much in many ways 
 
 From their descendants of these days ; 
 
 In fact, I've heard that shepherds led 
 
 Their flocks, and stalking at their head 
 
 Would, gaily piping on a reed, 
 
 Conduct them to their daily feed, 
 
 And, never getting in a plight, 
 
 Would march them home to roost at night. 
 
 I'd like to learn their method, for, 
 
 As I write this, my feet are sore 
 
 From running after, not before, 
 
 Three mobs of ewes and lambs that would 
 
 Race everywhere but where they should ; 
 
 Trying most stubbornly all day 
 
 To get boxed up or else astray ; 
 
 As I myself have, by the way, 
 
 Strayed from my story, for I find 
 
 I've left my subject far behind ; 
 
 And so friend Mac and Pat we'll send 
 
 Home to the hut, their yarns to end, 
 
 And tie the sheep-dogs up, if they 
 
 Can only catch them by the way. 
 
 And now, to make all matters plain, 
 
 I must retrace my steps again 
 
 To where those dingoes twain that night 
 
 First heard the sound and saw the light, 
 
 Which then occasioned them to pause, 
 
 Altho' they knew right well the cause 
 
 Of both yet on their hams they sat 
 
 To have a little canine chat 
 
 A consultation how to act 
 
 In case they chanc'd to be attacked 
 
 And to decide upon the way 
 
67 
 
 To reach unseen the fold's gateway, 
 
 At which a lamb or two, they thought, 
 
 Might very easily be caught, 
 
 If some (as lambs will often do) 
 
 Had left their ewes and scrambled thro' 
 
 Between the hurdle-bars to play, 
 
 Not having had enough all day ; 
 
 Then, once outside, their eyes grow dim, 
 
 Or else they think themselves less slim 
 
 Like " ^Esop's weasel," that when thin 
 
 Crept thro' a hole into a bin, 
 
 Where eating wheat till he grew fat, 
 
 (Queer for a weasel to do that !) 
 
 Could not repass the slender crack, 
 
 To tread again the homeward track ; 
 
 And so these lambs (tho' nought but air 
 
 They feed upon while playing there) 
 
 Find it insuperably hard 
 
 To win back safely to their yard ! 
 
 A camel thro' a needle's eye 
 
 Could enter just as easily ! 
 
 They wriggle forth, and, once outside, 
 
 No friendly space, however wide, 
 
 Entices them to enter, when 
 
 They would be safer in the pen ; 
 
 And so they run about and bleat, 
 
 A very tempting dish of meat, 
 
 To lure the ever watchful eye 
 
 Of some gaunt wild dog prowling nigh. 
 
 Of this those dingoes were aware, 
 For both had sev'ral times been there, 
 And had arrested, there and then, 
 Some foolish lambs outside the pen ; 
 An habeas corpus writ served they, 
 Which proved those lambs a lawful prey 
 To Nature's sanguinary laws, 
 Administered by teeth and claws ; 
 Laws which doom helpless creatures all 
 Before those fiercer beasts to foil, 
 Which shun the light, and prowl by night, 
 With this their motto " Might is Right !" 
 
 Our dingo friends then thought of Spot, 
 And tho' they did not care a jot 
 For him or Hover, yet they knew 
 There'd be a terrible to do ; 
 
68 
 
 If they should smell their pleasant scent, 
 
 Spoiling their villanons intent 
 
 l>y bringing noisy fellows out 
 
 To run like " red shanks " and to shout, 
 
 Also to see that all the lambs 
 
 Were in the yard beside their dams, 
 
 And so frustrate with noisy clatter 
 
 Our dingoes' efforts to grow latter ; 
 
 Therefore they soon agreed that they 
 
 Should take a circuitous way, 
 
 So as to get the hill behind, 
 
 And thus approach against the wind, 
 
 Then carefully they gain'd the yard, 
 
 Prowling around, unseen, unheard, 
 
 Only to have their patience tried, 
 
 By finding not a lamb outside ; 
 
 Which so upset the bitch's temper, 
 
 That she set up a peevish whimper ; 
 
 And as a pair of gaping jaws 
 
 In church or chapel is the cause 
 
 Of setting others gaping too, 
 
 In yawn on yawn, from pew to pew, 
 
 Until, affecting e'en the parson, 
 
 His face divides, and makes it pass on 
 
 To the grave deacon and gravedigger, 
 
 Who stretch their jaws with utmost rigour ; 
 
 So howling, with the canine race, 
 
 With that phenomenon keeps pace ; 
 
 Then ere the sound quite died away, 
 
 Her mate took up the dismal lay, 
 
 Which rising high in cadence shrill, 
 
 Rang mournfully o'er plain and hill ; 
 
 And tho' it might have pleas' d them both, 
 
 It wrung from Mac that sudden oath, 
 
 Followed by his and Paddy's noise, 
 
 Joined in with vigour by the boys ; 
 
 Added to which the dogs on chain 
 
 Gave each a most discordant strain, 
 
 Till with a horrid uproar wild, 
 
 The startled welkin was defiled ! 
 
 And then that wild-goose chase began, 
 
 In which men, dogs, and dingoes ran, 
 
 Only to halloo, snarl, and ban ; 
 
 For nothing suffered hurt or death, 
 
 ( Saving a little loss of breath), 
 
 As I before tried to explain, 
 
 So will not touch on it again, 
 
69 
 
 But keep in view those dingoes twain, 
 
 They still kept up a slinging trot, 
 
 Their tongues loll'd out (for they were hot), 
 
 With lower'd tail and heaving flank, 
 
 Until they reach'd a gum creek's bank, 
 
 On which a small erection stood, 
 
 Formed of short unhewn logs of wood, 
 
 Which, planted as a pallisade, 
 
 A sort of strong, stout kennel made ; 
 
 To form the roof more logs were placed, 
 
 Which, like the others, were not faced ; 
 
 And on these blocks of rock were stack'd, 
 
 To keep all steady and compact ; 
 
 A sliding door there once had been 
 
 To close the end, for still were seen 
 
 The grooves and lever, which of yore 
 
 Sustained and work'd the fatal door. 
 
 The whole resembled a device 
 
 Once used at home for catching mice, 
 
 Before the block, with holes indented, 
 
 And fatal springes were invented ; 
 
 And this one (baited with a scrap 
 
 Of mutton) was a dingo trap ; 
 
 Or rather, he who built it meant 
 
 It for one, but his kind intent 
 
 Was frustrated by reason that 
 
 The wild dogs rather " smelt a rat ;" 
 
 For tho' their tracks were often found 
 
 Imprinted thickly all around, 
 
 They r-irely caused the door to fall ; 
 
 The artful " varmints," one and all, 
 
 Distrusted both the trap and bait, 
 
 And trotted off, e'ere 'twas too late ; 
 
 So that like every antiquated 
 
 Useless invention, it was fated 
 
 To fall into disuse and ruin, 
 
 When it of dogs had had but few in ; 
 
 For then nux vomica came out, 
 
 Was boil'd with meat and strew'd about, 
 
 (Killing no end of shepherd's dogs, 
 
 And gave a turn to some few hogs), 
 
 But did not poison many dingoes, 
 
 Who would much rather eat blue pingoes 
 
 Or 'possums, for to them no treat 
 
 Was visible in parboiled meat ; 
 
 (Tho' there are bushmen who still say 
 
 That in boiled liver is the way 
 
70 
 
 To lay the poison, so that all 
 
 The dogfl which come that way may fall 
 
 Victims to confidence misplaced, 
 
 In choosing provender by taste) ; 
 
 But to return to dogs betrayed 
 
 Xux vomica was not long laid, 
 
 Till strychnine (from the self-same bean), 
 
 More deadly, portable, and clean, 
 
 Came into universal use, 
 
 And tliis with death ne'er holds a truce ; 
 
 For dingoes swallowing a grain, 
 
 Yield not again to hunger's pain ! 
 
 But to return to our two dogs 
 
 They scratched and sniffed around those logs 
 
 As tame ones in a friendly host 
 
 Hold solemn levee round a post ; 
 
 And then they squatted on their hams, 
 
 To muse upon the meat of lambs. 
 
 Then up and spake that dingo grim, 
 
 In language plain enough for him, 
 
 .V vile patois, which I opine 
 
 Is 'twixt the canine and lupine, 
 
 Which nobody would understand 
 
 E'en if I had it at command ; 
 
 And so in English I will write 
 
 What that old wild dog said that night. 
 
 But e'er I do, I can't resist 
 
 Railing at authors who insist 
 
 On quite astonishing the weak 
 
 Nerves of their readers with choice Greek 
 
 Or Gallic extracts, which they might 
 
 Judiciously keep out of sight, 
 
 For these most readers do appal, 
 
 As broken bottles on a wall 
 
 Small longing urchins, who would fain 
 
 The inside of the garden gain, 
 
 To revel on the fruit they see, 
 
 But fear the sure phlebotomy 
 
 That would attend their enterprise ; 
 
 And so those words to readers' eyes, 
 
 Present an obstacle, which they 
 
 Can not surmount, and so they say, 
 
 " Confound the fellow ! what a bore ! 
 
 " What did he put this French in for ! 
 
 " We think with mischievous intent, 
 
 " It really is no ornament 
 
71 
 
 " Or use, except it be, indeed, 
 
 " Unlearned readers to impede, 
 
 " And air his erudition deep, 
 
 " Wish to goodness he would keep 
 
 " His hard words to himself, and give 
 
 " In English his plain narrative." 
 
 So shall the dingoes' talk- by me 
 
 In plainest English written be, 
 
 (Especially, as French or Greek, 
 
 Latin or Hebrew I can't speak, 
 
 And, therefore, it is very clear 
 
 I cannot give you any here, 
 
 Which may, perhaps, account for the 
 
 Foregoing spiteful rhapsody.) 
 
 And now for what that dingo said : 
 
 He thus a fair beginning made 
 
 ' Look ! Lupulina, at that trap, 
 
 ' For which we never cared a rap ; 
 
 1 Mankind must really have thick skulls 
 
 ' To think that we should be such gulls, 
 
 ' As to be taken in and sold 
 
 ' By such a thing ! we are too old, 
 
 " And know a thing or two too much 
 
 " To be betrayed by such a hutch, 
 
 " Which mars the scenery around, 
 
 " And should be levelled with the ground ; 
 
 " Besides, it will soon pass away, 
 
 " A prey to fire or swift decay, 
 
 (" Tho' white ants will not near it go, 
 
 " They like not salt soak'd pine you know 
 
 " A sandal wood would please them better) 
 
 " But what the mischief is the matter ? 
 
 " Why do you whimper in that way ? 
 
 " Do let me know at once, I pray." 
 
 " Matter, indeed," the bitch replied, 
 
 " My patience you have sorely tried 
 
 " With your extremely stupid chatter ; 
 
 " And then to ask what is the matter ? 
 
 " Well, then, beyond the slightest question, 
 
 " I suffer not from indigestion, 
 
 " Nor am I likely to, I fear, 
 
 " If you intend to dawdle here. 
 
 " I thought you said, as we came up, 
 
 " You knew where we could go and sup 
 
 " On tenderest of dainty lamb 
 
 " I think that story was all flam, 
 
72 
 
 Invented merely to deceive me ; 
 
 " So now just listen, and believe me. 
 
 " If I am destined thus to wait 
 
 " In vain for supper, sure as fate 
 
 " I'll leave you for another mate ! 
 
 " A common practice with the whites, 
 
 " When wives are cheated of their rights, 
 
 " And maintenance is one I'm sure ; 
 
 " You know the case, devise the cure." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear," the dog replied, 
 
 But with a look which quite belied 
 
 The quiet language he employed, 
 
 (For he was really much annoyed 
 
 At this spiteful interruption, 
 
 Which caused the most complete destruction 
 
 Of the complacent self-esteem 
 
 With which lie had pursued his theme ; 
 
 Causing it from its niche to fall, 
 
 And him to feel extremely small 
 
 And rather vexed, and so no doubt 
 
 Would you yourself, if dining out, 
 
 Inspired by best of wine and meat 
 
 You spouted what yourself thought neat, 
 
 But which some nasty, ill-bred fellow, 
 
 Made cross by wine instead of mellow, 
 
 Cuts up, till in a fit of rage 
 
 You'd kill him, only for his age !) 
 
 " Indeed, my dear ! you should not blame 
 
 " Me for the scarcity of game ! 
 
 " I know that hunger's hard to bear, 
 
 " But then, you must be well aware 
 
 " That I have hunted since sunset 
 
 " A meal of game or lamb to get 
 
 " For you ; but through adverse events 
 
 " And / must add your petulance, 
 
 " In whining, when we might have made 
 
 " Upon the lambs a famous raid ; 
 
 " And now to lay all blame on me 
 
 " I say, and really think to be 
 
 " Injustice, very hard to bear ! 
 
 " You don't mean what you say, my dear." 
 
 Replied the bitch, " I do indeed, 
 " And as I stand far more in need 
 " Of supper than your idle talk, 
 
73 
 
 (" Which I hate worse than Jews hate pork !) 
 
 " I think you now had better start 
 
 " Except you wish that we should part 
 
 " And so exert your every sense, 
 
 " And let us have no more pretence 
 
 " About the scarcity of game, 
 
 " When 'tis yourself that is to blame." 
 
 " There, that will do," replied her mate, 
 
 " 'Twill hurt you in your present state 
 
 " To get into a passion so ; 
 
 " I think we may as well now go 
 
 " To that small yard I spoke about, 
 
 " At which I've not the slightest doubt 
 
 " A lamb or two have been left out." 
 
 He waited not for her reply, 
 
 But struck into a sheep-track nigh, 
 
 Followed by his cara sposa, 
 
 Both intent to see or nose a 
 
 Ewe or lamb, or aught beside 
 
 With woolly skin or hairy hide ; 
 
 For anything in shape of meat 
 
 Those hungry dogs would kill and eat ; 
 
 But they saw nothing, till the dog 
 
 Began to sniff, and said " Some prog 
 
 " Of a high odour he could smell." 
 
 The bitch, she whimpered, and said " Well, 
 
 " Why don't you follow up the scent ?" 
 
 He said " All right," and off he went, 
 
 But all at once exclaim'd " Look here 
 
 " At this big trail ; 'tis rather queer, 
 
 " No beast I know a track would make 
 
 " Like this, except a booming snake ; 
 
 " And tho' 'tis not a reptile smell, 
 
 " I think it would be just as well 
 
 " To keep your eyes wide open, dear ; 
 
 " That is, we ought not to go near 
 
 " Until we can quite plainly see 
 
 " What kind of creature it may be." 
 
 " There, do leave off," replied his mate, 
 " Don't talk such stuff ; you know I hate 
 " To hear you prate such nonsense vile, 
 " But you can't help it, 'tis your style ; 
 " Right well you know no snake of size 
 " Inhabits here ; tho' to your eyes 
 
74 
 
 " They be of vast and horrid shape, 
 
 " You wretched, chicken-hearted ape. 
 
 " Proceed at once, and don't you dear me ; 
 
 " Quick march, I say, do you not hear me ?" 
 
 " Well, yes, I rather think I do ; 
 
 " Who could escape from hearing you ? 
 
 " Would that your tongue within your head 
 
 " Was close confined, or I were dead, 
 
 " Or deaf as any blue gum tree, 
 
 " That I might 'scape the misery 
 
 " Of hearing your eternal nag, 
 
 " You execrable, spiteful hag ; 
 
 " Whate'er I do, whate'er I say, 
 
 " To pleasure you in any way, 
 
 " Appears to your distemper'd sight 
 
 " In an unfavourable light ; 
 
 " 'Tis truly said, that ' evil folks 
 
 " ' See evil in all facts or jokes ;' 
 
 " And now, if from me you would part, 
 
 " I will say yes with all my heart." 
 
 Now, as this did not suit the book 
 
 Of his dear spouse, she put a look 
 
 Of tender trouble in her eyes, 
 
 Where water seemed about to rise, 
 
 And murmur'd " Ah ! you cruel creature, 
 
 " I did not think 'twas in your nature 
 
 " To taunt me, when so delicate 
 
 " I am in this my present state : 
 
 " When really you ought not to heed 
 
 " My little temper, for indeed 
 
 " I'm always sorry afterward ; 
 
 " And so I trust you'll not be hard 
 
 " With me this time, and I will be 
 
 " A pattern of propriety." 
 
 Of course the dog was near gain'd o'er, 
 
 Tho' feeling still a little sore ; 
 
 And so he said " There, that's enough," 
 
 As if he yet were in a huff : 
 
 But at the same time going on, 
 
 Quite evidently bent upon 
 
 Finding a supper of fresh meat 
 
 For his most amiable mate, 
 
 Who thought it prudent to abstain 
 
 From saying aught against the grain 
 
 At least, until she could obtain 
 
75 
 
 The supper she was longing for 
 That is, a young lamb taken raw. 
 
 And so she trotted silently 
 Behind her shaggy mate, while he 
 Employed his ears, his nose, and eyes 
 To find the much-desired prize ; 
 And soon he said " A track I see, 
 " Which from its shape appears to me 
 " To be that of the raw-boned Scot, 
 " Who makes the place for us too hot, 
 " And to his flock sticks like a burr, 
 " Attended by his surly cur 
 " Which stirs the lambs up when asleep, 
 " And keeps them moving with the sheep, 
 " So that when supper-time comes round 
 " We vainly beat o'er all the ground. 
 
 " And now 'tis very clear to me 
 
 " That this queer trail, which here we see, 
 
 " Is from a ewe, which this same Mac 
 
 " Has dragged along upon its back 
 
 " To tie up to a bush or stake, 
 
 " Because her lamb she would not take : 
 
 " I saw him serve a ewe that way 
 
 " When I chanc'd here the other clay ! 
 
 " Then thinking (as I should) of you, 
 
 " Resolved at once to save the two 
 
 " From future fatal butcher's knife, 
 
 " By quickly ridding them of life 
 
 " In nature's quiet kindly way, 
 
 " Directly Mac should go away. 
 
 " I got no chance he stayed all day, 
 
 " And then to make the case more hard, 
 
 " He drove the weak lambs to the yard, 
 
 " Loosing the ewe which joined the flock 
 
 " The lamb he thrust into his smock ; 
 
 " Then making that tall hurdle tight, 
 
 " He drove the flock home for the night, 
 
 " Leaving me here to beat the plain 
 
 " For a long time, of course, in vain. 
 
 " But here the track turns off again 
 
 " And see ! depending from that bush 
 
 " Is a large kidney, nice and fresh, 
 
 " And which, within most easy reach, 
 
 " Is red and juicy as a peach ; 
 
 " And as 'tis merely a small bite, 
 
 " You take it." She replied" All right." 
 
76 
 
 She made a snap, which cut the twine, 
 
 One bite to taste, and vowed 'twas fine ; 
 
 Less hasty would she have been then, 
 
 Had she divined that crafty men 
 
 Had strychnine sprinkled in its heart 
 
 Or rather, in its inside part 
 
 Like to the ashes at the core 
 
 Of apples on the Dead Sea shore ; 
 
 So pleasant to the passer's eye ; 
 
 So filthy, if their taste he try ; 
 
 But this the bitch knew not, and so, 
 
 As I just said, she was not slow 
 
 In making that fine kidney skip 
 
 Into her stomach, as would slip 
 
 A medlar into that of pig, 
 
 Or oyster down the throat of prig ; 
 
 But no bad taste could she detect, 
 
 And therefore did not then suspect 
 
 Her danger ; and so urged her mate 
 
 To go in search of other meat. 
 
 So off they trotted on the track 
 
 Of sheep's fresh paunch, which canny Mac 
 
 Had dragg'd in spreading circle round 
 
 The yard, thus leaving on the ground 
 
 An odorous and potent clue, 
 
 Intended to lead dingoes to 
 
 A poison'd kidney or a tongue, 
 
 Which by a piece of twine is hung 
 
 About a foot above the ground 
 
 On any bush that may be found, 
 
 When the drag-bait is drawn around, 
 
 So that the spotted native cats, 
 
 Bush mice, or active leaping rats 
 
 Can not detach it and convey 
 
 It to some place, where it next day 
 
 Might be picked up by " Spot " or " Bob "- 
 
 To him a melancholy job. 
 
 Those dingoes swiftly ran the track, 
 
 Which led them nearly to the back 
 
 Of that brush-yard, where stiff and cold 
 
 Lay a small larnb, some two days' old. 
 
 " There is your meal," the wild dog said ; 
 
 The bitch was silent, but she laid 
 
 Upon its neck her grimy paw, 
 
 And tore its side with ruthless jaw ; 
 
77 
 
 Then drawing out, began to eat 
 What dingoes all prefer to meat ; 
 That is the liver with the gall ; 
 In fact, the whole of the offal, 
 Including chitterlings and caul. 
 
 And as she ate voraciously, 
 Her mate began to fear that he 
 Should very likely fare but ill 
 If he politely waited till 
 The bitch had finished her repast, 
 And so began to break his fast, 
 Contriving to secure the heart, 
 Which chanced to be the poison'd part ; 
 In fact, he found a bitter taste, 
 But did not heed it in the least, 
 So keen was he for that fell meal, 
 That was his deadly fate to seal. 
 And both so busy were that they 
 Permitted not the least delay 
 For observation, or regard 
 Of ewes, excited in the yard ; 
 Which, rushing madly to one side, 
 With starting eyes and nostrils wide, 
 Shrill whistling, showed the abject fear, 
 They always feel with dingoes near. 
 
 But all at once the bitch cried, " Oh ! 
 
 " There's something wrong with me, I know ; 
 
 " I really am in horrid pain, 
 
 " And will not touch a lamb again ;" 
 
 Which said, with somersault and bound 
 
 She beat herself against the ground ; 
 
 Her blood-stain'd teeth were lock'd full tight, 
 
 Her grinning lips left them in sight ; 
 
 Upon her side she lay at length, 
 
 Her rigid limbs were shorn of strength, 
 
 Her eyes were set with backward stare, 
 
 Convulsions' foam-flakes stain'd her hair ; 
 
 Near to death's door she seem'd to be, 
 
 Terrific in her agony, 
 
 And thus, with muscles fixed she lay, 
 
 Until the first fit pass'd away. 
 
 The dingo left the blood-stain'd bones, 
 And listened mutely to her moans, 
 But quickly found in his own mouth 
 
78 
 
 A bitter and a burning " droutli," 
 Which made him long for water more 
 Tli an ho for lamb had craved before ; 
 While horrid pains his vitals rending, 
 A dark, ensanguined foam was blending 
 With the lamb's blood, which to his eyes 
 No longer was an envied prize ; 
 And once or twice he tried to howl, 
 But from his stiff en'd, upturn'd jowl 
 A quaver wild alone arose, 
 As if his life was near its close. 
 
 But the sharp fit in which both lay 
 Did shortly pass from them away, 
 But left a burning pain behind 
 iSo fierce, that neither felt inclined 
 To tax the other with the blame 
 Of having lighted up the flame, 
 Which like a jagged two-edged knife, 
 Was severing their cords of life ; 
 For both with fits were seized again, 
 And death usurped the place of pain. 
 
 At early morning came old Mac 
 With eager eyes upon the track 
 To hunt along the trail he'd dragg'd, 
 And see what " varmints " he had bagg'd ; 
 And how he chuckled when he saw 
 Those dogs, whose thievery was o'er. 
 " You wratches, you are dead," quoth he ; 
 "Your tails are worth five bob to me, 
 " And you will look much better dockit ;" 
 Which said, from out his trousers pocket 
 He drew a long, keen clasp-knife, and 
 Above the dingoes took his stand ; 
 And then, with vicious slashes cut 
 Off each one's tail close to the butt ; 
 Then spurn'd the stumps, so cold and gory, 
 And with that action ends this story. 
 
79 
 
 THE THUNDERSTORM. 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 I lie on my stretcher with wakeful eye, 
 For the storm outside is no lullaby, 
 And I feel no approach, I must confess, 
 Of light-finger' cl slumber's benign caress ! 
 But bother my brains with the cares of life ; 
 Sufficient for me tho' I have no wife ! 
 
 But see ! by the glare of that vivid flash 
 
 How those scare-crow forms for my log-hut dash ! 
 
 And list to the patter of naked feet 
 
 As they splash along in their swift retreat 
 
 From the pelting rain which the clouds throw down 
 
 On those luckless heads, as tho' they would drown 
 
 All nature at least on the Western Plain ! 
 
 So its ancient lords would a shelter gain 
 
 More potent than that which their wurlies give ; 
 
 (For these all leak like a coarse mesh'd seive,) 
 
 And thus they are bent on a night with me 
 
 An honour indeed of the last degree ! 
 
 Their goal soon gain'd, they grope for the latch, 
 
 While a flood pours down from the rain-soak'd thatch ; 
 
 So, rising at once, I fling wide the door, 
 
 And the lightning gleams on the flagstone floor ; 
 
 When the natives frighten'd and wet I ween 
 
 In the fitful glare show a pale pea-green 
 
 As they puff at the brands in the chimney-place, 
 
 And range themselves round with no studied grace. 
 
 For, jabbering glibly amongst themselves, 
 They look like a crew of dark demon elves, 
 With their deep set eyes and glittering teeth 
 Shining out, their shaggy black locks beneath, 
 As they squat on the flags like toads or frogs ; 
 While mix'd in between are their mangy dogs, 
 And pups are produced from I don't know where 
 By wrinkled old gins with the greatest care ; 
 When I savagely say " You turn 'em out 
 " All about wilka*, or else, without doubt, 
 " Into the cowief the lot of you go !" 
 (At the same thrusting a leg from below 
 
 * Dog. t Bain. 
 
80 
 
 The blankets, as if about to perform 
 MY threat of driving them out in the storm.) 
 But my words avail, for with cropp'd-in tail 
 Forth go those vile curs to the storm and gale ! 
 
 'Tis a motley crew that is squatting there, 
 
 With steaming rags on the flagstones bare ! 
 
 In family circles not fair to see, 
 
 Though all of them smile as the talk runs free, 
 
 Till I greatly fear that each occuput 
 
 Will backward fall e'er the mouth can shut ! 
 
 Hark ! a dusky brat with the stomach-ache 
 Starts doing its best with its yells to wake 
 The echoes which sleep round the cobwebs old, 
 Festoon'd 'neath the roof by their spinners bold ; 
 And it fiercely fights with its swart mamma, 
 (Who wears widow's weeds for their late papa, 
 Whose " carkata-peepa "* was crack'd, poor man, 
 A short time since by his loving clan ! ) 
 So I give the lone creature an ancient rug, 
 And tell her the little one's mouth to plug 
 With nature's own bottle (I might say jug !) 
 Which she quickly does, and, to my delight, 
 To the land of dreams the young imp takes flight ! 
 
 Now a nice old man, with fine open face, 
 
 Steps gingerly up to the chimney-place, 
 
 (With nature's sole garb on his soul's black case !) 
 
 And easily chats to the young gins there, 
 
 While two or three brands he selects with care, 
 
 And carries them off' as a reek ascends, 
 
 And in graceful curls with the light steam blends ! 
 
 Oh ! happy is he when a blaze springs up, 
 
 (Which brings to light a small smuggled pup ;) 
 
 But dashed from his lip is the cup of bliss 
 
 For his fire, to me, comes rather amiss ; 
 
 For though I put up with my friends so dirty, 
 
 My eyes won't stand the sharp " erdla merty/'f 
 
 So I tell that " poolka,"J as sure as fate, 
 
 I'll turn him out at a double quick rate 
 
 If he keeps the hut in this smoky state. 
 
 He tries to raise a facetious whinney, 
 
 " Him only a pe-ekanninny," 
 
 Scull. t Wood smoke. $ Old man. 
 
81 
 
 And " him big one warm," but I won't relent, 
 So he tells his gin, with much discontent, 
 To put back the sticks to the hearth again ; 
 For he plainly thinks on that flooded plain 
 No black or white, in his sense quite right, 
 Would wish to pass such a terrible night ! 
 
 And now my sweet guests, all whispering low, 
 
 Declare 'tis Jemmy, they very well know, 
 
 Who, out in his camp on the sand-hill near, 
 
 Is up to his tricks for his lost wife dear ! 
 
 The " wirra-wirra's "* fierce scathing flash, 
 
 And the awful " arndoos "f volleying crash 
 
 From the storm-vex'd clouds, are his work, 'tis plain, 
 
 And the constant dash of the hissing rain ! 
 
 And they say that " a big one poota "J next 
 
 He'll raise to her manes when next he's vex'd ! 
 
 But I try to explain, (though of course in vain), 
 
 How the thunder, lightning, and heavy rain 
 
 Can be caused by none save the Mighty One 
 
 Who made the mountains, the clouds, and the sun 
 
 Who breathed into man the first breath of life, 
 
 Before to the world came sorrow and strife, 
 
 When unknown was death, and the bright young earth 
 
 Was filled with peace, plenty, and harmless mirth. 
 
 But they hear with scorn all my reasons warm, 
 And say it ivas Jemmy who raised the storm, 
 And " tintoo " jump up, weather fair or foul, 
 With that old man they will certainly growl. 
 But as they begin to get warm and dry, 
 Their longing for vengeance they soon lay by, 
 For huddled together upon the floor 
 They yield to sleep, and I hear no more, 
 Save an occasional deep-toned snore, 
 And, from the outside, the elements roar. 
 
 But they are not pleasant lodgers, I trow, 
 For a steam is arising from them now 
 Of an odour certainly not the thing 
 That floats about when the laughing spring 
 Calls forth from their tangled wild hiding place 
 The modestly beautiful floral race, 
 Bespangled with gems by the morning dew, 
 So gaily sipped by the butterfly crew, 
 
 * Lightning. t Thunder. J Dost storm. $ The san. 
 
82 
 
 But a horrible scent, which, to ray nose, is 
 Tlu* very reverse of a bright fragrant posy's. 
 
 And I'm very glad when old Sol again 
 Rolls darkness away from the Western Plain, 
 For the storm clouds hang o'er the eastern range 
 With various forms and colouring strange, 
 While the happy birds, in blithesome play, 
 From rain-laden boughs shake showers of spray, 
 And the kangaroos, in ungainly crews, 
 Find the mud their efforts to hop confuse. 
 
 So now my delightful lodgers I warn 
 To quickly decamp from my bushland barn, 
 When they and old Jemmy, without a grunt, 
 Go off in a mob to a " coodla "* hunt, 
 And the old woman comes with a sour face, 
 And inwardly growls as she cleans the place. 
 
 A DINGO HUNT. 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 1. 
 
 Upon a station, years ago, 
 
 I lived as overseer : 
 A situation, you must know, 
 
 At which no one need sneer ; 
 For hunting, tho' a pastime thought 
 
 At home by sporting men. 
 Was business to me, for I sought 
 
 Each idle vagrant then. 
 
 * Kangaroo. These are easily caught when the ground is boggy, as their toes sink 
 in and throw them forward almost on their nose. 
 
83 
 
 2. 
 
