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Au^ral Garden 



of Verse 






CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 

ENGLISH COLLECTION 




THE GIFT OF 

JAMES MORGAN HART 

PROFESSOR OF ENGUSH 



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Cornell university Library 
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Cornell University 
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tine Cornell University Library. 

There are no known copyright restrictions in 
the United States on the use of the text. 



http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013246966 



An Austral Garden 
OF Verse. 



An Au^ral Garden 



AN ANTHOLOGY OF 
AUSTRALIAN VERSE 



Selected and Edited by 

M. P. HANSEN and D. McLACHLAN 



GEORGE ROBERTSON CSl COMPANY 

PROPY. LTD. 
Melbourne, Sydney, A-delaide, and Brisba^ne 



PREFACE. 



fN the compilation of this^ Anthology, it has been the 
aim of the Editors to secure a thoroughly repre- 
sentative selection of the best work of Australian 
writers. In this they have been assisted by many 
enthusiastic admirers of what is good in the work of our 
own poets. From New Zealand and from capitals and 
far-back localities in every State of the Commonwealth 
have come valuable suggestions and assistance. The later 
work, including some hitherto unpublished, along with the 
best selections from earlier writings, is here set out, so 
that Australians may learn something of the verse-litera- 
ture of their own making, and that they may be inspired 
by this knowledge to acquaint themselves more fully With 
the works of writers who appeal most strongly to them. 
In this way they may have revealed to them the many 
gems that the anthologist, limited by the space at his 
disposal, must leave behind him, however, regretfully. It 
is hoped that the interest of readers may be extended so 
as to give to each an impulse towards the acquisition of 
a knowledge, first, of the literature of our own land, 
secondly, of the wider and deeper literature of the English 
tongue, and finally, of that still wider domain of world 
literature, wherein we find expressed the hopes, ideals, and 
aspirations of what was best in mankind since the dawn 
of history. 

The literature of our land is, in one sense, a historical 
record of the development of its nationhood and, in another, 
it might be considered as playing an important part in 
building up the character and the future history of the 
nation. As a record, one cannot help admiring its faith- 
fulness]" its freedom from the restraints of convention. The 
general objection that the spirit of gloom dominated the 
Muse of Australia no longer holds. We have singers 
whose delijght in the sights and sounds around them has 
foun<J> genuine expression; whose pride in this land and 
its people, and whose faith in their future have stirred 
the thoughtful reader into consciousness of the standing 
of his nation amongst the world-peoples. These two 
phases of our national life are here broadly indij- 
cated. The pioneer found himself face to face 
with Nature looming stern, inscrutable, seemingly nig- 



vi. AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

gardly. Desert, Drought, Fire, Flood oppressed him, 
oftentimes to the verge of despair. As he lived, of 
necessity, a lonely life in thinly-peopled tracts, the mor- 
bid habit of introspection often found in him an easy 
victim. His life, spent in silent conflict with the seem- 
ingly unconquerable, in long patient endurance and 
unending labour, was to him a dull dumb struggle, almost 
hopeless from the beginning. The Bush-spirit was a 
demon. The Bushland, even at its best, was still a land 
of Jotuns. The poets of their day^ — and their day is not 
yet ended, since so much still remains to be done in the 
way of pioneering — have seen with sympathetic eyes, and 
voiced for him his heart-cries, uttered for him the 
cynicism and disgust of his bitterness, and so left to future 
generations of Australians a vivid picture of the life-work 
of the many thousands of unstoried heroes wTio slaved 
and sufifered that a nation might be building. 

The other phase of our national life in which ,there has 
been less of struggle and stress is represented in later 
writers. For two or three generations of dwellers the 
lines have been cast in pleasanter places. The railway, 
steamship, and telegraph link together the settled por- 
tions of our continent. Conditions of living have im- 
proved, and the outlook on Nature has undergone a trans; 
formation. The undoubted beauty of Australian scenery', 
the glory of the clear sunshine, the witchery of bird-song 
from rippling fern-embowered creeks have burst with all 
their splendour on the poet minds of the day, 
and a new note in Australian literature is steadily 
increasing in volume. The consciousness of a national life 
that is gradually dawning, has found its expression. The 
seeing eye of the poet is turned to the world-nations and 
the insistent inspirational call to fit ourselves to rank with 
them rings through the land. 

The part that a national Literature must play in the 
Nation's History needs no comment. 

It has been said that we possess no truly great poet, 
and if we compare the work of any individual 
writer with that of the greater poets, this fact 
must be admitted. The truly great poet is a 
plienomenon in any century in any land, and Aus- 
tralia need not be ashamed of its delay in pro- 
ducing for critical inspection a re-incarnated Shake- 
speare or a Browning. Charming lyrics, stirring ballads. 
every variety of verse stamped with the hall-mark of 
sincere emotion have come from the mints of lesser minds 
through all times, and have carried pleasure or solace to 
humanity. Of these we find a sufficient number through- 



PREFACE. vM. 

out the works of Australian writers to fill many such 
anthologies as this, and it ,is with some diffidence and 
sdme pride also that we view the ' completed task — a 
diffidence arising from a feaf- that oUr judgment in selec- 
tion may have been at fault in representing the author at 
the . best, and a pride in the knowledge that the work 
here presented wilj appeal to • Australians in general with 
a power that only the pOetry of one's own land can exert. 
We feel that it is work the character of which has been 
to a great extent determined ty the inherent forces at 
work throughout the growing nation. 

The main purpose of this . work, the ' presentation of 
selections suitable for use in schools throughout Aus- 
ti'alasia, has, of course, dominated the choice by the 
editors. Much that is good has been omitted, but if the 
selections included awaken the desire of school girls aiid 
school boys, and "children of a larger growth," to know 
more of the work of the poets of this and other, lands, the 
issue of this, the first School Anthology of Australian verse, 
will be well justified. 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 



The editors desire to express their thanks to Messrs. L. 
A. Adamsbn, Norman Lilley, Seaforth Mackenzie, Bernard 
O'Dowd and A. G. Stephens, for valuable suggestions and 
help in connection with the selection of the poems in this 
anthology. 

Their thanks are due specially to the authors who so 
freely gave permission to use their works. The list of 
these is too lengthy to give in full, and includes all but 
one or two of the living authors whose names appear in 
the .biog;raphical notes (see Page 291). In one or two 
cases, it was found impossible to establish communication 
with the authors. 

To the following publishers the compilers of the an- 
thology wish to express their indebtedness for permission 
to print selections from works of which they hold copy- 
right : — 

Angus and Robertson, Sydney. — Barcroft Boake, Vic- 
tor J. Daley, G. Essex Evans, Henry Lawson, Kenneth 
Maclsay, W. H. Ogilvie, A. B. Paterson, J. Brunton 
Stephens. 

Australasian Authors' Agency, Melbourne. — Dorothea 
Mackellar. 

George Allen. — Dora Wilcox. 

"The Argus," Melbourne. — E. Dyson. 

Geo. Bell and Son, London. — "Australie.'' 

"The Bulletin" Company, Sydney.— A. 'H. Adams, J. 
Alex. Allan, Hubert Church, "W.A.B.," Edward Dyson, 
Jas. Hebblethwaite, Marie Louise Mack, J. Shaw Neilson, 
Bernard O'Dowd, Roderic Quinn, Frank Wilmot, W. M. 
Whitney, and others. 

"The Bookfellow," Sydney. — James Hebblethwaite, J. 
Shaw Neilson, C. H. Souter. 

Elliott Stock and Co.,' London. — Ivan Archer Rosen- 
blum, Anne Glenny Wilson. 

Ferguson and Hicks, N.Z.— Will Lawson. 

"Freeman's Journal." — D. H. Deniehy. 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT: ix. 

Gordon and Gotch. — Mary Hannay Foott. 

Griffith, Farran and Co. (London). — Anne G. Wilson. 

J. W. Kettlewell, Sydney. — Agnes G. Storrie. 

"Lilley's Magazine," Sydney. — ^Leslie H. Allen, ".Harry 
Sullivan." 

J. Lockley, Sydney. — Henry Lawsqn. 

"The Lone Hand." — "Ishmael Dare,"- E. S. Emerson, 
"Harry Sullivan," H.'Tracey, F. Wilmot, and others. 

..T. C. Lothian, Melbourne.— E. J. Braijy, J. Le Gay 
Brereton, P. J. Cassidy, Hubert Church, Louis Esson, 
Mary FuUerton, Wm. Gay, Sidney W. Jephcott, Dorothy 
F. McCrae, Hugh McCrae, Bernard O^Dowd, W. A. Os- 
borne,- Marie E. J. Pitt, F. S. Williamson. 

A. H. Massina and Co., Melbourne. — Adam Lindsay 
Gordon. -'i, 

Melville and Mullen, Melbourne. — Jennings Carmichael, 
Marion Miller Knowles, J. B. O'Hara, Alex. Sutherland. 

McGiU's Agency, Melbourne. — M: J. Tiilly. 

Wm. Reeves, London. — Francis W. L. Adains. ' 

Geo. Robertson and Co. — W. H- Elsum, E. S. Emerson, 
Mary .Gilmore, H. C. Kendall, Marion Miller Knowles, 
A. G. Stephens, A. G. Steven. 

., "The Register," Adelaide, S.A.— C. H. Souter. 

"The Triad," N.Z.— Frank Morton. 

TurnbuU, Hicksoij and Goode, N.Z. — Will Lawson. 

Simpson and Williamp, N.Z. — Jessie Mackay. 

"The Sunday Times" Company, Perth. — "Dryblower." 

Ward, Lock and Co.,. London.^Ethel Turner, J. B'. 
O'Hara. 

Whitcombe and Tombs. — Blanche E. Baughan, Jessie 
Mackay. 

