Part 17
Forgotten their care and their sorrow, If of such they had ever known aught, Each soul was wrapped up in the morrow-- The morrow which greeted them not; A sunshiny hope was inspiring And filling their hearts with a glow Like that on the billows around them, Like the silvery ocean below. As they looked on the haven before them, Already high looming and near, What else but a joy could invade them, Or what could they feel but a cheer?
. . . . .
The eve on the waters was clouded, And gloomy and dark grew the sky; The ocean in blackness was shrouded, And wails of a tempest flew by; The bark o'er the billows high surging 'Mid showers of the foam-crested spray, Now sinking, now slowly emerging, Held onward her dangerous way. The gale in the distance was veering To a point that would drift her on land, And fearfully he that was steering Look'd round on the cliff-girdled strand. He thought of the home now before him And muttered sincerely a prayer That morning might safely restore him To friends and to kind faces there. He knew that if once at the mercy Of the winds and those mountain-like waves The sun would rise over the waters-- The day would return on their graves.
. . . . .
Still blacker the heavens were scowling, Still nearer the rock-skirted shore; Yet fiercer the tempest was howling And louder the wild waters roar. The cold rain in torrents came pouring On deck thro' the rigging and shrouds, And the deep, pitchy dark was illumined Each moment with gleams from the clouds Of forky-shap'd lightning as, darting, It made a wide pathway on high, And the sound of the thunder incessant Re-echoed the breadth of the sky. The light-hearted tars of the morning Now gloomily watching the storm Were silent, the glare from the flashes Revealing each weather-beat form, Their airy-built castles all vanished When they heard the wild conflict ahead; Their hopes of the morning were banished, And terror seemed ruling instead. They gazed on the heavens above them And then on the waters beneath, And shrunk as foreboding those billows Might shroud them ere morrow in death.
. . . . .
Hark! A voice o'er the tempest came ringing, A wild cry of bitter despair Re-echoed by all in the vessel, And filling the wind-ridden air. The breakers and rocks were before them Discovered too plain to their eyes, And the heart-bursting shrieks of the hopeless Ascending were lost in the skies. Then a crash, then a moan from the dying Went on, on the wings of the gale, Soon hush'd in the roar of the waters And the tempest's continuing wail. The "Storm Power" loudly was sounding Their funeral dirge as they passed, And the white-crested waters around them Re-echoed the voice of the blast. The surges will show to the morrow A fearful and heartrending sight, And bereaved ones will weep in their sorrow When they think of that terrible night.
. . . . .
The day on the ocean returning Saw still'd to a slumber the deep-- Not a zephyr disturbing its bosom, The winds and the breezes asleep. Again the warm sunshine was gleaming Refulgently fringing the sea, Its rays to the horizon beaming And clothing the land on the lee. The billows were silently gliding O'er the graves of the sailors beneath, The waves round the vessel yet pointing The scene of their anguish and death. They seemed to the fancy bewailing The sudden and terrible doom Of those who were yesterday singing And laughing in sight of their tomb.
. . . . .
'Tis thus on the sea of existence-- The morning begins without care, Hope cheerfully points to the distance, The Future beams sunny and fair; And we--as the bark o'er the billows, Admiring the beauty of day, With Fortune all smiling around us-- Glide onward our silvery way. We know not nor fear for a sorrow Ever crossing our pathway in life; We judge from to-day the to-morrow And dream not of meeting with strife. This world seems to us as an Eden And we wonder when hearing around The cries of stern pain and affliction How such an existence is found. But we find to our cost when misfortune Comes mantling our sun in its night, That the Earth was not made to be Heaven, Not always our life can be bright. In turn we see each of our day-dreams Dissolve into air and decay, And learn that the hopes that are brightest Fade soonest--far soonest away.
These lines were written in 1857, and were suggested by the wreck of the _Dunbar_, but the writer did not confine himself in particular to a description of that disaster, as may be seen from perusal.--H.K.