 Which far from where it should have been, 
 
 In safe and lawful thrall ; 
 Searched eagerly for herbage green 
 
 Beyond stern duty's call. 
 I hunted up, which was no joke, 
 
 The bullocks one and all, 
 With likely steers to put in yoke, 
 
 And cows with young calves small ; 
 
 3. 
 
 The cows to grace a rustic bail, 
 
 The calves in pen to fast, 
 To bring their mothers to the pail, 
 
 Themselves to take the last 
 (And often very scanty) drop 
 
 Of milk, the maids or men 
 Leave, when drain'd udders bid them stop 
 
 Till morning comes again. 
 
 4. 
 I hunted up stray station steeds 
 
 Which, poor and weak when lost, 
 Would soon career o'er verdant meads 
 
 With manes and tails high toss'd ; 
 I hunted wethers and old ewes, 
 
 I hunted weaners small ; 
 I hunted too and did abuse 
 
 The shepherds one and all 
 
 5. 
 When they would leave the sheep and go 
 
 Off home to nurse " the kids " 
 (A name colonial, you know, 
 
 For human chickabids ! 
 Of whom their mothers are so proud : 
 
 Small angels, minus wings, 
 Who cry for ever, shrill and loud, 
 
 The interesting things ! ) 
 
 6. 
 Then on one sultry Sabbath mom, 
 
 I am ashamed to say, 
 I hunted tho' I lacked a horn, 
 
 Foxhounds, and red coat gay 
 A wild dog that I chanced to see, 
 
 While running in two steers ; 
 I vowed his tail my prize should be, 
 
 I valued not his ears. 
 
84 
 
 7. 
 I never should have made that vow, 
 
 But hied homo with my steers ; 
 I was in fault, I see it now, 
 
 In these my sober years ; 
 But then, it was another case, 
 
 I was but young ; and so 
 Resolved at once to go the pace, 
 
 And slay that shepherds' foe. 
 
 8. 
 The facts, just as they did occur, 
 
 To you I will relate ; 
 Altho' no doubt you will concur 
 
 In saying that the fate 
 Which waited on my enterprise 
 
 Was well deserved by me ; 
 And that for aye by dust and flies 
 
 I should tormented be 
 
 9. 
 For breaking so the Sabbath-day 
 
 With such ungodly sport ; 
 And to be candid, I must say, 
 
 I really think I ought ; 
 But then, again, 'tis hard to shun 
 
 Temptation in the guise 
 Of a fine wild dog, that will run 
 
 Right in before your eyes 
 
 10. 
 When you are mounted on a prad, 
 
 That can and will hit out : 
 Tho' it be wrong, tho' it be bad, 
 
 And wicked without doubt, 
 You quite forget what day it is ; 
 
 And as Sam Slick would say 
 " Your dander being fairly riz, 
 
 " You yell and put away." 
 
 11. 
 
 You yell not at, nor put away 
 
 Your evil impulse no ! 
 You tickle up your bay, or grey, 
 
 Give him his head and go 
 After the dog like winking, or 
 
 A shot, or what you will ; 
 Of your great sin not thinking, for 
 
 Your conscience then is still. 
 
85 
 
 12. 
 
 You only think how you shall knock 
 
 The dingo on the head, 
 And steer your horse clear of each rock, 
 
 Each tree and sandy bed, 
 And " crab-hole " which is worse than all 
 
 The other things beside, 
 And oft will cause a nasty fall 
 
 To those who rashly ride ; 
 
 13. 
 
 (For if a horse shall fairly set 
 
 His fore feet into one, 
 He turns a flying summerset, 
 
 And comes down with a run : 
 Most likely on his rider's back 
 
 With horrid crushing force ; 
 To test the strength of rib and back, 
 
 There's nothing like a horse ! 
 
 14. 
 This I with certainty can say, 
 
 For I have tried it twice 
 Or rather, I've been tried that way ; 
 
 And did not find it nice ; 
 For some six hundred-weight or more 
 
 Upon one's carcass thrown, 
 By old Sir Isaac Newton's law, 
 
 Would make a giant groan.) 
 
 15. 
 
 Upon one sultry Sabbath morn 
 
 I went into the yard, 
 Where horses stood, sans hay and corn 
 
 A case you may think hard ; 
 But they, like worms upon a hook, 
 
 Get used to it no doubt, 
 And so for feed they do not look 
 
 Till to the bush let out. 
 
 16. 
 But you will say I'm wasting time ; 
 
 And so I to my story 
 Will turn, and state ('twill help the rhyme) 
 
 The sun, in all his glory, 
 Was sailing in a sea of blue, 
 
 Where not a cloud was seen, 
 Just as the herbage, then in view, 
 
 Show'd not one tint of green, 
 
86 
 
 17. 
 When I old Teaser bridled, and 
 
 The saddle on him toss'd 
 To get, as I o'er night had plann'd, 
 
 Two steers Flash Dick had lost, 
 And which I'd heard a shepherd say 
 
 He'd seen a short time back 
 Upon a plain nine miles away ; 
 
 And so I took the track 
 
 18. 
 That led thereto ; and rode along, 
 
 Tormented by the flies, 
 Which sang to me their buzzing song, 
 
 While sporting round my eyes ; 
 Or sunn'd themselves upon my back, 
 
 Or on my old felt hat ; 
 While scores of others on my hack 
 
 With great decorum sat. 
 
 19. 
 I wish'd them all to Jericho, 
 
 But they were quite at home, 
 And would not take a hint to go 
 
 They did not care to roam ; 
 For when with motion, swift and sly, 
 
 I dash'd my hand with force 
 Upon my fly-besprinkled thigh 
 
 I did but scare my horse, 
 
 20. 
 For much too knowing were those flies 
 
 To be so simply caught ; 
 Wide open were their keen, bright eyes,- 
 
 They dodg'd, as quick as thought, 
 To light again, quite merrily, 
 
 Upon my punish'd leg ; 
 Making me wish that every fly 
 
 Had perish'd in the egg. 
 
 21. 
 
 But wish or slap would not avail 
 
 To keep at bay those flies, 
 And as I could not sport a veil, 
 
 They frolick'd round my eyes, 
 Or got entangled in my hair 
 
 Bizzing, I guess, with fear ; 
 While others did for fun repair 
 
 Into my shady ear. 
 
87 
 
 22. 
 
 But tho' they would not go, they went 
 
 That is, they would not go 
 Away from me they were intent 
 
 On teasing me, and so 
 They stopp'd, and went with me until 
 
 I saw beneath some trees, 
 Upon a low and grassy hill, 
 
 Some cattle at their ease, 
 
 23. 
 And with them lay the pair of steers 
 
 I sought, but which soon caught 
 The scent of me, when with cock'd ears, 
 
 Cock'd tail, and frightened snort, 
 They ran like redshanks with the rest 
 
 Along a cattle track ; 
 But gallant Teaser did his best, 
 
 And quickly turned them back ; 
 
 24. 
 Then dashing in among the mob 
 
 The steers he dodg'd about, 
 And, understanding well the job, 
 
 Soon cut them neatly out, 
 And put them on the homeward track, 
 
 When I soon check'd their pace, 
 To breathe my sweating, panting hack, 
 
 Much winded by the chase. 
 
 25. 
 Slowly I traced the sylvan way 
 
 To where three gum creeks met, 
 I knew that there some water lay, 
 
 So thought a drink I'd get ; 
 But just before I reach'd the spring, 
 
 I by some chance look'd back, 
 And saw a wild dog following 
 
 Quite close upon my track ; 
 
 26. 
 
 His eyes were red, he was athirst, 
 His tongue loll'd from his jaws ; 
 
 Oh ! Teaser, we will have a burst- 
 Your hoofs against his paws ; 
 
 I gave n yell and touch'd his side, 
 He answered to the call, 
 
 And quickly getting to his stride 
 The dog did overhaul. 
 
88 
 
 27. 
 
 Away for life that dingo hied, 
 
 We followed close behind ; 
 He ran into the gum creek wide, 
 
 Some cover there to find : 
 But as no burrow met his sight, 
 
 He dash'd out on the plain, 
 And trusted to his speed in flight, 
 
 Some shelter safe to gain. 
 
 28. 
 But Teaser closed up with him fast, 
 
 I swung my stockwhip round, 
 The dog turii'd short, the horse dashed past, 
 
 And lost some lengths of ground. 
 Now both are at their utmost speed 
 
 'Tis to the creek we rush ! 
 Lay out, old Teaser, gallant steed, 
 
 We'll have that fellow's brush ! 
 
 29. 
 The dingo was the first to gain 
 
 The gum creek's stony bed : 
 But then he seemed to run in pain, 
 
 With drooping tail and head ; 
 We quickly ranged up on his flank. 
 
 To strike him I was bent ; 
 There was a hole beneath the bank 
 
 He saw, and in he went. 
 
 30. 
 Then down I sprang with active heat, 
 
 The brute I saw quite plain ; 
 He see m'd to me to be dead beat ; 
 
 So I dropp'd Teaser's rein. 
 To poke him out was my intent 
 
 By aid of stick or stone ; 
 He bolted out, and off he went, 
 
 And I was left alone : 
 
 31. 
 
 For I had no idea, of course, 
 
 On foot to catch that dingo ; 
 And so I turned to mount my horse 
 
 He too had gone, by jingo ! 
 I saw him up upon the plain, 
 
 He'd hunt no more that dog ! 
 For with raised head to clear the rein, 
 
 He went off at a jog. 
 
32. 
 Of course to catch my truant steed 
 
 Became my chief intent : 
 He sometimes stopp'd as if to feed, 
 
 Then onward slyly went ; 
 And so he led me up and down 
 
 O'er stony hill and plain, 
 Till I, just e'er the sun went down, 
 
 To give him up was fain. 
 
 33. 
 
 And by that time the heat and flies 
 
 Had played the deuce with me ; 
 The perspiration filled my eyes 
 
 Till I could scarcely see ; 
 My feet were sore, my throat was dry, 
 
 My clothes were all wet through ; 
 Nine miles from home ; and by-the-by, 
 
 My boots were small and new. 
 
 34. 
 There was an empty sheep-hut by, 
 
 To it I bent my way ; 
 The water-tank was nearly dry, 
 
 Tho' some still in it lay ; 
 But how was I to get some out 
 
 Tho' ever so inclined ? 
 There was no tin or string about 
 
 No dipper could I find. 
 
 35. 
 That iron tank was four feet wide ; 
 
 It was the same in height ; 
 No tap appeared on any side 
 
 Unto my prying sight ; 
 But, then, the round hole in the top 
 
 Was fourteen inches wide ; 
 I found my head it would not stop, 
 
 And so my arms I tried. 
 
 36. 
 I first put in one arm and wrist, 
 
 Then thrust my head in too, 
 And by a most determined twist, 
 
 My shoulders I got thro' ; 
 With scooping hands the water then 
 
 I lifted to my mouth, 
 And tho' much trickled back again, 
 
 I soon dispelled my drouth. 
 
90 
 
 37. 
 Out from that hole I tried to win ; 
 
 My shoulders would not pass ; 
 My trousers would not let me in, 
 
 So stuck was I alas ! 
 But feeling round with tinkers fleet, 
 
 I tugg'd my trousers wide, 
 Pulling them downward pleat by pleat, 
 
 Until I fell inside. 
 
 38. 
 Forth from that dungeon dark and dank 
 
 I got, and homeward sped, 
 Resolved again into a tank 
 
 I ne'er would thrust my head ; 
 Ah ! when I next ran down a dog 
 
 I would not leave niy steed, 
 But with my whip the " varmint " flog, 
 
 Till nothing more he'd need. 
 
 39. 
 'Twas late when I got home that night, 
 
 Minus my horse and steers, 
 And in a rather wretched plight 
 
 With dust in eyes and ears. 
 I had a pair of blistered feet, 
 
 Which fill'd me with dejection ! 
 Like ^E sop's dog, I'd dropp'd the meat 
 
 To grasp a vain reflection. 
 
91 
 
 BLOWING BUBBLES. 
 
 TO A CHILD. 
 
 RATTLE the pipe in the water and soap ; 
 
 Through the stem steadily blow ; 
 And forth from the bowl, an emblem of hope 
 
 With radiance all aglow 
 Shall issue in pride, like a fairy thing. 
 
 There ! give it a wave and send 
 It forth in the ambient air, to wing 
 
 Its course to its journey's end. 
 
 A beautiful sphere, of colouring rare ! 
 
 Look, look at each tint so fine ! 
 0, its rainbow hues, are wondrous fair 
 
 As the sunbeams on them shine. 
 So airy and light, it glides in its flight, 
 
 On a zephyr's viewless wings, 
 And is welcomed along, by the magpie's song, 
 
 Which forth from the gum creek rings. 
 
 'Tis hollow, 'tis frail, and it will not last ; 
 
 Ah, there ! it has burst, my dear ; 
 And its form collapsed to the earth is cast 
 
 Like a beggar's falling tear. 
 No more shall that bubble your eyes delight, 
 
 'Tis lost like all bygone things ; 
 But many another as passing bright 
 
 Will soar if you give them wings. 
 
 'Tis so with our hopes, when in youth's springtime 
 
 We start on our path so gay, 
 And to castles in air attempt to climb, 
 
 Nor reck of the toilsome way ! 
 And though like delusive bubbles of soap 
 
 They suddenly disappear, 
 We'll gain a bright home, if we cling to hope, 
 
 And valiantly persevere. 
 
92 
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 1. 
 
 AN old Scotch woman and a lass, 
 Called by the matron ' oor wee Jass," 
 Lived for some time with great content 
 In an extemporary tent, 
 Erected on the shelving bank 
 Of winding creek, 'midst herbage rank, 
 Which promised creeping things galore, 
 To crawl upon the earthen floor. 
 
 2. 
 
 The gude man he had sallied forth 
 Unto the regions farther north ; 
 Upon an old bay mare he went, 
 To find a shepherd's place intent ; 
 And weeks flew by, but still he staid 
 Away from anxious wife and maid, 
 Whose great concern did not prevent 
 Their taking proper nutriment. 
 
 3. 
 
 And thus they lived, until till one night 
 They got a most terrific fright ; 
 For after two days' heavy rain 
 The drainage from each hill and plain 
 Brought down a flood, which swiftly swept 
 Around their gunyah while they slept 
 Dreaming, perchance, of the gude man, 
 When they from danger should have ran. 
 
 4. 
 
 But all at once a horrid din 
 Was made by articles of tin, 
 Which, as they hung on bent nail hook, 
 The water violently shook ; 
 Then woke those women in a fright, 
 And hurried forth in dismal plight 
 Thro' rising waters now knee high, 
 Toward the high land looming nigh. 
 
 5. 
 
 They waded on in great distress, 
 Each having but a thin nightdress 
 Upon their bodies, tho' each head 
 Had on the "night-mutch " worn in bed ; 
 
93 
 
 No other covering had tlicy, 
 
 For all the rest was wash'd away, 
 
 With rations, tenement, and all 
 
 Their household goods both great and small. 
 
 6. 
 
 For when the sun rose on the scene 
 Next morn, no vestige could be seen 
 Of goods or gunyah ; all were gone 
 Upon the angry torrent borne, 
 To be left here and there piecemeal, 
 For wretched blacks to pick and steal ; 
 Or planted snugly in the mud 
 Till the subsidence of the flood. 
 
 7. 
 
 So on they strode thro' waters dark, 
 Wishing themselves in Noah's ark 
 Or clumsy mud barge, or a skiff, 
 With cheering drop of something stiff ; 
 For all around them, flashing white, 
 The foam swept past in bubbles light, 
 While in their ears the creek's fierce roar 
 Made them stride madly for the shore, 
 
 8. 
 
 Which they soon gained half dead with fright, 
 But with no lucifers to light 
 A fire to warm each shrinking form, 
 Drenched by the creek and pelting storm ; 
 For rain in torrents fell again, 
 While lightning flashed across the plain, 
 (One moment an unearthly gleam, 
 The next thick darkness reigned supreme), 
 
 9. 
 
 But showing with its transient blaze, 
 The public-house and laden drays, 
 Which stood upon the other side 
 Of that dark, rolling, roaring tide 
 That dashed against the gum trunks grey, 
 Which stubbornly withstood its sway, 
 Bearing the current on each side 
 In seething foam upon its tide ; 
 
 10. 
 
 And growling thunder ; low at first, 
 
 But growing louder till it burst 
 
 In awful tumult overhead, 
 
 With mighty crash would wake the dead, 
 
(Could those be roused by any sound, 
 Who deeply slumber 'neath the ground, 
 Before the final trump and word 
 To summon quick and dead be heard !) 
 
 11. 
 
 Went rolling onward on its course, 
 But seemingly with lessen'd force, 
 Till o'er the mountains in the east 
 It in dull distant echoes ceased, 
 To be close followed by the flash, 
 And most stupendous roar and crash 
 Of the next lightning and thunder, 
 Cleaving the black storm clouds asunder. 
 
 12. 
 
 And those poor creatures' faces fair 
 Showed ghastly in the lightning's glare, 
 As 'neath a bush out on the plain 
 They tried to shelter from the rain ; 
 Vain hope ! it seemed with forceful sway 
 Into their forms to find its way ; 
 Causing their good warm Scottish blood 
 To stagnate in their veins like mud. 
 
 13. 
 
 And so like souls by dreary Styx, 
 Those two were rather in a fix ; 
 For no old Charon was there there 
 To punt them over for a fare. 
 So tempest-beaten and forlorn 
 They felt like lambs just newly shorn ; 
 And, longing for the morning light, 
 They murmured at Old Time's slow flight. 
 
 14. 
 
 But Phoebus showed his face at last, 
 And half their troubles then seem'd past : 
 For soon he caus'd to flow again 
 The life-blood freely through each vein, 
 While in the bright blue morning sky 
 No cloud appeared unto the eye, 
 Save those, which lay in masses strange 
 Above the lofty eastern range, 
 
 15. 
 
 Whose rounded forms in heaps were roll'd, 
 With edgings of pale pink and gold, 
 Thrown by the glowing god of day 
 Upon them in a cin-lrss way ; 
 
95 
 
 And fitfully the lightning's flash 
 Suffused them with a roseate blush ; 
 While distant thunder's low report 
 Could by the ear be faintly caught. 
 
 16. 
 
 Those women noticed neither cloud 
 Nor rosy tint, but long and loud 
 They cooey'd, till, above the din, 
 'Twas heard by those within the inn ; 
 Who quickly sallied forth in force, 
 And hastened to the creek of course, 
 To see what troubled Mrs. Dill ; 
 They hoped she was not taken ill. 
 
 17. 
 
 And 0, how grieved they must have been- 
 (Or rather ought to have, I mean) 
 At seeing those poor women's plight ; 
 In draggled nightgowns, long and white, 
 With hair dishevelled, hanging down 
 Upon the back of each white gown, 
 In long elf-locks, which, by the way, 
 With one was brown ; with t'other grey. 
 
 18. 
 
 But I have heard there was a laugh, 
 And that some man began to chaff 
 The women on their doleful plight, 
 Instead of sobbing at the sight ; 
 But Bully Bill was standing by, 
 And swore that he would black the eye 
 Of any cove who said too much ; 
 " He'd very likely want a crutch." 
 
 19. 
 
 So then their tale the women told, 
 And begg'd that someone would be bold 
 Enough to cross that deep dark tide, 
 And bear a bottle to their side. 
 But Bob and Bill, and Jim and Tim, 
 Were not inclined for such a swim : 
 To risk their lives for ladies, for 
 The days of chivalry are o'er. 
 
 '20. 
 
 But Edwin, minus coat and vest, 
 The other fellows thus address'd 
 " I'm blowed if I don't try my luck, 
 " For I can swim like any duck ; 
 
96 
 
 " So give the bottle here to me, 
 " And then atjuatics you shall see. 
 " I'vo often swum across the port, 
 " And after that this ere is nought." 
 
 21. 
 
 He took the bottle, in he went, 
 To do the business <|iiite intent ; 
 But ere he'd flounder'd scarce a yard 
 An eddy took him off his guard, 
 And whirl'd him up and down and round, 
 And all declared he would be drown'd ; 
 But when it seem'd that all was o'er, 
 He floated in toward the shore : 
 
 22. 
 
 When William strong as any bear 
 Contrived to clutch his coal-black hair, 
 And lugg'd him lifeless to the bank, 
 With eyelids closed and garments dank ; 
 But quickly much revived was he 
 When they gave him some eau de vie ; 
 Tho' as for swimming in again 
 He did not mean to, that was plain. 
 
 23. 
 
 The other fellows all had seen 
 Too much to venture in, I ween ; 
 And so they stood and gave advice, 
 Till William hit on a device : 
 He said " A bottle in a shirt 
 " Will roll up tight, and 'twon't be hurt, 
 " So Jimmy Kenny, go and bring it, 
 " And then Big Billy there can fling it." 
 
 24. 
 
 The bottle in the shirt was tied, 
 And round the whole, a piece of hide, 
 To give it greater slinging force, 
 And urge it onward in its course ; 
 Then Billy whirled it o'er his head, 
 The missile on its mission sped : 
 All watch'd it, breathless, as it flew, 
 It fell far short and Bill looked blue. 
 
 25. 
 
 The publican then made a cast, 
 And tin's fresh parcel safely past 
 To those with roses red at tip ; 
 Who wen- so anxious for a nip. 
 
97 
 
 'Twas quickly seized, each took a draught, 
 Which made them neither drunk nor daft, 
 But tended much to cheer their hearts, 
 And soothe their craving inward parts ; 
 
 26. 
 
 Then other wants they quickly found 
 Their feet were naked on the ground, 
 Some socks would give them great delight ; 
 Two pairs of boots would charm their sight ; 
 Some lucifers to light a fire, 
 To make their draggled nightgowns drier ; 
 And sundry other things beside 
 They wish'd thrown o'er that raging tide. 
 
 27. 
 
 Some bread, the boots and socks were thrown, 
 
 Likewise a meaty mutton bone ; 
 
 Of lucifers, a little store ; 
 
 All that they ask'd in fact, far more. 
 
 Then they were left to meditate 
 
 Upon the harsh decrees of fite, 
 
 And as to where the turbid flood 
 
 Would plant its plunder in the mud. 
 
 28. 
 
 But ere the close of that spring day, 
 The flood had nearly pass'd away, 
 Leaving a dingy, dark-brown rill 
 To bubble o'er the boulders still ; 
 Those women's troubles then were o'er, 
 For wading to the other shore 
 They soon, like daws in peacock's feathers, 
 Appeared in borrow'd prints and leathers. 
 
98 
 
 NO FRIENDSHIP IN BUSINESS. 
 
 i. 
 
 IF you have business with a friend, 
 You'll find it better in the end 
 To treat with him as you would treat 
 With perfect stranger in the street. 
 That is, with care your bargains make, 
 No matter what may be at stake ; 
 Then shall he say " My friend is wise, 
 " His friend ship it were well to prize ; 
 " Right honestly I'll deal, and still 
 " My vows of amity fulfil." 
 
 2. 
 
 But should you lean to friendship's side, 
 
 And lead his profits far too wide, 
 
 His latent greediness awakes, 
 
 And Honour in her castle quakes. 
 
 For generosity appears 
 
 To indicate an ass's ears ; 
 
 And, as an ass is not a beast 
 
 Well-fitted for true friendship's feast, 
 
 You quickly feel the rod of scorn, 
 
 And, what is worse, you lose your corn ! 
 
 Your friend, ere this, you've lost, and lie 
 
 Has lost far more his probity ! 
 
 Then recollect, lest friendship cool, 
 
 " Good-nature's garb proclaims the fool !" 
 
 AN ECHO. 
 
 AN old man to the altar led 
 A gay and frisky lass ; 
 
 Then afterwards, like Echo, said 
 A-las ! A-las ! A-las ! 
 
99 
 
 THE FOURTH OF JANUARY, 1864. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE sultry night has pass'd away, 
 
 And Phoebus once again 
 Mounts in the east, and opes the day 
 
 O'er valley, hill, and plain ; 
 
 2. 
 
 But not upon the human race 
 Looks he all smiling, down ; 
 
 For with a wrathful, lurid face, 
 He seems on men to frown. 
 
 3. 
 
 The magpie sitteth silently 
 
 Upon the gumtree's limb ; 
 He sendeth not toward the sky 
 
 His mellow matin hymn. 
 
 4. 
 The diamond sparrows round the spring 
 
 Crowd thick with panting breast, 
 With gaping beak and drooping wing, 
 
 By sultry heat oppress'd. 
 
 5. 
 The gasping emus now betake 
 
 Themselves into the creek, 
 At reedy pool their thirst to slake, 
 
 And gumtrees' shade to seek ; 
 
 6. 
 There eagerly the sheep all speed, 
 
 Nor linger by the way 
 Upon the saltbush sere to feed, 
 
 They feel but thirst to-day. 
 
 NOTB. The day described in the following poem was the hottest I ever expe- 
 rienced. I was driving a team on the road from Port Augusta, and had started 
 from Ya-llamalka with nothing save a bottle of very brackish water to last me the 
 stage (twelve mi'es on a treeless track), and this only augmented my thirst, for 
 before I had got six miles from my starting point my tongue began to feel too large 
 for my mouth, while my lips cracked, and 1 experienced the greatest difficulty in 
 respiration, the air being too ratified to property dUtend my Inn^rs, and I believe I 
 should have fainted had I not rememt>ered that in the w.iggon there was a bottle of 
 sarsaparilla, of which I drank nearly half. This cleared my senses as if by magic, 
 and I got within a mile of Warrakimbo, when the dust-storm burst on me. I subse- 
 quently learned that the thermometer stood at 122 degrees between two open doors 
 in Malcolm Gillies's hut. Birds of many kinds, including magpies and crows, died 
 by hundreds ; and even bullocks, dogs, and sheep succumbed to the terrible heat. I 
 continued to drink water, at short intervals, for nearly 24 hours before I could 
 quonch my inordinate thirst. I wrote the poem while making my next day's stage, 
 and it appeared shortly after in the Observer. 
 
100 
 
 7. 
 Now rugged range and arid plain 
 
 Seem waving in tin 1 light ; 
 Their barren glare inflicting pain 
 
 Upon the weary sight. 
 
 8. 
 And from the portals of the north 
 
 The simoon's sultry breath, 
 Like furnace blasts conies sweeping forth, 
 
 A burning wind of death. 
 
 9. 
 For upborne on its pennons strong, 
 
 Vast clouds of dust arise ; 
 Whirling like smoke, they rush along, 
 
 And darken all the skies. 
 
 10. 
 The native sparrows leave the springs, 
 
 The magpies quit the creek, 
 And, faintingly, on flagging wings, 
 
 In huts a shelter seek ; 
 
 11. 
 With them come dotterel, and whole flocks 
 
 Of feather'd creatures small ; 
 The simoon all their efforts mocks, 
 
 And numbers lifeless fall ; 
 
 12. 
 For, even as they fly, the band 
 
 Is wither'd by its breath, 
 And strew the burning wind-waved sand, 
 
 Their wings collapsed in death. 
 
 13. 
 The shepherd on the glaring plain 
 
 Shrinks down a bush behind, 
 With cracking lip and eye of pain, 
 
 Beneath the scorching wind ; 
 
 14. 
 He sees the dust-storm coming high, 
 
 With side-wings spreading wide ; 
 There is no friendly shelter nigh, 
 
 No place in which to hide ! 
 
 15. 
 He crouches low, he bows his head, 
 
 O'er him it howling flies, 
 As if the storm-king in it sped 
 
 Beneath the frowning skies. 
 
101 
 
 16, 
 Dust, filth, and broken herbage fly 
 
 In one black stifling cloud ; 
 The sun is hidden from the eye, 
 
 While thunder, pealing loud, 
 
 17. 
 Eolls through the sky with awful crash ; 
 
 And through the murky air 
 Fork'd lightnings in sharp zigzags flash 
 
 With sickly baleful glare. 
 
 18. 
 Now from the icy southern sea 
 
 A wind comes strong and chill, 
 Before which scatter'd raindrops flee, 
 
 And sprinkle plain and hill. 
 
 19. 
 The shepherd feels the welcome blast ; 
 
 He raises up his head ; 
 The dust has from the landscape pass'd, 
 
 Upon the south wind fled. 
 
 20. 
 From off his brow he wipes the grime 
 
 And sweat with heavy hand ; 
 And lays a curse upon the time 
 
 He came into this land ; 
 
 21. 
 And well he may, for day by day 
 
 'Tis naught but dust and wind ; 
 His sheep are starving and astray, 
 
 Himself is almost blind. 
 
 22. 
 The very air he breathes is foul 
 
 From sheep and cattle dead ; 
 While dingoes thrive and nightly howl, 
 
 And kites sail over head. 
 
 23. 
 
 Then ye who would a picture view 
 
 Of desolation drear, 
 Come, Anti-squatters, all of you, 
 
 Come North and see it here ! 
 
102 
 
 A DREAM OF THE DROUGHT, 1865. 
 
 WITH harrass'd mind I lay and thought 
 Upon the drought, that ruin brought, 
 
 And desolation spread 
 O'er all the cheerless dusty plain. 
 Whose leafless shrubs for want of rain 
 
 Had for long months been dead. 
 
 I thought on all my fruitless toil 
 On this most unproductive soil ; 
 
 I thought on prospects fair, 
 Which for a time well pleased my sight, 
 Like buoyant bubbles passing bright, 
 
 To burst like them in air. 
 
 And so I call'd in vain on Hope, 
 For far too faint was she to cope 
 
 With Ruin grim and vast ; 
 But fled at once when on her ear 
 Rang out his bitter mocking jeer 
 
 From dreary howling blast, 
 
 Which, sweeping round the chinky walls 
 In quick succeeding heavy squalls, 
 
 Did clouds of dust detach 
 From where it had, from day to day, 
 Been gathering, in masses grey, 
 
 Up in the dry rush thatch. 
 
 I gave my mind to form some plan 
 To save the stock ; but what is man 
 
 When under God's dread frown ? 
 And so I thought and thought in vain, 
 Till weary grew my aching brain, 
 
 When gentle sleep flew down, 
 
 And on mine eyelids set her seal, 
 Though still my brain no rest could feel, 
 
 For then, as if the steam 
 From some unholy magic pot 
 Bewitched it with its vapours hot, 
 
 I dream'd a fearful dream. 
 
 For swift unfolding to my view 
 A panoramic picture grew, 
 
 Till spread before me lay 
 The plain, with dust-clouds driving fast 
 Before the ever-hissing blast, 
 
 Against the face of day. 
 
103 
 
 And silent horror shook my frame, 
 
 For from the earth hoarse murmurs came ; 
 
 While sandhill, tree, and rock, 
 All reel'd and tottered to their base ; 
 Convulsed was nature's sterile face ; 
 
 It was an earthquake's shock ! 
 
 Shock followed shock, and dust-clouds grew, 
 And changed from grey to pitchy hue, 
 
 Through which fork'd lightnings burst, 
 To meet the flames which from the ground 
 Flash'd fiercely forth through rifts profound, 
 
 Like Tophet's fires accurs'd. 
 