"The Worker," Sydney.— A. A. Bayldon, E. S. Emerson, 
"Harry Sullivan," and others. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Preface • v. 

Acknowledgment viii. 

Notes on the 'Poems 284 

Biographies 290 

Adams, Arthur H. 

Morning Peace 72 

, A Song of Failure .. 161 

Fleet Street 211 

Adams, Francis W. L. 

A Death at Sea 281 

Adamson, L. A. 

Victi Invicti 155 , 

Allan, J. Alex. 

An Australian Battle Hymn 1. . . 165 

Allen, Leslie H. 

The Woodcutter 251 

The Lark 253 

Richmond . . 253 

"Australie" (Mrs. Heron). 

The Weatherboard Fall 229 

B., W. A. 

The 'Dead March of the Waters .. 178 

Baughan, Blanche Edith. ' 

The Paddock (Extract) 63 

Sunrise. (From "Shingle Short") 166 

Bayldon, Arthur A. D. 

Daley's Grave 120 

Boake, Barcroft. 

Desiree 36 

Brady, Edwin James. 

The Ways of Alany Waters 21 

The Lake 179 

Brereton, J. Le Gay. 

* Wilfred ; 13 

rCarmichaeL Jennings. 

An Old Bush Road 122 

Cassidy, R. J. ("Gilrooney"). 

The Road to Gundagai ' 224 

The Horsemen 226 ' 



xii. AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Church, Hubert. 

Saint Hubert ; I43 

To a Sea Shell i53 

Selection from "Acheron Valley" 219 

Colbprne Veel, Mary. 

What Look Hath She? '.. 273 

Crookston, R. M. ' 

Troubadour Song '. 217 

Pierre Vidal Chant, a la Belle Azalais . . . . . . 238 

Cuthbertson, James Lister. 

Solitude .. 80 

An Australian Sunrise . . i-iS 

Winter Sunset on the Australian Coast ; . . . 129 

Sinodun Hill 280 

Daley, Victor James.' 

A Sunset Fantasy 49 

"Dare, Ishmael" (A. W. Jose). 

The Sum of Things loi 

Deniehy, Daniel Henry. 

Love in a Cottage 158 

Derham Enid.. ' 

The Wind Child .... .. 171 

To a Friend oh Her Arrival in England .. -.. 200 

"Dryblower" (E. G. Murphy). 

The Rhymes Our Hearts can Read I39 

Dyson, Edward. 

Men of Australia 203 

Elsum, Wm. Henry. 

'Waiting .\ 87 

Emerson, E. S. 

Native Companion 48 

Earth to Earth 144 

A Rain Song .. .. 163 

Gum Leaves on the Fire . . . . . . 246 

May Time 271 

Esson, Louis. 

A Camel Driver 223 

Cradle Song 256 

Evan's, George Ess^x. 

An, Australian Symphony /4 

Fisher, Lala. 

Forgotten. (In memory of A. J. R.) 202 

The Moon Flower 218 

Sanctuary , 272 



. CONTENTS. . xiiL 

Foott, Mary Hannay. ' , 

Where the Pelican Builds .. ; : 57 

Forrest, M. 

The Outpost 212 

I Remember ' 269 

Fullerton, Mary E. 

The Rose on the Lattice ,12 

Gay, William. , ' 

Australian Federation 40 

Primroses igo 

Gilmore, Mary. 

By the Glenelg .30 

Marri'd 131 

If We Only Could 268 

O Singer in Brown 281 

Gordon, Adam Lindsay. 

A Dedication . . 15 

The Sick Stockride>r . . 68 

How We Beat the Favourite 83 

From "Ye Wearie Wayfarer" .. 102' 

Green, H. M. (see "Harry Sullivan"). 

Harpur, Charles. 

.^ Words 78 

Hebblethwaite, James. 

Perdita .'. 107 

Wanderers '. 213 

An Echo 214 

Heney, Thomas W. 

The Wild Duck 93 

Holdsworth, Philip J. 

My Queen of Dreams . . . . ' 66 

Jephcott, Sydney. 

A Swan-Song , 206 

Kendall, Hem'y Clarence. 

Prefatory Sonnets i : 

A Mountain Spring 2 

September in Australia 45 

■ . .'B.ell Birds 67 ' 

After Many Years 80 _ 

Beyond Kerguelen' 168 

The Warrigal . . • • • ■ ' • 273 

Lawson, Henry. 

"Here Died" 8 

The Star of Australasia 52 



xiv. AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Lawson, Will. ■ 

The Destroyer i7 

The Forty-Fours 59 

Troopers 129 

The .Cruiser ■ 145 

■ The Flyer i47 

The Red West Road 172 

Mack, Louise. 

To Soar as a Wild White Bird 108 

On Wairee Hill 117. 

In the Attic •• ■ i53 

Land L Love .. .. 231 

Meickay, Jessie. 

For Love of Appin 159 

A Folk Song 183 

B'urial of Sir John Mackenzie .278 

Mackay, Kenneth. 

The Australian Bush 244 

Mackellar, Dorothea. 

Settlers 4, *. . . 38 

My Country 263 

Mackenzie, Seaforth. 

Wanderlust 176 

L'Envoi . . . . : 283 

Maillei; Wilfrid. 

The Ocean Beach 249 

The Altar .. ., 250 

"Maurice Furnley" (see Wilmot, F.). 

McCrae, Hugh. 

Red John of Haslingden .. ..' 33 

Poetae et Reges I26 

McCrae, Dorothy Frances. 

Challenge 104 

Miller, Knowles, Mrs. Marion. 

Fernshaw (Blacks' Spur) 118 

The Springs (Blacks' Spur) 209 

Morton, Frank. 

" A Night Piece ; . . 99 

The Sleepikins 196 

Getting Up 198 

The Shadows 199 

Murphy, E. B. (see "Dryblower"). 

Neilson, J. Shaw. 

Old Granny Sullivan 259 

O Heart of Spring 262 



■ CONTENTS. XV. 

O'Dowd, Bernard. 

Australia 20 

Love and Sacrifice .. ..-.. .. ;. '. 43 

The Poet ■ go 

Resurgent 191 

O'Ferrall, Ernest. 

The Triumphant Fisherman 267 

Ogilvie Will. H. 

Willanjie 185 

O'Hara, John Bernard. 

Happy Creek 58 

O'Reilly, D. P. 

Wild, Flowers 128 

Osborne, W. A. 

An Old Map of Assyria 239 

Paterson, Andrew Barton. 

The Man from Snowy River 3 

Pitt, Mrs. Marie E. J. 

Ballade of Dreams ' . . 92 

The Clan Call' ■. . . u'3 

The Reiver 13S 

Mouiitain Myrtle 215 

The Lost Fairies 220 

A Gallop of Fire 221 

Poynter, Mary H. 

Slumber Song -. 133 

Quinn, Roderic. ' 

The Red Tressed Maiden 26 

The Golden Yesterday . . ■ '. . 97 

The Hidden Tide 105 

Reeves, William Pember. 

The Passing of the Forest 27s 

Rosenblum, Ivan Archer. 

A Friend (from "The Drama Eternal") .. .'. 136 

Summer (from "The Drama Eternal") . . . . 138 
Ross, David Macdonald. 

Love's Treasure House 116 

The Last Goal .... 174 

Sandes,*John ("Oriel"). 

'^With Death's. Prophetic Ear" 73 

Souter, C. H. 

The Black Swans • 257 

Irish Lords . . ' 258 

Spielvogel, Nathan F. 

Our Gum Trees 94 



xvi. AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

.Stephens, A. G. 

Babylon 88 

Ave Australia! ■ ; IS7 

Stephens, James Brunton. 

The Dominion of Australia i8 

Steven, Alex. Gordon. 

Dolce Far Niente 93 

Storrie, Agnes L. 

Waiting I93 

Lullaby 196 

Strong, Archibald T. 

' Ballade of the Islands of the Blest ' 62 

Sullivan, Harry. 

Birth . . .. 32 

Sutherland, Alexander. 

An' Orchestral Symphony 240 

Tracey, H. F. 

The Galley-Slave 96 

TuUy, M. J. 

' When Wattles Bloom '. ■. . 210 

At Lindsay Gordon's Grave 229 

Turner. Ethel (Mrs. Curlevyis). 

A Trembling. Star ' 124 

Gum Trees 192 

Wall, Arnold. 

Happy Children 251 

Werner, Alice. 

Bannerman of the Dandenong 28 

Kate Cunningham's Ride 109 

Whitney, W. M. 

Magnificat 233 

The Harvest . , 23S 

Wilcox, Dora. 

Onawe 134 

In London 150 

Williamson, Frank S. 

The Magpies' Song 41 

Dirge : 265 

Wilmot, Frank ("Furnley Maurice"). 

Extract from "Roots of Dreams" 72 

Pisgah 189 

Failure 208 

Wilson, Mrs. Anne Glenny. 

Fairyland 78 

The Mother 141 




Monteath, Photo. 



E. J. BRADY. 



AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



PREFATORY SONNETS. 

Henry Clarence Kendall. 

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 
1 



2 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

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 br'eezy ring of elfin bells 

Far down by where the white-haired cataract booms, 
He, faint with sweetness caught from forest smells. 

Bears thence, unwitting, plunder of perfumes. 



A MOUNTAIN SPRING. 

Henry Clarence Kendall. 

Peace hath an altar there. The sounding feet 
Of thunder and the 'wildering wings of rain 

Against fire-rifted summits flash and beat, 

And through grey upper gorges swoop and strain, 
But round that hallowed mountain-spring remain. 

Year after year, the days of tender heat. 

And gracious nights, whose lips with flowers are sweet, 
And filtered lights, and lutes of soft refrain. 

