Part 3

The moonlight dreams upon the sail That drives the restless ship to sea; The clouds troop past the mountain vale, And sink like spirits down the lee; The foggy peak of Corrimal, Uplifted, bears the pallid glow That streams from yonder airy hall And robes the sleeping hills below; The wandering meteors of the sky Beneath the distant waters wade, While mystic music hurries by-- The songs of dark Bellambi's Maid!

Why comes your voice, you lonely One, Along the wild harp's wailing strings? Have not our hours of meeting gone, Like fading dreams on phantom wings? Are not the grasses round your grave Yet springing green and fresh to view? And does the gleam on Ocean's wave Tide gladness now to me and you? Oh! cold and cheerless falls the night On withered hearts and hopes decayed: And I have seen but little light Since died the dark Bellambi's Maid!

The Curlew Song

The viewless blast flies moaning past, Away to the forest trees, Where giant pines and leafless vines Bend 'neath the wandering breeze! From ferny streams, unearthly screams Are heard in the midnight blue; As afar they roam to the shepherd's home, The shrieks of the wild Curlew! As afar they roam To the shepherd's home, The shrieks of the wild Curlew!

The mists are curled o'er a dark-faced world, And the shadows sleep around, Where the clear lagoon reflects the moon In her hazy glory crowned; While dingoes howl, and wake the growl Of the watchdog brave and true; Whose loud, rough bark shoots up in the dark, With the song of the lone Curlew! Whose loud, rough bark Shoots up in the dark, With the song of the lone Curlew!

Near herby banks the dark green ranks Of the rushes stoop to drink; And the ripples chime, in a measured time, On the smooth and mossy brink; As wind-breaths sigh, and pass, and die, To start from the swamps anew, And join again o'er ridge and plain With the wails of the sad Curlew! And join again O'er ridge and plain With the wails of the sad Curlew!

The clouds are thrown around the cone Of the mountain bare and high, (Whose craggy peak uprears to the cheek-- To the face of the sombre sky) When down beneath the foggy wreath, Full many a gully through, They rend the air, like cries of despair, The screams of the wild Curlew! They rend the air, Like cries of despair, The screams of the wild Curlew!

The viewless blast flies moaning past, Away to the forest trees; Where giant pines and leafless vines Bend 'neath the wandering breeze! From ferny streams, unearthly screams Are heard in the midnight blue; As afar they roam to the shepherd's home, The shrieks of the wild Curlew! As afar they roam To the shepherd's home, The shrieks of the wild Curlew!

The Ballad of Tanna

She knelt by the dead, in her passionate grief, Beneath a weird forest of Tanna; She kissed the stern brow of her father and chief, And cursed the dark race of Alkanna. With faces as wild as the clouds in the rain, The sons of Kerrara came down to the plain, And spoke to the mourner and buried the slain. Oh, the glory that died with Deloya!

"Wahina," they whispered, "Alkanna lies low, And the ghost of thy sire hath been gladdened, For the men of his people have fought with the foe Till the rivers of Warra are reddened!" She lifted her eyes to the glimmering hill, Then spoke, with a voice like a musical rill, "The time is too short; can I sojourn here still?" Oh, the Youth that was sad for Deloya!

"Wahina, why linger," Annatanam said, "When the tent of a chieftain is lonely? There are others who grieve for the light that has fled, And one who waits here for you only!" "Go--leave me!" she cried. "I would fain be alone; I must stay where the trees and the wild waters moan; For my heart is as cold as a wave-beaten stone." Oh, the Beauty that was broke for Deloya!

"Wahina, why weep o'er a handful of dust, When the souls of the brave are approaching? Oh, look to the fires that are lit for the just, And the mighty who sleep in Arrochin!" But she turned from the glare of the flame-smitten sea, And a cry, like a whirlwind, came over the lea-- "Away to the mountains and leave her with me!" Oh, the heart that was broke for Deloya!