 And from each blazing red abyss 
 Arose a mingled roar and hiss, 
 
 As if the fiends were risen 
 In arms once more to try the might 
 Of Him who drove them from His sight 
 
 Down to their awful prison. 
 
 I heard unnumbered thunders roll 
 With ceaseless crash from pole to pole, 
 
 Above the ebon mass 
 Of smoke which on the plain now fell, 
 Like to the pictured roof of hell 
 
 No sunbeam could it pass. 
 
 But soon again all things did rock 
 Three times I felt the earthquake's shock, 
 
 And then a spire of flame 
 Shot from the lofty eastern Pound, 
 And shed its baleful glare around, 
 
 While molten lava came 
 
 In one red, rushing, roaring tide 
 Of blazing billows down its side, 
 
 And quickly fell'd each tree, 
 Which flash'd with flame, and then was lost 
 Beneath the flood, like snow-flakes toss'd 
 
 Into a stormy sea. 
 
 Onward that raging torrent swept, 
 In awful cataracts, which leap'd 
 
 Downward from dizzy height, 
 Till soon 'twould reach the spot of ground 
 Where, horror-struck, I glared around 
 
 Upon the dreadful sight ! 
 
104 
 
 But now from that volcano vast 
 
 A roar came down like cyclone blast ! 
 
 I gazed in fresh amaze ; 
 For just above the crater's rim 
 Three fearful Phantoms, huge and grim, 
 
 Were thron'd amid the blaze 
 
 High on a vast putrescent heap 
 Of ghastly oxen, steeds, and sheep, 
 
 Which well became the three ! 
 They seem'd to grin with horrid mirth 
 Upon the God-forsaken earth, 
 
 And on unhappy me ! 
 
 Despairing wrath within me grew, 
 And I address'd that ghostly crew ; 
 
 I asked what they might find 
 To raise their mirth ? When one and all 
 Affirmed they had been, since the fall, 
 
 The scourges of mankind. 
 
 That human dread was their delight, 
 A trophy of their ruthless might ; 
 
 Murder, and deadly strife, 
 Earthquakes and plagues, were pastimes rare, 
 With famine gaunt, and wild despair, 
 
 And all the ills of life. 
 
 I then perceived, that as they spoke, 
 A name, in flaming letters broke 
 
 Out on each livid brow ; 
 At which the grimmest cried " Behold ! 
 " For to us, all the North is sold 
 
 " Our wretched slave art thou ! 
 
 " To me thou dost unwilling pay 
 " A teeming sacrifice each day 
 
 " Of oxen, steeds, and sheep, 
 " Which these my servants, good and true, 
 " Wring from vile earthworms such as you, 
 
 " And on mine altars heap. 
 
 " And now the solemn rites to crown, 
 " Thyself shall soon be stricken down 
 
 " To me resign thy breath ; 
 " For tortured in that burning sea 
 " A prey thou shalt become to me, 
 
 " Thine enemy King Death 1" 
 
105 
 
 At once those characters of flame, 
 To my enlightened eyes, became 
 
 An alphabet of ease, 
 Which told me that the comrades dread 
 Of Death, were those who long had spread 
 
 Starvation, and Disease. 
 
 But now the burning lava near 
 Its awful volumes did uprear 
 
 In one vast roaring wave, 
 Which, rushing with resistless might, 
 Presented to my awe-struck sight 
 
 A greedy, yawning grave, 
 
 Which in an instant more would hide 
 My calcined corse within its tide. 
 
 I felt its burning heat, 
 Like to some deadly dragon's breath, 
 Boil my hot blood with blast of death, 
 
 Yet there was no retreat. 
 
 It seem'd to burst ; when loud and clear 
 Came down a fell demoniac cheer, 
 
 And startled slumber fled ; 
 For with a stifled cry I woke 
 To find thick dust, in place of smoke, 
 
 In clouds above me spread. 
 
 The sweat had stream'd from ev'ry pore, 
 And mud was darkly coated o'er 
 
 My visage as I lay, 
 With thicker masses round my mouth 
 And eyes, while bitter-burning drouth 
 
 Had made my throat a prey. 
 
 I rose, and from a jug did drain 
 The water of the western Plain, 
 
 Defiled with grimy sand, 
 And wished that either rain would fall, 
 Or sweeping ruin swallow all, 
 
 That I might leave the land 
 
 Where I for six long years had toiled, 
 To be in every object foiled 
 
 By drought's effects most dread ; 
 Till, harass'd out in frame and mind, 
 I curse the destiny unkind 
 
 That here my footsteps led. 
 
106 
 
 THE LIFE OF A WOEKING 
 BULLOCK. 
 
 i. 
 
 A PRETTY bull-calf, rod-spotted and sleek, 
 
 Is sporting with other calves small ; 
 They frisk about on the bank of a creek, 
 
 Unheeding each cow's loving call ; 
 They flourish their tails about in the air, 
 
 And battle each other in sport, 
 For they know nothing of trouble or care, 
 
 Or anything else of the sort. 
 
 2. 
 
 But a stop is quickly put to their play, 
 
 For a horseman, stockwhip in hand, 
 Comes galloping up and drives them away, 
 
 To suffer by knife and by brand ; 
 For 'tis to the stockyard now they all go ; 
 
 They are joined by more on the way, 
 And the air resounds with whip-crack and low 
 
 'Tis a general mustering day. 
 
 3. 
 
 Now learns our young calf a lesson in life, 
 
 And also the nature of pain, 
 For the stockwhip cuts his skin like a knife 
 
 When weary he lags on the plain, 
 And he joins the herd with a bleat of pain ; 
 
 He finds that he should not delay, 
 And fagg'd tho' he be will not linger again, 
 
 But keep up the rest of the way. 
 
 4. 
 The calves are shut up apart from the cows, 
 
 Which to them incessantly low, 
 While a fire is blazing, of dry gum boughs, 
 
 To keep all the brands at red glow. 
 Through a hole in a post is a hide rope small, 
 
 With a noose on the inner end, 
 While two men are outside, pulling left and right, 
 
 And the brands and the fire to tend. 
 
 5. 
 
 A stockman spreads the loop on a stick, 
 
 And nooses the neck of our calf : 
 At which he begins to plunge and to kick, 
 
 And his enemies rough to laugh. 
 
107 
 
 He bellows with impotent rage and fright 
 
 As his tail receives a sharp twist, 
 While the men outside, pulling left and right, 
 
 Care little how he may resist. 
 
 6. 
 Then a noose on his near hind foot they cast, 
 
 This then is triced high to a rail, 
 His near fore foot they too make fast. 
 
 And drag him to ground by the tail. 
 Now his head is fast 'neath a stockman's knee, 
 
 Another, not at all tender, 
 Kneels on his flank, and our calf soon will be 
 
 A case of the neuter gender. 
 
 7. 
 With a glowing brand on his hide they sear 
 
 His owner's known cypher or name ; 
 Then the station mark they cut in the ear, 
 
 To know him by, far on the plain. 
 His eyes and his nose with foul dust get fill'd, 
 
 His hide it hath many a smear ; 
 The cords are removed by which he was held, 
 
 And he starts on the life of a steer. 
 
 8. 
 Two or three years have since glided away ; 
 
 He has roam'd at his own free will, 
 Has lain in the shade thro' each summer's day, 
 
 In the shady creek or on hill. 
 His horns are wide spread with an upward curve, 
 
 His limbs have grown brawny and strong, 
 And the overseer is heard to observe 
 
 " I will rope that steer before long." 
 
 9. 
 He is penn'd again in a stockyard high, 
 
 Like a restless bear in a cage, 
 And shakes his head at the stockkeepers nigh, 
 
 While pawing up dust in his rage. 
 But soon a few rugged old slaves of the yoke 
 
 Are turned in to act as a blind, 
 For an active man with stick and rope 
 
 To lassoo his head from behind. 
 
 10. 
 By his brawny neck he is dragg'd again, 
 
 And he roars and plunges around, 
 But that only adds discomfort and pain, 
 
 For the rope is of texture sound. 
 
108 
 
 He stubbornly stands till his eyeballs crack, 
 And his tongue lolls swollen and white, 
 
 When the men are obliged that rope to slack, 
 Or he would soon strangle outright. 
 
 11. 
 
 But they quickly drag on the rope once more, 
 With a stick they thrash him, and then 
 
 For the fence he bounds, with a smother'd roar- 
 Fine sport for those reckless men, 
 
 Who, hauling the rope in, hand over hand, 
 As quick as he rushes almost, 
 
 Soon force the half madden'd creature to stand 
 With his head drawn tight to a post. 
 
 12. 
 
 Now a big old worker, crabbed and strong, 
 
 Is made to stand up to his side, 
 While a coupling chain by a green hide thong, 
 
 To the base of his horns is tied ; 
 Then the other end to a worker's neck 
 
 Is made quite secure with a rope ; 
 His liberty now is a shatter' d wreck, 
 
 And he a dumb slave without hope. 
 
 13. 
 
 His surly old bondsmate he circles round, 
 
 Which by Ranger will not be borne, 
 For the veteran meets his next wild bound 
 
 On the point of his nearest horn ; 
 And he leads that steer a captive away, 
 
 And will beat him into submission ; 
 For many another, before to-day, 
 
 Has he brought to the same condition. 
 
 14. 
 Our bullock now drags the lumbering dray 
 
 Thro' the midsummer's terrible heat, 
 And wearily toils on his dusty way, 
 
 Tormented by flies and sore feet ; 
 And should the dray be fast in the sand, 
 
 He suffers a world of abuse, 
 For the whip is plied by a heavy hand, 
 
 Which is perfect quite in its use. 
 
 15. 
 
 And so he toils on, and is bought and sold, 
 But never by change does he gain, 
 
 For still he must work, tho' starving and old, 
 A slave of the yoke and the chain. 
 
109 
 
 At last when from weakness he cannot obey, 
 
 He is scourged with the whip in vain, 
 For, staggering clown in front of the dray, 
 
 The slave le ives his life's load of pain. 
 
 16. 
 In the stony pass, where our bullock died, 
 
 Still lies a foul festering heap, 
 Whence dry bones gleam from the once glossy hide, 
 
 Where sarcophagus beetles creep. 
 And the lizard lurks 'neath his cavern'd flank, 
 
 In wait for its sun-loving prey, 
 While clustering masses of herbage rank 
 
 Flourish greenly on his decay. 
 
 THE DEATH-BLOW. 
 
 A TALE OF DARKNESS. 
 
 Oh ! ye who dwell in busy towns, where Law, with iron hand, 
 Guards well your lives and properties, ye cannot understand 
 The hardship which a bushman bears, or perils round him spread, 
 When, in the howling wilderness, he lays his weary head. 
 So, readers pay attention now, while to you I relate 
 How one misguided wanderer went blindly to his fate. 
 
 The night is dark and overcast, and chilly is the air, 
 When, by a giant gumtree's foot, is seen a flame's bright glare ; 
 And there, beside it. in his rug, a weary bushman sleeps, 
 While, with an uprais'd heavy club, a naked savage creeps 
 Toward the solitary man, with stealthy step and slow, 
 As with keen, gleaming, vicious eyes he meditates his blow. 
 But still his victim lies supine, all helpless on the ground, 
 When crash ! the swift descending club a mortal part has found ; 
 And, as the body writhes about, more sounding blows descend ; 
 When, suddenly, the man awakes ! and starts right straight on 
 
 end ! 
 
 Then nimbly leaping to one side, he cries out, " Well done, Jake ! 
 " Him big one lucky you jump up, and kill 'em that one snake : 
 " I'm plenty glad I fetch 'em you to track 'em sheep 'long me ; 
 " Here bacca. Now, you ketch 'em smoke, and boil 'em pot of tea." 
 
11(1 
 A FISHY LEGEND OF DORSETSHIRE. 
 
 IN Dorsetshire, one autumn clay, beside a shady pool, 
 A well appointed fisherman sat on a rustic stool. 
 His polish'd rod, with rings and reel, stood planted on the ground, 
 While lie, as if he loved it well, a luckless croaker bound 
 Unto a hook, two cruel hooks, which back to back were bent', 
 And seem'd to threaten everything with mischievous intent. 
 ! once loquacious, happy frog ! bad company you've found ! 
 'Tis lucky your amphibious, or you'd be surely drown'd, 
 For sunk within that silent pool you presently will be, 
 When lots of old acquaintances you may, if watchful, see ; 
 But no, a deadly foe lurks there, with appetite more keen 
 For delicate frog provender, than Frenchman's e'er has been ; 
 But, bah ! 'tis only loss of breath to tell you all I know, 
 So go yourself, my spotted friend, and beard him down below. 
 
 The fisherman, self-satisfied, surveys his bait so neat, 
 And as it dangles helplessly he rises to his feet, 
 Then carefully resumes his rod, and with a cunning eye 
 He notes the best locality for lurking " Jack " to try ; 
 When seeing that his line is clear, he makes a handsome cast, 
 And froggy to the shades below right suddenly has pass'd ; 
 But o'er him still the painted float is dancing on the tide, 
 While circles, which at first were small, now ripple far and wide. 
 
 Then smiled that gentle fisherman, and from a pocket flask 
 He takes some soothing "medicine," to him no painful task, 
 And lights a mild Havanna ; but, ah ! he drops it quick, 
 And gives a sharp, decided jerk unto his jointed stick ; 
 Then presently low rounded waves are plying to and fro, 
 And though his line is paying out, his rod bends like a bow, 
 Right skilfully he plays his fish, until a gleaming side, 
 Like flash of light an instant shows above the troubled tide, 
 Then disappears ; but slowly now the ripples mark his way ; 
 For master Jack, with gasping jaws, has drunk too much to-day, 
 And soon the handy landing net has got him in its bounds, 
 A mighty fish of three feet long, and fully fourteen pounds ! 
 
 Now gasping on the sedgy brink the robber lies supine, 
 When by that dandy fisherman a dog is heard to whine. 
 With sudden start he glances round, and there a "lurcher" lank 
 
 .'iding by a little boy amongst the herbage rank. 
 No child of gentle parentage can be that urchin brown, 
 Whose pleasing, open counteiumce smacks nothing ofthetown. 
 
Ill 
 
 But wears that sweet simplicity which marks the rustic race, 
 And goes so far to compensate for their known lack of grace. 
 His boots are heavy hobnail'd ones, of polish guiltless quite ; 
 Brown leathern gaiters occupy near half of his small height ; 
 O'er these a pleated garment hangs in graceful folds around, 
 While with a round top'd " billycock " his shaggy locks are 
 crown'd. 
 
 The dog might once have had a tail, it now has but a stump 
 
 A melancholy sort of thing ! an elongated lump ! 
 
 From which some straggling hairs depend, which plainly do 
 
 denote 
 
 A shaggy tail he ought to have, as well as shaggy coat. 
 And as he meditates the pike, he hath a knowing glance, 
 As if he'd take it home with him if had but the chance. 
 And so perhaps he may, but not as he no doubt would wish, 
 (There's " other way save in the mouth " of carrying a fish ! 
 And now his biped friend observes unto that fisher wight 
 " Be golly, Meastre, that ur fesh looks jeast as ef ud bite." 
 The gay and festive fisherman replied " Ah, yas, perhaps, 
 " Just try him with your finger now you're used to rabbit 
 
 traps." 
 But Johnny Bumpkin shook his head Ah ! what a happy 
 
 thought ! 
 
 Instead of finger, Pincher's tail ! 0, wouldn't that be sport ! 
 " Meastre ? " (he bashfully remarked), "I'll tell 'e what till do, 
 " We'll let un pin oud Pincher's theare, if be the same to you." 
 
 The unsuspecting gentleman rejoined " Just try him, then." 
 
 He called himself soon afterwards the stupidest of men ; 
 
 And well he might ! for when the pike to Pincher's knob froze 
 
 tight, 
 
 That much astonished quadruped betook himself to flight ! 
 Like pigeon, that some fancier, on racecourse or at fair, 
 With note to it securely tied, throws upward in the air, 
 To take to his far distant home, the news unto it bound. 
 So circles round, a time or two, that active tailless hound ! 
 And if he made a yelping noise, 'twas no doubt just to tell 
 His playful patrons that he thought his " rudder" answered 
 
 well ; 
 
 But then, as if he felt asham'd when he their laughter heard, 
 He made a bee-line for some place, just like that home-sick bird. 
 
 And now a chevy chase began, which ended soon indeed, 
 For nought save electricity could touch that dog in speed. 
 And clench'd upon his " narrative," just like avenging fate, 
 The fish, fresh from his element, pursued him o'er a gate. 
 
112 
 
 But after that (tho' I can't toll whore those queer comrades 
 
 hied) 
 
 The gentleman jump'd on his hat ! while Bumpkin, by his side, 
 Like hVa-vox'd poodle, roll'd about, and laugh'd until lie cried ! 
 Till with a rousing kick reprov'd, he started to his feet, 
 And from that frantic fisherman effected his retreat. 
 
 And Mr. Pincher from his home for days a truant stayed, 
 (Though he, perhaps, not all that time pursued a porter's trade. ) 
 But if lie did, most probably he shifted his queer load 
 To somewhere, else where it might be more comfortably stow'd. 
 And as he look'd quite satisfied when he returned again, 
 It is surmised he much enjoy'd what gave at first such pain ! 
 
 Of Walton's gentle follower I will not say much more. 
 
 His language was peculiar, though I will not say he swore ! 
 
 At any rate, 'twould only grate upon your polish'd ear ; 
 
 And, therefore, you'd have long to wait before yon find it here. 
 
 So let him fix his sever'd line, and catch another frog ; 
 
 Or bundle up his fishing kit, and inn-ward grimly jog. 
 
 One thing I may as well just state that is, to Pincher's tail 
 
 He will not hang his fish again, but send it home by rail ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 And now, my gentle readers all, no chance should e'er be missed 
 Of taking morals from true tales ; and so I'll try to twist 
 A very short, but warning one, from this my story plain 
 Thus, " Do not trust to reckless dogs, what you may need again !" 
 
 LYRES AND LIARS. 
 
 Old Homer swept his sounding lyre 
 With grand tierce fire supernal ! 
 
 While " Nick " sweeps each astounding liar 
 Into fierce lire infernal ! 
 
113 
 
 G.OOD ADVICE. 
 
 'TIS a most delightful thing to tender " good advice " 
 Unto our frail acquaintances, it is so cheap and nice. 
 
 1 know I've very frequently advised my friends for good ; 
 Yet somehow, shortly afterwards, in like position stood. 
 But you, no doubt, have often heard the adage old O de^ar, 
 From being in their company, I must have err'd, I fear. 
 
 0, is it not a friendly act, to tell your old friend, Max, 
 
 (Who matrimony meditates) that his fair sweetheart lacks 
 
 Each admirable quality that sweetens married life ? 
 
 And he just goes (the stupid ass) and makes her his dear wife i 
 
 Then tells her in the honeymoon, for lack of else to do, 
 
 Your blindness in mistaking her ; 0, how she then loves you ! 
 
 You say to Mr. Moneybags (whose father made his pile 
 From some dark, dirty copper mine, or well of stinking " ile" ) 
 You wish you had his capital, you'd double it right soon 
 In such a stunning little speck ! A railway to the moon 
 (We'll call it that !) For when he goes, and lays his money out, 
 He does not get it back again ! and quits when you're about ! 
 
 A wicked little boy you hear to shocking words give vent ; 
 Severely you then lecture him with virtuous intent, 
 And tell him to what dreadful place such language leads in time ! 
 But, ah ! what something vagabond is that you see to climb 
 Into your loaded bergamot, and shatter down a branch ? 
 ! what expressive epithets you at the culprit launch ! 
 
 Tom Trotter (who has money made) would start a "trap and 
 
 horse," 
 
 You know about " the very thing," a bargain quite, of course, 
 And such " a first-class quadruped " he has not got one fault ! 
 Poor Trotter buys the whole concern ; but here I fain would 
 
 halt, 
 
 For when you go to borrow it, a hearse just leaves his door, 
 And his afflicted relatives will speak to you no more ! 
 
 ! what a mournful man are you, as homeward then you speed, 
 Or go to freely give your mind to him who sold the stood. 
 No more, youjirmly do resolve, will you your friends advise 
 When, you encounter neighbour Jones, a green shade o'er his 
 
 eyes : 
 
 And as consolatory talk you pour into his ear, 
 You recollect a " splendid cure " you heard about last year. 
 
114 
 
 Minutely you explain to him how ho should lotion make 
 ( Some awful liquid flame of fire), and what he ought to take. 
 Hut poor old Jones is rather deaf, and stupid too dear, 
 How sorry ymi arc afterwards, when from his wife you hear 
 " That Joseph to the hospital has gone in sorry plight, 
 "And 'tis thro' using your vile x^///'tliat he has lost his sight!" 
 
 Well,' these events, so tragical, should certainly suffice 
 
 To be a stoppage magical to your insane advice. 
 
 But trill they ? Here [ answer. No if you are mortal ! Still 
 
 You'll trot about and doctor folks when they are taken ill, 
 
 And tell them what they ought to do when trouble hems them 
 
 round, 
 And then, be sorry afterwards ! for that I will be bound ! 
 
 And still my friends I do not say, look to yourselves alone, 
 (Forgetting thus the Golden Rule), but pity Trouble's moan ; 
 And any little thing you know that can do good to others, 
 Explain it well, and help them on ; for are we not all brothers ? 
 And now to close this prolix lay, with which you have been 
 
 task'd, 
 1 say, be ready witJt advice, and give it WHEN YOU'RE ABKED ! 
 
 SLOTH. 
 
 SI.UTFI is a Vampire, which by day and night 
 
 With maw unsated, battens on men's lives ; 
 As doth insidious and fatal blight 
 
 On some fair tree ; and when it settles, thrives 
 On wasted time, till it all prospects bright, 
 
 Fair fame, and fortune, from its victim rives i 
 Yet leaves him not when they are lost, but still 
 
 Clings to his wreck, a genius of ill ! 
 
115 
 
 TO A BLOW-FLY. 
 
 OH, filthy vulture of the insect world ! 
 
 The loathing you inspire no tongue can tell, 
 When, with loud buzzing busy wings unfurl'd, 
 
 You sally forth upon your mission fell, 
 
 Guided afar by keenest sense of smell, 
 That laughs to scorn the bloodhounds ! Thing of ill ! 
 
 Fiend-like, your business you perform too well ! 
 The poor maim'd lambs with living tortures thrill, 
 When from fierce wild-dog's fangs they 'scape for you to kill ! 
 
 Your horrid zeal to propagate your kind 
 Outrivals e'en the mad dog's rage to bite, 
 
 Or tigers, to destroy ! Oh, wretch ! designed 
 For foulest work ! You, with obscene delight, 
 Gloat o'er destruction ; and, with headlong flight, 
 
 Speed to the carnival that death may spread, 
 
 Or strife strew broadcast. To all creatures' sight 
 
 You are a pest to shudder at and dread ; 
 And, could deep curses kill, then were your kind all dead ! 
 
 GO TO THE ANT, THOU 
 SLUGGARD." 
 
 " Go to the ant, thou sluggard," do ! 
 
 And sleep upon his nest ; 
 Then, if you rise not early, you 
 
 A " sluggard " lie confess'd. 
 
116 
 
 THE NATUKALIST AND ICHNEUMON 
 FLY. 
 
 i. 
 
 A VERY benevolent, bald-headed mortal 
 
 Loved butterflies, moths, and the whole of their race ; 
 In fact, with his yellow gauze net he had caught all 
 
 The insects, and ranged them in glass-cover'd ease 
 With one grand exception a moth of great beauty ; 
 
 And so a strict watch for it formed his chief duty. 
 
 2. 
 He offered rewards, and the bumpkins then brought him 
 
 Privet-hawks, peacock-moths, and old ladies a stock ; 
 While one saucy fellow a bat saw, and caught him, 
 
 But got nothing for it to line his smock-frock ; 
 And as for himself, why, he roanr d in the gloaming, 
 While great was the mess that he often came home in. 
 
 3. 
 But all was in vain ; till, one day in a thicket, 
 
 His eyes from their sockets near leap'd with delight, 
 For, ah ! its great chrysalis ! yes, 'twas the ticket ! 
 
 'Xeath sheet of loose bark just appeared to his sight. 
 And oh ! as he carried it home to his study, 
 A smile quite usurp'd all his countenance ruddy. 
 
 4. 
 In a box with dry moss he bestowed his rich treasure, 
 
 And covered it safely with gauze like his net ; 
 While first thing each morning, with keen, anxious pleasure, 
 
 He'd lovingly gaze on his curious pet. 
 Till oh ! his vexation, and dire aggravation, 
 Were plainly betray'd by a sharp exclamation ! 
 
 5. 
 For there, I declare, from the chrysalis broken, 
 
 A villanous ichneumon fly had come out ; 
 And, if that old gentleman's thoughts hud been spoken, 
 
 His tongue some strange words, had then utter'd, no doubt. 
 As it was, thro' that slender, black, wasp-looking pirate 
 He stuck a sharp pin, and felt soothed, tho' still irate. 
 
 6. 
 But then, like the ass of bad Balaam, the prophet, 
 
 The ichneumon spoke, and these words did he say : 
 " You think I've been cruel, so send me to Tophet, 
 
 " Though you are much more so to moths every day ; 
 " For while we are sent, by the All-wise, to eat them, 
 " low, just for sheer mischief, impale and maltreat them." 
 
117 
 
 THE VILLAIN AND THE HEEO. 
 
 i. 
 
 A GALLANT old colonel, a country J.P., 
 
 Was pompous and stern in his manner, 
 And thought a rope-noose was a rare recipe, 
 
 And its burden the law's chiefest banner. 
 
 2. 
 Well, one day, a fellow, who'd murder'd his man, 
 
 Was dragg'd up in handcuffs before him, 
 And, the charge being proved, his stern worship began 
 
 With vicious tongue, scourging, to score him. 
 
 3. 
 " You rascal ! you're sure to be hang'd till you're dead, 
 
 " And ought to be whipp'd well directly, 
 " And put in the pillory, thence to be led 
 
 " To the gallows, if treated correctly." 
 
 4. 
 The culprit here gazed at that irate J.P., 
 
 And said, " Sir, I thank you sincerely ; 
 " But if a hemp-collar is fitting for me, 
 
 " Why you, yourself, ought to feel queerly. 
 
 5. 
 " But there, my friend Blair has so aptly declared, 
 
 " ' One murder will make a great villain,' 
 " While, as a ' grand hero,' a soldier is chair'd 
 
 " Who has spent all his life in man-killing !" 
 
 STUPID PETER. 
 
 DEDICATED TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN. 
 
 Am " Juanita" 
 
 1. 
 LEANING o'er his liquor 
 
 Lingering lolls the fledgling fop ; 
 Grins a senseless snicker, 
 
 Strokes his chin's " down crop." 
 On the barmaid slender 
 
 His sheep's eyes they love to dwell ; 
 Fuddled looks, yet tender, 
 
 Throws this would-be swell. 
 
118 
 
 Peter, stupid creature ! 
 
 Slio don't care a pin for you ; 
 Peter, stupid creature, 
 
 What I say is true ! 
 
 2. 
 
 He'll take to pawning, 
 
 Nought cares lie, but drinks again, 
 And, prudence scorning, 
 Looks his love in vain. 
 Grog his breath all scenting ; 
 Like an oyster is his eye ; 
 Oh, he'll be repenting 
 Ere the night's gone by. 
 
 Peter, stupid creature, 
 
 You that yet may be a man ; 
 Peter, stupid creature, 
 By " Darwin's plan." 
 
 SONG OF THE FAB NOETH MAIL. 
 
 [AFTER HOOD.] 
 
 WITH action weary and spent, 
 
 With eyeballs sunken and dull, 
 Four over-worked, half-fed horses strive 
 
 A lumbering coach to pull. 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 In the midst of a scorching clime, 
 
 Oh ! fain would stop each poor struggling nag 
 For a moment's breathing time. 
 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 With the fierce sun glaring above, 
 
 And drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 While the fares get down and shove. 
 'Twere better in a cart 
 
 As stock of the cat's-meat man, 
 Where horses have ever to take a part 
 When past cab, coach, or van. 
 
119 
 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 Though their strength begins to fail : 
 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 While the whip makes many a wale ! 
 Plain and sideling and creek, 
 
 Creek and sideling and plain, 
 And over the gutters they stagger weak, 
 The end of the stage to gain. 
 
 Oh ! mail with letters fraught, 
 Oh ! mail that hurries and drives, 
 
 It is not leather you're wearing out, 
 But starving horses' lives. 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 
 In suffering, hunger, and grime ; 
 Away up here in the dreary North 
 
 Horse-killing is no crime ! 
 
 But why should those steeds fear death? 
 
 Those spectres of skin and bone, 
 Which crawling on in skeleton shape 
 
 Would melt a heart of stone 
 
 Would melt a heart of stone 
 
 To think of the fasts they keep ; 
 Oh, shame ! that horses thus should starve 
 
 Though hay now be not cheap. 
 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 The whipcord never flags 
 
 While a man for wages still will ply 
 The scourge on those wretched nags : 
 A hayless rack, and a barren plain ; 
 
 Starvation is everywhere. 
 From the well alone can they get their fill 
 
 And sometimes not e'en there. 
 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 A weary stage and long, 
 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 Urged on by ruthless thong, 
 Creek and sideling and plain 
 Plain and sideling and creek, 
 Till the lifeless action and drooping head 
 Of a broken spirit speak. 
 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 With the noonday sun too bright, 
 
 And drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 Through the sultry summer night 
 
120 
 
 Till the driver falls asleep 
 To wake with a sudden start, 
 
 As they soon know by the whip's sharp crack, 
 And *" long-oats " burning smart. 
 
 Oh ! for a hearty feed 
 
 Of lucerne or hay so sweet 
 Or e'en the town nag's bed 
 
 Trod down beneath his feet, 
 
 For only one short week 
 In the farmer's rude brush shed, 
 
 Before them stretched the well-filled racks 
 Where perchance they once were fed. 
 
 Oh ! for a respite brief 
 
 From galling collar and whip, 
 From sweat-soaked trace and bit and rein, 
 
 And dusty toilsome trip, 
 A little feeding would give them heart ; 
 
 But pity nought avails. 
 f There is no feed for those starving steeds, 
 
 Gaunt slaves of Her Majesty's mails ! 
 
 With action weary and spent, 
 
 With eyeballs sunken and dull, 
 Four overworked half-fed horses strive 
 
 A lumbering coach to pull. 
 Drag ! drag ! drag ! 
 
 In the midst of a scorching clime, 
 Oh ! fain would stop each poor struggling nag 
 For a hasty bite from a feeding-bag, 
 
 And a moment's breathing time. 
 
 *Whipcord. 
 
 tThis poem was written in 1876, when the horses on the Bllnman line had to Rubsist en 
 what they could pick up on a country where sheep were starving ! ! They were like the 
 " Frenchman's horse," they died before they got used to it. 
 
BURNING OF THE COSPATRICK, 
 
121 
 
 BURNING OF THE COSPATRICK. 
 