A still, bright pool. To men I may not tell 
The secret that its heart of water knows, 
The story of a loved and lost repose; 

Yet this I say to cliff and close-leaved dell: 

A fitful spirit haunts yon limpid well. 

Whose likeness is the faithless face of Rose. 



ANDREW BARTON PATERSON 3 

THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER. 

A. B. Paterson. 

There was movement at the station, for the word had 
passed around 
That the colt from old Regret had got away, 
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a 
thousand pound, 
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray. 
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and 
far 
Had mustered at the homestead overnight. 
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush 
horses are. 
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight. 

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon 
■won the cup, 
The old man with his hair as white as snow ; ' 
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly 
up— 
He would go wherever horse and man could go. 
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand, 

No better horseman ever held the reins; 
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths 
would stand, 
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains. 

And one was there, a stripling, on a small and weedy 
beast, ' 

He was something like a racehorse undersizsed, 



4 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

With a touch of Timor pony — three parts thorough-bred 
at least — 
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized. 
He was hard and tough and wiry — ^just the sort that 
won't say die — 
There was courage in his quick impatient tread ; 
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and 
iiery eye, 
And the proud and lofty carriage of his headj 

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power 
to stay. 
And the old man said, "That horse will never do 
"For a long and tiring gallop — lad, you'd better stop 
away, 
"Those hills are far too rough for such as you." 
So he waited, sad and wistful — only Clancy stood his 
friend — 
"I think we ought to let him come," he said; 
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end, 
"For both his horse and he are mountain bred. 

"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side, 

"Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough; 
"Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint 
stones every stride, 
' "The rnan that holds his own is good enough. 
"And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make 
their home, 
"Where the river runs those giant hills between; 
"I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced 
to roam, 
"But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen." 



ANDREW BARTON PATERSON. 5 

So he went — they found the horses by the big mimosa 
clump — 
They raced away towards the mountain's brow, 
And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them 
from the jump, 
"No use to try for fancy riding now. 
"And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them 
to the right. ' , 

"Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills, 
"For never yet was rider that could keep the inob in 
sight, 
"If once they gain the shelter of those hills." 

So Clancy rode to wheel them — he was racing on the 
wing—, 
Where the best and boldest riders take their place — 
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the 
ranges ring , 
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face. 
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the 
dreaded lash. 
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view. 
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp 
and sudden dash, 
And off into the mountain scrub they flew. 

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep 
and black 
Resounded to the thunder of their tread. 
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely 
answered back 
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. 



6 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their 
way, 
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide; 
And the oM man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob 
good day, 
"No man can hold them down the other side." 

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy 
took a pull ; 
It well might make the boldest hold their breath; 
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground 
was full 
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. 
But the* man from Snowy River let the pony have his 
head, 
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer. 
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down 
its bed. 
While the others stood and watched in very fear. 

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet. 

He cleared the fallen timber in his stride. 
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his 
seat — 
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride. 
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough 
and broken ground, 
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went ; 
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and 
sound, 
At the bottom of that terrible descent. 

He was right among the horses as they climbed the fur- 
ther hill. 
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute. 



ANDREW BARTON PATERSON. 7 

Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among 
them still, 
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit. 
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain 
gullies met 
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals 
On a dipi and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet. 
With the man from' Snowy River at their heels. 

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were 
white with foam ; 
He followed like a bloodhound on their track. 
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their 
heads for home, 
And alone and unassisted brought them back. 
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a 
trot, 
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur; 
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery 
hot. 
For never yet was mountain horse a cur. 

And 'down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise 

Their torn and rugged battlements on high. 
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars* 
fairly blaze 

At midnight in the cold and frostf sky. 
And whete around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and 
sway 

To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide. 
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day. 

And the stockmen tell the story of his' ride. 



8 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

"HERE DIED." 

Henry Lawson. 

There's many a schoolboy's bat and ball that are gather- 
ing dust at home, 

For he hears a voice in the future call, and he trains for 
the war to come; 

A serious light in his eyes is seen as he comes from the 
schoolhouse gafe; 

He keeps his kit and his'riile clean, and he sees that his 
back is straight. 

But straight or crooked, or round, or lame — you may let 

these words take root; 
As the time draws near for the sterner game, all boys 

should learn to shoot. 
From the beardless youth to the grim grey-beard, let 

Australians ne'er forget, 
A lame limb never has interfered with a brave man's 

shooting yet. 

Over and over and over again, to you and our friends 

and me. 
The warning of danger has sounded plain — like the thud 

of a gun at sea. 
The rich man turns to his wine once more, and the gay to 

their worldly joys. 
The "statesman" laughs at a hint of war — but something 

has told the boys. 

The schoolboy scouts of the White Man's Land are out 
on the hills to-day; 



HENRY LAW SON 9 

They trace the tracks -from the sea-beach sand and sea- 
cliffs grim and grey; 

They take the range for a likely shot by every cape and 
head, 

And they spy the lay of each lonely spot where an 
enemy's foot might tread. 

In the cooling breeze of the coastal streams, or out where 

the townships bake. 
They march, in fancy, and fight in dreams, and die for 

Australia's sake. 
They hold the fort till relief arrives, when the landing 

parties storm, 
And they take the pride of their fresh young lives in the 

set of a uniform. 

Where never a loaded shell was hurled, nor a rifle fired 

, to kill, 
The schoolboy scouts of the Southern World are choosing 

their Battery Hill. 
They run the tapes on the flats and fells by, roads that 

the guns might sweep ; 
They are fixing in memory obstacles where the firing lines 

shall creep. 

They read and tliey study the gunnery — they ask till the 

meaning's plain, 
But the craft of the gcout is a sirnple thing to the young 

Australian brain. 
They blaze the track for a forward run, where the scrub 

is everywhere, 
And they mark positions for every gun and every unit 

there. 



10 AN ACfSTRAL GARDEN. 

They trace the track for a quick retreat — and the track 

for the other way round, 
And they mark the spot in the summer heat where the 

water is always found. 
They note the chances 'of cliff and tide, and where they 

can move, and when, 
And every point where a man might hide in the days 

when they'll fight as men. 

When silent men with their rifles lie by many a ferny 

dell; 
And turn their heads when a scout goes by, with a cheery 

growl, "All's well;" 
And the scouts shall climb by the fisherman's ways, and 

watch for a sign of ships, 
With stern eyes fixed on the threatening haze -where the 

blue horizon dips. 

When men shall camp in the dark and damp by the 

bough-marked battery. 
Between the forts and the open ports where the miners 

watch the sea; 
And talk perhaps of their boy-scout days, as they sit in 

their shelters rude, 
While motors race to the distant bays with ammunition 

and food. 

When the city alight shall wait by night for news from a 

far-out post. 
And men ride dowi; from the farming town to patrol the 

lonely coast — 
Till they hear the thud of a distant gun, or the distant 

rifles crack, 
And Australians spring to their arms as one to drive the 

invaders back. 



HENRY LAW SON. 11 

There'll be no music or martial noise, save the guns to 

help you through, 
For a plain and a shirt-sleeve job, my boys, is the job that 

we'll have to do. 
And many of those who had learned to shoot — and in 

learning learned to teach — 
To the last three men, and the last galoot, shall die on 

some lonely beach. 

But they'll waste their breath in no empty boast, and 

they'll prove to the world their worth. 
When the shearers rush to the Eastern Coast, and the 

miners rush to Perth. 
And the man who fights in a Queenscliff fort, or up by 

Keppel Bay, 
Will know that his mates at Bunbury are doing^ their 

share that day. 

There was never a land so great and wide, where the 

foreign fathers came, 
That has bred her childfen so much alike, with their 

hearts so much the same. 
And sons shall fight by the mangrove creeks that lie on 

the lone East Coast, 
Who never shall know (or not for weeks) if the rest of 

Australia's lost. 

And far in the future (I see it well, and born of such 

days as these). 
There lies an Australia invincible, and mistress of all her 

seas ; 
With monuments standing on hill and head, where her 

sons shall point with pride 
To the names of Australia's bravest dead, carved under 

the words "Here died." 



12 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

THE ROSE ON THE LATTICE. 

Mary E. Fullerton. 

You were born on my lattice, oh, wonderful thing, 
As old as creation yet new as the spring. 
And the odours of Eden about you still cling.> 

You are daughter of roses that tumbled their flower 
On the couch of old Omar in Naisliapur's bower, 
And descendant of other when Herod had power, 

And Nero and Alfred. Still simple and fresh 
And unspoiled by your peerage you nod on the mesh 
Of my south window lattice your delicate flesh. 

Your tints are old sunsets, inwoven with new, 
A million of dawns had the making of you-r- 
Let me peep in your heart for, a beautiful clue, 

A bee takes your honey, and I have my dream. 
The poet his fancy, the artist the gleam; 
Your message to each is whatever it seem. 

Oh, Summer, your ardour has loosened a leaf. 
Or the wings of the bee in the flight of the thief; 
By your lovers, sweet rose, is your life rendered brief. 

My dream it is drooping by Beauty create, 
The nioment is past, I must hasten nor wait, 
The fingers of Life are a-knock at the gate, 

So I go, and to-morrow your bloom will be done, 
And another be bom at the birth of the sun; 
For thus is the web ever ravelled and spun. 



/. LE GAY BRERETON. 13 



WILFRED. 

/. Le Gay Brereton. 

What of these tender feet 

That have never toddled yet? 
What dances shall they beat, 

With what red vintage wet? 

In what wild way will they march or stray, by what 
sly paynims met? 

The toil of it none may share ; 

By yourself must the way be won 
Through fervid or frozen air 

Till the overland journey's done; 

And I would not take, for your own dear sake, one 
thorn from your track, my son. 