Oh, Tell Me, Ye Breezes
Oh, tell me, ye breezes that spring from the west, Oh, tell me, ere passing away, If Leichhardt's bold spirit has fled to its rest? Where moulders the traveller's clay?
Perchance as ye flitted on heedlessly by The long lost was yielding his breath; Perchance ye have borne on your wings the last sigh That 'scap'd from the lone one in death.
Tell me, ye breezes, ye've traversed the wild, And passed o'er the desolate spot, Where reposeth in silence sweet Nature's own child, Where slumbers one nearly forgot?
Ye answer me not but are passing away-- Ye breezes that spring from the west, Unhallow'd still moulders the traveller's clay, For unknown is the place of his rest.
The Far Future
Australia, advancing with rapid winged stride, Shall plant among nations her banners in pride, The yoke of dependence aside she will cast, And build on the ruins and wrecks of the Past. Her flag on the tempest will wave to proclaim 'Mong kingdoms and empires her national name; The Future shall see it, asleep or unfurl'd, The shelter of Freedom and boast of the world.
Australia, advancing like day on the sky, Has glimmer'd thro' darkness, will blazon on high, A Gem in its glitter has yet to be seen, When Progress has placed her where England has been; When bursting those limits above she will soar, Outstretching all rivals who've mounted before, And, resting, will blaze with her glories unfurl'd, The empire of empires and boast of the world.
Australia, advancing with Power, will entwine With Honour and Justice a Mercy divine; No Despot shall trample--no slave shall be bound-- Oppression must totter and fall to the ground. The stain of all ages, tyrannical sway, Will pass like a flash or a shadow away, And shrink to nothing 'neath thunderbolts hurl'd From the hand of the terror--the boast of the world.
Australia, advancing with rapid wing'd stride, Shall plant among nations her banners in pride; The yoke of dependence aside she will cast, And build on the ruins and wrecks of the Past. Her flag in the tempest will wave to proclaim, 'Mong kingdoms and empires her national name, And Ages shall see it, asleep or unfurl'd The shelter of Freedom and boast of the world.
I hope the above will not be considered disloyal. It is but reasonable to imagine that Australia will in the far future become an independent nation--that imagination springing as it does from a native-born Australian brain.--H.K.
Silent Tears
What bitter sorrow courses down Yon mourner's faded cheek? Those scalding drops betray a grief Within, too full to speak. Outspoken words cannot express The pangs, the pains of years; They're ne'er so deep or eloquent As are those silent tears.
Here is a wound that in the breast Must canker, hid'n from sight; Though all without seems sunny day, Within 'tis ever night. Yet sometimes from this secret source The gloomy truth appears; The wind's dark dungeon must have vent If but in silent tears.
The world may deem from outward looks That heart is hard and cold; But oh! could they the mantle lift What sorrows would be told! Then, only then, the truth would show Which most the bosom sears: The pain portrayed by burning words Or that by--silent tears.
Extempore Lines
-- * Suggested by one of John Bright's speeches on Electoral Reform. --
A morning crowns the Western hill, A day begins to reign, A sun awakes o'er distant seas-- Shall never sleep again. The world is growing old, And men are waxing wise; A mist has cleared--a something falls Like scales from off their eyes.
Too long the "Dark of Ignorance" Has brooded on their way; Too long Oppression 's stood before, Excluding light of day. But now they've found the track And now they've seen the dawn, A "beacon lamp" is pointing on, Where stronger glows the morn.
Since Adam lived, the mighty ones Have ever ruled the weak; Since Noah's flood, the fettered slave Has seldom dared to speak. 'Tis time a voice was heard, 'Tis time a voice was spoken So in the chain of tyranny A link or two be broken.
A tiny rill will swell a stream, A spark will cause a flame, And one man's burning eloquence Has help'd to do the same. And he will persevere, And soon that blaze must spread, Till to the corners of the earth Reflecting beams are shed.
The "few" will try to beat it down, But can they stop the flood-- Bind up the pinions of the light, Or check the will of God? And is it not His will That deeply injured Right Should overthrow the iron rule And reign instead of Might?