 THE glowing sun is sinking out of sight 
 
 Behind a spreading circle's western verge ; 
 
 The winds of southern summer, soft and light, 
 
 Breathe o'er the billows, which have ceased to surge 
 
 Since the last tempest hath withdrawn its scourge ; 
 
 Yet still their huge unquiet forms arise 
 
 (Like half-quelled rioters a word would urge 
 
 Again to fury), but the tranquil skies 
 
 Proclaim a peaceful night, and daylight slowly dies: 
 
 Leaving a lofty ship, with spreading sails, 
 
 To roll and toss upon her lonely way, 
 
 Urged by the lazy breeze, which nearly fails 
 
 To fill the canvas, looming ghostly grey, 
 
 Beneath the young slim moon's faint silver ray. 
 
 Slowly she sails, while floating o'er the deep 
 
 Are wafted melodies, now sad, now gay 
 
 Songs of bright hope, to make men's hearts to leap 
 
 And plaintive ballads old, would force the blithe to weep 
 
 For her wide decks are crowded with a throng 
 
 Of emigrants from Britain's islands twain, 
 
 Who seek the lagging time to speed with song, 
 
 While idly rocking on the restless main, 
 
 Far from the homes they ne'er may see again. 
 
 Gaily the laugh and sportive jest goes round, 
 
 As to bright fancy they allow the rein ; 
 
 For are they not to certain fortune bound, 
 
 In those fair Southern isles where plenty reigns around ? 
 
 But hark ! sharp measur'd chimes from stricken bell 
 Rise o'er the other sounds with cadence clear, 
 And to the hardy sunburnt seamen tell 
 That the short watch at eve, so justly dear, 
 Is past and gone. And soon a man to steer 
 Steps quickly aft the helmsman to relieve. 
 He takes the wheel, while plainly in his ear 
 His shipmate gives the course, then turns to leave 
 With quick-glanced comments queer, as plain as words could 
 weave. 
 
 Upon the forecastle the look-out man 
 Patrols the narrow space with careful tread ; 
 Stopping at times the vessel's path to scan, 
 To see that dangers do not lurk ahead, 
 Watching for ships, or floating wrecks more dread. 
 
While his rough comrades of the watch bestow 
 Themselves around, where'er by fancy led, 
 In friendly knots to talk in voices low, 
 80 to avoid complaints from wakeful tars below. 
 
 And presently the landsmen slowly go 
 
 Down to the 'tween decks to their berths to sleep, 
 
 Though some remain to watch the starlight's glow 
 
 In quivers play upon the restless dee}). 
 
 While little sparks, like shining soft eyes, peep 
 
 From out the patchwork of white-sheeted spray 
 
 Formed when the waves against the vessel leap, 
 
 And fall with sullen splash, then pass away 
 
 To the wide wake astern in masses dull and grey. 
 
 Now the last lingerer unwilling goes, 
 
 Leaving the officer the poop to pace ; 
 
 To con the sails, and ascertain whence blows 
 
 The languid breeze which scarcely fans his face ; 
 
 While now and then he calls his men to brace 
 
 The yards around, to meet the shifty wind, 
 
 Which they, not differing from all the race, 
 
 Do with strong arms, while with low words unkind 
 
 They growl beneath their beards, and wish him dead or blind. 
 
 Thus they on deck, and nearly all below, 
 
 In their rude berths, are now beneath the spell 
 
 Of gentle sleep the sweetest mortals know, 
 
 When undisturbed by fevered visions fell, 
 
 As every honest weary soul can tell 
 
 And these, quite confident in ship and crew, 
 
 Without one thought of fear, sleep sound and well ; 
 
 For all their hopes rose-tinted are in hue, 
 
 And their lives' pictured paths are pleasant to their view. 
 
 They do not heed the wash against the bends, 
 
 The sounding bell, or heavy rollers' shock, 
 
 Or on the deck the clatter of ropes' ends, 
 
 Or noisy banging of a tackle-block, 
 
 The creaky fittings, or the vessel's rock, 
 
 Nor are they wakened by the seaman's tread, 
 
 Which, echoing hollow, slumber seems to mock, 
 
 But as a lullaby it serves instead, 
 
 Becoming food for dreams in many a pillow'd head. 
 
 And restless brains, ignoring sleep's control, 
 Indulge in visions strange and manifold, 
 Which wizard Fancy artist of the soul 
 Paints with a majic pencil I'm- and bold, 
 To suit the young, the middle-aged, and old ! 
 
123 
 
 The past, the present, aud the future bring 
 
 A strange mixed medley of designs untold 
 
 To fill his canvas. Mirth, on glancing wing, 
 
 And Guilt and Trouble, too, to him their subjects fling. 
 
 The young strong man, with health and courage blest, 
 
 Unknowing yet the force of Time's fell hand, 
 
 Who feels for dangers rude a burning zest, 
 
 Treads with firm stride the yet far-distant strand; 
 
 Or breasts the flood, or views his well-tilled land ; 
 
 On gallant steed outstrips the bushland flame, 
 
 Or singly combats with some savage band ; 
 
 Bees beauty his, grasps opulence and fame, 
 
 And is the winner, sure, in Life's swift changing game ! 
 
 The buxom lass, her red cheek on her arm, 
 
 Meets once again the lover left behind 
 
 Or, what for her hath still a greater charm, 
 
 One still more handsome whom she yet may find 
 
 (Should blind Dame Fortune be to her but kind ! 
 
 Gay scenes of pleasure, dresses rich and bright, 
 
 All these combine to fill with joy her mind ; 
 
 Let anxious care assail with morning's light 
 
 8he hath fair visions now to charm her dreaming sight 1 
 
 The tender infant by its mother's side, 
 
 E'en it hath dreams to stir its slumbers deep ; 
 
 Its soft lips work as if they draw the tide 
 
 Which doth its baby life in pleasure steep, 
 
 And sends it satisfied each night to sleep. 
 
 Faint wreathing smiles play o'er its dimpled face, 
 
 Its rosy limbs from 'neath the blankets peep ; 
 
 And surely o'er it from the Throne of Grace 
 
 A guardian angel stands and keeps its resting-place ! 
 
 'Tis now of night the silent solemn noon ; 
 
 And once again the clangour of the bell 
 
 Proclaims the changing of the watch, and soon 
 
 The weary seamen thinking all is well 
 
 Turn in to sleep their brief allotted spell ; 
 
 While their bronzed brothers, yawning as they go, 
 
 Creep into cosy nooks old yarns to tell, 
 
 To pass the time which drags for them full slow, 
 
 While still the sleepers sleep, and dream their dreams below. 
 
 One man, now past his prime, from Erin's Isle, 
 Moans in his dream, and even seems to weep; 
 For ah ! he stands amidst a concourse vile 
 Of black-mask'd monsters, who a circle keep 
 Around a house whence half-clad creatures leap 
 
124 
 
 To 'scape thoso flames, which, redly rushing high, 
 The night's black clouds in lurid crimson steep ! 
 ( )li (iod ! tlu 1 fiends ! tliev hurl them back to die ! 
 The horror is too great lie wakes with stilled cry ! 
 
 What pungent odour steals up from below .' 
 
 What stealthy hiss, as from some hidden snake ? 
 
 Oh ! 'tis to him a far more deadly foe, 
 
 For at its name the boldest-hearted quake ! 
 
 "Fire ! fire!" he cries. The dreamers all awake 
 
 In wild confusion and in dread affright. 
 
 Their very lives with death are now at stake 
 
 Out on the ocean in the darksome night, 
 
 For fire and flood are leagued to crush themwith their might! 
 
 The boldest don what garments they may find ; 
 The women rush upon the deck to shriek ; 
 While crew and captain, as one man combined, 
 Unite the fire within its lair to seek, 
 With steadfast purpose, but with blanching cheek. 
 Too late ! too late ! On sails and cordage fed 
 It gathers force, and rushes forth to wreak 
 A swift destruction on each helpless head, 
 So lately laid secure in slumber void of dread. 
 
 In vain a deluge from the sea they send ; 
 
 In hissing steam the fire but flings it back 
 
 Up through the hatchway with the mists to blend, 
 
 And pass to leeward with the heavy track 
 
 Of pitchy smoke which rolls in volumes black ! 
 
 While the dread foe, fierce, hydra-headed, flies 
 
 At those who on it bravely make attack, 
 
 Like famished lion that with blazing eyes 
 
 Beats back the hunter band, and bears off one a prize! 
 
 Or like the fires which in these southern lands 
 
 Rage through the cornfields when great heats prevail, 
 
 Mocking the efforts of the sweat-drenched bands 
 
 Who fight against them, but with small avail, 
 
 As borne upon the pinions of the gale 
 
 They dart with sullen roar upon their prey, 
 
 Filling with ruin all the peaceful vale 
 
 Late rich in vineyards and in gardens gay 
 
 And so the flames spread now, and all is wild dismay ! 
 
 The frightened women to the workers cling, 
 < >r screaming children to their bosoms fold ; 
 While men with pumps and buckets madly fling 
 Tons of salt water in the burning hold. 
 E'en fearless hearts with sudden dread run cold ; 
 
125 
 
 For all in vain their failing force they try 
 
 The whirling flames beat back those seamen bold 
 
 Breathless and scorched and then exultant fly 
 
 To claim the foremost boats, and climb the rigging high ! 
 
 The fated ship, now head to wind, sweeps round, 
 And the tall foremast falls with horrid crash, 
 (Like some vast forest tree unto the ground 
 Beneath fierce lightning's devastating flash), 
 While to the boats the fear-struck people dash, 
 And overcrowd one by their terror driven 
 Till with the weight the iron davits smash, 
 And the dark sea by struggling forms is riven, 
 Whose awful cries for help rise madly up to heaven ! 
 
 They cry in vain to God and fellowman ! 
 
 Their time is come to cross the gulf so drear ! 
 
 Their earthly course is shortened to a span 
 
 Of awful anguish and ungoverned fear, 
 
 Which like a red-hot iron seems to sear 
 
 Those bursting hearts, which now must quickly stay 
 
 The varied pulse of joys and sorrows here! 
 
 For Death in all his terrors stalks this way 
 
 The wild waves work his will, which fainting souls obey. 
 
 The mate, brave Lewis, and McDonald try 
 
 With the third mate the pinnace large to turn ; 
 
 But no one answers to their earnest cry 
 
 For needful help, and so 'tis left to burn ; 
 
 And leaping flames soon rage from stem to stern. 
 
 But still another boat is hanging near. 
 
 To lower it becomes their chief concern, 
 
 While others, not yet overcome by fear, 
 
 Secure the fallen boat, and quickly bail her clear. 
 
 Meanwhile some throw the gig into the waves 
 With clumsy haste, to drift half-swamped away 
 Upon the spar-encumbered sea, which raves 
 And surges round in eagerness to slay ! 
 Now many who a greater fear obey, 
 Flee from the tire but to be quickly drowned, 
 And sink in ocean's depths cold lifeless clay ; 
 Save those who, clinging to the wreck around ; 
 A cruel respite gain, in such frail succour found. 
 
 Densely the boats are peopled with a crowd 
 Of reckless men who down the tackles slide, 
 Or wildly leap ; while splashing all around 
 Strong swimmers battle bravely with the tide, 
 And scramble fiercely to surmount the side ! 
 
126 
 
 Both crafts at once are crowded to excess 
 
 The crews push off, and from the wreck they glide. 
 
 They cannot aid amid this wild distress ! 
 
 Their feeble chance of life, each moment renders less. 
 
 Upon the ship rolls aft the fiery pe>t, 
 
 And from the great main hatchway roars on high ; 
 
 While soon, by e'en the bravest, 'tis confessed 
 
 Xo hope is left for any but to die. 
 
 And prayers and shrieks go up in one wild cry ; 
 
 While to the crashing mainmast's thunder dread 
 
 The awful groans of victims make reply, 
 
 Mixed with the wailing whirr of flames o'erhead, 
 
 Which light with lurid glare the living and the dead 
 
 The two frail boats are heaving on the deep, 
 
 Throng'd with pale inmates, who with horror view 
 
 Despairing wretches from the vessel leap, 
 
 And yet to succour them can nothing do. 
 
 Gazing with faces of an ashen hue, 
 
 They see the captain throw into the waves 
 
 His much-loved wife then swiftly follow too ! 
 
 The doctor, with their child, the same fate braves 
 
 Then, with a shrieking crowd, they sink into their graves. 
 
 (How strong the love of life in men must be 
 
 When they can tamely sit, while all around 
 
 Their fellow-creatures in their misery, 
 
 Crying for help, are yet, all helpless, drowned ! 
 
 If now no ark of safety can be found, 
 
 Do not they think that they may well die too, 
 
 And pass away, with deathless honour crowned, 
 
 Rather than live for evermore to view 
 
 By day and night, in thought, that lost beseeching crew ?) 
 
 The mi/enmast falls headlong in the sea ; 
 
 The waters surge, while with explosion dread, 
 
 As of a score of cannons, forcefully 
 
 The stern blows out. And soon the flames are spread 
 
 O'er all the vessel, for by spirits fed 
 
 They mount on high with rushing whirlwind roar, 
 
 And in the midst the last sad souls are sped 
 
 Divorced from earthly clay above to soar 
 
 To work their Maker's will elsewhere for evermore ! 
 
 The hull iloats on, infested by lierce fire. 
 
 Which eats her massive frame:, while jets of steam 
 
 With angry hiss above the flames aspire, 
 
 When through her shattered stern the waters stream, 
 
 Or dash into her through the ports abeam. 
 
127 
 
 And one by one the swimmers strong go down ; 
 And men drop off from coop or floating beam 
 With choking cry, beneath the waves to drown , 
 Each fear-wrung visage pale fast settling in a frown. 
 And near the wreck, with their large living freight 
 Of human salvage, those two frail craft lie, 
 When bright Aurora opens wide the gato 
 For blushing Morning in the eastern sky, 
 And all around the seamen's glances fly 
 In eager hope that some tall saving ship, 
 Approaching slowly, may now greet the eye. 
 They gaze in vain, with indrawn breath and lip ; 
 Sea birds alone they see, which in the waters clip ! 
 
 Now as the cutter has no chief to guide 
 
 Her future movements and control her crew, 
 
 McDonald goes on board, while by his side 
 
 Bentley and Cotter and brave Lewis too 
 
 Attend their officer his will to do 
 
 With prompt submission ; and though lacking sail, 
 
 Compass or chart, with lind far from their view, 
 
 Undaunted hearts may help to turn the scale 
 
 Against gaunt Famine's tooth, and Ocean's ruthless gale. 
 
 The day wends on, the sun resigns his reign, 
 
 And night's long weary vigils too are past, 
 
 While once again above the watery plain 
 
 The morning breaks, as hopeless as the last ; 
 
 For, though all night the wreck's red beacon cast 
 
 Its warning light far o'er the lonely sea, 
 
 No swelling sail no lofty taper mast, 
 
 Within the circle of their sight they see, 
 
 And from their saddened hearts faint hope begins to flee. 
 
 The second day is nearly past, when lo ! 
 
 The calcined hull sends up vast clouds of steam 
 
 As with a plunge she hissing dives below ; 
 
 And as she dives her red-hot ruins gleam, 
 
 And a wild requiem startled seabirds scream ; 
 
 While rushing waters in the vortex meet, 
 
 And in fierce contest for the plunder seem ! 
 
 Then rolling onward in their endless beat, 
 
 They count one vessel more to Ocean's sunken fleet ! 
 
 Now on the hamper which around them floats 
 
 The shipwrecked look then shape their hopeless course 
 
 Sans food or water, in those sailless boats, 
 
 With three oars only their slow way to force. 
 
 But now adroit McDonald hath recourse 
 
128 
 
 To a torn garment which a poor girl lends 
 
 To form a sail which might have been the source 
 
 In times more prosperous, of jests. This tends 
 
 To raise their hopes of life, as their frail mast it bends. 
 
 ( hiward they drift the livelong silent night, 
 
 The starry hosts reflected in the deep. 
 
 And while for succour some few strain their sight, 
 
 The others, wearied out, all huddled sleep. 
 
 And the poor women in the mate's boat weep. 
 
 The morning breaks, and Ocean's breast again 
 
 Hath not a sail to cause their hearts to leap ; 
 
 But thirst and hunger add unto their pain ; 
 
 O ! for the crust despised ! the gently falling rain ! 
 
 Another day is numbered with the past ; 
 
 Another night and still another day ; 
 
 Then o'er the ocean wakes again the blast 
 
 Which bids the waves arise and they obey, 
 
 Rolling before it in the moonlight grey ; 
 
 And on they speed, those gaunt and wasted forms, 
 
 Who little heed the crested billows' play ; 
 
 For with the wind the hope each bosom warms 
 
 That they may meet a ship, or reach the Cape of Storms. 
 
 Now brave McDonald scans the sea in vain ; 
 The other boat has vanished from his sight, 
 And to his loudest call no voice again 
 Comes back in answer through the thickening night 
 Over the surges, gleaming crisp and white, 
 Onward they scud, while in each breast of care 
 The feeling gathers, that the weary fight 
 With wolfish hunger, thirst, and deep despair 
 Must now be, all uncheered, for them alone to bear. 
 
 The Sabbath dawns no peaceful time of rest ! 
 
 What day it is they scarcely know nor care ; 
 
 For as they gaze beyond each billow's crest 
 
 Their sinking hearts give way to dull despair ; 
 
 Their burning thirst becomes too great to bear, 
 
 And all regardless of wise counsels oi'ven 
 
 They drink the brine, altho' it seems to tear 
 
 Their very vitals, till by madness driven 
 
 They glare like savage beasts, and rave of Hell and Heaven. 
 
 And one by one their anguished souls depart, 
 Leaving their bodies to the sea a piw. 
 Poor Bentley, steering, wakes with sudden start 
 From a deep do/e, and, falling, drifts away. 
 They see. they hear, but have no power to stay ! 
 
129 
 
 On, on, they drive ! While, like a rushing pack 
 
 Of famished lions, all intent to slay, 
 
 The angry billows follow in their track, 
 
 And o'er the gunwales leap, to lie bailed hardly back. 
 
 Still howls the gale ! And now, by hunger driven, 
 
 The ghoul-like living feed upon the dead ! 
 
 For from their breasts all human qualms are riven, 
 
 For they must die if not on something fed, 
 
 And naught is there save those whose souls have fled. 
 
 And they are many for each awful clay 
 
 Sees raving wretches clif , whose veins are bled 
 
 To keep those living who have strength to slay, 
 
 The lite-sustaining law, so ruthless to obey ! 
 
 Xow just before the breaking of the dawn 
 
 Of the eighth morning, through the shades of night 
 
 There bursts upon those voyagers forlorn 
 
 What is to them most welcome, dearest sight ! 
 
 A barque ! full sail before the breeze, now light! 
 
 They try to shout, and raise a feeble noise, 
 
 But disappointment like a deadly blight 
 
 Falls on their hearts none hear their weak " ahoys !" 
 
 And theswift craft speeds on, and all their hope destroys ! 
 
 ! who can tell the anguish that they feel 
 As the good ship upon her voyage steers ? 
 Their strength is gone, their shattered senses reel, 
 And their hot eyes distil yet hotter tears 
 As Death in ghastly form so close appears, 
 He seems to grasp them. Yet brave Lewis now 
 Pours words of hope and comfort in their ears 
 (Though agony's cold dew -is on his brow) 
 " We're on the track," he cries, " which homeward vessels 
 plough." 
 
 Nine dreary nights, nine weary days are flown, 
 And still floats on that ark of horrors, where 
 The mangled dead are midst the living strewn ; 
 For near them crouch like wild beasts in their lair, 
 The gaunt survivors, who no longer care 
 For life or death, but 'neath the cold grey skies 
 Sleep in dull sleep, or round them madly glare 
 Upon their comrades with red frenzied eyes, 
 Till, like a hungry wolf, one on McDonald flies, 
 
 And bites his flesh, who, starting from his trance, 
 Then rises feebly to repel his foe. 
 But what is that which meets his waking glance, 
 And makes with hope his bosom once more glow ? 
 
130 
 
 A noble ship ! Ho tries to shout " Sail ho !" 
 
 But lias no voice then to the gunwale clings, 
 
 Anil "-axes mutely on the gallant show 
 
 The coming vessel makes with snowy wings, 
 
 While o'er the crested waves her captain's hoarse hail rings. 
 
 Now are his comrades one and all awake ! 
 
 Watching the vessel, as with bird-like sweep 
 
 She meets the wind until her white wings shake 
 
 With nervous twichings o'er the dark blue deep. 
 
 While, fawning on her, swelling billows leap ! 
 
 Her fore and mi/en sails again soon fill, 
 
 Her mains are thrown aback, and serve to keep 
 
 Her near the spot, while with a hearty will 
 
 Her crew stand by to save with promptitude and skill. 
 
 Oh ! who shall know the feelings of those men 
 
 Who gasp for breath as they that ship draw nigh ! 
 
 Lost from their thoughts their loathsome blood-stained den, 
 
 And fixed upon their saviours every eye, 
 
 While to their homes their minds exultant fly ! 
 
 I>rave friends are near, whose honest faces glow 
 
 With eager kindness, but whose warning cry 
 
 Is changed to horror when the truth they know, 
 
 A< 'neath their vessel's lee glides up that charnel low. 
 
 The active seamen hoist the saved on deck, 
 
 And wash away each filthy gory stain, 
 
 While the poor dead sad relics of the wreck 
 
 With decent rites are given to the main 
 
 To sleep the sleep devoid of dreams or pain, 
 
 Until, aroused by that dread trumpet's call, 
 
 They shall awake with perfect forms again 
 
 To be arraigned before the Judge of all. 
 
 Here let the drama end here let the curtain fall. 
 
131 
 
 MOODS OF THE OCEAN. 
 
 i. 
 
 I RIPPLE on my sandy shore, 
 When the winds repose in their airy hall ; 
 In murmurs soft my wavelets fall, 
 
 As if at peace for evermore. 
 And the sea-birds dive for their finny prey, 
 While the ship scarce moves on her trackless way. 
 
 2. 
 
 A restless wind awakens now, 
 And wings its way o'er my peaceful breast, 
 Whence wavelets leap to be caress'd 
 
 And don foam-crests of sparkling snow. 
 While the watchful sea-birds win# their way 
 With the ship, which speeds on her path of spray. 
 
 3. 
 
 Now howling blasts, like furies fly ! 
 And my bosom vex to a foaming waste, 
 Whence all, save wrath, is soon effaced, 
 
 As Titan waves insult the sky ! 
 While the sea-birds speed to the distant shore. 
 And the ship goes down, and is seen no more ! 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 OLIVER WATSON HARRIS DIED, JUNE 1, 1875. 
 
 Farewell, dear friend ! a long, a last farewell 
 For I have heard that thou hast pass'd away 
 
 From this fair world, where thou wert loved so well, 
 And where the best so often shortest stay. 
 
 Oh ! can it be, that I no more shall hold 
 
 That strong right hand, so cordial in its grip ? 
 
 Shall ne'er again that comely face behold 
 The broad fair brow and smiling eye and lip ? 
 
132 
 
 Those honest eyes ! whose open, steady light 
 
 Beam'd forth so kindly from their depths of blue ; 
 
 'Tis hard to think they are no longer bright, 
 Hid in the grave lor ever from our view. 
 
 That manly form fit home for the brave heart 
 
 Which knew not guile, and never bowed to fear 
 
 IB stricken down by Death's unerring dart 
 That dart which ends at last each bright career ! 
 
 Tho' not to me allied by blood or birth, 
 
 Yet, like a brother, 1 have loved thee well, 
 
 And many friends who knew thy sterling worth 
 Mingle their tears with mine in this farewell. 
 
 LOST. 
 
 FOUNDED ON FACT. 
 
 1. 
 
 ONE summer's morn, in Adelaide's far north, 
 Phoebus glared down with lurid glance of wrath, 
 While, from his flaming face, a flood was cast 
 Of scorching heat, as if the world to blast ; 
 Steeping the mountains, till their faded hue 
 Deepen'd from grey to one intensely blue ; 
 While their rude outlines show'd unto the eye 
 In bold relief against the paler sky. 
 
 2. 
 
 At foot of one, behold there did appear 
 A lovely scene, drawn in the atmosphere ; 
 A shining lake, with fringe of sombre pines, 
 The water sleeping in bright silver lines ; 
 While at each side, and backing it, were high, 
 Bold, time-worn crags which seem'd to kiss the sky 
 Forming a picture, beautiful and grand, 
 Like some great artist's dream of Fairy-land ! 
 
133 
 
 3. 
 
 And, as a dream, 'twas merely a delusion, 
 Which, like the fairies, would not brook intrusion ; 
 For, on approach, that vision passing fair, 
 Dissolv'd itself, and vanished in thin air ; 
 While to the eye there then appear'd instead 
 Huge sandstone rocks, all time-worn, bare, and red, 
 And black-oak scrubs which clothe the southern face 
 Of the tall range which bears the name of Chase, 
 
 4. 
 
 Which there encroach'd upon a saltbush plain, 
 Whose sun-crack'd surface told that needful rain 
 For months long pass'd had never fallen there ; 
 While o'er it play'd, suspended in the air, 
 A lesser mirage, like to water waving, 
 Which mocks the sight of thirsty bushman craving 
 For the pure element, as onward toiling, 
 With dry canteen, he feels his blood near boiling. 
 
 5. 
 
 Deep silence reign'd, like that of lonely grave, 
 And no stray zephyr caused the leaves to wave ; 
 Though, spectre-like, some whirlwinds to the sky 
 Raised their vast heads of thin grey dust on high. 
 No bird or beast appear'd unto the sight, 
 Saving an eagle, which, with lazy flight, 
 Wheel'd on broad pinions, buoyant, in mid air, 
 A dusky speck amid the sultry glare. 
 
 6. 
 
 For, urged by thirst, all else had gone to seek 
 For shade and water in some cool gum-creek ; 
 There to remain till Phoebus should resign 
 His mid-day reign, and to the west decline. 
 But soon a man appear'd upon the scene, 
 With hurried step, and agitated mien ; 
 Who, as he sped, with keen suspicion peer'd 
 Around his path, as if he danger fear'd. 
 
 7. 
 
 A timid man ! far better had he stay'd 
 To gain his bread by some dull, useful trade, 
 In town or village of his native land ; 
 His life the care of Law's far-reaching hand: 
 For curlew's scream, borne on the midnight breeze, 
 Or sighing wind, among the rustling trees, 
 Caus'd him to start with keen enquiring ear, 
 As if he thought some deadly foe lurk'd near. 
 
134 
 
 8. 
 
 Then his faint heart with frenzied fear was fill'd 
 When rumour told how savage blacks had kill'd 
 A luckless shepherd, on adjacent run ! 
 Its promptings urged him, ere the rising sun 
 Glanc'd o'er the range, to leave his sheep to fate, 
 Death threat'ning him if he relief should wait. 
 And so we see him, like a hunted deer, 
 Fleeing for safety to a station near. 
 
 9. 
 
 But soon in doubt he paused, and gazed around, 
 Then bent his eager glances to the ground ; 
 For now two paths his puzzled sight confused, 
 Both faintly mark'd, and neither lately used ; 
 One trended south, the other crossed the bed 
 Of stony creek, and to the station led, 
 Which, though from this, but two short miles away, 
 Was screen'd by hills, 'midst which it nestling lay. 
 
 10. 
 
 But he, as others would no doubt have done, 
 Soon chose the plainer and the broader one ; 
 And it, like that to everlasting ruin, 
 Became the cause of that poor man's undoing ! 
 For it led out upon the saltbush plain 
 Where nothing lived, except when winter's rain 
 Caused pools of water in the holes to lie, 
 Which summer's drought leaves deeply crack'd and dry. 
 
 11. 
 
 With nervous haste he strode upon his way, 
 
 With growing dread lest it should be astray ; 
 
 While agitation, and the sun's fierce beams, 
 
 Wrung the salt sweat from him in trickling streams ; 
 
 He heeded not the pertinacious flies 
 
 Which swarm'd around and in his mouth and eyes ; 
 
 Too much by fear his mind was occupied 
 
 To notice, now, how else he might be tried f 
 
 12. 
 
 The marks grew fainter, as he onward went, 
 Till with the plain they finally were blent ; 
 He had pursued a once-used cattle track 
 He turn'd in haste, and hurried swiftly back, 
 But, by sad chance, found not the path he left, 
 As if of sight he had become bereft, 
 Or careless grown, from stupid haste and fright, 
 He gave no thought to what was wrong or right. 
 
135 
 
 13. 
 
 For then, instead of gazing calmly round 
 
 At ranges near, and guided thus, have found 
 
 His morning's track, he wandered on the plain, 
 
 As if intending to go home again. 
 
 But no such thought was present to his mind ! 
 
 'Twas fate relentless that his steps inclined ! 
 
 For so bewilder' d was he by his fright, 
 
 That well-known hills now mock'd his puzzled sight ! 
 
 14. 
 
 When leaving home, so hurried had he been, 
 That quite forgotten was his large canteen ; 
 And thirst was added to his mental pain ! 
 Oh ! that in England he were once again ! 
 Her meanest puddle would to him have been 
 A priceless boon ! tho' garb'd in stagnant green ! 
 A willing gift had been his hoarded gold, 
 For one large cup of water, clear and cold ! 
 
 15. 
 
 Oh, ye ! who live in England's favour'd land, 
 
 With purest water always at command ; 
 
 A draught of it gives you but little pleasure ; 
 
 You do not know the value of the treasure ! 
 
 So with all blessings, if too cheaply bought 
 
 Upon their worth we seldom give a thought ; 
 
 But let us lose one, be it ne'er so small, 
 
 'Tis straightway sought, pursued, and prized by all ! 
 
 16. 
 
 And so with him who pines for water now. 
 Oh ! how he long'd, while wiping his hot brow 
 At some clear stream, to take a breathless drink ! 
 Compared with which the choicest wine would sink 
 In estimation, left untasted till 
 His thirst was banish'd at the sparkling rill ! 
 For tho' in praise of wine so many sing, 
 All those who thirst would quickly choose the spring. 
 
 17. 
 
 On, on he ran t still harass'd by the flies, 
 
 With cracking lips, and painful sweat-dimm'd eyes ; 
 
 A bitter slime pervaded his hot mouth, 
 
 His swollen tongue and throat were rack'd with drouth ; 
 
 While on his head, convuls'd with throbbing pain, 
 
 The sunbeams struck, and seem'd to scorch his brain. 
 
 His feet were blister'd, and his state of mind 
 
 Can neither be imagined nor defined ! 
 
136 
 
 18. 
 
 But soon he struck the beaten road again, 
 Where Chase's range abuts upon the plain, 
 To trace once more that fatal erring track, 
 And on the plain to wander, hopeless back. 
 In senseless haste he paced the fatal round, 
 K'en when the sun, with golden glories crown'd, 
 Swept with his train of wide, diverging light 
 Down in the west, and left his realms to night. 
 
 19. 
 