Go forth to your hill and dale, 

Yet take in your hand from me 
A staff when your footsteps fail, 

A weapon if need there be ; 

'Twill hum in your ear when the foeman's near, athirst 
for the victory. 

In the desert of dusty death 

It will point to the hidden spring; 

Should you weary and fail for breath, 
It ■will bourgeon and branch and swing 
Till you sink to sleep in its shadow deep to the sound 
of its murmuring. 



14 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

You- must face the general foe — 

A phantom pale and grim". 
If you flinch at his glare, he'll grow 

And gather your strength to him; 

But your power will rise if you laugh in his eyes and 
away in a mist he'll swim. 

To your freeborn soul be true — 

Fling parchment in the fire; 
Men's laws are null for you, 

For a word of Love is higher, 

And can you do aught, when He rules your thought, 
but follow your own desire ? 

You will dread no pinching dearth 

In the home where you love to lie. 
For your floor will be good brown earth 

And your roof the open sky. 

There'll be room for all at your festival whea the 
heart-red wine runs high. 



Joy to you, joy and strife, 
And a golden Fast before, 

And the sound of the sea of life 

In your ears when you reach the shore. 
And a hope that still with as good a will you may fight 
as you fought of yore. 



ADAM LINDSAY GORDON. 15 

A DEDICATION. 
TO THE AUTHOR OF " HOLMBY HOUSE." 

Adam Lindsay Gordon. 

They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less 

Of sound than of words, 
In lands "where bright blossoms are scentless, 

i And songless bright birds; 
Where, with fire and fierce drought on her tresses. 
Insatiable Summer oppresses 
Sere woodlands and sad wildernesses, 

And faint flocks and herds. 

Where in dreariest days, when all dews end, 

And all winds are warm, 
Wild Winter's large flood-gates are loosen' d. 

And floods, freed from storm. 
From broken-up fountain heads, dash on 
Dry deserts with long pent up passion — 
Here rhyme was first framed without fashion. 

Song shaped without form. 

Whence gather'd? — The locust's glad chirrup 

May furnish a stave; 
The ring of a rowel and stirrup, 

The wash of a wave ; 
The chaunt of the marsh frog in rushes. 
That chimes through the pauses and hushes 
Of nightfall, the torrent that gushes, 

The tempests that rave; 

In the deep'ning of dawn, when it dapples 
The dusk of the sky, 



16 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

With streaks like the redd'ning of apples. 

The ripening of rye, 
To eastward, when cluster by cluster. 
Dim stars and dull planets that muster, 
Wax wan in a world of white lustre 

That spreads far and high; 

In the gathering of night gloom o'erhead, in 

The still silent change, 
All iire-fiush'd when fores't trees redden 

On slopes of the range; 
When the gnarl'd knotted trunks Eucalyptian 
Seem carved, like weird columns Egyptian, 
With curious device — quaint inscription, 
And hieroglyph strange; 

In the Spring, when the wattle gold trembles 

'Twixt shadow and shine, 
When each 'dew-ladeni air draught resembles 

A long draught of wine; 
When the sky-line's blue burnish'd resistance 
Makes deeper the dreamiest distance. 
Some song in all hearts hath existence, — 
Such songs have been mine. 

They came in all guises, some vivid 

To clasp and to keep; 
Some sudden and swift as the livid 

Blue thunder-flame's leap. 
This swept through the first breath of clover 
With memories renew'd to the rover — 
That flash'd while the blaok horse turn'd over 
Before the long sleep. 



WILL LAW SON. 17 



THE DESTROYER. 
/ Will Lawson. 

She raced away down the sunset track, 

Beyond the mines and the boom ; 
The spray flashed red on her turtle-back 

To the whirr of her engine room. 
Her funnels spouted their smoke-plumes black — 
She looked the Spirit of Doom. 

Along her sides the wavelets' hissed. 

As she opened out her speed, 
They fell astern to snarl and twist, 

And writhe in her wake and bleed. 
Hers was a force no seas resist, 

And she gave them little heed. 

Away in the west the red sun sank 

To drown in the heaving flood ; 
And fast — with never a noisy crank 

Or piston rod a-thud, 
Her stern Set low in the high wave-bank — 

She swam on a sea of blood. 

Into the night, when the sun had gone, 

The fast destroyer flew. 
And never a side-light gleamed or shone, 

As the pale stars grew and grew. 
What errand grim did she speed upon? 

Only her captain knew. 

Through the sweeping seas she clove a track 
Into the blinding gloom — 



18 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Stumpy-funnelled, sinister, black — 

She was the Spirit of Doom. 
And the keen spray hailed on her turtle-back, 

To the throb of her engine-room. 
***** 
Back to our forts the destroyer crept. 

As the dawn rushed in aflame; 
Her stacks were blistered, her decks sea-swept. 

But she licked her lips as she came; 
And "she took her place where her comrades slept, 

Like a hound that had killed its game. 



THE DOMINION OF AUSTRALIA. 
(A Forecast, 1877.) 

James Brunton Stephens. 
She is not yet; but he whose ear 
Thrills to that finer atmosphere ' 

Where footfalls of appointed things,' 

Reverberant of days to be. 
Are heard in forecast echoings. 

Like wave-beats from a viewless sea — 
Hears in the voiceful tremors of the sky 
Auroral heralds whispering, "She is nigh." 

She is not yet; but he whose sight 
Foreknows the advent of the light, 
Whose soul to morning radiance turns 

Ere night her curtain hath withdrawn, 
And in its quivering folds discerns 
The mute monitions of the dawn, 
With urgent sense strained onward to descry 
Her distant tokens, starts to find Her nigh. 



JAMES BRUNT ON STEPHENS. 19 

Not yet her day. Hqw long "not yet?" . . . 
There comes the flush of violet! 
And heavenward faces, all aflame 

With sanguine imminence of morn, 
Wait but the sun-kiss to proclaim 
The Day of The Dominion born. 
Prelusive baptism! — ere the natal hour 
Named with the name and prophecy of power. 

Already here to hearts intense, 
A spirit-force, transcending sense, 

In heights unsealed, in deeps unstirred, 

'Beneath the calm, above the storm. 
She waits the incorporating word 
To bid her tremble into form. 
Already, like divining rods, men's souls 
Bend down to where the unseen river rolls ; — 



For even as, from sight concealed. 
By never flush of dawn revealed. 
Nor e'er illumed by golden noon. 

Nor sunset-streaked with crimson b'ar, 
Nor silver-spanned by wake of moon, 
Nor visited of any star. 
Beneath these lands a river waits to bless 
(So men divine) our utmost wilderness, — 

Rolls dark, but yet shall know our skies, - 
Soon as the wisdom of the wise 
Conspires with nature to disclose 
The blessing prisoned and unseen, 



20 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Till round our lessening wastes there glows 
A perfect zone of broadening green, — 
Till all our land, Australia Felix called, 
Become one Continent-Isle of Emerald; 

So flows beneath our good and ill 
A viewless stream of Common Will, 
A gathering force, a present might, 

That from its silent depths of gloom 
At Wisdom's voice shall leap to light. 
And hide our barren feuds in bloom, 
Till, all our sundering lines with love o'ergrown. 
Our bounds shall be the girdling seas alone. 



AUSTRALIA. 

Bernard O'Dowd. 

Last sea-thing dredged by sailor Time from Space, 

Are you a drift Sargasso, where the West 

In halcyon calm rebuilds her fatal nest? 

Or Delos of a coming Sun-God's race? 

Are you for Light, and trimmed, with oil in place. 

Or but a Will o' Wisp on marshy quest? 

A new demesne for Mammon to infest? 

Or lurks millennial Eden 'neath your face? 

The cenotaphs of species dead elsewhere 
That in your limits leap and swim and fly. 
Or trail uncanny harp-strings from your trees. 
Mix omens with the auguries that dare 
To plant the Cross upon your forehead sky, 
A virgin helpmate Ocean at your knees. 



EDWIN JAMES BRADY. 21 

THE WAYS OF MANY WATERS. 

E. J. Brady. 

Because of a painted Fancy 

That is neither old nor new, 
The path of the further distance 

It seemeth for aye more true: 
For this have the Dreamers wandered 

Forlorn, on a golden quest. 
Their sails in the sunset dipping 

Aslant to the reddened West: 

For this have the Rovers journeyed, 

Subtle and strange though it seem. 
Spelled by the shade of a shadow, 

Lured by the loot of a dream. 
And so doth the Great Fleet gather, 

The fleet of a thousand sail, 
With a long-oared galley leading 

And a liner at the tail. 

They sweep with a song from Sidon, 

The song of an old desire. 
They come with a crash of trumpets 

Out from the quays of Tyre ; 
,^ Along on the open waters 

Will their leaping galleys line, 
To trade with our tattooed fathers 

The trinkets of Palestine. 



22 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

They swing from their yellow Tiber 

Into the laughing seas, 
With gifts to the gods in passing 

The Pillars of Hercules; 
The gleam of imperial purple 

On imperial ocean falls, 
The flag of the legion flutters. 

The stern centurion calls. . . . 



Now, loud is the shout of wassail, 

And the Northern eagle shrieks, 
As the Viking's men come crowding 

Out from the bays and the creeks — 
Sons of the snows and the forests. 

High in the forehead and bold, 
Strong, with the love of strong women. 

Sturdy to take and to hold. . . . 

They glide, with a chant of lovers, 

Into the sleeping lagune — 
The sails of the great Doge, gleaming 

Silver and silk in the moon ; 
While far in the East she glimmers 

On Indian argosies 
That bear to the sun's red rising 

The trade of the Genoese. . . . 



And lo, from an English harbour, 
In his jerkin brown a rose. 