The Old Year
It passed like the breath of the night-wind away, It fled like a mist at the dawn of the day; It lasted its moment, then backward was hurled, Another increase to the age of the world.
It passed with its shadows, its smiles and its tears, It passed as a stream to the ocean of years; Years that were coming--were here--and are o'er, The ages departed to visit no more.
It passed, but the bark on its billowy track Leaves an impression on waters aback: The glow of the gloaming remains on the sky, Unwilling to leave us--unwilling to die.
It fled; but away and away in its wake There lingers a something that time cannot break. The past and the future are joined by a chain, And memories live that must ever remain.
Tanna
(The Kanaka's Death-Song over his Chieftain.)
Shades of my father, the hour is approaching. Prepare ye the 'cava' for 'Yona' on high; Make ready the welcome, ye souls of Arrochin. The Death God of Tanna speaks--Yona must die.
No more will he traverse the flame sheeted mountain, To lead forth his brothers to hunting and war; No more will he drink from the time honoured fountain, Nor rise in the councils of Uking-a-shaa.
His voice in the battle, loud thunder resembling, Has died like a zephyr o'errunning the plain; His whoop like the tempest thro' forest trees trembling, Shall never strike foemen with terror again.
The 'muska' hung up on the cocoa is sleeping, And Attanam's spirits have gathered a-nigh To see their destroyer; and, wailing and weeping, Roll past on the night-breathing winds of the sky.
The lines are suspended, the 'muttow' is broken, The canoe's far away from the water-wash'd shore, Mourn, mourn, ye 'whyeenas', the word has been spoken, The chieftain can bring ye the 'weepan' no more.
Ye cloud-seated visions, ye shades of my fathers, Awake from your slumbers, the trumpet blast blow; The moments are flying, the mountain mist gathers, And Yona is leaving his camp fire below.
. . . . .
The struggles are over, the cords are asunder, Ye Phantoms hold forward your heavenly light, Speak on the wings of the sky-shaking thunder, And fill him with joy on the path of his flight.
Come downwards a space thro' the fogs till ye meet him, Throw open the doors of Arrochin awide, And stand on the thresholds, ye Shadows to greet him-- The glory of Tanna, the Uking'shaa's pride.
Thanks, spirits departed!--heard I not your voices Faint rolling along on the breath of the gale? Thanks, spirits departed! Le-en-na rejoices: Ye've answered the mourner--ye've silenced the wail.
The midnight is clearing; the Death-song is ended. The Chieftain has gone, but ye've called him away; For he smiled as he listened, obedient ascended, The voice in his ear, and the torch on his way.
Tanna is one of the largest islands in the group known as the New Hebrides. The natives of it, in common with all their South Sea brethren, are generally titled by the whites "Kanakas". They are of the negro family, resembling in feature, very closely, the Feejee tribes. It is said that they believe in the existence of a Superior Being, whose earthly dwelling they fancy is in the burning volcanoes for which the island is remarkable. They believe in a future happy state, and call their heaven "Arrochin". They are divided into small tribes or clans; the largest of these are the Ukingh-a-shaa and Attanam families. A spirit of rivalry between these two last-mentioned often causes long and bloody wars all over the island.
Tanna, besides the never-sleeping volcano, has its other objects of interest in the many boiling springs that surround the base of the burning mountain. Some of these are held as holy, and none but chiefs are permitted to taste their waters. Such restriction, however, does not extend over all.
When any of their great warriors die, the aborigines believe that the spirits of Arrochin prepare a great feast there for their coming guest, and for fear he should lose himself on the road thither they (the spirits) call to him and blow trumpets, sending some one at the same time with torches to meet him and guide him on his way to those blessed regions.