 He sank, at last, exhausted on the ground, 
 And scarcely breathing, mark'd each sylvan sound ; 
 The gauze-wing'd locusts, shrieking from the trees, 
 And dingoes' howl borne faintly on the breeze, 
 While *" oolka boorachie" hopp'd close around, 
 Adding their short and most peculiar sound, 
 As hungry night-hawks stay'd awhile their flight, 
 Then flitted on like spectres of the night. 
 
 20. 
 
 He might recline, he vainly tried to rest ; 
 For, with wild fear and bitterness oppress'd, 
 His heart beat audibly, as if 'twould burst ! 
 He tried to pray but, raving madly, cursed ! 
 He started up, sat down, then rose again, 
 As fearful fancies crowded thro' his brain ; 
 While thronging fast before his mental sight 
 A medley strange of past scenes sped that night ! 
 
 21. 
 
 No charms for him had constellations bright, 
 That richly gemm'd the majesty of night, 
 But through the gloom he peer'd with eager eyes 
 For fair Aurora's advent in the skies. 
 Tears down his cheeks pursued their silent course, 
 Wrung by despair from their long pent-up source ; 
 Till tired nature could no longer keep 
 That fearsome vigil, and he fell asleep. 
 
 22. 
 
 Sleep ? yes, 'twas sleep ! but of the fever'd kind 
 That seals the eyelids, but permits the mind 
 To live tormented by a phantom host 
 Tin- evil genii of bright dreamland's coast ! 
 Of varied shapes, and various terrors, they 
 'Midst night's dark shadows hold their horrid sway ! 
 Gaunt, grinning spectres o'er the starving flit 
 Vile shapes enormous on gorged gourmands sit ! 
 
 *Kangaroo-rat ; Native name. 
 
137 
 
 23. 
 
 But to the man who slept unhappy there, 
 A savage seeming did the phantoms wear. 
 Huge naked blacks to him appeared to rage 
 Around a hut where helpless he was caged ; 
 Eager for blood, they shook their horrid spears, 
 While fiend-like yells assail'd his startled ears ; 
 And then, one demon, darting from the band, 
 Soon gain'd the hut with uprais'd, flaming brand ! 
 
 24. 
 
 The thatch ignites ! at once, with whirlwind roar, 
 Devouring flames towards the heavens soar ! 
 Oh ! he must die an agonizing death ! 
 He writhes beneath the conflagration's breath ! 
 It was too much the awful spell it broke, 
 He started wildly, and at last awoke 
 To find himself beneath the midnight sky, 
 Consumed by thirst no friend or water nigh. 
 
 25. 
 
 He slept no more, but watch'd with aching sight, 
 For those faint rays which herald morning's light. 
 Oh ! would that day, so longed for, ever dawn 
 To cheer his heart, by gnawing anguish torn ? 
 Those weary hours seem'd lengthen'd into years, 
 Each one full crowded with a lifetime's fears ! 
 He thought Old Time, with folded pinions, stay'd 
 His wonted course, and daylight long delay'd. 
 
 26. 
 
 But those dread hours of darkness fled at last, 
 And night's black mantle from the plain was cast, 
 Which soon again in glowing light was dress'd, 
 Yet comfort came not to that wanderer's breast. 
 For on his march he sped with early dawn, 
 And with quick steps pursued his way forlorn. 
 But whither bent ? 'tis to no haunt of man, 
 But to that fate which yesterday began. 
 
 27. 
 
 For now, again, as on the bygone day, 
 Out on the plain he wends his weary way. 
 The hills, confused, seem whirling in his sight, 
 His eyeballs burn with wild and frenzied light ! 
 Deeply his nails he digs into his palms, 
 And, all unknowing, waves aloft his arms ; 
 His mental tortures, acting on his brain, 
 Fast sap his reason ! he is near insane ! 
 
138 
 
 28. 
 
 He hurries on, with scarcely any change, 
 O'er arid plain, and by the frowning range ! 
 As barque round Maelstrom, in Norwegian sea, 
 To sure destruction, ceaseless circles he ! 
 But, worse than on sharp jagged rocks to burst, 
 He soon must die of all-consuming thirst. 
 Of hunger's pangs he scarcely is aware, 
 They are as naught to thirst and deep despair ! 
 
 29. 
 
 Again fierce Phoebus, from his mid-day path, 
 Regards the earth with unabated wrath ; 
 Till the scorch'd plain flings back its sullen glare, 
 And mocking mirage vapours in the air. 
 Yet onward still, with redly gleaming eyes, 
 The luckless one from foes imagined flies ; 
 With steps uneven, in erratic lines, 
 For to no track his course he now confines. 
 
 30. 
 
 Anon by suffering and madness driven, 
 His scanty clothing from his form is riven 
 By trembling hands, which heed not what they do, 
 As on the saltbush they the garments strew, 
 Till naught remains ! yet still he feebly strays, 
 Nudely to bear the dreadful solar rays ; 
 While like a furnace, all its flames close pent, 
 With horrid heat are his vex'd vitals rent ! 
 
 31. 
 
 Far o'er Lake Torrens' wild and dreary shore 
 The sun sinks redly in the west once more. 
 Then staggers down that worn-out man to die, 
 Unseen by any, save his Maker's eye ! 
 Madness and fear have fled his stricken brain, 
 And, from his frame, its all-pervading pain ! 
 He starts not now at any fearsome sound, 
 But in a swoon lies senseless on the ground ! 
 
 32. 
 
 The evening hours glide silently away, 
 
 And noiseless night-hawks hover o'er their prey ; 
 
 When Death's dread call unto his spirit rings, 
 
 Which must essay its now unfetter' d wings 
 
 In flight momentous to a hidden fate 
 
 Of pain eternal, or seraphic state ! 
 
 For who shall judge an erring mortal, save 
 
 HIM who, with life, his fallen nature gave ? 
 
139 
 
 Now clay's bright god his realm pervades again, 
 And, with a glance, drives darkness from the plain, 
 Steeping in light that body void of breath, 
 Which silent lies in dreamless sleep of death ! 
 No more its eyes shall nature's beauties scan, 
 Or its still'd brain poor human business plan ; 
 Dust it shall be, and mix with kindred clay, 
 Till once more quicken'd on the Judgment Day ! 
 
 TIME. 
 
 i. 
 
 OLD Time strides on with steady pace, 
 His speed he quickens never ; 
 
 Yet still he runs a winning race, 
 And keeps the course for ever ! 
 
 By night and day, while worlds decay, 
 He strides along for ever. 
 
 For ever, yes, for ever ! 
 
 2. 
 
 He just looks down, with scornful face, 
 
 On mortals swift and clever, 
 And, as each drops from out the race, 
 
 He leaves them there for ever. 
 Both great and small, he leaves them all, 
 
 And strides along for ever. 
 
 For ever, yes, for ever ! 
 
 3. 
 
 But still yourselves, ye mortals, brace, 
 
 For Fame it dieth never ! 
 And though ye drop from out the race, 
 
 Your name may live for ever. 
 Then gain a name, and let your fame 
 
 Stride on, with Time, for ever ! 
 F>r ever, yes, for ever! 
 
140 
 
 THE GUM-TREE. 
 
 OF Austral trees I am king, I ween, 
 
 None can with me compare ! 
 My vast old crown is of evergreen, 
 
 Begemm'd with plumage rare ! 
 My limbs I wave like sceptres grand 
 
 To the wattle-scented wind, 
 And I am loved in this southern land 
 
 As a friend by all mankind ! 
 
 CHORUS 
 Then sing ye jolly corn-stalk band ! 
 
 Loud let your praises be 
 Of the monarch grand in this smiling land, 
 
 The glorious old gum-tree ! 
 
 My pendent sprays in sweet whispers sing 
 
 When zephyrs round me play ; 
 But loudly roar, and defiance fling 
 
 At the rage of a stormy day ! 
 My mighty roots like anchors hold 
 
 In earth's dark breast right fast, 
 And my tall trunk stands like a Titan bold, 
 
 And laughs at the vanquish'd blast ! 
 
 CHORUS Then sing, &c., &c. 
 
 I lend my shade, in the fierce noon-clay, 
 
 To dark skin and to fair, 
 And the fever-fiend I drive away 
 
 If lurking in the air. 
 And when bright Phoebe, queen of night, 
 
 Reigns o'er the peaceful scene, 
 My magpie choir oft hail her light 
 
 From my lofty leafy screen. 
 
 CHORUS Then sing, &c., &c. 
 
141 
 
 110 IN THE SHADE. 
 
 i. 
 
 ALACK ! what are we coming to ? oh, dear ! 
 
 But two degrees 'neath burning fever's point ! 
 Our livers will not stand it long, I fear, 
 
 And all our functions will be out of joint! 
 
 Save the unpleasant one that doth anoint 
 Our parboil'd cuticles with perspiration, 
 
 Which might indeed be measured by the pint ! 
 And which insists upon a perportation, 
 A sort of liquid loan for instant liquidation. 
 
 2. 
 Too hot for work ! we therefore loll about 
 
 In just the coolest quarter to be found ; 
 And here, I own, I feel a lurking doubt 
 
 That, in that bourne to which bad souls are bound, 
 
 (To suffer anything but to be drown'd) 
 It can be any hotter than this place 
 
 Near to Lake Torrens' border ; where the ground 
 Gasps, with a thousand fissures in its face, 
 For a cool breath of air, just like the human race ! 
 
 3. 
 
 The covers of the books are curling up, 
 
 As if they fain a student would invite 
 To pore o'er their crisp pages for a sup 
 
 From learning's fount ; but who, with fly-vex'd sight 
 
 Would quickly leave them in a sorry plight, 
 By pouring on them perspiration's rain 
 
 In mighty spots ! just like the splashing flight 
 Of scattered drops, which patter on the plain 
 Just ere the weather-clerk turns on his thunder-main ! 
 
 4. 
 Poor Towzer, there, is lying in a hole, 
 
 A scratch'd-out cavern 'neath a leaking tank, 
 Nor thinks of mutton he so lately stole, 
 
 And, from the crows, secreted in a bank ; 
 
 But sprawls, at length, with slowly heaving Hank, 
 Too much oppress'd to wag his bushy tail, 
 
 He'd scarce " skedaddle " for a kick or spank ; 
 E'en at that caller, with his dusty swag, 
 He will not rise to bark, though plainly an " old lag !" 
 
142 
 
 The panting fowls arc gasping in the shade, 
 Their dingy plumage hanging loosely round, 
 
 While chanticleers, with warfare for their trade, 
 Mope side by side, and nothing now would hound 
 Them on to combat ; or, indeed, to sound 
 
 The martial challenge with their clarion shrill ; 
 Are these the birds which strut upon the mound, 
 
 And for a pullet's sake, are kill'd or kill ? 
 
 Too hot it is for love ! e'en jealousy is still ! 
 
 6. 
 That grim grimalkin stretch'd upon the floor 
 
 Is surely dead, so motionless he lies ; 
 Upon the mucine race he'll prey no more, 
 
 But if he's dead, e'en Death can't stand theso flies ! 
 
 For see, he clutches at his half-closed eyes, 
 With sudden claw, to scare those insects vile, 
 
 Which shirk the blow, and all inertly rise 
 On lazy wing, to poise a little while, 
 Then settle down once more, the luckless cat to rile ! 
 
 7. 
 Upon the ear sounds forth no songster's note, 
 
 To break the stillness of the sultry air, 
 And all is silent, save where sheep or goat 
 
 Speeds to the water with unhappy blare, 
 
 'Xeath bushes dodging to avoid the glare 
 Of Sol's fierce glances, who hath fever got, 
 
 And is as pleasant as a scalded bear ! 
 Now I must pause to take a cheering tot, 
 A nasty one I mean, the water's nearly hot ! 
 
 8. 
 Oh ! for a snow-crown'd iceberg's leeward side ! 
 
 But not too near it, for extremes are bad. 
 Here I much wonder that the dogs ne'er tried 
 
 To wile away the time, by going mad 
 
 But no ! 'twould be a deal too hot to pad 
 'The hoof, in quest of legs at which to snap. 
 
 " Johnny ! you Johnny ! just come here, my lad, 
 And take that water-bag round to the tap, 
 And fill it speedily, or you may get the strap." 
 
 9. 
 
 I'm done up, quite ! and so will guzzle tea ; 
 
 That is, of course, when no " three-star " remains ; 
 But, by-the-by, it really puzzles me 
 
 How soon that brandy f'n>m the bottle wanes ! 
 
 The footless glass must sutler little drains, 
 
143 
 
 Like perspiration, through its pores to ooze. 
 
 Oh, clear, the question bothers my stew'd brains, 
 And so I'll try to soothe them with a snooze ; 
 A trial at the best, when heat and flies oppose. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF LIFE. 
 
 " GOOD night ! good night " the mother said 
 While leaning o'er her infant's bed, 
 
 She kiss'd his mouth so rosy : 
 " Good night ! good night !" she said again 
 Another loving kiss, and then 
 
 She left him warm and cozy. 
 
 And going out with footfall light 
 She left the candle burning bright 
 
 Till sleep, on angels' pinions, 
 Should with soft hands his eyelids close, 
 While fervently her prayer arose 
 
 To Heaven's supreme dominions 
 
 That he, her son, should grow in grace, 
 And run with credit in the race 
 
 Prescribed on earth to mortals 
 And when, with years and honours crowned, 
 He should by kindly Death be found, 
 
 His soul should win the portals 
 
 Of that Bright Land where sin is not 
 Where pain and sorrow are forgot 
 
 Where tears can trickle never ! 
 And, doubting not that she should fly 
 For shelter there when she should die, 
 
 Trusts they shall joy for ever. 
 
 And soon she seeks the little bed 
 
 Where, sleep's bright visions round his head,- 
 
 Her darling now lies dreaming ; 
 While sunny smiles upon his face 
 Appear to her, from Throne of Grace, 
 
 Replies of hopeful seeming. 
 
144 
 
 So, taking up her light, she goes 
 
 With noiseless tread, to seek repose, 
 
 And leaves him to his slumber 
 But never dreams that her fair child 
 Shall grow up like a nettle wild, 
 
 Earth's smiling lace to cumber ! 
 
 Upon the past's dim silent shore, 
 Long years are cast for evermore, 
 
 Since in his cot, that child 
 Slept, 'neath his guardian angel's care, 
 A happy mortal, passing fair, 
 
 With soul yet undefiTd. 
 
 Can this be he, who on the sand 
 Lies dying in this desert land 
 
 From thirst and hunger pangs ? 
 A ghastly creature, ragged, worn ! 
 Too mean for word, or glance of scorn, 
 
 A prey to conscience-fangs ! 
 
 But see, upon his face a light 
 Gleams, as his spirit takes its flight ! 
 
 Yes, 'tis indeed no other ! 
 And ah ! a soft word leaves that tongue, 
 Whence oft the ribald curse hath rung, 
 
 That cherish'd name of " Mother !" 
 
 Ah ! heart-wrung parents ! who repine 
 When Death, sent by the All-wise Mind 
 
 Comes gathering your flowers ; 
 Rebel not at the order given 
 Ye know those " blossoms," borne to heaven 
 
 Will deck Eternal bowers ! 
 
145 
 
 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. 
 
 Two hundred years ago, or so, I will not be precise, 
 A fine old-fashion'd galliot, which look'cl just like a slice 
 From Daddy Noah's clipper craft ! (a bottom slice of course !) 
 With lots of beam to carry sail, was thrashing at the force 
 Of snooring gale, from Sou-Sou-East, and nasty chopping sea, 
 As lively as she bobb'd about as such a craft could be ! 
 And on the weather-quarter loom'd old Afric's stormy cape, 
 Round which the Dutch adventurer his daring course would 
 
 shape ; 
 
 For " Vanderdecken," of that craft, was skipper bold I ween ; 
 (A burly, round-stern'd mariner as ever yet was seen), 
 Who paced upon her lofty poop, with trumpet in his hand, 
 As if he'd hail the natives swart, upon that savage land. 
 
 An oil'd sou-wester cased his head, above his shaggy brows, 
 Who could believe that bear-like man once fancied by the Vrows ? 
 His keen small eyes were like a rat's ! and then, his nose ! oh 
 
 dear ! 
 
 'Twas like a pimpled pineapple ! (he loved his schnapps, I fear !) 
 A long moustache, like cross-jack yard, AVUS slung beneath that 
 
 knob, 
 
 And fitted was his cruel mouth to take a man-trap's job ! 
 His grizzled, bushy beard hung doAvn upon his brawny breast ; 
 His antiquated doublet, broAvn with grease, Avas greatly mess'd, 
 And in the girdle that he wore, Avas thrust a dagger long, 
 To prove its owner in the right, hoAvever in the Avrong. 
 Trunk hose of leather met his boots, (of close-grain'd hard 
 
 horse-hide), 
 
 Which on the luckless cabin-boy full often had been tried ! 
 Who, though he doubtless fancied them too large a size or so, 
 Discover'd that, like " three-leagued boots," they made him 
 
 swiftly go ; 
 
 And once when with great energy, and suddenness applied, 
 They furnish'd Avings which carried him into the sea's salt tide, 
 Where, as he was an orphan boy, of melancholy mood, 
 They left him, just to fraternise with " Mother Carey's " brood. 
 But oh ! as if into the breast of Stormy Petrel small 
 His puny soul had entered in, so surely in each squall 
 One of those evil-omen'd birds, on restless Avings pursued, 
 With other notions, said the men, than just to seek for food. 
 For gramercy ! right Avell he knows, quoth they, IIOAV AVC shall 
 
 fare, 
 
146 
 
 And so, to keep us company, already doth prepare ; 
 For since the little tlohann died, hath trouble hemm'd us round, 
 Ami will, till in the fatal sea, like him shall we he drown 'd: 
 So biscuit crumbs some to him threw, while others wished that he 
 To " certain burning latitudes " might on swift pinions flee ! 
 But, howsoever they might wish, there still that sea-bird flew, 
 Which troubled Yanderdecken more than e'er it did his crew ; 
 And often, with his arquebuse, had lie, with cruel mind, 
 Aim'd at the little wanderer, a messenger unkind ! 
 But still a charmed life it bore, and still it sail'd along, 
 As if it loved the billow's crest, and tempest's weird song. 
 
 Now swallow-like it skimm'd along, on pinions strong and 
 
 light, 
 
 A hated and reproachful thing, in Vanderdeeken' s sight ; 
 Who, as he roll'd along his deck, no words of pleasure spoke, 
 But mutter'd curses from his throat, in sullen thunder broke ! 
 And, scowling on his sun-burnt crew, from foremast-man to 
 
 mate 
 He call'd down " blessings," in Low Dutch, upon each luckless 
 
 _ pate ; 
 
 As if those scurvy-stricken tars could help the gale so foul, 
 Which in derision, through the gear, like demons seemed to 
 
 howl ! 
 
 " Now, rouse that fore-tack down," he cried, " be smart, ye 
 
 lubbers all !" 
 
 And half a dozen tarry ones responded to his call, 
 While, just as sportive rabbits drive into rude dingle dens, 
 So dived into the seething trough the " Benaud Englekens ;" 
 For thus was Vanderdecken's craft from Burgomaster named, 
 Who little thought, when she was launch'd, that she would be 
 
 so famed. 
 
 Now, Peter Vanderbelt, the mate, a fair-hair'd, blue-eyed tar, 
 
 Is gazing with his mental eye upon some scene afar ; 
 
 For, as against a shroud he leans, his heart is far away 
 
 To where his loving Gretchen sits, while round his children play ; 
 
 And in his ears their joyous tones, like music seem to ring ; 
 
 But him, from his bright reverie, his skipper's accents bring. 
 
 " Wake up ! you dreaming home-sick calf," he hears that 
 
 worthy hiss, 
 
 " E'er Amsterdam ye see again, it will be long, I wis ; 
 " For may Old Scratch seize on my soul, if I for Holland turn, 
 " Before we weather yon black cape, and leave it far astern ; 
 " For spice ! and precious stones ! I sail'd, and mean to have 
 
 them too ! 
 " And so I'll stay and carry on till everything is blue. 
 
147 
 
 " Besides, I never yet was beat wherever I did roam ; 
 
 " Get ye below, you foolish loon, and dream no more of home." 
 
 But ah ! what fearsome sound was that, which both those 
 
 seamen heard ? 
 
 It could not come from albatross, or any other bird. 
 Tho' round them rustled viewless wings, and wierd shadows 
 
 fell ; 
 
 Oh, no ! 'twas like exulting laugh from mocking fiend of hell ! 
 And with a sudden change of wind, the sails were thrown 
 
 aback, 
 
 And stopp'd the " Renaud Englekens " abruptly in her track. 
 But e'er the startled seamen sprang to haul the yards around, 
 She fillM again, and gather' d way, as if for Cape Horn bound. 
 But where is gallant Vanderbelt ? not in his berth below, 
 Xo pillow, save a " water one " will Peter ever know ! 
 For, by the jibing 1 main-boom flung into the raging sea, 
 Xo more will he his pleasant home, or gentle Gretchen see 
 With one wild cry to Heaven sent for mercy on his soul, 
 He disappears beneath the waves, which o'er him surging roll ! 
 E'en Vanderdecken's rugged heart, by what lie saw, was wrung ; 
 For oh ! he loved his sister's son ! tho, he no hen-coop flung, 
 Or -wore his clumsy galliot, or tried to heave her to, 
 Or, in a cranky cockle-shell, sent forth a saving crew. 
 For well he knew that fruitless all would such endeavours be, 
 No dingey that was ever launch'd, could live in such a sea ! 
 Besides, he saw him fathoms down, sink like a deep sea-lead, 
 So turn'd upon the steersman bold, and swore at him instead. 
 " Just mind your helm, you lubber, you ! why, what are you 
 
 about ? 
 
 " I do not want, you sea-cook's son, to put the craft about ; 
 " And 'twas your carelessness just now, that got her in the 
 
 wind, 
 
 " And sent poor Peter overboard ! by ! I'm inclined 
 
 " To string you up without a shrift, unto that yard-arm there ;" 
 The man replied, " Thou skipper mine, from further threats 
 
 forbear ; 
 
 " Xo fault was that of mortal man, but of the Evil One, 
 " Who works for us a cruel fate, which he hath well begun ! 
 " For oh ! that horrid gibing laugh rings yet within mine ears, 
 " And ever will, though I attain to all one hundred years t 
 " A doomed ship is this, I trow, and all that in her sail ; 
 " That fatal cape we'll never round, or weather out this gale ! 
 " But I, for one, like Christian man, will bravely meet my fate ; 
 " I wouid I were as well prepared as our departed mate \ 
 " For gentle was his soul, I wis, tho' as a lion's bold ! 
 (And as thus spake that mariner, tears down his visage roll'd) 
 
148 
 
 " 'Tis thirty days since first in sight of that swart capo we came, 
 
 " And high upon the inland hills beheld the mighty flame, 
 ' Which yon said native blackamoors were making as a sign \ 
 " An ugly blackamoor, indeed ! thought 1, and comrades mine. 
 " And still a foul wind baffles us, while scurvy thins the crew ; 
 " Then hearken, Sir, to the advice I fain would offer you." 
 
 Stern Vanderdecken answered not, but turned him on his heel, 
 Tho' into his hard wicked heart, a doubt began to steal, 
 And as he wander'd up and down on those unsteady planks, 
 Old recollections flll'd his mind of wh -it were worse than pranks ; 
 And then he mused on Vanderbelt, when (who would think it 
 
 true ?) 
 
 Unconsciously, from his fierce eyes, stole down a tear or two ! 
 For his good angel tried once more to turn his stubborn heart, 
 (That indurated pebble-stone, which stood for vital part !) 
 And prompted him to seek again his helmsman good and true, 
 And growl, " Now, Diedrick, say thy say, but let thy words be 
 
 few." 
 
 Then spake that skilful mariner, and this is what he said ; 
 
 " Turn back, if there should yet be time, and be by prudence led ; 
 
 " And let us to Our Lady pray to help us in our strait, 
 
 " For, with her aid, perchance we may. e'en yet, evade our fate." 
 
 Here Vanderdecken stopp'd him short, with mutter'd curse and 
 
 scowl ; 
 
 Quoth he, " Befits it seamen bold unto the saints to howl 
 " Whene'er a puff of wind comes down, and makes the water 
 
 rough ? 
 " Pshaw ! if you call that good advice, you've given quite enough." 
 
 E'en as bold Vanderdecken spoke, that stormy wind veer'd 
 
 round, 
 
 And seemingly the Englekens was fairly outward bound. 
 Then mutter'd that grim skipper old, as they the yards did trim, 
 " Not yet hath Satan clutch' d my soul ! I still will weather him. 
 " Ho ! steward, bring the cheering schnaps, let all the main- 
 brace splice !" 
 
 That steward said not anything, but vanish'd in a trice ; 
 And soon each drouthy mariner toss'd high the polish'd horn, 
 Then pour'd into their season'd throats the blood of barley-corn. 
 E'en Diedrick took his liquor off, as should a seaman brave, 
 But still it lighteii'd not his heart, or clear' d his visage grave ; 
 And when a comrade to the helm came aft his trick to take, 
 He gave the tiller up to him, then gazed back in the wake, 
 As if the mate once more he'd see, then cross'd himself and 
 sigh'd, 
 
149 
 
 And offer'd up a prayer for him who slept beneath the tide ; 
 Then forward to the forecastle he silently did hie, 
 For something whisper'd in his ear, 'twould soon be his to die ! 
 Now merrily the galliot runs right before the wind, 
 And wildly yaws, as is the wont of vessels of her kind ; 
 While albatross, and moleymauks, and flocks of smaller fry, 
 On buoyant wings wheel round and round, and keep an eager eye 
 Upon the boiling wake astern, for what the cook might cast, 
 While through the rigging, whistles shrill the mighty western 
 
 blast ! 
 And from the huge green-headed waves, with crests of snowy 
 
 white, 
 
 A school of uncouth blackfish plunge, and disappear from sight. 
 Then Vanderdecken goes below to take another nip, 
 And quite forgets the adage old anent impending slip 
 'Twixt cup and lip, although before, unto his cost, hath he 
 Oft verified the truth of it upon that very sea. 
 And hark ! that heavy tramp of feet denotes a stir on deck, 
 So quickly up the booby-hatch he cranes his bull-like neck, 
 And sees the yards braced round again, to meet the gale un- 
 kind, 
 
 For, haul'cl upon a bowline taut she's close upon a wind. 
 Ah ! now she will not lie her course, unless they wish to land 
 At Table Bay ; and soon e'en that is on their weather hand ; 
 And, blowing as 'twould blow its last, the fast increasing 
 
 gale 
 
 Soon forces Vanderdecken bold to take in sail by sail ; 
 And tho' she " lies-too like a duck " in ordinary gales, 
 There's nothing now would stand to it unless sheet-iron sails ! 
 She therefore needs must scud away, beneath her long bare poles, 
 While with her yard-arms to the brine, 'midst horrid waves 
 
 she rolls ; 
 
 And as the night comes rushing down upon the stormy sea, 
 E'en Vanderdecken would he were beneath some island's lee J 
 
 Oh ! how that fierce south-easter blows, so piercing, dry, and 
 
 chill, 
 
 And stars with cruel steel-like gleam the cloudless heavens fill, 
 'Neath which the sailless vessel speeds, one instant toss'd on 
 
 high 
 On mountain waves, whose wind-shorn crests in stinging 
 
 showers fly ; 
 Then hurl'd to seething, gloomy depths, by rushing waves 
 
 assailed, 
 
 No wonder that upon their knees the fear-cow'd seamen quailed, 
 And prayed unto their patron saints for help in this their strait ; 
 They might have heard, but if they did, they left them to their fate ! 
 
 K 
 
150 
 
 For hark ! as yaws the Knglekens, an awful billow breaks 
 With force terrific on the craft, which to her kelson shak 
 Beneath the shock, which smashes in her hatches, as a bomb 
 Descending through some dwelling's roof, would carry wreck 
 
 and doom ! 
 
 And down into her gloomy hold invading waters pour 
 In torrents like Niagara, and with a sullen roar. 
 Bold Diedrick, and the watch below, dart out upon the deck, 
 While scurvy-stricken wretches pray, and moan a certain wreck ; 
 And well they may, for overboard the helmsmen twain are cast, 
 Their dying cries to leeward borne upon the raging blast. 
 And Yanderdecken ! where is lie ? why, on the cabin floor 
 As full of schnapps as he can be, and has been oft before ! 
 The tiller smashed ! the binnacle gone with the helmsmen brave! 
 Xo wonder that the boldest now expect an ocean grave ! 
 And e'er brave Diedrick can invent, and, with the hardy crew 
 Rig up some patent steering gear, the vessel broaches-to, 
 And by the wind's terrific force is thrown upon her beam, 
 While through the hatchway's gaping jaws the fatal waters 
 
 stream ! 
 
 In vain those active mariners, with ready jack-knives bound 
 To hack the weather lanyards tough thro' rigging's dead-eyes 
 
 wound, 
 
 For with a suffocating sob, she rights a moment then 
 Dives down into the depths below, with all her doomed men ! 
 Whose death-shriek ringing wild and shrill, one moment peals 
 
 on high, 
 Then nought is left, save raging waves, beneath the cruel sky. 
 
 Long, weary years have slowly crept into the changeless past, 
 And still for Peter, Gretchen waits, all faithful to the last ; 
 And for his safety nightly prays, and watches thro' the day, 
 While fainter, in her heart of hearts, becomes hope's cheering 
 
 ray. 
 
 But hark i the sound of culverins, upon the Zuyder Zee, 
 Proclaim that hardy mariners have come from ruder sea ; 
 And audibly her poor heart beats, as she her mantle ties, 
 And swiftly to the water side with her dear children hies. 
 But oh ! tis not the Englekens which to the harbour glides, 
 Although a gallant galliot with weather-beaten sides; 
 Which plainly tell of voyage long, as do her much patched sails, 
 While tawny are the visages which peer above her rails. 
 All, all bespeak her from the clime where Plue,bus fiercely glows, 
 And where, in lieu of merchandise, men often meet with blows. 
 But ah I what sturdy mariner makes signals from the ship, 
 And waves his hat, and puts his hand unto his bearded lip? 
 
151 
 
 Oh, can it be her husband brave ? come back to her once more, 
 By time and hardship changed so much upon some foreign shore 
 That he one moment could appear a stranger to her eyes ? 
 No, no ! it is impossible ! her faithful heart replies ; 
 But yet the form is not unknown ; 'tis strange if it should be 
 For oh ! her brother, kind and true, and skipper brave is he. 
 Now, surely tidings she shall hear, her heart to break or glad, 
 How faint she feels, as fear declares those tidings will be bad j 
 
 Now active seamen shorten sail, till, with a splash and roar, 
 Her anchor, with its rusty chain, seeks holding ground once 
 
 more. 
 