With a broad swOrd in his scabbard. 
The sturdy John Cabot goes : 



EDWIN JAMES BRADY. 23 

Westward and westward forever, 

But ever of stout intent 
To claim for his burly monarch 

Fair share of a Continent. 



And now 'tis .a white-haired Spaniard 

Seeking, in travail and ruth, 
The place of the fabled waters, 

The fount of enduring youth ; 
The gallants of gay De Soto 

Bear out on the seas again. 
And Cortes, with banners trailing. 

Heels down for the Western main. 



They waddle away together, 

Round-bellied, from Rotterdam, 
To trade in the Eastern Islands 

Or barter in Surinam; 
Or far to the South'ard creeping 

With their courage strained and worn, 
They steal from the mystic harbours 

Of a lone new land forlorn. 

Now low on the Southern oceans 
The gleam of their lonely sails. 

Where Tasman undaunted ,has weathered 
The Cape of a Thousand Gales ; 

Where Hartog is boldly sailing 

' Into Australian seas. 

One eye on the chance of plunder, 
And one on the Portuguese. 



24 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

They dart from the nooks and crannies 

White eagles athirst for prey, 
Room for a little adventure, 

And plenty of room to play; 
With letters of marque that cover 

A slip, if it endeth so, 
Then back to their friendly harbour 

Full tilt, with the prize in tow. 

And a low black hull still crosses 

The face of the moon away, 
And again the night re-echoes 

The shout of the turbaned Dey; 
And the night-wind moans and shivers, 

But the Dago seaman swears 
'Tis a ghostly Rover, chiding 

His Barbary corsairs! 

The Company's fleet is booming 

Along on the Sou'-East trade, 
And the braw East India clipper 

On her outward course is laid ; 
She cheers to the rolling troopship 

That buckles into the gale, 
A reef in her straining topsails. 

The red rag over the rail. 

They dip from the docks of Lunnon, 
And out of Cork Harbour go. 

The immigrant tubs full listed — 

"God bless ye !" and "South'ard-ho !" 

Aye, South'ard and South'ard ever, 
The gallant old ships of teak, 



EDWIN JAMES BRADY. 25 

To lie at the banks 6' Yarra 

With their spreading yards apeak. 

Aye, South'ard and West'ard bravely, 

Since ever the years were bom. 
They battle the wild Atlantic, 

They battle around the Horn, 
With the California clipper 

Dainty and deep in the beam, . 
And the Austral clipper racing 

Ahead of the days of steam! 

'Tis a lordly, long convention 

Foregathering day by day. 
From the Mayflower bravely beating 

Her passage to Cape Cod Ba,y, 
From the trim old wooden traders. 

Who smuggled their silks and lace, 
To the steel-built Cunard packet 

With her record-making pace. 

They sleep in the deep, dark. places. 

The fleets of the days gone by ; 
But oft when the flaked sea-fires 

To the churning screw-beats fly, 
At the sound of a faint sad music. 

The lilt of an old-time tune, 
They rise from their grave of waters 
t. To ride 'neath the quiet moon : 

The ships of the Dreamers gather — 

They gather at dead of night 
Till the face of the deep, dark places 

With their crowding sail grows white; 



26 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And then, in a grand procession, 
Away to the West they sail, 
, With a long-oared galley leading 
And a liner at the tail. 



THE RED-TRESSED MAIDEN. 

Roderic Quinn. 

Red she is in a robe of sable, 

Rosy with pictures and tales to tell,- 
She is a fairy, and yet no fable, 

Weaving the dreams that we love so well. 

Out in the dark where the night-winds hurry 
And dead leaves carpet the silent bush, 

She hath a charm for the mind a-worry. 

For the worn white face a fresh young blush. 

Tell her a story of some love laid in 

The grave long since with a maiden white, 

She will not taunt you, the Red-Tressed Maiden 
Dressed in her mantle of starless night. 

With fingers potent as rich wine chosen 
From dusty cellars where years lie dead. 

She melts the ice in the veins long frozen, 

And the blood runs chainless, the heart grows red. 

Her ears have hearkened the joyous laughter, 
Man-made, maid lifted, through years and years, 

To frescoed dome and to smoky rafter, 
And tears and tears and ceaseless tears. 



ROD ERIC QUINN. 27 

Old as the world, and some say older, 

Is she, and yet she is young and sweet : 
She heard the story the Cave-Man told her, 

When hearts were bolder and ruder their beat. 

No tale so trifling but she will listen: 
The long day ended,, the day's toil done ; 

Then wheresoever her great eyes glisten 
An ancient battle is fought and won. 

She is ready to hearken to some chance roamer. 
With a lyre on his shoulder, a lilt on his tongue. 

As she was of old to the blind-eyed Homer 

Who sang high strains when the world was young. 

On winter nights when the roads are qheerless 

And west winds under a frosty moon. 
She paints us Summer in colours peerless 

And the broad gold charm of a tropic noon. 

On summer evenings in sylvan places' 
(The picnic over and stars in the skies). 

She heightens the blush on sun-kissed faces 
And deepens the dream in dear young eyes. 

And who is the Maiden? When Night is about you, 
Pile high the dry leaves and the dead wood, and so 

Make a light for the darkness within and without you . . . 
And now do you see her — and now do you know? 



28 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

I 

BANNERMAN OF THE DANDENONG. 

Alice Werner. 

I rode through the Bush in the burning noon, 

Over the hills to my bride, — 
The track was rough and the way was long, 
And Bannerijian ,of the Dandenong, 

He rode along by nniy side. 

A day's march off my Beautiful dwelt, 
By the Murray streams in the West: — 

Lightly I lilting a gay love-song 

Rode Bannerman of the Dandenong, 
With a blood-red rose on his breast. 

"Red, red rose of the Western streams" 

Was the song he sang that day — 
Truest comrade in hour of need, — 
Bay Mathinna his peerless steed — 

I had my own good grey. 

There fell a spark on the upland grass — 

The dry Bush leapt into flame — 
And I felt my heart go cold as death, 
And Banneirman smiled and caught his breath, — 

But I heard him name Her name. 

Down the hill-side the fire-floods rushed 

On the roaring eastern wind; — 
Neck and neck was the reckless race, — 
Ever the bay mare kept her pace. 

But the grey horse dropped behind. 



ALICE WERNER. 29 

He turned in the saddle — "Let's change, I say!" 

And his bridle rein he drew. 
He Sprang to the ground, — "Look sharp!" he said 
With a backward toss of his curly head — 

"I ride lighter than you!" 

Down and up — it was quickly done — 

No words to waste that day! — 
Swift as a swallow she sped along. 
The good bay mare from Dandenong, — 

And Bannerman rode the grey. 

The hot air scorched like a furnace blast 

From the very mouth of Hell : — 
The blue gums caught and blazed on high 
Like flaming pillars into the sky; . . . 

The grey horse staggered and fell. 

"Ride, ride, lad, — ride for her sake!" he cried :^ 

Lito the gulf of flame 
Were swept, in less than a breathing space. 
The laughing eyes, and the comely face, 

And the lips that named Her name. 

She bore me bravely, the good bay mare; — 

Stunned and dizzy and blind, 
I heard the .sound of a mingled roar — - 
'Twas the Lachlan River that rushed before, 

And the flames that rolled behind. 



30 ' AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Sa.fe — ^safe, at Nammoora gate, 

I fell, and lay like a stone. 
O love! thine arm^ were about me then, 
Thy warm tears called me to life again, — 

But — O God! that I came alone! 



We dwell in peace, my beautiful one 

And I, by the streams in the West, — 
But oft through the mist of my dreams along 
Rides Bannerman of the Dandenong, 
With the blood-red rose on his breast.' 



BY , THE GLENELG. 

Mary Gilmore. 
1. — Sunset. 

Within his tree the magpie trolled. 

Full-noted, all his song, and sweet; 
While, on the wind that murmured by. 

The muffled traffic of the street 

Came to me watching where, aglow. 

The red Noss road, a ribbon lay 
Across the hill and caught, from off 

One radiant cloud, the sun's last splendid ray. 

2. — Twilight. 

I heard the trees, leaf unto leaf, 

Like dumb hands talking in the night ; 
Each to the other as the hour 

Drew to its close, and waned the light. 



MARY GILMORE. 3 J 



I heard the waters whispering; 

And far across the Southern sky 
In lines of black the ibis trailed; 

And out of Silence came his cry. 

3. — Recollection. 

Once in Asuncion, 

Long, long ago in Paraguay^ 
I woke to hear the sentries' call, 

The hours of night, go by. 

Clear through the silent air 

Challenge and answer, whistled sweet. 
Drew, near and nearer, louder grown. 

Marking my very street. 

Passed and grew fainter, call 

And counter shrill, in dwindling rounds 
That lessened till they sank and died 

In silence out of bounds. 

4. — And ParaIlei-. 

So in mine own land have 

■ I heard, at night, the wakened bird 
Among the gums that guard Glenelg, 
Half in his sleep — ^yet stirred — 

Warble his softened call 

That nearer came, from tree to tree. 
And passed, till all the river's length 

Was linked in melody. 



32 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



BIRTH. 

Harry Sullivan. 

I heard a voice in the night, the green night, the warm 

night : 
"Wake, for the earth wakes ; hear its birth !" 
I listened, and hark, through the thick dark, the quick 

dark, 
I heard the green sprouts sprouting all over the earth. 
As I crept, soft stepped, while the world slept, 
Lo, from her gray dream, heavy and cold, 
B'arth broke, and the hills woke, and the plains woke. 
And over the swelling seas in the east, light rolled ; 
Then; like a child, the day smiled, and the year smiled, 

and my heart smiled, 
For over the tomb of buried gloom 
Spring ran wild. 