The Rain Comes Sobbing to the Door

The night grows dark, and weird, and cold; and thick drops patter on the pane; There comes a wailing from the sea; the wind is weary of the rain. The red coals click beneath the flame, and see, with slow and silent feet The hooded shadows cross the woods to where the twilight waters beat! Now, fan-wise from the ruddy fire, a brilliance sweeps athwart the floor; As, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door: As, streaming down the lattices, The rain comes sobbing to the door.

Dull echoes round the casement fall, and through the empty chambers go, Like forms unseen whom we can hear on tip-toe stealing to and fro. But fill your glasses to the brims, and, through a mist of smiles and tears, Our eyes shall tell how much we love to toast the shades of other years! And hither they will flock again, the ghosts of things that are no more, While, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door: While, streaming down the lattices, The rain comes sobbing to the door.

The tempest-trodden wastelands moan--the trees are threshing at the blast; And now they come, the pallid shapes of Dreams that perished in the past; And, when we lift the windows up, a smothered whisper round us strays, Like some lone wandering voice from graves that hold the wrecks of bygone days. I tell ye that I _love_ the storm, for think we not of _thoughts_ of yore, When, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door? When, streaming down the lattices, The rain comes sobbing to the door?

We'll drink to those we sadly miss, and sing some mournful song we know, Since they may chance to hear it all, and muse on friends they've left below. Who knows--if souls in bliss can leave the borders of their Eden-home-- But that some loving one may now about the ancient threshold roam? Oh, like an exile, he would hail a glimpse of the familiar floor, Though, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door! Though, streaming down the lattices, The rain comes sobbing to the door!

Urara

-- * Another spelling of Orara, a tributary of the river Clarence. --

Euroka, go over the tops of the hill, For the _Death-clouds_ have passed us to-day, And we'll cry in the dark for the foot-falls still, And the tracks which are fading away! Let them yell to their lubras, the Bulginbah dogs, And say how our brothers were slain, We shall wipe out our grief in the blood of their chief, And twenty more dead on the plain-- On the blood-spattered spurs of the plain! But the low winds sigh, And the dead leaves fly, Where our warriors lie, In the dingoes' den--in the white-cedar glen On the banks of the gloomy Urara! Urara! Urara! On the banks of the gloomy Urara!

The Wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass, And crawl to their coverts for fear; But we'll sit in the ashes and let them pass Where the boomerangs sleep with the spear! Oh! our hearts will be lonely and low to-night When we think of the hunts of yore; And the foes that we sought, and the fights which we fought, With those who will battle no more-- Who will go to the battle no more! For the dull winds sigh, And the dead leaves fly, Where our warriors lie, In the dingoes' den--in the white-cedar glen On the banks of the gloomy Urara! Urara! Urara! On the banks of the gloomy Urara!

Oh! the gorges and gullies are black with crows, And they feast on the flesh of the brave; But the forest is loud with the howls of our foes For those whom they never can save! Let us crouch with our faces down to our knees, And hide in the dark of our hair; For we will not return where the camp-fires burn, And see what is smouldering there-- What is smouldering, mouldering there! Where the sad winds sigh-- The dead leaves fly, And our warriors lie; In the dingoes' den--in the white-cedar glen On the banks of the gloomy Urara! Urara! Urara! On the banks of the gloomy Urara!

Evening Hymn

The crag-pent breezes sob and moan where hidden waters glide; And twilight wanders round the earth with slow and shadowy stride. The gleaming clouds, above the brows of western steeps uphurled, Look like the spires of some fair town that bounds a brighter world. Lo, from the depths of yonder wood, where many a blind creek strays, The pure Australian moon comes forth, enwreathed with silver haze. The rainy mists are trooping down the folding hills behind, And distant torrent-voices rise like bells upon the wind. The echeu's* songs are dying, with the flute-bird's mellow tone, And night recalls the gloomy owl to rove the wilds alone; Night, holy night, in robes of blue, with golden stars encrowned, Ascending mountains like to walls that hem an Eden round.