 And as they trimly furl the sails, and coil up sheet and brace, 
 Her brother rows unto the land, fair Gretchen to embrace. 
 But oh ! his face is very sad, tho' fain would he be blithe, 
 And tears will start as he regards those children gay and lithe. 
 Poor Gretchen feels the truth at once, and with a stifled cry, 
 She fainting falls unto the earth as if about to die. 
 But soon the ruddy vital flood pursues its course again, 
 While silently, from her soft eyes, the soothing tears drop rain. 
 And when she slowly gazes round, and sees her children there, 
 She dedicates her life to them, and offers up a prayer 
 For help and guidance from above, and for her husband's rest, 
 Though doubt as to his future state ne'er enters in her breast ; 
 To which she folds her children now within a sad embrace, 
 Who gaze with silent wonderment into her tearful face ; 
 And then upon the mariner, whom well the eldest know 
 As uncle Will, who sail'd away full three long years ago ; 
 Who used to bring them curios from many a foreign land ; 
 And as they press around him now, and grasp his kindly hand, 
 They ask him why their mother weeps, and wherefore comes not 
 
 dad, 
 
 And why so grave is his brown face, that once was never sad ? 
 And where the shells and parrots are, and where the monkey 
 
 small ? 
 
 To their last questions he replies, " Well, I have got them all, 
 " But they, with lots of other things, we'll get to-morrow, dears, 
 " Now I must see your mother home come, Gretchen, dry your 
 
 tears ! 
 
 " For he, that seaman brave and true as e'er the sea did sail, 
 " Is in a haven bright, I wis, and safe from ev'ry gale ! 
 " Now, if you lean upon my arm, we to your cot will go, 
 " And there, to satisfy your mind, I'll tell you all I know." 
 
 The cottage, with its gables queer, and garden trim, they gain, 
 And William tells of his long cruise upon the boundless main. 
 And how, when off the cape of storms one wild and squally night, 
 
152 
 
 Unto their startled eyes appear' d a strange unearthly sight ! 
 For, as they ran before the wind, a phantom ship appear'd. 
 Which right into the very eye of strong sou-wester steer'd ! 
 Beneath bare poles she glided past, a cable's length a-lee, 
 While, on her deck, one weird form was all that we might see ! 
 But no one, who had ever known Hans Vanderdecken bold, 
 Could e'er mistake that misty shape, with eyes which redly roll'd. 
 Besides, the craft, which left no wake upon the troubled sea, 
 Was just as like the Englekens as pea unto a pea ! 
 Though, even as the ghost on deck, a ghostly ship was she ! 
 And then we knew that in the slime, a thousand fathoms deep, 
 Her luckless crew, around her wreck, were wrapp'd in death's 
 
 dull sleep. 
 So, for their soul's repose we pray'd, though we misdoubted 
 
 then, 
 
 How it might with the skipper fare, liowe'er might fare the men. 
 But none that knew brave Vanderbelt could his bright future 
 
 doubt, 
 
 For if St. Peter bars his way, why, all shall be left out ! 
 " Then Gretclien, for your children live, and comfort take from me, 
 " For poverty shall shun your door, while I can sail the sea ! 
 " And. as the little Peter grows unto a man's estate, 
 " Teach him his father's life to live, and fear no earthly fate." 
 
 And now, this tough sea-yarn to end, I'll tell you as a friend, 
 That on the perfect truth of it you really may depend, 
 For many honest mariners have seen the phantom sail 
 Upon its ancient cruising ground, and always in a gale, 
 When dark as e'er was Erebus the gloomy night-shades fell ! 
 And so they could not be deceiv'd, and it could be no sell. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 A modicum of good advice from this my tale I'll draw, 
 Thus ; shape a fair straight course thro' life, and from it never 
 
 yaw ! 
 
 And do not bluster, or declare that you will have your way, 
 Or, like poor Vanderdecken' s ghost, you'll find it does not pay. 
 
153 
 THE HUNT OF GOLD. 
 
 THE world is one vast hunting field ; 
 
 Its people, hunters all 
 For varied game its coverts yield, 
 
 In cunning toils to fall. 
 
 But gold, which lines the pockets best, 
 Is by most hnnters hardest press'd ! 
 
 Some hunt for husbands, some for wives, 
 
 And some, for lovers' gay ; 
 Truth, some pursue thro' all their lives, 
 
 A shy, scarce game, they say ; 
 
 But gold, &c. 
 
 Some hunt for pleasure, some for health, 
 
 And some, excitement's flame ; 
 Tuft-hunting, open, or by stealth, 
 
 A toady band can claim ; 
 
 But gold, &c. 
 
 Some hunt, their fellows to enslave ; 
 
 Some, liberty pursue ; 
 And some, unto the very grave 
 
 Hunt mortals good and true ! 
 
 But gold, &c. 
 
 But listen, hunters, great and small ! 
 
 List ! all ye eager crew ! 
 Death keenest hunter of ye all 
 
 Is grimly stalking you ! 
 
 Then, if with him ye would be bold, 
 Let honour guide your hunt for gold. 
 
154 
 
 LEAP-YEAR. 
 
 IN VKIIY SHORT METRE. 
 
 1. 
 
 ONE clay, 
 
 A pair 
 He gay, 
 
 She fair 
 The breeze 
 
 Beside 
 The sea's 
 
 Salt tide 
 Enjoy'd, 
 And toy'd. 
 
 2. 
 
 Said Jane, 
 
 "Dear Ned, 
 I fain 
 
 Would wed, 
 ( Leap-year 
 
 'Tis now) 
 So here 
 
 I vow, 
 I'll wed 
 
 Thee Ned." 
 
 3. 
 
 Said he, 
 
 " My dear, 
 For me, 
 
 I fear, 
 Too gay 
 
 You'd prove. 
 Good day, 
 
 My love ! 
 You'll wed 
 
 Not Ned !" 
 
 4. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 From this 
 
 True tale, 
 Each Miss 
 
 Don't fail 
 To be 
 
 \\V11 warn'd ;- 
 
155 
 
 For she 
 
 Is scorn'd 
 Who tries, 
 
 Like Jane, 
 A prize 
 
 To gain. 
 Beware ! 
 
 Take care ! 
 
 TOT AND BESSIE. 
 
 Two little bright-eyed maids love me, 
 And, oh, I love them in return ; 
 
 Fresh charms in them each day I see, 
 Though crabbed I am grown, and stern. 
 
 They laugh with joy when I come home, 
 While round my neck their arms they fling ; 
 
 And if afar I chance to roam, 
 
 Still, in my heart, their voices ring. 
 
 My daughters are those children fair, 
 Their mother's gentleness have they ; 
 
 Earth cannot show a blither pair, 
 Not e'en of birds in blooming May. 
 
 Oh ! what is fame, and what is gold, 
 To that pure blessing from above, 
 
 Exceeding them a thousand-fold, 
 
 That priceless gem our children's love ? 
 
 While little Tot and Bessie live, 
 And love me as they love me now, 
 
 My sorrows to the winds I'll give, 
 Though care sits heary on my brow. 
 
156 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A VENERABLE AND MUCH RESPECTED LADY. 
 
 To THAT fair home, with ling'ring flight, 
 Came silently the angel Death ; 
 
 And, fearless of his awful might, 
 She calmly yielded up her breath. 
 
 Her friends' and children's falling tears 
 Have not the sting of bitter pain, 
 
 For, full of virtues and of years, 
 
 She's gone, a heavenly crown to gain. 
 
 Still in their faithful hearts enshrhrd, 
 
 Her memory shall ever live, 
 With wreaths of love and honour twined, 
 
 And all that reverence can give. 
 
 And as thro' life they journey on, 
 
 The hope shall cheer their future way, 
 
 With her, of blest reunion 
 
 In realms of bright eternal day. 
 
 DEPARTED FRIENDS. 
 
 WHEN fortune smiles, when hopes run high, 
 And youth with pleasure glides along, 
 
 E'en if the best and dearest die, 
 
 Our mourning for them lasts not long. 
 
 Yet, latent in our hearts, the pain 
 
 Sleeps but to wake in time again. 
 
 For trouble comes in sombre guise, 
 And age his heavy hand extends ; 
 
 Then with sad souls and tearful eyes 
 We muse on our departed friends 
 
 The mists of years before us fall, 
 
 And we their priceless worth recall. 
 
157 
 
 Oh ! hearts, by weary yearning wrung ! 
 
 How all your pains and sorrows swell, 
 If conscience, with upbraiding tongue, 
 
 Of cold neglect to them can tell ! 
 Ye writhe in torture, self-accused, 
 'Xeath what once sophistry excused. 
 
 Then all to whom kind fortune gives 
 (To glad you in your onward way), 
 
 Dear friends and loving relatives, 
 Devotion show them while you may, 
 
 And when they are no longer here, 
 
 Mem'ry your lonely hours shall cheer. 
 
 SONG OF THE NEWSPAPER. 
 
 i. 
 
 HURRAH ! for the " Banner of Liberty " ! 
 
 The broad black letter'd sheet 
 That, round by post, a mighty host 
 
 Each morning flies to greet 
 With news of the world, by light'ning hurl'd 
 To Editor's retreat. 
 
 2. 
 Hurrah ! for the " Banner of Liberty " ! 
 
 That speaks to heart and eye ; 
 For its pages teem with the thrilling theme, 
 
 Of times fast fleeting by : 
 Of might and right, of peace and fight, 
 Of those who " do or die." ! 
 
 3. 
 Hurrah ! for the " Banner of Liberty " ! 
 
 Its power let none gainsay ; 
 The soldier now to the press must bow 
 
 The sword to pen give way ; 
 For truth's bright gleam is its grand theme, 
 Despite the despots' nay ! 
 
158 
 
 4. 
 Hurrah ! for the " Banner of Liberty" ! 
 
 May its prestige ne'er be less ! 
 Hurrah ! for the men of type and pen 
 
 Who deeds in language dress ! 
 And hurrah for all, both great and small, 
 Who work the " Printing Press " ! 
 
 THE POST OFFICE. 
 
 i. 
 
 A GIANT dwells iii St. Martin's le Grand, 
 Who is mightier far than Briareus, 
 
 For his arms stretch forth into every land, 
 By " Sinus " sway'd or " Aquarius," 
 
 And ruled by the will of his mighty mind, 
 
 Work cheerfully on to oblige mankind. 
 
 2. 
 
 This giant will take, for the meanest man, 
 A message to China or Timbuctoo, 
 
 To famed New York, or to Astrachan, 
 To Bangalore, or to Woolloomooloo ! 
 
 And all that he asks, for his service vast, 
 
 Is a paltry stamp to a note stuck fast. 
 
 3. 
 
 A priceless friend is this giant so kind, 
 
 To comfort the heart of the wandering wight ; 
 
 Of each anxious friend he relieves the mind, 
 And sorrow dispels with a message bright ! 
 
 What pleasure can equal, in man's large stock, 
 
 The rat-tat-tat of the postman's knock ? 
 
 4. 
 
 Then here's to our friend of St. Martin's le Grand, 
 For his arms and his hands Briarean, 
 
 With a special cheer for the postman band, 
 From the cleanly-shaved, to the hairy-man. 
 
 And long may the picture of our good Queen 
 
 In years to come on our st:mip< In- seen : 
 
159 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 
 i. 
 
 WHAT equals thee for evil, pale Suspense ? 
 
 For keen malignity, and torture fell ? 
 Oh ! 'twould, to virtue, be a hoist immense 
 
 Could we be sure that, in the place call'd Hell, 
 
 Thou canst contrive thy baleful powers shall swell 
 The endless torment to the souls of men 
 
 Doom'd, for their sins, within its flames to dwell ! 
 
 Oh ! if thou can'st, all I can say is, then 
 ril not go willingly to that well-lighted den, 
 
 2. 
 But rather roam, a melancholy ghost, 
 
 By Nova Zembla's icebound, dreary shore, 
 With nought save Northern Lights at which to toast 
 
 My frozen shade ; alone for evermore 
 
 With howl of wolf, and savage white bear's roar 
 By way of music ; but that desolation 
 
 Would not protect me ; you'ld be to the fore, 
 
 To tantalize me with the expectation 
 That other ghosts might come on polar exploration ! 
 
 3. 
 
 When some dear friend lies at the door of death, 
 What silent tortures tear the aching heart ! 
 
 As by the bed, we listen for the breath 
 
 At times near still, till, with a sudden start, 
 It strives again to baffle death's fell dart ! 
 
 Then, thou art near, the troubled mind to rack 
 With dread uncertainty's protracted smart, 
 Till we are almost glad when, on that track, 
 
 The spirit takes its flight from whence it ne'er comes back. 
 
 4. 
 
 Oh ! what is hunger to the empty pain, 
 
 Thy tugging at the heart-strings, when we watch, 
 
 Month after month, for all-refreshing rain, 
 
 And start at midnight with strain'd ear to catch 
 Its welcome patter on the dusty thatch ? 
 
 A few drops fall ! when, ah ! that gusty wind, 
 Veering to south, will surely overmatch 
 The " weather-clerk's " intentions to be kind, 
 
 The brooding soft clouds flee, but thou art left behind 
 
160 
 
 5. 
 To jostle Hope ! till, like hermaphrodite, 
 
 It is a mixture hard to be defin'd ! 
 But thou, Suspense, art more than half of it, 
 
 Therefore it needs must be a thing unkind ! 
 
 A vulture fell, to prey upon the mind. 
 As " hope deferrd " beneath a friendly mask, 
 
 You sickly tortures for your victim find, 
 
 Till, with crush'd heart, he, with despair, doth ask 
 For Fortune's fellest stroke, and seeks the soothing flask. 
 
 6. 
 I'll write no more ! for thou, to all mankind 
 
 Art known too well, and hated as a pest, 
 Almost the greatest that a fate unkind 
 
 Can plant, for torture, in the human breast, 
 
 To kill its peace, and murder sleep and rest. 
 Not one good word can mortals say for thee, 
 
 Though all do curse thee with a hearty zest ! 
 
 And so, farewell ! I would the same to me 
 Thou could'st for ever say, and absent ever be ! 
 
 FAME. 
 
 i. 
 
 FAME hath a trumpet, which, with lungs of brass 
 She needs must sound, with future-waking blast, 
 
 When strange things happen ; instance, Balaim's ass 
 Discoursing Hebrew! Spartans standing fast 
 In old Thermopylae ! Good Daniel cast 
 
 Into the lion's den ! Fair Juno's geese 
 
 As liome's best H-ntinels and, as time pass'd, 
 The gentle NIM-M fiddling <>n in pi-are. 
 
 While conflagration vast, Uule Unman life to cease! 
 
161 
 
 She hath her trumpet, and vast strength of lung, 
 But uses both with small discrimination ; 
 
 Arid sounds, when horrid murderer is hung, 
 As readily as at the coronation 
 Of king or queen of some great thriving nation. 
 
 In fact she cannot help herself, but blows 
 Her instrument with trifling variation, 
 For honour's truest friends, or blackest foes, 
 
 Just as a cold-vex'd man, in church, must blow his nose. 
 
 3. 
 
 But yet we dog her steps, and fain would buy, 
 
 Or beg, or steal a little blast or two ; 
 Just as tuft-hunting dowager would try 
 
 With royalty to have an interview ; 
 
 Or bankrupt to obtain from cautious .Few, 
 Or Chr'stian Shylock managing a bank 
 
 Another trifle on an I.O.U; 
 
 Yet feAv, indeed, unless of wealth or rank, 
 Or villainy unique, the jade have cause to thank ! 
 
 4. 
 At least in life ; and after death, why, then 
 
 'Tis very difficult indeed to say, 
 And therefore more so to describe with pen 
 
 What flattering effects her trumpet's bray 
 
 May have upon the spirit, sad or gay, 
 That may, perchance, an echo faintly hear 
 
 Belauding it, and its poor house of clay 
 
 In ruins left behind : I rather fear 
 It would be much preferr'd if not in such arrear. 
 
 5. 
 
 Yet two complexions hath our loud voiced friend, 
 
 Or rather, patroness ; one dark, one fair, 
 And as, in chase, your eager way you wend, 
 
 Do you on truth and honour's side declare. 
 
 Then, arm'd with perseverance, bravely dare 
 Fame's frowning cousin, the dread pale chimera 
 
 Of evil fortune ; and a kindly blare 
 - Not loud, perhaps, as evil Fames, but clearer, 
 Fair Fame may sound for you, while you on earth can hear 
 her! 
 
162 
 
 THE SOD OF TURF. 
 
 A TRUE STOHY. 
 
 1. 
 
 GREKN land of ( )ld Erin ; thy sons and thy daughters, 
 Where'er they may wander, think ever of tluv ; 
 
 No matter how distant, on earth's spreading quarters, 
 Their hearts are still with thee, tliou gem of the sea j 
 
 2. 
 
 And here, to Australia, across the wide ocean, 
 Came one, whose affections were tender and true, 
 
 Her heart warm and steadfast, her life a devotion 
 To stern self-denial, for friends did and new ! 
 
 3. 
 
 And though of a station in life poor and lowly, 
 
 With small earthly treasure, she did what she could 
 
 To succour her neighbours ; and what is more holy 
 Than, like our Great Master, to try to do good ? 
 
 4. 
 Long years had departed of mixed joy and sadness, 
 
 When, from the Old Country, news came that a friend 
 Intended to join them ; she heard it with gladness, 
 
 And wrote to her kindred a " turf-sod " to send. 
 
 For oh ! 'twould remind her, that strange, simple treasure, 
 Of scenes of her childhood, in Erin's fair isle ! 
 
 Xo jewellery costly, could give such a pleasure 
 As that magic mirror, her cares to beguile 1 
 
 6. 
 But, as o'er the billows the gallant ship bounded, 
 
 That brought to Australia the turf and the friend, 
 They laid her to slumber, 'neath mound low and rounded, 
 
 In silent West Terrace, her ashes to blend 
 
 7. 
 Witli those of the pilgrims departed before her, 
 
 Who came from the country they loved till they died ! 
 A love, that her children have fervently bore her, 
 
 Unmatch'd by e'en that of a man for his bride 1 
 
163 
 
 THE MORTAL TO HIS SOUL. 
 
 1. 
 
 " OH ! source mysterious of joy and grief, 
 
 Of apprehension, and of hope serene, 
 That, of thyself, contains the grand belief 
 
 Of deathless being, when the mortal screen 
 
 That now enshrouds thee, shall, beneath the green 
 And fruitful surface of the earth resume 
 
 Its state of dust, and be a lair unclean 
 
 For crawling worms ; whilst thou, who know' st no tomb, 
 Eternal glory find'st, or everlasting gloom. 
 
 -2. 
 
 What art thou ? Satisfy thyself ! oil ! say, 
 (For 'tis thyself that now the question asks,) 
 
 Canst thou not give unto the light of day 
 That mystery which human wisdom tasks. 
 And hath, in times which hoary age now masks 
 
 In dim obscurity ? Oh ! find a voice ! 
 
 Thou that in sadness sits in gladness basks, 
 And hath a tenement of God's own choice ; 
 
 Speak of thyself, I pray, that we may both rejoice." 
 
 SOUL. 
 
 " Go, study Holy Writ, and read therein 
 
 Of Him who came on Calvary to die ; 
 With His dear blood, to cleanse me from my sin, 
 
 And make me fit for palaces on high 
 
 To which the saved on angels' pinions fly, 
 There, in His presence, by His Throne to stay 
 
 For ever, and for ever ! ' What am I ' ? 
 
 Will then be answered. Here, have faith and pray 
 That I may happy be when time shall pass away." 
 
164 
 
 THE GAEDEN OF THE MIND. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE infant mind is a garden fair, 
 
 And an^ols w&tch as its buds unfold, 
 
 For though God planteth his choice 1 seeds there, 
 Yet Satan soweth a hundred-fold ; 
 
 And his wild rank weeds spring up and blight 
 
 The plants so dear to the angels' sight. 
 
 2. 
 With firm strong hand, and with watchful -ve, 
 
 Ye parents tend to your gardens' bright, 
 And the weeds pluck forth, ere the flow'rets die 
 
 And their guardian angels wing their flight 
 Away, in grief, with averted face, 
 To the garden's Lord in His heavenly place. 
 
 3. 
 
 Then strive, oh ! strive your fair plants to tend, 
 Till their roots strike deep in the yielding soil, 
 
 And then, though tempests of sin may rend. 
 And weeds of folly o'erwhelm and spoil, 
 
 Like a Phoenix bright, from its ashes they 
 
 Shall bloom again on a future day. 
 
 THE STORM- WAVE. 
 
 i. 
 
 UPON Gangetic Delta low 
 Night's gloomy mantle falls, 
 
 While sleeping Hindoos fear no foe 
 Within their bamboo walls ; 
 
 Though jackalls' cry, from jungle nigh, 
 Like evil spirit calls. 
 
165 
 
 2. 
 
 The cocoa-palms, like genii strange, 
 
 Seem watching o'er mankind ; 
 And through the gloom bright insects range, 
 
 With moths of every kind. 
 While sugar-canes ^Eolian strains 
 
 Play to the midnight wind. 
 
 3. 
 
 Grotesque the horrid idols stand, 
 To guard their sleeping slaves ; 
 
 But stern Fate laughs, while in his hand, 
 His deadly brand he waves. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ye blocks ! your temple rocks ! 
 Death now for victims craves ! " 
 
 4. 
 What mighty roar, with thunder voice, 
 
 Is rolling o'er the ground ? 
 The {Storm-wave comes ! and gives no choice 
 
 To flee, or to be drown'd 
 Its work is done ! It rushes on ! 
 
 Death reigns supreme around ! 
 
 LOVE IN A CHUKCH. 
 
 ONE summer's morning, piously intent, 
 
 To Ruthlin Church the pompous Judges went ; 
 
 A good example to afford, and hear 
 
 A sermon preached in accents mild and clear 
 
 By the High Sheriff's learned Chaplain, (who 
 
 Glanc'd oft towards that dignitary's pew !) 
 
 There sat in state, but with a chasten' d mien, 
 
 The legal magnate in his might serene. 
 
 On what his thoughts ran I care little no ! 
 
 Law and its minions to Hong Kong may go ! 
 
 So let him listen, or in slumber lurch, 
 
 My theme is Love conceived and made in church ! 
 
166 
 
 A yonthful gentleman upon a lour. 
 
 Tliat morning sat to hear tin- sacred lore 
 
 In mild persuasion from the lips proceed 
 
 Of that disrple of the " High Church " creed 
 
 Whose pleasant task was sacred seed to sow 
 
 On Judges' souls where it perchance might grow 
 
 Like to the " grain of mustard seed." and form 
 
 A goodly tree to la-are temptation's storm. 
 
 And yield a shade 'neath which each Judge might live 
 
 In the calm peace religious faith can give. 
 
 It went no further than our hero's ears ; 
 
 For in the pew next to his own appears 
 
 A blooming maiden, lacking merely wings 
 
 To be an angel ! (If indeed such things 
 
 The forms seraphic of the angels' grace) 
 
 Our mundane one possess'd a lovely face, 
 
 And crinoline a vast expanse, which well 
 
 Became the figure of that peerless belle; 
 
 A piquant bonnet added to her charms ; 
 
 Her dainty hands, and softly rounded arms 
 
 Would fire a sculptor ! Then, her raven hair ! 
 
 Its shining masses were beyond compare ! 
 
 The nymph was faultless, and the hard hit swain 
 
 Felt in his soul the pleasurable pain 
 
 Infix'd by Cupid's deeply wounding dart 
 
 Which now, fresh feather'd, quivered in his heart ; 
 
 And working inwards, still the smart enhanc'd 
 
 As each fresh glance, the victim more entranc'd ! 
 
 Loudly his pulse beat, dizzy grew his brain, 
 
 While his young blood cours'd madly thro' each vein, 
 
 Fled from his thoughts were parson, judges, all 
 
 Save she who held his ev'ry sense in thrall ! 
 
 Swift to her pew he longs at once to fly 
 
 Fall at her feet, and plead with tongue and eye ! 
 
 He checks the impulse, for on shining wings 
 A happy thought much comfort to him brings. 
 A happy thought ! By Jingo ! that will do ! 
 His gilt-edged Bible opens to his view, 
 Its rustling pages turn beneath his hand, 
 (The reason why, you soon shall understand) 
 Ah ! there it is ! His eyes now light upon 
 The second letter of Ap<tle John, 
 \Yrsr f " And now I do beseech thee Miss, 
 
 1 that I say a new commandment this, 
 " For from the first it was, it is.) that we 
 ' Should love each other that is, you and me"! 
 
167 
 
 With marking pin the passage he impales, 
 
 Then leaning o'er the pew's dark polish'd rails, 
 
 He gives the book to that enchanting maid 
 
 Who takes it from him with expression staid, 
 
 While much she wonders, but her woman's wit 
 
 Finds for the riddle a solution fit. 
 
 Then in her mind resolving that the youth 
 
 Is quite " the ton," she seeks the Book of Ruth, 
 
 Second and tenth, which seems to fit the case 
 
 ' Tis this " Then fell she down upon her face 
 
 " And said to him, while bow'd unto the ground, 
 
 " Why in thine eyes have I such favour found, 
 
 " And I a stranger "? Here she gave the book 
 
 Unto the youth, with hand that slightly shook, 
 
 While a bright glance stole from her modest eyes 
 
 Like gleam of sunshine thro' soft April skies ! 
 
 Which made him feel ! ah ! I can scarcely tell, 
 
 Though fresh young lovers know the feeling well ; 
 
 Still, though he felt his vital fluid fly 
 
 Through every vein like lightning through the sky, 
 
 He murmurs " Yes ! She will be mine indeed !" 
 
 Then seeks the third, and last of John with speed, 
 
 Which, when he finds he gives unto her view, 
 
 And its translation, I present to you 
 
 " To thee I have so many things to write 
 
 " That 'twould be better far to meet to-night 
 
 " Or after service, so that face to face, 
 
 " I then can state, and you can hear my case." 
 
 She reads the verse, and gives back just a look, 
 
 Keeping in pawn that vastly useful book. 
 
 A happy omen in her lover's eyes, 
 
 Heaven opes for him its bright unclouded skies ! 
 
 That angel fair, intends to be most kind, 
 
 Fear flies the field, and rapture fills his mind. 
 
 The Sheriff nods, the Judges rappee take, 
 
 And cough and sneeze to keep themselves awake ; 
 
 While wakeful ladies nudge their sleepy spouses 
 
 When, dozing off, they warble through their noses. 
 
 On a gay butterfly the children's eyes 
 
 Are keenly fix'd, as to and fro it flies, 
 
 Lighting at times on artificial flowers, 
 
 To flit at last to Nature's scented bowers ; 
 
 And all the while, the parson preaches on, 
 
 His text, some verse most likely in St. John. 
 
 With learned piety doth he descant, 
 Exhorts with fervour, tho' he does not rant ; 
 
168 
 
 Brings stores of reference to bear upon 
 His sermon's subject as he passes on 
 To all the points from which it can be view'd, 
 And fill'd with fervour, and with zeal imbued, 
 His eloquence glides on with steady flow, 
 Till hungry deacons quite impatient grow, 
 And muse on cold roast fowl and apple pie, 
 Though on the parson still is fixed each eye. 
 " Lastly, my brethren " ah ! the end is near ! 
 The thing most wish'd by almost all I fear 
 Of his rapt hearers, who at once uprear 
 Their languid heads, and now all life appear. 
 
 Upon the maid our hero steals a glance, 
 
 And meets her beaming eye of course, by chance ! 
 
 'Tis quick averted, while her brow of snow, 
 
 And swan-like neck with brilliant blushes glow. 
 
 These, like the lovely tints on landscape bright, 
 
 Augment her charms, and crown her swain's delight. 
 
 With gentle bang the parson shuts the book, 
 Winds up his sermon, and with fervent look, 
 Implores a blessing on his flock, who now 
 Their lower'd heads in seeming worship bow: 
 That is, they're putting on their gloves, and tying 
 Their children's hats, who, near with hunger dying, 
 Are most impatient to vacate their pew, 
 So, too, the lady, and her handsome beau ; 
 At least the last is, tho' I fear I err 
 About the belle too well bred she, by far, 
 To feel impatient in the least degree 
 To walk and talk with that young handsome he. 
 
 The benediction said, with solemn swell 
 The organ's tones the sacred building fill, 
 While the large audience with decent pace 
 Pass down the aisles, and slowly leave the place. 
 The poor folks foremost from the portals go, 
 To quit their seats their betters are more slow ; 
 To plume themselves, at first they have deferred : 
 They scom e'en here to join the common herd, 
 But wait till aisles and porch become more free, 
 Then leave their seats and sail majestically 
 Out thro' the porch, to where some dapper page 
 Attends the side of each gay equipage, 
 Then take their seats, the door is bang'd behind, 
 And 'midst soft cushions at their ease reclined, 
 Are straight borne home as if on winged wind 1 
 
169 
 
 And now no doubt you think that I shall tell 
 
 About the meeting of the beau and belle ; 
 
 But there you err. Some other bard may sing 
 
 About the wedding, and that sort of thing. 
 
 Tho' I may say, to satisfy your mind, 
 
 That blind Dame Fortune for the once was kind, 
 
 For the next week the blushing maid was led 
 
 Unto the altar, where the vows were said 
 
 Which bound them fast (like cats' tails tied together) 
 
 With that queer string well known as Hymen's tether,- 
 
 When off to Coventry, by way of Chester, 
 
 They swiftly drove, with no rude boys to pester 
 
 The happy pair for largesse which no doubt 
 
 They would have thrown had urchins been about. 
 
 But Welsh policemen kept the rascals back 
 
 From playing antics in the chaise's track ; 
 
 And chaise and ribands disappear'd behind 
 
 A cloud of dust which rose upon the wind. 
 
 GOLD. 
 
 1. 
 
 OF MIGHT untold am I " King Gold " ! 
 
 To sway the minds of men ; 
 For, in my cause, they laugh at laws, 
 
 And stab with sword and pen, 
 And e'en would charge, for " nugget" large, 
 
 Into Apollyon's den. 
 
 2. 
 
 From light of day I hide away 
 Far down in earth's dark breast ; 
 
 But man will dig, and dig, and dig, 
 Scarce taking food or rest, 
 
 Till on his sight I glimmer bright, 
 And yield to be caress'd. 
 
170 
 
 3. 
 
 And 'tis right odd, that though a god 
 
 I am to mortal's view, 
 1 buy and sell, and send to , well, 
 
 Their fate, a goodly few ! 
 Yet, e'er they burn, I serve their turn 
 
 As servant good and true. 
 
 4. 
 
 My yellow face is full of grace 
 
 And beauty, lovedjof all, 
 For women smile while I beguile, 
 
 And often work their fall. 
 Great king and slave, true men and knave,- 
 
 None can resist my call ! 
 
 5. 
 Death stalks abroad ! for gun and sword 
 
 Bear carnage on amain ! 
 To strengthen laws, and freedom's cause, 
 
 The statesman will explain. 
 For ?ne, King Gold, those slain lie cold ! 
 
 For me, that crimson stain ! 
 
 6. 
 Though I am strong to further wrong, 
 
 I make men's hearts to sing ; 
 For, lacking me, mild charity 
 
 Would be a chilly thing. 
 But more than all ! for, great or small 
 
 I find the " wedding ring." 
 
171 
 
 MEDITATIONS IN A DUST-STOKM. 
 
 1. 
 
 OH ! this filthy dust and scorching wind ! 
 