Bnchjier, Photo. 



HUGH McCRAE. 



HUGH McCRAE. 33 

RED JOHN OF HASLINGDEN. 

Hugh McCrae. 

Betweefl the trees we saw the rood 

Of Mary's chapel in the wood, 
Poised like a hilted sword of old 

Against . a cloud of molten gold. 

And, o'er the river,. came the sound ' 

(Deep as the Devil's bellowing) 
Of Father Francis' lantern hound 

Beneath the apples mellowing. 

White- butterflies swam thro' the leaves 

Of roses on the convent eaves,. 
Or drooped, with milky wings outspread, 

Above the fragrant strawberry-bed. 

And then the grand descendent sun 
Withdrew, while yet his glory flowed, 

And touched, as with a benison, 
The figwood Virgin by the road. 

"We will away," the huntsman said, 

"The stag is heaVy, being, dead ; 
The dogs are restless, and our train 

Thirst for thfe quartern pot again." 

So down the shallow glade we went, . 

And through a pine-enchanted lawn, 
When suddenly amid the bent 

There rose a silent dappled fawn. 



34 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

A silent dappled fawn, I ween, 
With dewy eyes of saffron sheen. 
And, it was clear to all that spied. 
His heart was at its bursting tide. 

"Stand out, Red John," he spoke aloud, 
"Red John of Haslingden, i' fay . . . 
Who with his bow my father pfoud 
An evil hour ago did slay." 

Red John stepped out, a stalwart man 
(Lip curled up from the bouzing-can) : 
"What is a brindled buck to me? . . 
Roast for a pasty-pie," quoth he. 

Forthwith he laid across his string 
A drouthy arrow sharp and light, 
Fletched with a deathful raven's wing; 
"Poor fawn," he said, "you die to-night!" 

Hot wofds ! His great thick bow of yew 
Brake at its middle clean in two. 
And, tangled in a mesh of cord, 
The shaft fell harmless to the sward. 

We cheered, but Red John's face went black 
Beneath his cap of tasselled gelt. 
As, springing down the greenwood track. 
He snatched the dagger from his belt. 

The little fawn leapt lightly by. 
And Red John gave a hunting cry. 
Then sprawled amain, head over boot. 
Athwart a twisted poplar root. 



HUGH McCRAE. 35 

Oh, how we laughed to see him fall, 
The forest echoed with our mirth; 
"Well done. Red John, good man and tall, 
Thou hast inherited the earth!" 

But not a sign or word vouched he. 
Lying his length below the tree. . . . 
"God rest his soul," the page-boy said, 
"For surely Red John now is dead." \ 

"Then woe is me," quoth Hugh MacShane; 
"None better ever walked the sod; 
Alas that this brave wight is slain— 
He owed me twenty guineas odd." 

Thereat they raised him, and we saw 
The sullen blood begin to draw, 
And by the moon's cold April tide 
The dagger tearing through his side, 

I wot he was a heavy man — 
With all their might and breath to lack, 
Not George o' York and Adrian 
Could tie him to his horse's back. 

And iron-throated came the sound 
Of Father Francis' lantern hound 
Deep as the Devil's bellowing 
Berfeath the apples mellowing. 

And some of us rode full of fear, 

And all of us were silent men, 

When we brought home the forest deer, — 

And. poor Red John of Haslingden. 



36 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

DESIREE. 

Barcroft Boake. 

Will she spring with a blush from the arms of Dawn, 

When the sleepy songsters prune 
Their dewy vestments on bush and thorn, 
And the jovial magpie winds his horn 
in sweet reveil to the lazy mor;n. 

And the sun comes all too soon? 
Will she come with him from the farthest rim 

Of the blue Pacific sea? 
But how shall I know my lady? and by 

What token will she know me? 

Will she come to me in the noonday hush. 

When the flowers are fast asleep 
'Neath their counterpane of emerald plush 
In the fragrant warmth of the under-brush, 
Where Spring still lingers on, moist and lush — 

While naught but the shadows creep. 
And all is rest but the eager quest 

And the buzz of the tireless bee? 
And how shall I know my lady then? 

And how will my love know me? 

Or will she come when the gallant Day 

At the hands of Night lies dead? 
When stealthy creatures have right of way 
Among the branches to romp and play, 
And the great green forest turns ashen gray 

At the sound of the dead men's tread? 



BARCROFT BOAKE. 37 

WUl my lady slip with smile on lip 

From the heart of a white box tree ? 
But how shall I know 'tis she who comes? 

And how will she then know me? 

Will her hair, be tinged as when sunbeams gird 

A castle of carmine rock? 
Or brown as a leaf in the sun's kiss curled? 
Or dark as the wing of that sable bird 
' Whose hated voice is so often heard 

In the wake of the bleating flock? 
Or will it be rolled in a crown of gold, 

An emblem of royalty? 
But how shall 1 know 'tis she Who comes? 

And how then, will she know me? 

Is her ear as shapely as Venus' shell, 

And pierced by a diamond gleam? 
Is her hand as white as the immortelle? 
Her voice as sweet as that sounding bell 
The gray bird tolls to the listening dell 

Where the ti-tree hides the stream? 
Have the words been said? Is my lady wed? 

Is my lady bond or free? — 
No matter who claims her earthly form, 

For her heart belongs to me! 

Will her eyes be Clear as the amber flight 

Of the stream over sandstone bar? 
Or darkly blue as the vault of night? 
Will her flesh show pink through its veil of white, 
And its violet-pencilled curves be bright 



38 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And where, oh, where may you find a pair 

Who shall love so well as we? 
But how shall I know my lady? By 

What token will she know me? 

Will her cloak be. shaped from the southern skies 

And girt by a starry sash — 
Like an azure mist, as my lady hies 
With the light of love in her kindling eyes? 
Will she move with the solemn grace that lies 

In the towering mountain ash? . . . 
Will she come at all? may it not btfall 

That our fates are dark and dree? 
That I may never know her at all, 

And she may never know me? 



SETTLERS. 

Dorothea Mackellar. 

If the gods of Hellas do not tread our shaggy mountains — 
Stately, white-and-golden, with unfathomable eyes : 
Yet the lesser spirits haunt our forests and our fountains 
Seas and green-brown river-pools no thirsty summer dries. 

Never through the tangled scrub we see Diana glisten, 
Silver-limbed and crescent-crowned and swift to hear 

and turn, 
When the chase is hottest and the woods are waked to 

listen. 
While her maidens follow running knee-deep in the fern. 



DOROTHEA MACK^LLAR. 39 

Of the great gods only Pan walks hourly here — Pan only ; 
In the warm, dark gullies, in the thin clear upland air, 
On the windy sea-cliils and the plains apart and lonely, 
By the tingling silence you may know that he is there. 

But the sea-nymphs make our shores shine gay with light 

and laughter; 
At the sunset when the waves are mingled milk and fire, 
You may see them very plain, and in the darkness after 
You may hear them singing with the stars' great goldeij 

choir. 

When the earth is mad with song some blue September 

morning, 
In the grove of myall trees that rustle green and grey, 
Through the plumes of trailing leaves hung meet for her 

.adorning, 
See a dark-browed Dryad peep, and swiftly draw away! 

In the deep-cut river beds set thick with moss-grown 

boulders, 
Where the wagtails come to drink, and balance lest they 

fall, 
You may see the gleaming of a Naiad's slippery shoulders. 
And the water sliding cool and quiet over all. 

Through the narrow gorges where the flying-foxes muster, 
Hanging from the kurrajongs like monstrous magic 

grapes. 
Something spreads a sudden fear that breaks each heavy 

cluster — 
See the furry prick-eared faun that chuckles and escapes ! 



40 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Marble-smooth and marble-pale the blue gums guard the 

clearing, 
Where the winter fern is gold among the silver grass, 
And the shy bush creatures watching bright-eyed and 

unfearing. 
See the slender Oreads while we unheeding pass. 

Wreathed with starry clematis these tread the grassy 

spaces, 
When the moon sails up beyond the highest screening tree. 
All the forest dances, and the furthest hidden places 
Are astir with beauty — but :we may not often see. 

Centuries before the golden vision came to find us. 
Showing us the Southern lands, these Grecians settled 

here : 
Now they throng the country, but our little hurries blind 

us, 
■And we must be reverent ere the least of them appear. 



AUSTRALIAN FEDERATION. 

William Gay. 

From all division let our land be free. 

For God has rnade her one : complete she lies 
Within the unbroken circle of the skies. 
And round her indivisible the sea 
Breaks on her single shore; while only wp. 
Her foster children, bound with sacred ties 
Of one dear blood, one storied enterprise, 
Are negligent of her integrity. — 



F. S. WILLIAMSON. 41 

Her seamless garment, at great Mammon's nod, 
With hands unfilial we have basely rent, 
With petty variance our souls are spent, 

And ancienl^ kinship under foot is trod: 
O let us rise, united, penitent. 

And be one people,— mighty, serving God! 



THE MAGPIES' SONG. 

Frank S. Williamson, 

Where the dreaming Tiber wanders by the haunted Appian 

Way, 
Lo ! the nightingale is uttering a sorrow-burdened lay. 
While the olive trees are shaking, and the cypress boughs 

are stirred. 
Palpitates the moon's white bosom to the sorrow of the 

bird. 
Sobbing, sobbing, sobbing; yet a sweeter song I know; 
'Tis the magpies' windblown music where the Gippsland 

rivers flow. 

0, I love to be by Bindi, where the fragrant pastures are. 
And the Tarabo to his bosom takes the trembling Evening 

Star- 
Just to hear the magpies warble in the blue gums On the 

hill, * 
When the frail green flower of twilight in fhe sky is - 

lingering still, 
Calling, calling, calling to the abdicating day ; 
0, they fill my heart with music -as I loiter on my way. 