-- * The rufous-breasted thickhead. --

Oh, lovely moon! oh, holy night! how good your God must be, When, through the glories of your light, He stoops to look at me! Oh, glittering clouds and silvery shapes, that vanish one by one! Is not the kindness of our Lord too great to think upon? If human song could flow as free as His created breeze, When, sloping from some hoary height, it sweeps the vacant seas, Then should my voice to heaven ascend, my tuneful lyre be strung, And music sweeter than the winds should roam these glens among. Go by, ye golden-footed hours, to your mysterious bourne, And hide the sins ye bear from hence, so that they ne'er return. Teach me, ye beauteous stars, to kiss kind Mercy's chastening rod, And, looking up from Nature's face, to worship Nature's God.

Stanzas

The sunsets fall and the sunsets fade, But still I walk this shadowy land; And grapple the dark and only the dark In my search for a loving hand.

For it's here a still, deep woodland lies, With spurs of pine and sheaves of fern; But I wander wild, and wail like a child For a face that will never return!

And it's here a mighty water flows, With drifts of wind and wimpled waves; But the darling head of a dear one dead Is hidden beneath its caves.

The Wail in the Native Oak

Where the lone creek, chafing nightly in the cold and sad moonshine, Beats beneath the twisted fern-roots and the drenched and dripping vine; Where the gum trees, ringed and ragged, from the mazy margins rise, Staring out against the heavens with their languid gaping eyes; There I listened--there I heard it! Oh, that melancholy sound, Wandering like a ghostly whisper, through the dreaming darkness round! Wandering, like a fearful warning, where the withered twilight broke Through a mass of mournful tresses, drooping down the Native Oak.

And I caught a glimpse of sunset fading from a far-off wild, As I sat me down to fancy, like a thoughtful, wistful child-- Sat me down to fancy what might mean those hollow, hopeless tones, Sooming round the swooning silence, dying out in smothered moans! What might mean that muffled sobbing? Did a lonely phantom wail, Pent amongst those tangled branches barring out the moonlight pale? Wept it for that gleam of glory wasting from the forest aisles; For that fainting gleam of glory sad with flickering, sickly smiles?

In these woodlands I was restless! I had seen a light depart, And an ache for something vanished filled and chilled my longing heart, And I linked my thoughts together--"All seemed still and dull to-day, But a painful symbol groweth from the shine that pales away! This may not be idle dreaming; if the spirit roams," I said, "This is surely one, a wanderer from the ages which have fled! Who can look beyond the darkness; who can see so he may tell Where the sunsets all have gone to; where the souls that leave us dwell?

"This might be a loving exile, full with faded thoughts returned, Seeking for familiar faces, friends for whom he long had yearned. Here his fathers must have sojourned--here his people may have died, Or, perchance, to distant forests all were scattered far and wide. So he moans and so he lingers! weeping o'er the wasted wild; Weeping o'er the desolation, like a lost, benighted child! So he moans, and so he lingers! Hence these fitful, fretful sighs, Deep within the oak tree solemn! Hence these weary, weary cries!

"Or who knows but that some secret lies beneath yon dismal mound? Ha! a dreary, dreadful secret must be buried underground! Not a ragged blade of verdure--not one root of moss is there; Who hath torn the grasses from it--wherefore is that barrow bare? Darkness shuts the forest round me. Here I stand and, O my God! This may be some injured spirit raving round and round the sod. Hush! the tempest, how it travels! Blood hath here been surely shed-- Hush! the thunder, how it mutters! Oh, the unrequited Dead!"

Came a footfall past the water--came a wild man through the gloom, Down he stooped and faced the current, silent as the silent tomb; Down he stooped and lapped the ripples: not a single word he spoke, But I whispered, "He can tell me of the Secret in the Oak? Very thoughtful seems that forehead; many legends he may know; Many tales and old traditions linked to what is here below! I must ask him--rest I cannot--though my life upon it hung-- Though these wails are waxing louder, I must give my thoughts a tongue.