 What aim hath it in blowing day by day ? 
 Seeks it to drive me with its breath unkind 
 
 (Like some fell demon, with uncanny sway) 
 
 To leave this Satan's hole, and speed away 
 To smiling fields within the rain-fall line 
 
 Of our great Goyder, who, with just survey, 
 Could mark the limits of, and well define 
 
 Bold Wapstraw's paradise the land of wheat and wine ? 
 
 2. 
 
 Oh ! would there flow'd a fount of " Lager " beer, 
 All icy-cold, from sandhill low and wide ! 
 
 I'd make a shift through whirling dust to steer 
 A hasty bee-line to its cheering tide, 
 And crouch me down all panting by its side ; 
 
 Then strive to turn the streamlet in its course, 
 To irrigate with it my parch'd inside ; 
 
 And, draining it unto its gushing source, 
 
 Would visibly increase like e'erwhile drouthy horse, 
 
 3. 
 
 When in the pool his muzzle makes one dive ; 
 
 And, like a thirsty water-spout at sea, 
 The fluid rises, and he seems to thrive 
 
 Upon his liquid meal amazingly. 
 
 And so 'twould fare, I'm very sure, with me ; 
 But ah ! the rill would quickly choke with sand, 
 
 Which last would blind me till I could not see 
 To work with judgment, and with steady hand 
 
 To make that amber stream run purling thro' the land. 
 
 4. 
 
 And so I'll leave off longing, and will try 
 
 To ease my feelings by a word or two, 
 Mild interjections such as ah ! oh my ! 
 
 And stronger ones defined by some as blue ! 
 
 Of which you may imagine just a few : 
 Then, if you blame me for a hearty curse, 
 
 Why, come yourself and in this dust-hole stew 
 For a few days, and you will utter worse, 
 
 E'en should you toll it not, like me, in sounding verse. 
 
172 
 PLANTING THE VINE. 
 
 A LK<;KM> FROM FRANCE. 
 
 1. 
 THE mighty ark on Ararat 
 
 For years has rotting lain ; 
 Its animals released from thrall 
 
 Now people hill and plain. 
 
 2. 
 Eight merrily the happy birds 
 
 Their joyous music sing ; 
 And flit amid the leafy shade 
 
 On variegated wing. 
 
 3. 
 
 The gaily-painted butterflies 
 Among the flow'rets roam ; 
 
 And bees their pleasant business ply 
 To stock their woodland home. 
 
 4. 
 
 While on the stillness of the air 
 The brooklet's murmurs rise ; 
 
 And all is bright and beautiful 
 Beneath those eastern skies. 
 
 E'en where a ghastly frame of bones 
 Crops from the teeming ground, 
 
 The mould'ring monument of wrath 
 Is with bright verdure bound. 
 
 6. 
 There lithesome lizards sun themselves, 
 
 And dart upon their prey ; 
 While rustling snakes amid the grass 
 
 Pursue their stealthy way. 
 
 7. 
 
 -But hark ! glad children's silver tones 
 King upward from that glade, 
 
 Where an old man with slirivell'd hands 
 Is dicing with a spade. 
 
173 
 
 8. 
 His eyes are bright, and shine beneath 
 
 His shaggy brows of snow ; 
 His locks are long, his beard hangs down 
 
 His girdle far below. 
 
 9. 
 A sheepskin hangs about his waist, 
 
 And suits him to a T ; 
 It is a modest garment which 
 
 Just reaches to his knee. 
 
 10. 
 With chaplets green his hoary locks 
 
 By loving hands are bound ; 
 Coarse sandals keep his aged feet 
 
 From off the thorny ground. 
 
 11. 
 
 His spade by Tubal Cain was made, 
 
 And is a tool, I ween, 
 The like of which our gardeners 
 
 Have very seldom seen. 
 
 12. 
 But still in Cornwall, " under ground," 
 
 And in each miner's hovel, 
 Its very model may be seen 
 
 I mean the Cornish shovel. 
 
 13. 
 
 He wedg'd it now and then with bark 
 He gather'd from the ground, 
 
 And hammer'd in with handy stones, 
 But still the blade turn'd round. 
 
 14. 
 The patriarch disgusted grew 
 
 And cried out ; ' drat the thing ;" 
 When past a bat-like creature flew 
 
 On noiseless leathern wing. 
 
 15. 
 He did not see the creature pass ; 
 
 But from a coppice nigh 
 A band of dusky children ran 
 
 With wild excited cry ! 
 
174 
 
 16. 
 
 " 0, grandjid, there's a " flying fox, 
 
 lust eome to oat the fruit !" 
 But Noah was too busy then 
 
 To care about the brute. 
 
 17. 
 
 He merely said " Just get some salt 
 
 To put upon his tail ; 
 But first time, as I'm thirsty, dears, 
 
 Get me some Adam's ale." 
 
 18. 
 They quickly brought a pumpkin full 
 
 Of clear pellucid water ; 
 He took it off and wish'd it was 
 
 A pot of Whitbread's porter. 
 
 19. 
 But as there was no inn about, 
 
 Of course he wish'd in vain ; 
 So delved away and mused upon 
 
 The perish'd race of Cain. 
 
 20. 
 Meanwhile the children with the salt 
 
 Were searching for the bat: 
 'Twas vanish'd from that blooming glade, 
 
 It must have " smelt a rat." 
 
 21. 
 
 They hunted in each hollow tree, 
 
 And gazed high in the air, 
 But could not see where it might be, 
 
 Altho' it was still there. 
 
 2'2. 
 For it had changed into a cloud 
 
 Of black and threat'ning hue. 
 From which the thunder bellow'd loud, 
 
 And vivid lightnings flew. 
 
 23. 
 Old Noah cried " My dears, 'tis time 
 
 We bolted to the sin-cling ; 
 Oh, mercy ! how the lightnings flash. 
 
 And how the thunder's pealing ! 
 
175 
 
 24. 
 
 But never mind my chickabids, 
 The rain was wanted badly ; 
 
 Those cabbage plants I set last night 
 Began to wither sadly. 
 
 25. 
 'Twill make the crooked stick take root 
 
 I've planted in the ground ; 
 I hope that healthy bud and shoot 
 
 May soon on it be found." 
 
 26. 
 And now to take old grandad's hand 
 
 Each dusky urchin tries: 
 The youngest two the favour gain, 
 
 And amble by their prize ; 
 
 27. 
 While a young chubby chap of ten 
 
 In triumph bears the spade, 
 And like scared hen and chickens then 
 
 The party leave the glade. 
 
 28. 
 No sooner are they out of sight, 
 
 Than with electric speed, 
 Down from the cloud descends to earth 
 
 An ugly beast indeed. 
 
 29. 
 His hind legs shod with hoofs of brass 
 
 Sustain a grizzly bear ; 
 His paws are arm'd with fearful claws, 
 
 His eyes malignant glare 
 
 30. 
 From out a lion's tangled mane 
 
 That o'er his visage hangs ; 
 His tongue lolls redly from his mouth, 
 
 And his terrific fangs 
 
 31. 
 Would quickly crush a crocodile 
 
 Into a shapeless pulp ; 
 And then his throat is wide enough 
 
 To bolt it at a gulp. 
 
176 
 
 32. 
 It is a fearsome thing to see, 
 
 Where'er his footsteps light, 
 The herbage wither instantly 
 
 As from some deadly blight, 
 
 33. 
 
 But hark ! he has a human voice, 
 And says with cunning leer, 
 
 While looking at the crooked stick, 
 " Why, what has he got here? 
 
 34. 
 I ought to know that cutting yes ! 
 
 No ! yes ! it is," says he, 
 " A cutting of the jolly vine 
 
 80 well-beloved by me 
 
 35. 
 
 When, up in shining Hesperus, 
 
 I held my lofty state, 
 Till, by ambition hounded on, 
 
 I rushed unto my fate. 
 
 36. 
 But as those times have gone for aye, 
 
 I'll drive them from my mind, 
 And think how this delightful tree 
 
 Has got among mankind. 
 
 37. 
 It was not here before the flood ; 
 
 I've roam'd the world around, 
 In torrid and in temperate zone, 
 
 But ne'er the grape vine found, 
 
 38. 
 Not e'en in ' Eden's blooming bowers,' 
 
 Where, as the ' subtile snake,' 
 I coax'd the comely creature Eve 
 
 That grand mistake to make. 
 
 39. 
 Which since lias been the fruitful cause 
 
 Of harvests ripe for me ; 
 And now, I think, I can contrive 
 
 To make like use of then ! 
 
177 
 
 40. 
 Come, let me see. Ah ! that will do, 
 
 A splendid thought of mine ; 
 A faithful ally shalt thou be 
 
 To me, my jolly vine." 
 
 41. 
 But all at once he hears a sound, 
 
 It is a gentle bleat ; 
 And suddenly he makes a bound, 
 
 The innocent to meet. 
 
 42. 
 
 Says lie " You are the beast I need 
 
 To expedite my plan ; 
 And so become, my foolish friend, 
 An irrigating can ;" 
 
 43. 
 
 Which said, the frisky innocent 
 
 He seizes in his paws, 
 And tears its swelling jugular 
 
 With deeply rending claws. 
 
 44. 
 Then pours the ruddy life's blood round 
 
 The vine upon the earth: 
 80 that its juice henceforth might be 
 
 Productive first of mirth 
 
 45. 
 
 And harmless folly to the man 
 Who should one goblet take off, 
 
 And make him round a danger play 
 When he should quickly make off. 
 
 46. 
 In fact to be a two-legg'd lamb 
 
 In all things save the wool, 
 And to be anxious with a friend 
 
 To take another pull. 
 
 47. 
 The last drop trickled from the veins, 
 
 Nick throws the lamb away ; 
 And looks to where among the trees 
 
 A monkey was at play. 
 
178 
 
 48. 
 All ! then 1 ho is, a monkey small, 
 
 Of very long-tail'd race. 
 Head down he lianas lieneith a limb, 
 
 With wonder in his face ; 
 
 49. 
 He swings a moment and then drops 
 
 Down to a lower bough ; 
 He views the lamb turn'd into chops, 
 
 And yet he can't tell how. 
 
 50. 
 For tho' we see the enemy 
 
 Of mankind well enough, 
 Nor lamb nor monkey could perceive 
 
 His outline grim and rough ; 
 
 51. 
 Nor even smell him, tho' 'tis said 
 
 He has a brimstone scent ; 
 They must have been beneath a spell 
 
 That's my presentiment. 
 
 52. 
 
 For down poor puggy comes until 
 He gets a dreadful squeeze, 
 
 Which causes him to give a yell 
 That would your life's blood freeze 
 
 53. 
 
 If you were wandering at night 
 Upon some common drear, 
 
 And all at once, from out the gloom, 
 It struck your startled ear ; 
 
 54. 
 Murder, and every other crime 
 
 You'd swear was being done, 
 And then with all the speed you had 
 
 You'ld very likely run 
 
 55. 
 To help the victim to escape, 
 
 Or else away like winking ; 
 The latter, were you not most brave, 
 
 Would be your course, I'm thinking. 
 
179 
 
 56. 
 And good cause puggy lias to yell ; 
 
 For heedless of his screams, 
 The evil one his neck twists round, 
 
 And out his life-blood streams, 
 
 57. 
 
 And saturates once more the earth 
 
 About the fatal vine ; 
 While Clootie grins from ear to ear, 
 
 And says " 'Twill answer tine. 
 
 58. 
 For now when man his second bowl 
 
 Of sparkling liquor drains, 
 He'll feel the lively monkey's blood 
 
 Course quickly through his veins ; 
 
 59. 
 He'll smile and smirk at womankind ; 
 
 He'll practise stupid tricks ; 
 Wrench knockers off, sing wicked songs ; 
 
 And oft get well-earned kicks 
 
 60. 
 For his tomfoolery ; but now 
 
 More elements I need ; 
 To make my plan a perfect one 
 
 Some other brutes must bleed." 
 
 61. 
 And as he speaks, a dreadful roar 
 
 Rings through that fertile glade ; 
 The king of beasts* is prowling nigh, 
 
 Intent to make a raid 
 
 62. 
 On Noah's fold at eventide, 
 
 Some fatted beast to slay ; 
 But ah ! he smells the fresh spilt blood, 
 
 And grimly stalks this way. 
 
 63. 
 He sees the lamb, and crouching low, 
 
 He crawls along the ground, 
 Then like an arrow from a bow, 
 
 ^Yitll one tremendous bound 
 
180 
 
 64. 
 Ho lights upon the carcasses ; 
 
 But, in a moment more, 
 His throat is torn, and, from the wound, 
 
 Ensanguin'd torrents pour. 
 
 65. 
 For Satan, fiercer far than he, 
 
 Tears down the savage brute, 
 And turns the streaming arteries 
 
 Upon the ugly root ; 
 
 66. 
 And soon with grim convulsive throes 
 
 The monster breathes his last ; 
 And on the lamb and monkey then 
 
 His lifeless corpse is cast. 
 
 67. 
 " Ah ! there's another link complete, 
 
 That fellow's blood will tell ; 
 'Twill rouse men to pugnacious heat, 
 
 And loose their passions fell ; 
 
 68. 
 For in the middle of the feast 
 
 Hot quarrels shall arise, 
 And men shall scowl upon their friends, 
 
 With fury in their eyes ; 
 
 69. 
 Their tongues shall loud and bitter taunts 
 
 Against each othe,r fling, 
 Till blood the insult shall atone, 
 
 And loud the death-shriek ring. 
 
 70. 
 But now, vine, another beast 
 
 Must on thine altar bleed, 
 To perfect what I have begun, 
 
 And fit you to my need." 
 
 71. 
 As thus speaks Satan to himself, 
 
 A mud-bespattered pig 
 Is heard to grunt with glutton glee 
 
 Above a fallen fig. 
 
181 
 
 72. 
 Then gaily rooting in the ground, 
 
 He revels on some yams ; 
 When he is clutch'd in Clootie's claws 
 
 As if in some huge clams. 
 
 73. 
 
 Oh my ! the awful noise he makes, 
 As Satan tears his throat ! 
 
 Far more unearthly are his yells 
 Than those of martyr'd goat. 
 
 74. 
 But as he squeals he bleeds amain ; 
 
 This nearly drowns the vine, 
 And adds the last sad element 
 
 Unto the future wine. 
 
 75. 
 
 For see, the braggart blusterer 
 
 Has tippled deeper still, 
 Till like an overgorged pig, 
 
 He can no longer swill 
 
 76. 
 The potent juice, but helplessly 
 
 He grovels on the earth ; 
 Worse than a pig he senseless lies, 
 
 A butt for ribald mirth ; 
 
 77. 
 Yet seeks again the fatal bowl 
 
 To drown his sense of shame: 
 Till, by degrees, debased in soul, 
 
 He loses goods and fame. 
 
 78. 
 His friends fall from him one by one 
 
 As from a thing accurs'd: 
 While hunger, rags, and wretchedness, 
 
 And ever-craving thirst 
 
 79. 
 Cling closely to him in their stead ; 
 
 Till prematurely old, 
 He sinks, a scorned and blasted thing, 
 
 Into his kindred mould. 
 
182 
 
 80. 
 Then Satan laugh'd with wicked glee, 
 
 And threw the pork away, 
 Exclaiming " 'Tis a goodly spell ! 
 
 So, Vine, my care repay ; 
 
 81. 
 Take root and flourish, bring forth fruit .- 
 
 Let men its juice imbihe, 
 And they shall come to me, as slaves, 
 
 From every race and tribe." 
 
 82. 
 E'en as he spoke he disappear'd 
 
 In elemental war ; 
 Leaving, upon the rain-soak'd soil, 
 
 Those bloodless bodies four. 
 
 83. 
 Old Noah wondered very much 
 
 Next morning, when he came 
 To view his vine and cabbage plants, 
 
 At seeing so much game. 
 
 84. 
 I should have said their skins and bones ; 
 
 For, sometime in the night, 
 The jackalls had been there in packs, 
 
 Above the prey to fight. 
 
 85. 
 Suspiciously he gazed around, 
 
 And scratch'd his aged head, 
 Concluding it was just as well 
 
 That he had been in bed. 
 
 86. 
 But if he then had some forecast 
 
 Of what his vine would do 
 In future times, I do not know, 
 And so I can't tell you. 
 MORAL. 
 
 87. 
 And now some small advice I'll give 
 
 At this true tale's suggestion ; 
 Thus, first of all, enjoy good grapes, 
 They're easy of digestion. 
 
183 
 
 88. 
 And then their juice, if you'd imbibe, 
 
 Be sure 'tis well fermented, 
 And has a year or two of age, 
 
 Or you may go demented. 
 
 89. 
 Indeed, instead of toping wine 
 
 In this hot drouthy quarter, 
 When urged by thirst in summer time, 
 
 Go in for tea, and water. 
 
 90. 
 Don't go to eating-matches, where 
 
 To honour toasts, men guzzle, 
 And toady one another, till 
 
 They stagger home to puzzle 
 
 91. 
 Their loving spouses, as to if 
 
 They still are men or swine ! 
 But if you do, 'twixt merriment 
 
 And folly draw a line. 
 
 92. 
 Don't wink at other people's wives, 
 
 Don't knockers wrench from doors, 
 Don't beat your friends, or you may find 
 
 The law, like Nick, has claws. 
 
 93. 
 And any project you may try, 
 
 And wish to carry through, 
 Be sure that Satan in the pie 
 
 Has not a finger too. 
 
184 
 
 TULIP. 
 
 i. 
 
 TULIP is dead ! a dusky, native flower 
 
 That bloomed (not scentless !) in this desert place, 
 And blush'd unseen in Nature's simple bower 
 
 All unadorn'd although of ancient race, 
 That to old Adam and to Eve trace back 
 A lineage, perhaps not always black ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Who knows ? I don't and so will not pursue 
 
 The supposition further, but will state 
 That though no person ever thought her Jew, 
 
 She ne'er would eat (what Pat would call) the " mate" 
 Of that queer quadruped with cloven feet, 
 Which Jews abhor, but Gentiles love to eat ! 
 
 3. 
 'Twas rather odd, this abstinence from bacon, 
 
 When coupled with a certain ancient rite 
 Her kin indulge in ; not to be mistaken 
 
 For aught save that which Moses, that meek wight 
 Upon his son perform'd ; for which, we're told, 
 From Zipporah some slight abuse then roll'd. 
 
 4. 
 
 Which plainly proves that e'en in olden times 
 
 The " better halves" had tongues which glibly wagg'd 
 
 As they do still, in hot or frigid climes, 
 Unless by fear, or force, unmanly gagg'd ! 
 
 And Tulip, well, at consorts she possess'd, 
 
 Could hurl tongue-missiles sharply as the rest ! 
 
 5. 
 
 And yet she was a cheery-hearted soul, 
 
 With " perfect" English to express her mind 
 
 In plaintive cadence, or with vicious roll 
 A tidal-wave of phrases of a kind 
 
 The most expressive ! but of flavour queer, 
 
 Not to be properly repeated here. 
 
 6. 
 And so I'll leave them out, and say that she 
 
 Who own'd the name of plant the Dutch love well, 
 A native belle, at one time used to be, 
 
185 
 
 Sigh'd after greatly by each dusky swell ; 
 Till old Tanbelta, as her parent's choice, 
 Just took her home to grumble, or rejoice ! 
 
 7. 
 
 And fight with Jenny, who was there before her, 
 At his most simple menage to preside, 
 
 And who, with jealous rage oft beat and tore her, 
 "When she would slumber at Tanbelta's side. 
 
 But not one-sided was the warfare bitter, 
 
 For Tulip was a terrible hard-hitter ! 
 
 8. 
 But how both managed to sustain the whacks 
 
 Which flashing waddies rain'd upon each head, 
 And left thereon, or rather in, deep cracks, 
 
 Which, like stuck porkers, most profusely bled 
 I'll leave you to imagine, but will say 
 Their lord looked on quite placid at the fray, 
 
 9. 
 And would the slain have quietly interr'd 
 
 Had an encounter come to fatal end ; 
 And, from his conduct, it may be inferr'd 
 
 That he'd have got some simple friend to lend, 
 Or give an extra " rib " to cook his " bardoo," 
 And pound her rival's head instead of " nardoo."* 
 
 10. 
 But both had skulls which, like a clout-head nail, 
 
 Seem'd made especially for being hammer'd ! 
 And so, when waddies were of no avail, 
 
 They at each other like two fish-wives clarnour'd ; 
 Until the " gin " of Tura Jemmy died, 
 Aud he sought Tulip for his second bride. 
 
 11. 
 
 That is, I, thinking old Tambelta greedy, 
 
 Told Jemmy with the lady to levant ; 
 When he, with promptness that was more than speedy ,- 
 
 Of Tulip made a very pretty plant ! 
 Which so incensed her grizzled lord more lawful, 
 That his expressions were (I'm told) most awful! 
 
 12. 
 
 But as he'd not the very least idea 
 
 Of courts of law, or spicy crim. con. cases, 
 He hunted like a demon for his dear 
 
 * Meal. f The seed Bnrke and Wills lived on. 
 
186 
 
 And her abductor, in all sorts of places. 
 But by good luck, and on their part some dodging, 
 He found them not in their rude sylvan lodging. 
 
 13. 
 
 Then, bye-aud-bye, his wrath began to cool ; 
 
 As did the love of Jemmy, that black rascal ! 
 The former found he'd made himself a fool 
 
 The latter, that he'd lately had to task all 
 His amatory graces, to be pleasant 
 To his dark flame when no one else was present ! 
 
 14. 
 
 So to society they both returned, 
 
 And went to visit at Tanbelta's wurley. 
 (To leave their cards our friends had not yet learned, 
 
 And cared not, whether they call'd late or early.) 
 But I have heard that Jemmy had the grace 
 To look uneasy when they reach'd the place. 
 
 15. 
 While old Tanbelta wore a sullen air, 
 
 (Which might mean mischief, Je-mmy knew right well 
 So kept on him his optics !) while the pair 
 
 Of ladies told whate'er they had to tell ; 
 For both, quite satisfied with the transaction, 
 Felt just as loving as an Irish faction ! 
 
 16. 
 And with sweet converse whiled the time away 
 
 In gossip, light as that their fairer sisters 
 At home indulge in on small topics gay 
 
 Dress, lovers, children, and new social blisters ; 
 Which last, although they touch dear friends most keenly, 
 They, with prim looks, enjoy, Sir, quite serenely. 
 
 17. 
 But as I did not happen to be there, 
 
 And niggers are not gifted short-hand writers, 
 I cannot reproduce the fun most rare, 
 
 Which then indulged in, those two whilom fighters. 
 And so I'll just suppose that they, like others, 
 Convers'd about some other black gin's brothers ! 
 
 18. 
 (Or white ones for that matter, for they both 
 
 Were not averse unto a fair-skinn'd lover ; 
 But liked his presents, being nothing loth 
 
187 
 
 To take a blue shirt as a fancy cover, 
 A pipe, tobacco, anything in fact, 
 Of such like luxuries that either lack'd.) 
 
 19. 
 And so that ruction ended ; though Tanbelta 
 
 Would break out sometimes, and want Tulip back ; 
 When, like a lion lashed into a pelter, 
 
 He roam'd about on Tura Jemmy's track ; 
 And had he caught him in a state unguarded, 
 That worthy's " caul " would soon his hide have larded ! 
 
 20. 
 But Jemmy, like a weasel, kept one eye 
 
 Wide open, while he with the other slumber'd ; 
 And though his enemy was very spry, 
 
 His carcase has not this dry soil encumber'd ; 
 For he, the vagabond, lives to this day, 
 Although, like me, just slowly turning grey ! 
 
 21. 
 And thus flow'd on their sluggish tide of life, 
 
 With Jemmy's jealousy, its only ripples 
 Which made him oft-times " pleasant " to his wife ; 
 
 (A jealous man is just like one who tipples, 
 He can't get over it when fairly started, 
 Until by death, from wife or tipple parted !) 
 
 22. 
 
 And yet 'tis strange how custom can enthrall us, 
 Black, white, or tawny, and of any nation ! 
 
 Its beck imperative can always call us, 
 
 Like wretched slaves unto their avocation ! 
 
 And so it fell out that this tyrant haughty, 
 
 Led our dark friends to conduct we'd think naughty ! 
 
 23. 
 That is, our Tulip by her pro. tern, lord, 
 
 Was render'd to Tanbelta's arms and wurley ; 
 Who then, to show how well his mind was stored 
 
 With notions liberal as well as surly, 
 Sent Wanna Jenny to the place vacated, 
 When, for a time, the couples were cross-mated ! 
 
 24. 
 But in such action there was nothing strange, 
 
 For all their friends and relatives were doing 
 The self-same thing along the Flinders Range, 
 
188 
 
 And which, I told them, they'd be likely rueing. 
 But they just laughed, and seemed to think me foolish, 
 And 1 thought them a great deal worse than mulish. 
 
 85. 
 
 But times are changeable, and fancies too, 
 And so it was with .Jemmy, and Tanbelta, 
 
 And all the rest of that free-thinking crew 
 Who went into adultery belter skelter, 
 
 For just as suddenly as they divided, 
 
 Each took his own, and to old grooves subsided. 
 
 26. 
 And then ? Well then, for physic some enquired ; 
 
 While others should have done, but came not near, 
 Who much an Esculapius required, 
 
 And left this life for want of one, I fear. 
 Howe'er, it did but help to clear more quickly 
 This drought-scourged land, which ne'er was peopled 
 thickly. 
 
 27. 
 And after that, I neither saw nor heard 
 
 Of poor old Tulip till the other clay. 
 And only then, that she had been interr'd 
 
 In leafy tomb, as is their simple way. 
 And so methought I would her story tell, 
 Which having done, I say to her farewell ! 
 
 ENVY. 
 
 i. 
 
 A DEMON dwells within the soul of man 
 A canker'd, mean, and most pernicious thing, 
 
 Which, thro' all time, hath been beneath the ban 
 Of saint and preacher ; yet, with folded wing, 
 Doth to his dwelling-place tenacious cling ; 
 
 And with right feeling wages constant strife, 
 Instilling poison from his hidden sting, 
 
 Till he ascendance gains, and mars the life 
 
 Wherein, if not for him, contentment would be rife. 
 
189 
 
 2. 
 Envy byname, and Protean in shape, 
 
 He is all-present in the human race ; 
 From torrid zone to Arctic icy cape 
 
 He stirs the soul, and agitates the face 
 
 Of rich and poor, of highborn, and of base. 
 E'en saint and preacher, more than now and then, 
 
 Feel him within them, wrestling hard with grace, 
 And hinting, plainly, that less pious men 
 More saintly are proclaim'd by Fame's loud tongue and pen, 
 
 3. 
 
 The square-] aw'd cracksman, hater of the light, 
 
 (Save when he is not " wanted" by the force), 
 Is goaded mad by him, when in the night 
 
 He to some city safe doth take his course, 
 
 And finds the little lay a total loss, 
 Because some brother of the bar and key 
 
 Hath been beforehand to the iron source 
 Of orgies wild, and many a drunken spree, 
 The end and aim of life with wretches such as he. 
 
 4. 
 
 Unto the highborn beauty, proud and fair, 
 
 He says at court, at opera, and ball, 
 " The Lady Lily has a skin more fair, 
 
 A smaller hand, a finer Eastern shawl, 
 
 Or nobler suitors at her beck and call, 
 That still more costly is her jewel case, 
 
 That royal eyes on her more gracious fall," 
 That Lord knows what about her form and face 
 Is more replete with style, with beauty, or with grace ! 
 
 5. 
 The beggar-woman, with her pair of twins, 
 
 Which she hath borrow'd for her daily round, 
 Incited by his whisper, soon begins 
 
 To hate the rival who, perchance, has found 
 
 A pair more sickly ! and whose voices sound 
 With weaker treble on the kindly ear 
 
 Of soft Benevolence, which wanders round, 
 With hand in pocket, and with ready tear, 
 To give the starving bread, which oft means gin and beer ! 
 
 6. 
 
 The Queen upon her throne but halt, my muse ! 
 If you are loyal, you had better stop, 
 
190 
 
 And 'mongst some lower caste examples choose, 
 Where you will tintl a quite suflieient crop 
 To harvest from, e'er you the subject drop. 
 
 So take the cats'-meat man, whose piercing cry 
 Lures cats from basement and from chimney top ; 
 
 And watch him well before the tripe-shop nigh, 
 
 And you will see the fiend run riot in his eye. 
 
 7. 
 
 The general, resistless in the field, 
 
 Thank'd by his country, and with riches blest, 
 
 E'en he unto the demon oft cloth yield, 
 On seeing some gay soldier more caress'd, 
 Though with no medal on his blithe young breast ; 
 
 But whom the eye of beauty loves to scan, 
 
 As clown life's stream he glides with youthful zest ; 
 
 Yet, with the strange perversity of man, 
 
 Longs for the other's state, e'en with his life's short span. 
 
 The rich man envies honest Hodge his health, 
 
 His sturdy offspring, and his appetite. 
 Hodge in return, begrudging him his wealth, 
 
 Laughs in his sleeve at his sad gouty plight, 
 
 And says, " The glutton oaf ! it serves him right !" 
 But why go on ? No preaching e'er will stay 
 
 The livid demon's ever active spite ; 
 Though, in conclusion, I, my friends, would say, 
 Scotch him whene'er you can, but to him ne'er give way. 
 
 9. 
 And if at times persistently he try 
 
 To prove that God has been unjust to you, 
 Just search your own affairs with quiet eye, 
 
 And all the fortunes of your life review, 
 
 And you may find them of a brighter hue 
 Than you had thought. Now, let the envied state 
 
 Be analysed, and you will see how few 
 Its real blessings, though of gold its plate ; 
 For pomp and pride oft kill the pleasures of the great. 
 
191 
 
 RICHES. 
 
 PHILOSOPHERS and Saints may sneer 
 At " filthy lucre" gathered here ; 
 Just let them say their say. 
 But watch them well, and you may see 
 Them selfish to the last degree, 
 
 In Life's parts each may play. 
 For saints and sinners clutch at pelf, 
 
 And pouch it if they can, 
 For love of gain, and love of self 
 Are wedded fast in man ! 
 
 Money ! 'tis funny 
 How love of thee can sway ; 
 
 Till Death's dart, with fell smart 
 Drives it, and Life away ! 
 
 For Money, winsome maidens sell 
 Themselves to Age ; and often dwell 
 
 In misery and sin. 
 
 And bosom friends, when interests clash, 
 Of enmity soon feel the lash, 
 
 Their inmost souls within. 
 While gallant men, in aught beside, 
 
 For it their honour fling ! 
 For rough-shod o'er us it can ride, 
 And conquer Conscience's sting. 
 
 Tho' cash, sirs, is trash, sirs, 
 
 How strong are golden chains, 
 To gag us, and drag us 
 To grovel in our gains ! 
 
 Yet it is good, bright gold to win, 
 In Life's stern battle's press and din, 
 
 As store to have at hand 
 To form a potent barricade 
 'Gainst fell Misfortune's force, array'd 
 
 In haggard sullen band ; 
 And, as we march along through life, 
 
 To have our mite to give, 
 And, shunning avaricious strife, 
 To let our neighbour live. 
 