42 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

0, the windy morn on Matlock, when the last snow- 
wreath had gone, 

And the blackwoods robed by tardy Spring with starlike 
beauty shone ; 

When the lory showed his crimson to the golden blossom 
spread, 

And the Goulburn's grey-green mirror showed the loving 
colours wed; 

Chiming, chiming, chiming in the pauses of the gale. 

How the magpies' notes came ringing down the mountain, 
o'er the vale. 

O, the noon beside the ocean, when the spring tide, land- 
ward set, 
Cast ashore the loosened silver from the waves of violet, 
As the seagod sang a lovesong and the sheoak answer 

made, 
Came the magpies', carol wafted down the piny colonnade. 
Trolling, trolling, trolling in a nuptial melody. 
As it floated from the moaning pine to charm the singing 
sea. 

And the dark hour in the city, when my Love had silent 

flown. 
Nestling in some far-off valley, to the seraphs only known, 
When the violet had no odour and the rose no purple 

bloom, 
And the grey-winged vulture. Sorrow, came rustling 

through the gloom. 
Crooning, crooning, crooning on the swaying garden 

bough ; 
0, the song of hope you uttered then my heart is trilling 

now. 



BERNARD O'DOWD. 43 

Voice of happy shepherd chanting by a stream in Arcady, 
Seems thy song this blue-eyed morning over lilac borne 

to me; 
In his arms again Joy takes me, Hope with dimpling 

cheek appears, 
And my life seems one long lovely vale where grow the 

rosy years; 
Lilting, lilting, lilting; when I slumber at the last, 
Let your music in the joyous wind be ever wandering past. 



LOVE AND SACRIFICE. 

Bernard O'Dowd. 

Can we not consecrate 

To man and God above 
This volume of our great 

Supernal tide of love? 

'Twere wrong its wealth to waste 

On merely me and you, 
In seliish touch and taste. 

As other lovers do. 

This love is not as theirs : 

It came from the Divine, 
Whose glory still it wears, 

And print of Whose design. 

The world is full of woe, 

The time is blurred with dust. 

Illusions breed and grow. 
And eyes' and flesh's lust. 



The mighty league with Wrong 
And stint the weakling's bread ; 

The very lords of song 
With Luxury have wed. 

Fair Art deserts the mass, 
And loiters with the gay ; 

And only gods of brass 
Are popular to-day. 

Two souls with love inspired, 
Such lightning love as ours, 

Could spread, if we desired, 
Dismay among such powers: 

Could social stables purge 
Of filth where festers strife: 

Through modem baseness surge 
A holier tide of life. 

Yea, two so steeped in love 

From such a source, could draw 

The angels from above 
To lead all to their Law. 

We have no right to seek 

Repose in rosy bower. 
When Hunger thins the cheek 

Of childhood every hour : 

Nor while the tiger. Sin, 

'Mid youths and maidens roams, 
Should Duty skulk within 

These selfish, cosy homes. 



HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL. 45 

Our place is in the van 

With those crusaders, who 
Maintain the rights of man 

'Gainst Despot and his crew. 

\i Saciifice may move 

Their load of pain from men, 

The greatest right of Love 
Is to renounce It then. 

Ah, Love, the earth is woe's 

And sadly helpers needs : 
Arid, till its burden goes. 

Our work is — where it bleeds. 



SEPTEMBER IN AUSTRALIA. 

Henry Clarence Kendall. 

Grey Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest. 

And, behold, for repajrment, 
September comes in with the wind of the West 

And the Spring in her raiment! 
The ways of the frost have been filled of the ilowers, 

While the forest discovers 
Wild wings, with the halo of hyaline hours. 

And a music of lovers. 

September, t^e maid with the swift, silver feet ! 

She glides, and she graces 
The valleys of coolness, the slopes of the heat, 

With her blossomy traces ; 



46 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Sweets month, with a mouth that is made of a rose, 

She lightens and lingers 
In spots where the harp of the evening glows. 

Attuned by her fingers. 



The stream from its home in the hollow hill slips 

In a darling old fashion; 
And tlie day goeth down with a song on its lips 

Whose key-note is passion ; 
Far out in the fierce bitter front of the sea 

I stand, and remember 
Dead things that were brothers and sisters of thee, 

Resplendent September. • 

The West, when it blows at the fall of the noon 

And beats on the beaches, 
So filled with a tender and tremulous tune 

That touches and teaches; 
The stories of Youth, of the burden of Time, 

And the death of Devotion, 
Come back with the wind, and are themes of the rhyme 

In the waves of the ocean. 

We, having a secret to others unknown, 

In the cool mountain-mosses, 
May whisper together, September, alone 

Of our loves and our losses. 
One word for her beauty, and one for the grace 

She gave to the hours; 
And then we may kiss her, and suffer her face 

To sleep with the flowers. = 



HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL. 47 

High places that knew of the gold and the white 

On the forehead of Morning 
Now darken and quake, and the steps of the Night 

Are heavy with warning! 
Her voice in the distance is lofty and loud 

Through its echoing gorges; 
She hath hidden her eyes in a mantle of cloud, 

And her feet in the surges ! 

On the tops of the hills, on the turreted cones — 

Chief, temples of thunder — 
The gale, like a ghost, in the middle watch moans. 

Gliding over and under. 
The sea, flying white through the rack and the rain, 

Leapeth wild at the forelands ; 
And the plover, whose cry is like passion with pain, 

Complains in the moorlands. 

I 
Oh, season of changes — of shadow and shine — 

September the splendid ! 
My song hath no music to mingle with thine. 

And its burden is ended; 
But thou, being born of the winds and the sun, 

By mountain, by river, 
Mayst lighten and listen, and loiter and run, 

With thy voices for ever. 



48 . AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

NATIVE COMPANION. 

E. S. Emerson. 

On the open country chancing, 
Have you ever seen the dancing, 

Ever seen the dance, dance, dancing of the cranes? 
'Gainst the sunrise red and golden. 
Watched them tread their measure olden, 

Till they touched you with the spirit of the plains? 



Ah! they have no voice for singing, 
And their notes, when they are winging, 

Make no swan-soiig soft and mellow with delight; 
But the gift the gods have sent them 
Is sufficient to content them, 

And they dance through merry mazes to the hazes of 
the night. 



And the lesson, trite and true, is: 
Whilst you hump your bits o' blueys 

Down the road of Life that skirts the hills of Chance, 
Though you can't sing songs of gladness. 
Still there is no. need for sadness; 

Take the gifts the gods have giv;en you — and dance. 



VICTOiR JAMES DALEY. 49 



A, SUNSET FANTASY. 

Victor J. Daley. 

Spellbound by a sweet fantasy , 

At evenglow I stand 
Beside an opaline strange sea 

That rings a sunset land. 

The liich lights fade out one 'by one, 

Aijd, like a peony 
Drowning in wine, the crimson sun 

Sinks down in that strange sea. 

His wake across the ocean-floor 

In a long glory Ties, 
Like a gold wave-way to the shore 

Of some sea paradise. 

My dream flies after him, and I 

Am in another land; 
The sun sets in anotheT sky, 
. And we sit hand in hand. 

Gray eyes look into mine;' such eyes 

I think the angels' are — ■ 
Soft as the soft light in the skies 

When shines the morning star. 

And tremulous as morn, when thin 

Gold lights begin to glow, 
Revealing the briglit soul within 

As dawn the sun below. 



50 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

So, hand in hand, we watch the sun 
Burn down the Western deeps, 

Dreaming a charmed dream, as one 
Who in enchantment sleeps ; 

A dream of how we twain some day. 
Careless of map or chart, 

Will both take ship and sail away 
Into the sunset's heart. 

Our ship shall be of sandal built. 
Like ships in old-world tales, 

Carven with cunning art, and gilt. 
And winged with scented sails 

Of silver silk, whereon the red 

Great gladioli burn, 
A rainbow-flag at her masthead, 

A rose-flag at her stern. 

And, perching on the point above 
Wherefrom the pennon blows. 

The figure of a flying dove, 
And in her beak a rose. 

And from the fading land the breeze 
Shall bring us, blowing low, 

Old odours and old memories. 
And airs of long ago — 

A melody that has no words 

, Of mortal speech a part. 
Yet touching all the deepest chords 
That tremble in the heart: 



VICTOR JAMES DALEY. 51 

A scented . song blown oversea, 

As though from bowers of bloom ' 

A wind-harp in a lilac-tree 
Breathed music and perfume. 

And we, no more with longings palej 

Will smile to hear it blow; 
I in the shadow of the sail, 

You in the sunset-glow. 

For, with the fading land, our fond 

Old fears shall all fade out. 
Paled by the light from shores beyond 

The dread of Death or Doubt. 

And from a gloomy cloud above 

When Death his shadow flings, 
The Spirit of Immortal Love 

Will shield us with his wings. 

Hei is the lord of dreams divine, 

And lures us with his smiles 
Along' the splendour opaline 

Unto the Blessed Isles. 



! AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

THE STAR OF AUSTRALASIA. 

Henry Lawson. 

^e boast no more of our bloodless flag, that rose from 

a nation's slime; 
etter a shred of a deep-dyed rag from the storms of the 

olden time, 
rom grander clouds in our 'peaceful skies' than ever 

were there before 
tell you the Star of the South shall rise — in the lurid 

clouds, of war. 
t ever must be while blood is warm and the sons of men 

increase ; 
'or ever the nations rose in storm, to rot in a deadly 

, peace, 
'here comes a point that wc will not yield, no matter if 

right or wrong, 
Lud man will fight on the battle-field while passion and 

pride are strong — 
long as he will not kiss the rod, and his stubborn 

spirit sours, 
Lnd the scorn of Nature and curse of God are heavy on 

peace like ours. 