"Shake that silence from you, wild man! I have looked into your face, Hoping I should learn the story there about this fearful place. Slake your thirst, but stay and tell me: did your heart with terror beat, When you stepped across the bare and blasted hillock at your feet? Hearken to these croons so wretched deep within the dusk boughs pent! Hold you not some strange tradition coupled with this strange lament? When your tribe about their camp-fires hear that hollow, broken cry, _Do they hint of deeds mysterious, hidden in the days gone by?_"

But he rose like one bewildered, shook his head and glided past; Huddling whispers hurried after, hissing in the howling blast! Now a sheet of lurid splendour swept athwart the mountain spire, And a midnight squall came trumping down on zigzag paths of fire! Through the tumult dashed a torrent flanking out in foaming streams, Whilst the woodlands groaned and muttered like a monster vexed with dreams. Then I swooned away in horror. Oh! that shriek which rent the air, Like the voice of some fell demon harrowed by a mad despair.

Harps We Love

The harp we love hath a royal burst! Its strings are mighty forest trees; And branches, swaying to and fro, Are fingers sounding symphonies.

The harp we love hath a solemn sound! And rocks amongst the shallow seas Are strings from which the rolling waves Draw forth their stirring harmonies.

The harp we love hath a low sweet voice! Its strings are in the bosom deep, And Love will press those hidden chords When all the baser passions sleep.

Waiting and Wishing

I loiter by this surging sea, Here, by this surging, sooming sea, Here, by this wailing, wild-faced sea, Dreaming through the dreamy night; Yearning for a strange delight! Will it ever, ever, ever fly to me, By this surging sea, By this surging, sooming sea, By this wailing, wild-faced sea?

I know some gentle spirit lives, Some loving, lonely spirit lives, Some melancholy spirit lives, Walking o'er the earth for me, Searching round the world for me! Will she ever, ever, ever hither come? Where the waters roam, Where the sobbing waters roam! Where the raving waters roam!

All worn and wasted by the storms, All gapped and fractured by the storms, All split and splintered by the storms, Overhead the caverns groan, Gloomy, ghastly caverns groan!-- Will she ever, ever, ever fill this heart? Peace, O longing heart! Peace, O longing, beating heart! Peace, O beating, weary heart!

The Wild Kangaroo

The rain-clouds have gone to the deep-- The East like a furnace doth glow; And the day-spring is flooding the steep, And sheening the landscape below. Oh, ye who are gifted with souls That delight in the music of birds, Come forth where the scattered mist rolls, And listen to eloquent words! Oh, ye who are fond of the sport, And would travel yon wilderness through, Gather--each to his place--for a life-stirring chase, In the wake of the wild Kangaroo! Gather--each to his place-- For a life-stirring chase In the wake of the wild Kangaroo!

Beyond the wide rents of the fog, The trees are illumined with gold; And the bark of the shepherd's brave dog Shoots away from the sheltering fold. Down the depths of yon rock-border'd glade, A torrent goes foaming along; And the blind-owls retire into shade, And the bell-bird beginneth its song. By the side of that yawning abyss, Where the vapours are hurrying to, We will merrily pass, looking down to the grass For the tracks of the wild Kangaroo! We will merrily pass, Looking down to the grass For the tracks of the wild Kangaroo.

Ho, brothers, away to the woods; Euroka hath clambered the hill; But the morning there seldom intrudes, Where the night-shadows slumber on still. We will roam o'er these forest-lands wild, And thread the dark masses of vines, Where the winds, like the voice of a child, Are singing aloft in the pines. We must keep down the glee of our hounds; We must _steal_ through the glittering dew; And the breezes shall sleep as we cautiously creep To the haunts of the wild Kangaroo. And the breezes shall sleep, As we cautiously creep To the haunts of the wild Kangaroo.

When we pass through a stillness like death The swamp fowl and timorous quail, Like the leaves in a hurricane's breath, Will start from their nests in the vale; And the forester,* snuffing the air, Will bound from his covert so dark, While we follow along in the rear, As arrows speed on to their mark! Then the swift hounds shall bring him to bay, And we'll send forth a hearty halloo, As we gather them all to be in at the fall-- At the death of the wild Kangaroo! As we gather them all To be in at the fall-- At the death of the wild Kangaroo!

