Part 5

Through that night he uttered little, rambling were the words he spoke: And he turned and died in silence, when the tardy morning broke. Many memories come together whilst in sight of death we dwell, Much of sweet and sad reflection through the weary mind must well. As those long hours glided past him, till the east with light was fraught, Who may know the mournful secret--who can tell us what he thought?

Very lone and very wretched was the brave man left behind, Wandering over leagues of waste-land, seeking, hoping help to find; Sleeping in deserted wurleys, fearful many nightfalls through Lest unfriendly hands should rob him of his hoard of wild nardoo.

. . . . .

Ere he reached their old encampment--ere the well-known spot was gained, Something nerved him--something whispered that his other chief remained. So he searched for food to give him, trusting they might both survive Till the aid so long expected from the cities should arrive; So he searched for food and took it to the gunyah where he found Silence broken by his footfalls--death and darkness on the ground.

Weak and wearied with his journey, there the lone survivor stooped, And the disappointment bowed him and his heart with sadness drooped, And he rose and raked a hollow with his wasted, feeble hands, Where he took and hid the hero, in the rushes and the sands; But he, like a brother, laid him out of reach of wind and rain, And for many days he sojourned near him on that wild-faced plain; Whilst he stayed beside the ruin, whilst he lingered with the dead, Oh! he must have sat in shadow, gloomy as the tears he shed.

. . . . .

Where our noble Burke was lying--where his sad companion stood, Came the natives of the forest--came the wild men of the wood; Down they looked, and saw the stranger--he who there in quiet slept-- Down they knelt, and o'er the chieftain bitterly they moaned and wept: Bitterly they mourned to see him all uncovered to the blast-- All uncovered to the tempest as it wailed and whistled past; And they shrouded him with bushes, so in death that he might lie, Like a warrior of their nation, sheltered from the stormy sky.

. . . . .

Ye must rise and sing their praises, O ye bards with souls of fire, For the people's voice shall echo through the wailings of your lyre; And we'll welcome back their comrade, though our eyes with tears be blind At the thoughts of promise perished, and the shadow left behind; Now the leaves are bleaching round them--now the gales above them glide, But the end was all accomplished, and their fame is far and wide. Though this fadeless glory cannot hide a grateful nation's grief, And their laurels have been blended with the gloomy cypress leaf.

Let them rest where they have laboured! but, my country, mourn and moan; We must build with human sorrow grander monuments than stone. Let them rest, for oh! remember, that in long hereafter time Sons of Science oft shall wander o'er that solitary clime! Cities bright shall rise about it, Age and Beauty there shall stray, And the fathers of the people, pointing to the graves, shall say: "Here they fell, the glorious martyrs! when these plains were woodlands deep; Here a friend, a brother, laid them; here the wild men came to weep."

Lurline

(Inscribed to Madame Lucy Escott.)

As you glided and glided before us that time, A mystical, magical maiden, We fancied we looked on a face from the clime Where the poets have builded their Aidenn! And oh, the sweet shadows! And oh, the warm gleams Which lay on the land of our beautiful dreams, While we walked by the margins of musical streams And heard your wild warbling around us!

We forgot what we were when we stood with the trees Near the banks of those silvery waters; As ever in fragments they came on the breeze, The songs of old Rhine and his daughters! And then you would pass with those radiant eyes Which flashed like a light in the tropical skies-- And ah! the bright thoughts that would sparkle and rise While we heard your wild warbling around us.

Will you ever fly back to this city of ours With your harp and your voice and your beauty? God knows we rejoice when we meet with such flowers On the hard road of Life and of Duty! Oh! come as you did, with that face and that tone, For we wistfully look to the hours which have flown, And long for a glimpse of the gladness that shone When we heard your wild warbling around us.