Explanation of Native Words:
"Arrochin"--Heaven. "Cava"--a drink extracted from a root. (The natives believe it is made and drunk in Arrochin where it grows as in Tanna). "Muska" (corruption of the English term, musket)-- of late their chief weapon in war. "Muttow"--a fishing-hook. "Whyeena"--woman (this is not the original native appellation; that I could never ascertain). "Weepan"--Fish (their principal food). "Leenna" and "Yona"--native names.--H.K.
The Earth Laments for Day
There's music wafting on the air, The evening winds are sighing Among the trees--and yonder stream Is mournfully replying, Lamenting loud the sunny light That in the west is dying.
The moon is rising o'er the hill, Her slanting rays are creeping Where Nature lies profoundly still In happy quiet sleeping, And resting on her face, they'll find The earth is wet with weeping.
She mourneth for the lovely day, Now deep in darkness shaded; She sheds the dewy tear because Of morning's mantle faded; She misses from her breast the garb In which the moon array'd it.
The evening queen will strive in vain To break the spell which bound her; A million stars can never throw Departed warmth around her; They all must pass away and leave The earth as they had found her.
But why should gentle Nature weep That night has overtaken The wearied world that needed sleep, Refreshed to re-awaken, So richer light might burst around, The gloomy shadows breaking?
Oh, can she not from yonder sky That gleams above her, borrow A single ray, or find a way To check the tear of sorrow? A beam of hope would last her till The dawning of to-morrow.
The Late W. V. Wild, Esq.
Sad faces came round, and I dreamily said "Though the harp of my country now slumbers, Some hand will pass o'er it, in love for the dead, And attune it to sorrowful numbers!" But the hopes that I clung to are withering things, For the days have gone by with a cloud on their wings, And the touch of a bard is unknown to the strings-- _Oh, why art thou silent, Australia?_
The leaves of the autumn are scattering fast, The willows look barren and lonely; But I dream a sad dream of my friend of the past, And his form I can dwell upon only! In the strength of his youth I can see him go by. There is health on the cheek, and a fire in the eye-- Oh, who would have thought that such beauty could die! _Ah, mourn for thy noblest, Australia!_
A strange shadow broods o'er the desolate earth, And the cypresses tremble and quiver; But my heart waxeth dark with the thoughts of the worth That has left us for ever and ever! A dull cloud creepeth close to the moon, And the winter winds pass with a shuddering croon-- Oh, why was he snatched from his brothers so soon? _Ah, weep for thy lost one, Australia!_
How weary we grow when we turn to reflect Upon what we have seen and believed in; When harping on promises hopelessly wrecked, And the things we have all been deceived in! When a voice that I loved lingers near to me yet! And a kind, handsome face which I'll never forget-- Can I wake to the present and stifle regret-- _Can I smother these feelings, Australia?_
It is useless to grieve o'er the light that has fled But the harp of my country still slumbers; And I thought that some bard in his love for the dead, Would have thrilled it to sorrowful numbers! Lo, the hopes that I clung to are withering things For the days have gone by with a cloud on their wings, And my hand is too feeble to strike at the strings-- _Oh, why art thou silent, Australia?_
Astarte
Across the dripping ridges, O, look, luxurious night! She comes, the bright-haired beauty, My luminous delight! My luminous delight! So hush, ye shores, your roar, That my soul may sleep, forgetting Dead Love's wild Nevermore!
Astarte, Syrian sister, Your face is wet with tears; I think you know the secret One heart hath held for years! One heart hath held for years! But hide your hapless love, And my sweet--my Syrian sister, Dead Love's wild Nevermore!
Ah, Helen Hope in heaven, My queen of long ago, I've swooned with adoration, But could not tell you so, Or dared not tell you so, My radiant queen of yore! And you've passed away and left me Dead Love's wild Nevermore!
Astarte knoweth, darling, Of eyes that once did weep, What time entranced Passion Hath kissed your lips in sleep; Hath kissed your lips in sleep; But now those tears are o'er, Gone, my saint, with many a moan to Dead Love's wild Nevermore!
If I am past all crying, What thoughts are maddening me, Of you, my darling, dying Upon the lone, wide sea, Upon the lone, wide sea, Ah! hush, ye shores, your roar, That my soul may sleep, forgetting Dead Love's wild Nevermore!