-- * The Kangaroo. --

Clari

Too cold, O my brother, too cold for my wife Is the Beauty you showed me this morning: Nor yet have I found the sweet dream of my life, And good-bye to the sneering and scorning. Would you have me cast down in the dark of her frown, Like others who bend at her shrine; And would barter their souls for a statue-like face, And a heart that can never be mine? That can never be theirs nor mine.

Go after her, look at her, kneel at her feet, And mimic the lover romantic; I have hated deceit, and she misses the treat Of driving me hopelessly frantic! Now watch her, as deep in her carriage she lies, And love her, my friend, if you dare! She would wither your life with her beautiful eyes, And strangle your soul with her hair! With a mesh of her splendid hair.

Wollongong

Let me talk of years evanished, let me harp upon the time When we trod these sands together, in our boyhood's golden prime; Let me lift again the curtain, while I gaze upon the past, As the sailor glances homewards, watching from the topmost mast. Here we rested on the grasses, in the glorious summer hours, When the waters hurried seaward, fringed with ferns and forest flowers; When our youthful eyes, rejoicing, saw the sunlight round the spray In a rainbow-wreath of splendour, glittering underneath the day; Sunlight flashing past the billows, falling cliffs and crags among, Clothing hopeful friendship basking on the shores of Wollongong.

Echoes of departed voices, whispers from forgotten dreams, Come across my spirit, like the murmurs of melodious streams. Here we both have wandered nightly, when the moonshine cold and pale Shimmer'd on the cone of Keira, sloping down the sleeping vale; When the mournful waves came sobbing, sobbing on the furrowed shore, Like to lone hearts weeping over loved ones they shall see no more; While the silver ripples, stealing past the shells and slimy stones, Broke beneath the caverns, dying, one by one, in muffled moans; As the fragrant wood-winds roaming, with a fitful cadence sung 'Mid the ghostly branches belting round the shores of Wollongong.

Lovely faces flit before us, friendly forms around us stand; Gleams of well-remembered gladness trip along the yellow sand. Here the gold-green waters glistened underneath our dreaming gaze, As the lights of Heaven slanted down the pallid ether haze; Here the mossy rock-pool, like to one that stirs himself in sleep, Trembled every moment at the roaring of the restless deep; While the stately vessels swooping to the breezes fair and free, Passed away like sheeted spectres, fading down the distant sea; And our wakened fancies sparkled, and our soul-born thoughts we strung Into joyous lyrics, singing with the waves of Wollongong.

Low-breathed strains of sweetest music float about my raptured ears; Angel-eyes are glancing at me hopeful smiles and happy tears. Merry feet go scaling up the old and thunder-shattered steeps, And the billows clamber after, and the surge to ocean leaps, Scattered into fruitless showers, falling where the breakers roll, Baffled like the aspirations of a proud ambitious soul. Far off sounds of silvery laughter through the hollow caverns ring, While my heart leaps up to catch reviving pleasure on the wing; And the years come trooping backward, and we both again are young, Walking side by side upon the lovely shores of Wollongong.

Fleeting dreams and idle fancies! Lo, the gloomy after Age Creepeth, like an angry shadow, over life's eventful stage! Joy is but a mocking phantom, throwing out its glitter brief-- Short-lived as the western sunbeam dying from the cedar leaf. Here we linger, lonely-hearted, musing over visions fled, While the sickly twilight withers from the arches overhead. Semblance of a bliss delusive are those dull, receding rays; Semblance of the faint reflection left to us of other days; Days of vernal hope and gladness, hours when the blossoms sprung Round the feet of blithesome ramblers by the shores of Wollongong.

Ella with the Shining Hair

Through many a fragrant cedar grove A darkened water moans; And there pale Memory stood with Love Amongst the moss-green stones.

The shimmering sunlight fell and kissed The grasstree's golden sheaves; But we were troubled with a mist Of music in the leaves.

One passed us, like a sudden gleam; Her face was deadly fair. "Oh, go," we said, "you homeless Dream Of Ella's shining hair!

"We halt, like one with tired wings, And we would fain forget That there are tempting, maddening things Too high to clutch at yet!