Under the Figtree

Like drifts of balm from cedared glens, those darling memories come, With soft low songs, and dear old tales, familiar to our home. Then breathe again that faint refrain, so tender, sad, and true, My soul turns round with listening eyes unto the harp and you! The fragments of a broken Past are floating down the tide, And she comes gleaming through the dark, my love, my life, my bride! Oh! sit and sing--I know her well, that phantom deadly fair With large surprise, and sudden sighs, and streaming midnight hair! I know her well, for face to face we stood amongst the sheaves, Our voices mingling with a mist of music in the leaves! I know her well, for hand in hand we walked beside the sea, And heard the huddling waters boom beneath this old Figtree.

God help the man that goes abroad amongst the windy pines, And wanders, like a gloomy bat, where never morning shines! That steals about amidst the rout of broken stones and graves, When round the cliffs the merry skiffs go scudding through the waves; When, down the bay, the children play, and scamper on the sand, And Life and Mirth illume the Earth, and Beauty fills the Land! God help the man! He only hears and fears the sleepless cries Of smitten Love--of homeless Love and moaning Memories. Oh! when a rhyme of olden time is sung by one so dear, I feel again the sweetest pain I've known for many a year; And from a deep, dull sea of sleep faint fancies come to me, And I forget how lone we sit beneath this old Figtree.

Drowned at Sea

Gloomy cliffs, so worn and wasted with the washing of the waves, Are ye not like giant tombstones round those lonely ocean graves? Are ye not the sad memorials, telling of a mighty grief-- Dark with records ground and lettered into caverned rock and reef? Oh! ye show them, and I know them, and my thoughts in mourning go Down amongst your sunless chasms, deep into the surf below! Oh! ye bear them, and declare them, and o'er every cleft and scar, I have wept for dear dead brothers perished in the lost Dunbar! Ye smitten--ye battered, And splintered and shattered Cliffs of the Sea!

Restless waves, so dim with dreams of sudden storms and gusty surge, Roaring like a gathered whirlwind reeling round a mountain verge, Were ye not like loosened maniacs, in the night when Beauty pale Called upon her God, beseeching through the uproar of the gale? Were ye not like maddened demons while young children faint with fear Cried and cried and cried for succour, and no helping hand was near? Oh, the sorrow of the morrow!--lamentations near and far!-- Oh, the sobs for dear dead sisters perished in the lost Dunbar!-- Ye ruthless, unsated, And hateful, and hated Waves of the Sea!

Ay, we stooped and moaned in darkness-- eyes might strain and hearts might plead, For their darlings crying wildly, they would never rise nor heed! Ay, we yearned into their faces looking for the life in vain, Wailing like to children blinded with a mist of sudden pain! Dear hands clenched, and dear eyes rigid in a stern and stony stare, Dear lips white from past affliction, dead to all our mad despair, Ah, the groaning and the moaning--ah, the thoughts which rise in tears When we turn to all those loved ones, looking backward five long years! The fathers and mothers, The sisters and brothers Drowned at Sea!

Morning in the Bush

(A Juvenile Fragment.)

Above the skirts of yellow clouds, The god-like Sun, arrayed In blinding splendour, swiftly rose, And looked athwart the glade; The sleepy dingo watched him break The bonds that curbed his flight; And from his golden tresses shake The fading gems of Night! And wild goburras laughed aloud Their merry morning songs, As Echo answered in the depths With a thousand thousand tongues; The gully-depths where many a vine Of ancient growth had crept, To cluster round the hoary pine, Where scanty mosses wept.

Huge stones, and damp and broken crags, In wild chaotic heap, Were lying at the barren base Of the ferny hillside steep; Between those fragments hollows lay, Upfilled with fruitful ground, Where many a modest floweret grew, To scent the wind-breaths round; As fertile patches bloom within A dried and worldly heart, When some that look can only see The cold, the barren part! The Miser, full with thoughts of gain, The meanest of his race, May in his breast some verdure hide, Though none that verdure trace.