 Then earn ye ! nor spurn ye 
 The yellow shining store ; 
 But air it, and share it, 
 With Merit at your door ! 
 
192 
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN MAGPIE'S SONG. 
 
 LIST, list to my musical song with delight, 
 
 As ! hail the hriglit advent of dawn, 
 When bashful Aurora comes robed in soft light, 
 And smiles on the day newly born ; 
 
 While Echo, who lurks in each shadowy dell, 
 Repeats the sweet bars of my musical swell ! 
 
 Or better, when Phoebe, the queen of the night, 
 
 Floods valleys and hill with her rays, 
 My vespers I warble from gum-tree's tall height, 
 And Nature seems sooth'd by niy lays ; 
 
 While Echo, who lurks in each shadowy dell, 
 Repeats the sweet bars of my musical swell ! 
 
 Xo rival have I in this land of the free, 
 
 Whose music with mine can compare ; 
 And lovers at eventide oft list to me, 
 When wattle-bloom scents the wild air ; 
 
 While Echo, who lurks in each shadowy dell, 
 Repeats the sweet bars of my musical swell ! 
 
 SELF-RELIANCE. 
 
 MARCH on ! march on ! thou mortal bold, 
 In the van of life be thou enroll'd, 
 
 And breathe thou, aye, defiance 
 To Fate whose darts shall blunted be 
 On stubborn armour worn by thee, 
 
 Of sturdy " Self-Reliance." 
 
 March on ! march on ! with courage high, 
 With manful heart and stedfast eye, 
 
 And charge, with cheer like thunder, 
 Misfortune's legions ! whose array, 
 With gloomy banners, bar thy way. 
 
 And fain would bear thee under. 
 
 March on ! march on 1 with Hope to lead, 
 And Faith to aid in time of need, 
 
 And Fortune's steep rock clamber. 
 And should'st thou fall upon the way, 
 Like a man in harness, pass away 
 
 To Death's calm realms of slumber. 
 
193 
 SONG OF THE DRINK DEMON. 
 
 HA, ha ! Ha, ha ! with a loud guffaw, 
 
 I laugh at my slaves as they throng to me. 
 
 Tis little I care for right and law, 
 Tis they who go to the gallows-tree ; 
 
 While, stalking forth in the glare of day, 
 
 I set my snares by the Queen's highway. 
 
 They come ! They come ! and they have no fears 
 As I lure them on with my sparkling bait, 
 
 To the fatal bowl that they fancy cheers 
 
 Their foolish hearts, as they tempt their fate ; 
 
 For the yawning gulf of ruin lies 
 
 At their very feet, but I blind their eyes. 
 
 They come ! They come ! and they sip and sip, 
 Strong men with caution, fair women by stealth ; 
 
 Soon laid aside for the thirsty lip 
 
 Heeds not in its greed fair fame or health. 
 
 Good angels seek to save in vain 
 
 Oh, I herd them soon in my ghastly train ! 
 
 They come ! They come ! and my fangs sink deep 
 In their very souls, while my poison creeps 
 
 Through heart and brain, as they near the steep 
 And treacherous brink ; while Friendship weeps 
 
 The headlong, downward rush to see 
 
 Of my wretched serfs to their misery. 
 
 They come ! They come ! though wise men warn, 
 Though their parents beg, or their children weep. 
 
 " Drink ! drink !" I cry ; and with stupid scorn 
 They laugh at fate, as they downward leap, 
 
 To the dismal, dark, unfathomed slough, 
 
 Where reigns foul Want, with its sin-scarr'd brow. 
 
 Ha, ha ! Ha, ha ! could they know at first 
 How a living death 'neath my tempting lies, 
 
 At Nature's fount would they quench their thirst, 
 And turn from me with abhorrent eyes. 
 
 But no, they list to my jovial laugh. 
 
 And s'ay their souls as my bowls they quaff. 
 
 Ha, ha ! Ha, ha ! what a throng of ills, 
 Like a jackall pack, on my steps attend 
 
 Their maws to sate, as my poison kills, 
 
 And with countless pangs my dupes to rend, 
 
 Till oft they rush, with a red right hand, 
 
 To the Judgment Seat, from my soul-stained band. 
 
194 
 
 SISTERS OF MERCY. 
 
 IN quiet village, busy town, 
 
 Through our adopted land, 
 True women, garbed in russet brown, 
 Seek hopefully a heavenly crown 
 
 At their Great Master's hand. 
 
 For sorrow and for misery 
 
 They search with anxious care ; 
 No sinners vile they hurry by 
 With cruel scorn or frowning eye, 
 But help their woes to bear. 
 
 With pleasant words, with loving hearts, 
 
 They do their Master's will ; 
 With gentle hands they soothe the smarts 
 Of fell disease's rankling darts 
 
 That but for them would kill. 
 
 With steady faith they onward go 
 
 With wretchedness to cope ; 
 The orphan's pain, the widow's woe, 
 Are softened by their ready How 
 
 Of charity and hope. 
 
 No trumpet blast with flourish loud 
 
 They sound to tell their worth ; 
 But quietly amidst the crowd 
 They meekly glide, with visage bowed 
 To do His work on earth. 
 
 Then honour show them everywhere 
 
 (Whate'er your creed or birth), 
 These gentle souls, whose kindly care 
 Both innocent and wicked share 
 Angels are they of earth. 
 
195 
 
 SOUTH AUSTRALIA. 
 
 AIR " THE ENGLISHMAN." 
 
 THERE'S a land of fast-increasing fame, 
 
 Though so lately a savage spot ; 
 Its healthful clime the palm can claim, 
 
 And who shall say it can not. 
 For the balmy winds through thickets blow, 
 
 Where wattles shed perfume, 
 No grim Ice King, in his robe of snow, 
 
 Its winter shrouds in gloom. 
 'Tis a bright sunny land, deny it who can, 
 And the home of a South Australian man ! 
 
 There's waving wheat on hill and plain, 
 
 Fair homesteads in each dell, 
 Where the husbandman can his living gain, 
 
 And in peaceful comfort dwell. 
 For his children play beneath the vine 
 
 And fig-tree's chequered shade, 
 When at noon he drinks his cup of wine 
 
 From the grapes of his vineyard made. 
 'Tis a fair fruitful land, deny it who can, 
 And the home of a South Australian man ! 
 
 There are countless flocks of world-fam'd sheep 
 
 On her spreading inland plains ; 
 And cattle roam o'er each hill-side steep, 
 
 Where his steed the bold stockman reins. 
 And the squatter dwells by the winding creek, 
 
 Which the grand old gum-trees shade. 
 ! never in vain need the stranger seek 
 
 For a meal, but is welcome made. 
 For 'tis freedom's land, deny it who can, 
 And the home of a South Australian man ! 
 
 There's gleaming gold in each torrent's bed, 
 
 There are mines in the earth below, 
 Where the miner well may earn his bread 
 
 If he works with a steady blow. 
 Then her shipping sails to every land, 
 
 And rich products bear away ; 
 While wealth flows back to the hardy band 
 
 That has come to her shores to stay. 
 'Tis a prosperous land, deny it who can, 
 And the home of a South Australian man ! 
 
196 
 
 THE TALE OF A TEKBIBLE TEAR 
 
 i. 
 
 AWAY to the northward of famed Port Augusta 
 
 For commerce, for beauty, and lastly for dust, a 
 
 Nice place, quite unequall'd ; and where merchants trust a 
 
 (ireat deal to, they don't care a fig who 'tis 
 Stretch (ridged well with sandhills), the plains yclept 
 
 " Western," 
 
 From which, in the summer, the tourist had best turn, 
 Unless he would view a place (really at best, stern), 
 
 When dry as a bald mummy's wig it is. 
 
 2. 
 
 They are girt to the westward by that immense cesspool 
 Call'd grandly " Lake Torrens," but which is a messpool 
 As black, when you're in it, as many a less pool 
 
 Which oft has a pestilence started ; 
 Black, sticky as bird-lime, with saltest salt water, 
 Excell'd not, in that line, in any salt quarter ; 
 Not even by that where Eve's back-looking daughter 
 
 In the shape of a salt-pillar parted 
 
 3. 
 
 From Lot, her good man, when he ran from Gomorrah 
 And Sodom. But she, looking backward in sorrow, 
 Became a salt statue ! and he, on the morrow, 
 
 Bewailed her (I hope with sincerity). 
 Again to the eastward a lofty range hinders 
 The outward-bound view, and is named after Flinders ; 
 (Some say not volcanic, although we find cinders 
 
 Quite near it, and slag to a verity 
 
 4. 
 
 And so my premises were 'gainst their geology, 
 For which I must humbly now tend an apology, 
 As no doubt my notion arose from parology 
 
 An old crater, " the Pound," to be thinking); 
 But 'tis not a nice place, for I've been to the top of it, 
 Where granite abounds, yea, a very fine crop of it, 
 But water, in summer, there is not a drop of it, 
 
 Save quite at the bottom, for drinking. 
 
 5. 
 
 Yet not about there is the scene of my story, 
 But far in the sandhills, where, all in its glory, 
 A dense scrub is growing in rotten sand, pory 
 And useless for ought except woolspoiling. 
 
197 
 
 But where a few squatters, with trials unceasing, 
 Strove steadily on, some with fortunes increasing 
 Till '64' s drought took, with runs they were leasing, 
 The whole of the fruits of their long toiling. 
 
 6. 
 
 Then the plains, like the rest of the North, were deserted, 
 Which, as well as the squatters, their foes disconcerted 
 In fact the most bitter, and those who most hurt did, 
 
 Then went in for lessee encouraging. 
 
 The squatters brought back their few jumbucks remaining, 
 When they, in strange quarters, heard how it was raining 
 Upon that parched land, after years of refraining ; 
 
 They glad were, indeed, to leave foraging. 
 
 7. 
 
 Then they dug out the huts and the stockyards and wells again 
 From red glaring sand-drifts ; and working bulls' bells again 
 Tinkled at night on the hills and in dells again, 
 
 While wild dogs the sheep again worried. 
 For though all the rodents, except the tall " Coodla,"* 
 And banded rock-wallabies, up on Nooroodla,f 
 Were all past recalling from long lack of food la 
 
 Dingo etjils, still their coats curried. 
 
 8. 
 
 And were, and are still, as jolly as sandboys 
 (Whatever that means I expect though, not grand boys, 
 But tatterdemallion young organ or band boys, 
 
 And they are what dingoes are jolly as), 
 And as mischievous too that I know to my sorrow ; 
 And so I invested (I don't care to borrow) 
 In sundry steel traps, which were set on the morrow 
 
 To teach a few dingoes what folly was. 
 
 9. 
 
 But now come with me to Lake Torrens' border, 
 A wild, lonely place, where thick scrub is the order 
 Dame Nature insists upon, much as disorder 
 
 Like measles, she sows on man's cuticle ! 
 Where soft, lofty sandhills run closely together, 
 And spines will intrude, till you scarcely know whether 
 You won't have to take to twin garments of leather, 
 
 When prickles or mulga sticks, you tickle ! 
 
 * Kangaroo. f Native name for Mount Eyre. 
 
198 
 
 10. 
 
 The sun is declining, but still brightly shining, 
 
 When, hark ! by that black oak, what can it be whining ? 
 
 (Or rather, what can they, for I am opining 
 
 'Tis made by two singular creatures.) 
 But just as I'm speaking 1 , a curious squeaking 
 Joins in like a chorus ; so let us be seeking 
 The gifted performers ! Ah ! see, 'tis two sneaking 
 
 Sleek dingoes, with lupuline features. 
 
 11. 
 
 And there, on the sandy soil sprawling, quite handy, 
 A clutch of fine puppies crawl, blunt-nosed and bandy, 
 Around a large lizard, which once was a dandy ! 
 
 (Perhaps far too gay for a sauri n.) 
 But now 'tis affecting to see them dissecting 
 The poor defunct " Berdna," his scales not protecting 
 His inward format'on from those now inspecting 
 
 It well, by the method Ca?sarian. 
 
 12. 
 
 And the students themselves, loving brothers and sisters, 
 Sweet tempers are showing, as if they had blisters 
 On some tender places ; for though they're not fisters, 
 
 They worry each other delightfully ; 
 But maybe 'tis only a thirsting for knowledge 
 Which makes them so eager in that sylvan college 
 To study minutely in this their " dog's doll-age," 
 
 The creature they fight for so spitefully. 
 
 13. 
 
 But there is another not happy, the mother 
 
 Who glares at her master, as though she could smother 
 
 Or finish his breathing by some means or other. 
 
 What has he been doing, I wonder ? 
 From swift glances flying not what they are saying 
 I rather suspect that lie well deserves flaying 
 Most likely from virtue's stern path some slight straying 
 
 Has happen'd, his mate's love to sunder ! 
 
 14. 
 
 Or else, without reason, she's horribly jealous ; 
 But still, I don't think so, for he is too zealous 
 In that rural mansion, or rather rude dell-house, 
 
 To get in, once more, her good graces. 
 
 Through pond he wants dragging ! for see how he's wagging 
 His great bushy tail, while she's shrcwishly nagging. 
 Why, he won't even hint that she well deserves gagging. 
 
 Yes, guilt in his rascally face is ! 
 
199 
 
 15. 
 
 Yet somehow or other there's something about him 
 A deal to his credit, although we so doubt him. 
 He's keeping his temper, howe'er she may flout him, 
 
 And then he's so jaunty and festive ; 
 Besides, lie don't linger to glance once behind him, 
 But looks as if Lupie might not quickly find him ; 
 For oft' on hi.s travels, with no one to mind him, 
 He goes from his helpmate so restive. 
 
 16. 
 
 Who, dropping her tail and her bristles together, 
 Returns to her litter, in doubt as to whether 
 Her Frisky may ever come back to her tether ; 
 
 Perhaps she wasjtist a bit hasty ! 
 
 But she, and her puppies, as ive can't well drown them, 
 We'll leave with a longing that fortune may crown them 
 With gunshot or strychnine ere summer shall brown them ! 
 How Chang would enjoy them in pasty ! 
 
 17. 
 
 The shrubs are all wet from a sunshiny shower, 
 And so he's avoiding each rain-laden bower, 
 For his fine yellow coat like a buttercup's flower, 
 
 When driest, he thinks the most dandy. 
 So, over the sand-hills, quite merrily tripping, 
 Our dingo speeds on through the bushes all dripping, 
 Just thinking of lambkins, which ought to be skipping 
 About on the tank-sides quite handy. 
 
 18. 
 
 But never a lambkin is there about playing, 
 Or anything else that our friend may be slaying ; 
 Xo weakly young calf or a nanny-goat straying ; 
 
 The wild is a wilderness silent ! 
 But little that troubles our frolicsome dingo, 
 Who would, I believe, scarcely notice a pingo,* 
 For, ah ! by a fence there is something, by jingo ! 
 At which he gives what's for a smile meant. 
 
 19. 
 
 Yes, there, 'twixt the wires, two bright eyes are shining 
 Above a slim mouth, most delightfully whining, 
 (At least, to our masculine dingo's opining, 
 
 And he is a judge of ability.) 
 
 Two velvetty ears, cocking forward quite knowingly, 
 A lithe slender body which wiggles quite flowingly, 
 At which our friend Frisky twists his about wooingly, 
 And capers to show his agility. 
 
 *Ant-cater. 
 
goo 
 
 20. 
 
 But here I must say that, with sorrow ami sadness, 
 I view the false Frisky's expressions of gladness. 
 His fjioM at homo ! why, it really is badness 
 
 Quite, counter to Honor's commanding ! 
 But ears when not hearing, and eyes when not seeing 
 Are never offended, and so in his spreeing, 
 With this soothing maxim is always agreeing 
 
 Our dingo of line understanding ! 
 
 21. 
 
 And so his cold nose to the nose of the stranger 
 
 He lovingly thrusts, not imagining danger 
 
 In the shape of a trap, newly set by the ranger 
 
 Where his tail marks a circle's diameter ! 
 A terrible trap, with a newly-oil'd trigger, 
 And terrible jaws, which would hold a wild nigger, 
 Or leave him at best but a one-legged figure, 
 
 Or what my friend Pat calls " a lameter." 
 
 22. 
 
 A bold rakish leer, he just gives, and a wriggle, 
 To which I'm afraid she returns a light giggle, 
 Which makes our bad Frisky his thick brush to wiggle 
 
 A motion in prudence most wanting ! 
 For just when it popped on the sand so delusive, 
 The trigger is sprung (an event not conducive 
 To poor Frisky's fun) and an ending conclusive 
 
 Is put to his wild galavanting. 
 
 23. 
 
 With sharp yells resounding, whose echoes rebounding 
 Quick startle the parrots from Mulga's surround ng, 
 He bites at the vile trap his tail now impounding, 
 
 And even would bite his Delilah ! 
 
 But the terrible snap which the trap made when closing, 
 Gave her nerves sucli a shock, she required composing ; 
 And now a dim vista is rapidly closing, 
 
 On the tail of that faithless young smiler. 
 
 24. 
 
 Oh ! why had his thoughts from his fair Lupulina 
 E'er wandered a moment ? ah ! would that he'd been a 
 Poor exile like " Nap." on the famed St. Helena, 
 
 So his tail were well out of its trouble ! 
 But then 'tis a strong one, as well as a long one ; 
 And that terrible trap, why, it just is the wrong one 
 To let go its hold, even should it have wrong done ; 
 
 And so there's an <-nd to the bubble 
 
201 
 
 25. 
 
 Of hope, which at first might poor Frisky be cheering ! 
 Its teeth, tho' so strong, are too blunt to be tearing 
 His fine furry tail and then, as for his clearing 
 Its great ruthless jaws now so firmly adhering 
 
 The springs are too strong for such action ; 
 So, howling and springing, and on the ground flinging 
 His sand-besoil'd body is nought towards bringing 
 Himself from the troublesome trap to him clinging ; 
 
 Oh ! he is approaching distraction ! 
 
 26. 
 
 And he tries to bolt off, but his tail gives due warning 
 His tether's length reach'd, which lie cannot be scorning ; 
 Oh ! nought can he now do by scheming or fawning 
 
 The trap has a grip inexorable ! 
 He raves and he swears in a dingo's wild fashion 
 When in a cold fright or a boiling hot passion ; 
 But the trap is of steel, sans all fear or compassion, 
 
 And he's in a state most deplorable. 
 
 27. 
 
 But, ah ! there's a beaming of comfort still gleaming 
 Not so hard is his fate as it look'd at first seeming, 
 And Frisk may escape yet, by means of some scheming, 
 
 For of hide is his torment's tough tether ; 
 And his teeth that the steel has left broken and bleeding- 
 Are still in condition for biting and feeding 
 And now gnaw a spring which, by slipping, is leading 
 
 Them down to the " makings of leather.'' 
 
 28. 
 
 But, then, how would leather and hide put together 
 Resist Frisky's grinders ? Who thinks as to whether 
 He won't leave where his tail is exposed to the weather, 
 
 Like M sop's famed fox in the fable ! 
 And soon his fierce snapping results not in gapping, 
 But severs the hide with its strong double lapping, 
 When gaining his freedom, at least from the strapping, 
 
 He once more for running is able. 
 
 29. 
 
 He gives one lithe bound like fresh uncoupled hound, 
 And the trap a vile incubus springs from the ground, 
 While his shadow about there no longer is found, 
 
 He is off like the hunt of St. Hubert. 
 Don't talk of a cur with an ending of kettle ! 
 None ever ran yet with the half of Frisk's mettle, 
 For he is, no doubt, in a fine racing fettle, 
 
 And could with a good coursing few spurt. 
 
202 
 
 30. 
 
 A great greedy shark giving chase to a sailor 
 A harpoon just stuck in a whale by a whaler 
 A needle, point upward, sat down on by tailor 
 
 Are things to produce locomotion. 
 And so are fierce tigers let loose from menageries, 
 Or pompous policeman when after a cadger he's 
 K mining like winking, till he, like a badger, is 
 
 Quite blown out with wrath and swift motion. 
 
 31. 
 
 But what are they all to the trap on Frisk's narrative ? 
 He flashes like light, or hot water through narrow sieve ! 
 Oh ! dear, what a pace ! sure for long it can never live, 
 
 Unless he's possessed of a devil ! 
 O'er plain and o'er sandhill, how scrubby no matter, 
 He races top-speed, just as mad as a hatter ; 
 The trap bounding after with bump, thump, and clatter. 
 
 Nought could touch him at all on the level ! 
 
 32. 
 
 But now, by sad chance, not at all of his seeking, 
 He makes a bee line for his puppies all squeaking, 
 Where poor Lupulina, who feels rather peeking, 
 
 Is listlessly strolling quite near 'em. 
 And like a chain-shot through the startled air flashing, 
 Or typhoon of hardware thro' tulip-bed crashing, 
 The engine and Frisk of five pups made a hashing 
 
 Ere Lupe from their passage can clear 'em ! 
 
 33. 
 
 (A loss ! by-the-bye, man ! for no mutton-pie man 
 Is there to convert them to " pies " in his high can, 
 Or turn them to sausages " German" by sly plan.) 
 
 Frisk now is not careful of trifles ! 
 Lupe gives him one glance, full of anger and sorrow, 
 Then thinks of the wigging she'll give him to-morrow ! 
 And wonders where he that fell fury could borrow ! 
 
 But he's off like pea-bullets from rifles ! 
 
 34. 
 
 Oh, on, speeds poor Frisky, on errand so risky, 
 Demolishing bushes the Cornish call " kiskee,"* 
 And next knocking over a " boomer " quite frisky, 
 
 But never delaying to worry him. 
 
 Through a large flock of sheep, and without even biting them, 
 And almost too fast to be even affrighting them, 
 He leaves them to wonder why he is thus slighting them, 
 
 And to fancy that something must flurry him. 
 
 * Decayed. 
 
203 
 
 35. 
 
 On, on, and still on, with a motion unceasing , 
 
 By night and by day and with haste still increasing, 
 
 Thro' sunshine and storm ; and e'en death there's no peace in, 
 
 For he keeps up a gallop eternal. 
 Yea, on, and still on, tho' defunct, Frisk's careering, 
 His looks as time passes becoming less cheering ; 
 For bones thro' his once glossy skin are appearing, 
 
 He presents an appearance infernal. 
 
 36. 
 
 And I have no doubt that his skeleton ghastly 
 Will race on wild nights, and will frighten folk vastly 
 The rusty trap clinging, of course, to his " lastly." 
 
 Oh ! they'll think him a ghostly hyena ! 
 And their fears his proportions will so magnify 
 As he hurtles along 'neath the thunder-vex'd sky, 
 That ] fancy the more superstitious will fly 
 
 From the wild woods of Wallelberdina ! 
 
 37. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Now, Benedicts all, when you leave your fond spouses, 
 Don't visit queer friends at their shady town houses, 
 And where (ungrammatic'ly speaking) such rows is, 
 
 Or you'll know what a trap is, that's certain ! 
 And do not go leering at servant girls pretty. 
 Whatever their names be Jane, Martha, or Kitty 
 Unless you would find yourselves objects of pity, 
 
 And also of lectures called " curtain !" 
 
 38. 
 
 And so from poor Frisky's sad story take warning, 
 And do not this fine moral lesson be scorning, 
 Or sometime or other you'll understand pawning 
 
 Or maybe, too well, do some writing 
 For though Frisky's friend did so suddenly vanish, 
 You might attain some not so easy to banish, 
 Whose "clinging affection," far stronger than clanish, 
 
 Your whole after-life might be blighting. 
 
 39. 
 
 Not to speak of the time when your dim earthly taper 
 Expires, and yourself on the Styx bank must vapour 
 (I mean your vex' d shade,) which with many a caper 
 
 Will try to gain Charon's attention. 
 But he'll only pole on with his craft leaking badly 
 (In which, ne'ertheless, you would stow yourself gladly,) 
 And leave you behind him to think over sadly 
 
 Those sins which I cannot here mention. 
 
204 
 
 40. 
 
 And you, married ladies, to men so superior, 
 Don't make for your husbands too hot the interior 
 Of cottage or mansion if once they are beery, or 
 
 But look at the fair who so try men ; 
 For though even-tempered they are when first starting, 
 And love you sincerely, if always they're smarting 
 'Xeatli nagging so senseless, some day they'll be parting 
 
 The ties both of love and of Hymen ! 
 
 41. 
 
 And, my readers, remember, each pater and mater 
 Sucli misgovern'd doings will, sooner or later 
 Incite to like action the cubs in your crater ! 
 
 (The children, I mean, in your nursery.) 
 So, both for the sake of yourselves and your darlings, 
 .lust keep from their ears, if you can, all your snarlings ; 
 Or else, when they leave your hot nest, like young starlings, 
 
 You'll look, and they'll look, when you meet awry ! 
 
 THE GAMBLER'S LAST STAKE. 
 
 ANOTHER THROW ! I'll try just one more throw ! 
 
 Double or quits ! No ? But I will, I say ! 
 You do not want my cash ? Then why say "no," 
 
 And talk to me about " the breaking day ?'' 
 
 You only fear the notes will ily away 
 From your swoll'n pockets back to me again ; 
 
 Or, should I lose it, that I cannot pay 
 .Just one more throw ! " Refusal gives you pain ?" 
 Then, give me one more chance my money to regain 
 
 Tin- same old luck ! Damnation seize the dice ! 
 
 The devil of his children takes good care ! 
 Here is my l.O.U. And now a slice 
 
 < )f your good fortune 1 must claim to share. 
 
 \\V11 try a dozen more don't leave your chair! 
 You would not let me quit when f would go 
 
 Home quietly last night, and 1 declare 
 You shan't go now, till we the dozen throw! 
 Follow your go, I say ! What ? do you still say no ? 
 
205 
 
 " Some other time" you'll give me my revenge ? 
 Then why not now ; My luck is out, you say ? 
 
 "What matters that to you ? You feel no twinge 
 Of sorrow for the losses that this <lav 
 Will make me homeless ! But I will away 
 
 To those I've ruined! How my temples throb! 
 Curs'd be the cards, the fatal dice, and they 
 
 Who by their aid have just conspired to rob 
 
 Me, and through me the helpless ones that pray 
 In vain at home for him who thus can them betrav 
 
 Upon my brow the morning's cold wind blows, 
 But cools it not, a fierce fire burns within 
 
 That sears my brain ! but here the river flows, 
 And with a sullen murmur, tempts me in 
 To hide 'neath its dark waters all my sin, 
 
 My shame, and vain regrets yet I'm afraid 
 Of that which I by this last cast may win 
 
 Yes ! I must face the ruin I have made, 
 
 By folly hurried on, which now I can't evade ! 
 
 How shall I meet my wife and children dear, 
 Who love me so 1* What story shall I tell 
 
 To break to them their future prospects drear ? 
 While vain regrets within my breast must dwell, 
 And form therein a gnawing, earthly hell 
 
 Unquenchable ! But ah ! here is my home. 
 
 My home ? which ivas and still might so remain 
 
 But for those tempters, and my passion fell 
 For play's excitement, that insidious bane 
 Which has destroyed the peace I ne'er may know again 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 N<>. PAGE. 
 
 ]. THE LAST VOYAGE OK TIIK LONDON ... ... 4 
 
 2. THE CALL OF DEATH 32 
 
 3. THE BUSHMAN'S BEVERIE... ... ... ... :>") 
 
 4. CHRISTMAS, 1870 39 
 
 5. A BUSHMAN'S ADDRESS TO THE MORNING STAR ... 40 
 
 G. THE DINGOES 42 
 
 7. THE THUNDERSTORM ... ... ... ... 79 
 
 8. A DINGOE HUNT 82 
 
 9. BLOWING BUBBLES ... ... ... ... .91 
 
 10. THE FLOOD 92 
 
 11. No FRIENDSHIP IN BUSINESS ... ... ... 98 
 
 12. AN ECHO 98 
 
 13. THE FOURTH OF JANUARY, 1804 91) 
 
 14. A DREAM OF THE DROUGHT, I80f> 102 
 
 15. THE LIFE OF A WORKING BULLOCK ... ... 106 
 
 10. THE DEATH-BLOW 109 
 
 17. A FISHY LEGEND OF DORSETSHIRE ... ... 110 
 
 18. LYRES AND LIARS ... ... ... ... ... 112 
 
 19. GOOD ADVICE 113 
 
 2o. SLOTH 114 
 
 21. To A BLOW-FLY ... ... ... ... ... 115 
 
 22. "Go TO THE ANT, THOU SLUGGARD " ... ... 115 
 
 23. THE NATURALIST AND ICHNEUMON FLY 110 
 
 24. THE VILLAIN AND THE HERO ... ... ... 117 
 
 25. STUPID PETER ... ... ... ... ... 117 
 
 ^0, SONG OF THE FAR NORTH MAIL ... ... ... 11S 
 
 27. BURNING OF THE COSPATRICK ... ... ... 121 
 
 28. MOODS OF THE OCBAH ... ... ... ... 131 
 
 >!). IN MKMORIAM 131 
 
 80. LOST 132 
 
 139 
 
207 
 
 No. PAGE. 
 
 32. THE GUM-TREE 140 
 
 33. 110 DEGREES IN THE SHADE 141 
 
 34. THE MYSTERY OF LIFE ... ... ... ... 143 
 
 35. THE FLYING DUTCHMAN ... ... ... ... 145 
 
 36. THE HUNT OF GOLD 153 
 
 37. LEAP-YEAR ... ... ... ... ... 154 
 
 38. TOT AND BESSIE 155 
 
 39. LINES ON THE DEATH OF A MUCH RESPECTED LADY 156 
 
 40. DEPARTED FRIENDS ... ... ... ... 156 
 
 41. SONG OF THE NEWSPAPER... ... ... ... 157 
 
 42. THE POST-OFFICE 158 
 
 43. SUSPENSE ... ... ... ... ... ... 159 
 
 44. FAME 160 
 
 45. THE SOD OF TURF 162 
 
 46. THE MORTAL TO His SOUL 163 
 
 47. THE GARDEN OF THE MIND ... ... ... 164 
 
 48. THE STORM- WAVE 164 
 
 49. LOVE IN A CHURCH ... ... ... ... 165 
 
 50. GOLD 169 
 
 51. MEDITATIONS IN A DUST-STORM 171 
 
 52. PLANTING THE VINE ... ... ... ... 172 
 
 53. TULIP 184 
 
 54. ENVY 188 
 
 55. RICHES 191 
 
 56. THE AUSTRALIAN MAGPIE'S SONG ... ... 192 
 
 57. SELF-RELIANCE 192 
 
 58. SONG OF THE DRINK DEMON ... ... ... 193 
 
 59. SISTERS OF MERCY ... ... ... ... 194 
 
 60. SOUTH AUSTRALIA 195 
 
 61. THE TALE OF A TERRIBLE TRAP 196 
 
 62. THE GAMBLER'S LAST STAKE ... 204 
 
FREARSOX & BRO., PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS. ADELAIDE.