Australian War Song
Men have said that ye were sleeping-- Hurl, Australians, back the lie; Whet the swords you have in keeping, Forward stand to do or die! Hear ye not, across the ocean, Echoes of the distant fray, Sounds of loud and fierce commotion, Swiftly sweeping on the way? Hearts have woke from sluggish trances, Woke to know their native worth; Freedom with her train advances-- Freedom newly sprung to birth. Despots start from thrones affrighted-- Tyrants hear the angry tread; Where the slaves, whose prayers were slighted, Marching--draw the sword instead.
If the men of other nations Dash their fetters to the ground; When the foeman seeks your stations, Will you willing slaves be found? You the sons of hero fathers-- Sires that bled at Waterloo! No! Your indignation gathers-- To your old traditions true; Should the cannon's iron rattle Sound between your harbour doors, You will rise to wage the battle In a just and righteous cause. Patriot fires will scorch Oppression Should it dare to draw too near; And the tide of bold Aggression _Must_ be stayed from coming here.
Look upon familiar places, Mountain, river, hill and glade; Look upon those beauteous faces, Turning up to you for aid. Think ye, in the time of danger, When that threatening moment comes-- Will ye let the heartless stranger Drive your kindred from their homes? By the prayers which rise above you, When you face him on the shore, By the forms of those that love you-- Greet him with the rifle's roar! While an arm can wield a sabre, While you yet can lift a hand, Strike and teach your hostile neighbour, This is Freedom's chosen land.
The Ivy on the Wall
The verdant ivy clings around Yon moss be-mantled wall, As if it sought to hide the stones, That crumbling soon must fall: That relic of a bygone age Now tottering to decay, Has but one friend--the ivy--left. The rest have passed away.
The fairy flowers that once did bloom And smile beneath its shade; They lingered till the autumn came, And autumn saw them fade: The emerald leaves that blushed between-- The winds away have blown; But yet to cheer the mournful scene, The ivy liveth on.
Thus heavenly hope will still survive, When earthly joys have fled; And all the flow'ry dreams of youth Lie withering and dead. When Winter comes--it twines itself Around the human heart; And like the ivy on the wall Will ne'er from thence depart.
The Australian Emigrant
How dazzling the sunbeams awoke on the spray, When Australia first rose in the distance away, As welcome to us on the deck of the bark, As the dove to the vision of those in the ark! What fairylike fancies appear'd to the view As nearer and nearer the haven we drew! What castles were built and rebuilt in the brain, To totter and crumble to nothing again!
We had roam'd o'er the ocean--had travers'd a path, Where the tempest surrounded and shriek'd in its wrath: Alike we had roll'd in the hurricane's breath, And slumber'd on waters as silent as death: We had watch'd the Day breaking each morn on the main, And had seen it sink down in the billows again; For week after week, till dishearten'd we thought An age would elapse ere we enter'd the port.
How often while ploughing the 'watery waste', Our thoughts--from the Future have turn'd to the Past; How often our bosoms have heav'd with regret; For faces and scenes we could never forget: For we'd seen as the shadows o'er-curtain'd our minds The cliffs of old England receding behind; And had turned in our tears from the view of the shore, The land of our childhood, to see it no more.
But when that red morning awoke from its sleep, To show us this land like a cloud on the deep; And when the warm sunbeams imparted their glow, To the heavens above and the ocean below; The hearts had been aching then revell'd with joy, And a pleasure was tasted exempt from alloy; The souls had been heavy grew happy and light And all was forgotten in present delight.
'Tis true--of the hopes that were verdant that day There is more than the half of them withered away: 'Tis true that emotions of temper'd regret, Still live for the country we'll never forget; But yet we are happy, since learning to love The scenes that surround us--the skies are above, We find ourselves bound, as it were by a spell, In the clime we've adopted contented to dwell.
To My Brother, Basil E. Kendall