Where time-worn cliffs were jutting out, With rough and ragged edges, The snowy mountain-lily slept Behind the earthy ledges; Like some sweet Oriental Maid, Who blindly deems it duty To wear a veil before her face, And hide her peerless beauty; Or like to Innocence that thrives In midst of sin and sorrows, Nor from the cheerless scene around The least infection borrows, But stayeth out her mortal life-- Though in that lifetime lonely-- With Virtue's lustre round her heart, And Virtue's lustre only.

A patch of sunshine here and there Lay on a leaf-strewn water-pool, Whose tribute trickled down the rocks In gurgling ripples, clear and cool! As iguanas, from the clefts, Would steal along with rustling sound, To where the restless eddies roamed Amongst the arrowy rushes round. While, scanning them with angry eyes From off a fallen myrtle log That branchless bridged the brushy creek, There stood and barked, a Shepherd's Dog! And underneath a neighbouring mass Of wattles intertwining, His Master lay--his back against The grassy banks reclining.

Beneath the shade of ironbarks, Stretched o'er the valley's sloping bed-- Half hidden in a tea-tree scrub, A flock of dusky sheep were spread; And fitful bleating faintly came On every joyous breath of wind, That up the stony hills would fly, And leave the hollows far behind! Wild tones of music from the Creek Were intermingling with the breeze, The loud, rich lays of countless birds Perched on the dark mimosa trees; Those merry birds, with wings of light Which rival every golden ray Out-flashing from the lamps of Night, Or streaming o'er the brow of Day.

Amongst the gnarly apple-trees, A gorgeous tribe of parrots came; And screaming, leapt from bough to bough, Like living jets of crimson flame! And where the hillside-growing gums Their web-like foliage upward threw, Old Nature rang with echoes from The loud-voiced mountain cockatoo; And a thousand nameless twittering things, Between the rustling sapling sprays, Were flashing through the fragrant leaves, And dancing like to fabled fays; Rejoicing in the glorious light That beauteous Morning had unfurled To make the heart of Nature glad, And clothe with smiles a weeping World.

The Girl I Left Behind Me

(New Words to an Old Air.)

With sweet Regret--(the dearest thing that Yesterday has left us)-- We often turn our homeless eyes to scenes whence Fate has reft us. Here sitting by a fading flame, wild waifs of song remind me Of Annie with her gentle ways, the Girl I left behind me.

I stood beside the surging sea, with lips of silent passion-- I faced you by the surging sea, O brows of mild repression! I never said--"my darling, stay!"--the moments seemed to bind me To something stifling all my words for the Girl I left behind me.

The pathos worn by common things--by every wayside flower, Or Autumn leaf on lonely winds, revives the parting hour. Ye swooning thoughts without a voice--ye tears which rose to blind me, Why did she fade into the Dark, the Girl I left behind me.

At night they always come to me, the tender and true-hearted; And in my dreams we join again the hands which now are parted; And, looking through the gates of Sleep, the pleasant Moon doth find me For ever wandering with my Love, the Girl I left behind me.

You know my life is incomplete, O far-off faint Ideal! When shall I reach you from a depth of darkness which is real? So I may mingle, soul in soul, with her that Heaven assigned me; So she may lean upon my love, the Girl I left behind me.

Amongst the Roses

I walked through a Forest, beneath the hot noon, On Etheline calling and calling! One said: "She will hear you and come to you soon, When the coolness, my brother, is falling." But I whispered: "O Darling, I falter with pain!" And the thirsty leaves rustled, and hissed for the rain, Where a wayfarer halted and slept on the plain; And dreamt of a garden of Roses! Of a cool sweet place, And a nestling face In a dance and a dazzle of Roses.

In the drouth of a Desert, outwearied, I wept, O Etheline, darkened with dolours! But, folded in sunset, how long have you slept By the Roses all reeling with colours? A tree from its tresses a blossom did shake, It fell on her face, and I feared she would wake, So I brushed it away for _her_ sweet sake; In that garden of beautiful Roses! In the dreamy perfumes From ripe-red blooms In a dance and a dazzle of Roses.

Sunset

It is better, O day, that you go to your rest, For you go like a guest who was loth to remain! Swing open, ye gates of the east and the west, And let out the wild shadows--the night and the rain.

Ye winds, ye are dead, with your voices attuned, That thrilled the green life in the sweet-scented sheaves, When I touched a warm hand which has faded, and swooned To a trance of the darkness, and blight on the leaves.

I had studied the lore in her maiden-like ways, And the large-hearted love of my Annie was won, 'Ere Summer had passed into passionate days, Or Autumn made ready her fruits for the Sun.

So my life was complete, and the hours that went by, And the moon and the willow-wooed waters around, Might have known that we rested, my Annie and I, In happiness calm as the slumber of sound.

On Sundays we wandered, as glad as a breeze, By the rocks and the waves on a glittering beach; Or we loitered in gardens melodious with bees, And sucked the sweet pulp of the plum and the peach.

"The Forest will show me the secrets of Fame," I said to myself in the gum-shadowed glen, "I will call every blossom and tree by its name, And the people shall deem me a man of the men.

"I will gather Roses of Sharon, my Soul,-- The Roses of Sharon so cool and so sweet; And our brothers shall see me entwining the whole For a garland to drop at my dear Annie's feet."

It is better, O day, that you go to your rest, For you go like a guest who was loth to remain! Swing open, ye gates of the east and the west, And let out the wild shadows--the night and the rain.

Doubting

A Brother wandered forth with me, Beside a barren beach: He harped on things beyond the sea, And out of reach.

He hinted once of unknown skies, And then I would not hark, But turned away from steadfast eyes, Into the dark.

And said--"an ancient faith is dead And wonder fills my mind: I marvel how the blind have led So long the blind.

"Behold this truth we only know That night is on the land! And we a weary way must go To find God's hand."

I wept--"Our fathers told us, Lord, That Thou wert kind and just, But lo! our wailings fly abroad For broken trust.

"How many evil ones are here Who mocking go about, Because we are too faint with fear To wrestle Doubt!

"Thy riddles are beyond the ken Of creatures of the sod: Remember that we are but men, And Thou art God!

"O, doting world, methinks your stay Is weaker than a reed! Our Father turns His face away; 'Tis dark indeed."

The evening woods lay huddled there, All wrapped in silence strange: A sudden wind--and lo! the air Was filled with change.

"Your words are wild," my brother said, "For God's voice fills the breeze; Go--hide yourself, as Adam did, Amongst the trees.

"I pluck the shoes from off my feet, But dare to look around; Behold," he said, "my Lord I greet, On holy ground!"

And God spake through the wind to me-- "Shake off that gloom of Fear, You fainting soul who could not see That I was near.

"Why vex me crying day and night?-- You call on me to hark! But when I bless your world with light, Who makes it dark?

"Is there a ravelled riddle left That you would have undone? What other doubts are there to sift?" I answered--"None."

"My son, look up, if you would see The Promise on your way, And turn a trustful face to me." I whispered--"Yea."

Geraldine

My head is filled with olden rhymes beside this moaning sea, But many and many a day has gone since I was dear to thee! I know my passion fades away, and therefore oft regret That some who love indeed can part and in the years forget. Ah! through the twilights when we stood the wattle trees between, We did not dream of such a time as this, fair Geraldine.

I do not say that all has gone of passion and of pain; I yearn for many happy thoughts I shall not think again! And often when the wind is up, and wailing round the eaves, You sigh for withered Purpose shred and scattered like the leaves, The Purpose blooming when we met each other on the green; The sunset heavy in your curls, my golden Geraldine.

I think we lived a loftier life through hours of Long Ago, For in the largened evening earth our spirits seemed to grow. Well, that has passed, and here I stand, upon a lonely place, While Night is stealing round the land, like Time across my face; But I can calmly recollect our shadowy parting scene, And swooning thoughts that had no voice--no utterance, Geraldine.

Achan

(From "Jephthah".)

Hath he not followed a star through the darkness, Ye people who sit at the table of Jephthah? Oh! turn with the face to a light in the mountains, Behold it is further from Achan than ever!

"I know how it is with my brothers in Mizpeh," Said Achan, the swift-footed runner of Zorah, "They look at the wood they have hewn for the altar; And think of a shadow in sackcloth and ashes.

"I know how it is with the daughter of Jephthah, (O Ada, my love, and the fairest of women!) She wails in the time when her heart is so zealous For God who hath stricken the children of Ammon.

"I said I would bring her the odours of Edom, And armfuls of spices to set at the banquet! Behold I have fronted the chieftain her father; And strong men have wept for the leader of thousands!

"My love is a rose of the roses of Sharon, All lonely and bright as the Moon in the myrtles! Her lips, like to honeycombs, fill with the sweetness That Achan the thirsty is hindered from drinking.

"Her women have wept for the love that is wasted Like wine, which is spilt when the people are wanting, And hot winds have dried all the cisterns of Elim! For love that is wasted her women were wailing!

"The timbrels fall silent! And dost thou not hear it, A voice, like the sound of a lute when we loiter, And sit by the pools in the valleys of Arnon, And suck the cool grapes that are growing in clusters?

"She glides, like a myrrh-scented wind, through the willows, O Ada! behold it is Achan that speaketh: I know thou art near me, but never can see thee, Because of the horrible drouth in mine eyelids."

[End of Poems and Songs.]

LEAVES FROM AUSTRALIAN FORESTS

Dedication

To her who, cast with me in trying days, Stood in the place of health and power and praise; Who, when I thought all light was out, became A lamp of hope that put my fears to shame; Who faced for love's sole sake the life austere That waits upon the man of letters here; Who, unawares, her deep affection showed By many a touching little wifely mode; Whose spirit, self-denying, dear, divine, Its sorrows hid, so it might lessen mine-- To her, my bright, best friend, I dedicate This book of songs--'t will help to compensate For much neglect. The act, if not the rhyme, Will touch her heart, and lead her to the time Of trials past. That which is most intense Within these leaves is of her influence; And if aught here is sweetened with a tone Sincere, like love, it came of love alone.

Prefatory Sonnets

I

I purposed once to take my pen and write, Not songs, like some, tormented and awry With passion, but a cunning harmony Of words and music caught from glen and height, And lucid colours born of woodland light And shining places where the sea-streams lie. But this was when the heat of youth glowed white, And since I've put the faded purpose by. I have no faultless fruits to offer you Who read this book; but certain syllables Herein are borrowed from unfooted dells And secret hollows dear to noontide dew; And these at least, though far between and few, May catch the sense like subtle forest spells.

II

So take these kindly, even though there be Some notes that unto other lyres belong, Stray echoes from the elder sons of song; And think how from its neighbouring native sea The pensive shell doth borrow melody. I would not do the lordly masters wrong By filching fair words from the shining throng Whose music haunts me as the wind a tree. Lo, when a stranger in soft Syrian glooms Shot through with sunset, treads the cedar dells, And hears the breezy ring of elfin bells Far down be where the white-haired cataract booms, He, faint with sweetness caught from forest smells, Bears thence, unwitting, plunder of perfumes.

The Hut by the Black Swamp

Now comes the fierce north-easter, bound About with clouds and racks of rain, And dry, dead leaves go whirling round In rings of dust, and sigh like pain Across the plain.

Now twilight, with a shadowy hand Of wild dominionship, doth keep Strong hold of hollow straits of land, And watery sounds are loud and deep By gap and steep.

Keen, fitful gusts, that fly before The wings of storm when day hath shut Its eyes on mountains, flaw by flaw, Fleet down by whistling box-tree butt, Against the hut.

And, ringed and girt with lurid pomp, Far eastern cliffs start up, and take Thick steaming vapours from a swamp That lieth like a great blind lake, Of face opaque.