'here are boys out there by the western creeks, who -hurry 

away from school 
■"o climb the sides of the breezy peaks or dive in the 

shaded pool, 
V^ho'll stick to their guns when the mountains quake to 

the tread of a mighty war. 



HENRY LAW SON. 53 

And fight for Right or a Grand Mistake as men never 

fought before; 
When the peaks are scarred and the sea-walls crack till 

the furthest hills vibrate, 
And the world for a while goes rollinjg back in a storm 

of love and hate. 



There are boys to-day in the city slum and the home of 

wealth and pride 
Who'll have one home when the storm is come, and fight 

for it side by side. 
Who'll hold the cliffs 'gainst the armoured hells that 

batter a coastal town. 
Or grimly die in a hail of shells when the walls come 

crashing down. 
And riiany a pink-white baby girl, the queen of her home 

to-day, 
Shall see the wings of the tempest whirl the mist of our 

dawn away — 
Shall live to shudder and stop her ears to the thud of. the 

distant gun. 
And know the sorrow that has no tears when a battle' is 

lost and won, — 
As a mother or wife in the years to come, will kneel, 

wild-eyed and white. 
And pray to God in her darkened home for the 'men. 

in the fort to-night.' 



But, oh! if the cavalry charge again as they did when 

the world was wide, 
'Twill be grand in the ranks of a thousand men in that 

glorious race to ride 



54 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And strike for all that is true and strong, for all that is 

grand and brave, 
And all that ever shall be, so long as man has a soul to 

save. 
He reiust lift the saddle, and close his 'wings,' and shut . 

his angels out, 
And steel his heart for the end of things, who'd ride with ' 

a stockman scout. 
When the race they ride on the battle track, and the 

waning distance hums. 
And the shelled sky shrieks or the rifles crack like stock- 
whip amongst the gums — 
And the 'straight' is reached and the field is 'gapped' and 

the hoof-torn sward grows red 
With the blood of those who are handicapped with iron 

and steel and lead; 
And' the gaps are filled, though unseen by eyes, with the 

spirit and with the shades 
Of the world-wide rebel dead who'll rise and rush with 

the Bush Brigades. 



All creeds and trades will have soldiers there — give every 

class its' due — 
And there'll be many a clerk to spare for the pride of the 

jackeroo. 
They'll fight for honour and fight for love, and a few 

will fight for gold. 
For the devil below and for God above, as our fathers 

fought of old; 
And some half-blind with exultant tears, and some stifE- 

lipped, stem-eyed, 



HENRY LAW SON. 55 

For the pride of a thousand after-years aiid the old 

eternal pride; 
The soul of the world they will feel and see in the chase 

and the grim retreat — 
They'll know the glory of victory — and the grandeur of 

defeat. 



The South will wake to a mighty change ere a hundred 

years are done, 
With arsenals west of the mountain range and every spur 

its gun. 
And many a rickety son of a gun, on the tides of the 

future tossed, 
Will tell how battles were really won that History says 

were lost, 
Will trace the field with his pipe, and shirk the facts that 

are hard to explain. 
As grey old mates of the diggings work the old ground 

over again — 
How "this was our centre, and this a redoubt, and that 

was a scrub in the rear. 
And this was the point where the guards held out, and 

the enemy's lines were here." 



They'll tell the tales of the nights before and the tales 

of the ship and fort 
Till the sons of Australia take to war as their fathers 

took to sport. 
Their breath come deep and their eyes grow bright at the 

tales of our chivalry. 



56 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And every boy will want to fight, no matter what cause 

it be — 
When the children run to the doors and cry: "Oh, 

mother, the troops are come !" 
And every heart in the town leaps high at the first loud 

thud of the drum. 
They'll know, apart from its mystic charm, what music is 

at last, 
When, proud as a boy with a broken arm, the regiment 

marches past. 
And the veriest wreck in the drink-fiend's clutch, no 

matter how low or mean, 
Will feel, when he hears the march, a touch of the man 

that he might have been. 



And this you learn from the libelled past, though its 

methods were somewhat rude — 
A nation's born where the shells fall fast, or its lease of 

life renewed. 
We in part atone for the ghoulish strife, and the crimes 

of the peace we boast, 
^.nd the better part of a people's life in the storm comes 

uppermost. 



The self -same spirit that drives the man to the depths of 

drink and crime 
NiW do the deeds in the heroes' van that live to the end 

of time. 
The living death in the lonely bush, the greed of the 

selfish town, 



MARY H ANN Ay FOOTT. 57 

And even the creed of the outlawed push is chivalry — 
upside down. 

'Twill be while ever our blood is hot, while ever the world 

goes wrong, 
The nations rise ip a war, to rot in a peace that lasts too 

long. 
And southern nation and southern state, aroused from 

their dream of ease. 
Must sign in the Book of Eternal Fate their stormy 

histories. 



WHERE THE PELICAN BUILDS.' 

Mary Hannay Fgott. 

The horses were ready, the rails were down. 
But the riders lingered still — 

One had a parting word to say, 
And one had his pipe to fill. 
Then they mounted, one with a granted prayer. 
And one with a grief unguessed. 

"We are going," they said, as they rode away — 
"Where the pelican builds her nest !" 

They had told us of pastures wide and green, 
To be sought past the sunset's glow; 

Of rifts in the ranges by opal lit ; 
And gold 'neath the river's flow. 
And thirst and hunger were banished words 
When they spoke of that unknown West; 

No drought they dreaded, no flood they feared, 
Where the pelican builds her nest! 



58 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The creek at the ford was but fetlock deep 
When we watched them crossing there; 

The rains have replenished it thrice since then, 
And thrice has the rock lain bare. 
But the waters of Hope have flowed and fled, 
And never from blue hill's breast 

Come back — by the sun and the sands devoured, 
Where the pelican builds her nest. 



HAPPY CREEK. 

John Bernard O'Hara. 
The little creek goes winding 
Thro' gums of white and blue, 
A silver arm 
Around the farm 
It flings, a lover true; 
And softly, where the rushes lean, 
It sings (O sweet and low) 
A lover's song, 
And winds along 
How happy — ^lovers know! 

The little creek goes singing 
By maidenhair and moss. 
Along its banks 
In rosy ranks 
The wild flowers wave and toss ; 
And ever where the ferns dip down 
It sings (0 sweet and low) 
A lover's song, 
And winds along. 
How happy — lovers know! 



WILL LAWSON. 59 

The little creek takes colour 
From summer skies above; 

Now blue, now gold, 

Its waters fold 
The clouds in closest love; 
But loudly when the thunders roll 
It sings (nor sweet, nor low) 

No lover's song, 

But sweeps along, 
How angry — lovers know ! 

The little creek for ever 

Goes winding, winding down. 

Away, away. 

By night, by day. 
Where dark the ranges frown; 
Biit ever as it glides it sings. 
It sings (O sweet and low) 

A lover's song. 

And winds along, 
How happy — lovers know! 



THE FORTY-FOURS. 

Will Laws on. 

[There are forty-four submerged rocks off Chatham 
Islands, where the "Loch Long" recently went down.] 

They lurk, awash in the swell, ^ 

With cruel lips afoam. 
And never a swinging bell 

To steady the good ships home. 



60 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

No lighthouse winks in the gloom 

When the mad sou! -easier roars — 
You may drive her blind through the flying spume, 
With thunder of rods in the engine-room j 
And never an eye will mark your doom 

Out on the Forty-Fours! 

There where The Sisters stand, 

Seeming to say "Beware!" 
This black-browed wrecker band 

Crouches within its lair; 
And the racing clipper ships, 

With canvas towering high. 
Watch for the lick of the lips 

That marks where the hard fangs lie. 
A cry from the fo'c's'le-head! 

And a staggering sea that pours ! 
And what does it matter if hearts new-wed 
Cry out for the women's tears unshed, 
When the lights are sinking — the green and red — 

Out on the Forty- Fours? 

A wife in a Cornish town 

Looks out on the deep-sea track, 
Where the ships pass up and down, 

For a ship that never comes back; 
And down where the Chathams drowse, 

In a sea of dazzling blue. 
There's a ship with shattered bows 

And stout ribs broken through. 
Nobody saw her fly 

Like a stag f rnm 1-h p Hin r»f wara ■ 



WILL LAW SON. 61 

Nobody heard her sailors cry 
As they strove to veer in the billows high; 
Nobody saw them choke and die, 
Save God — and the Forty- Fours. 

Eastward from Godley Head 

They lurk with their lips a-snarl, 
Hoarding their treasured , dead — 

Henri and Jack and Karl. 
From Kiel to the Golden Gate 

The swift prows lifted spray, 
But the motTiers and wives may wait. 

And the sweethearts mourn and pray, 
Fpr^down at the heel of thingSj 

Where the whipped, foam stings and scores,' 
There's a shattered hull that swings 
To a dirge that the tempest sings, 
Aiid the sea, as it marches, flings 

A curse on the Forty-Fours. 

Never a swinging bell. 

Never a blazing star 
Marks where, beneath the swell, 

The four-and- forty are. 
Crouching like beasts to spring 

At the solid ribs and floors— 
You may 'drive till your engines roar and ring. 
And never an eye will see you swing 
And crash and sink, for pauper or king 

Dies on the Forty-Fours. 



62 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

BALLADE OF THE ISLANDS OF THE BLEST. 

Archibald T. Strong. 

There lies a careless twilight land 

Set in a slumbrous sea of gold, 
By cloud caressed, by zephyr fanned, 
Beyond the instant winter cold, 
In swathe of aureate mist enrolled, 
Without the felon world's unrest — 

There dwell the immortal ones of old 
Far in the Islands of the Blest! 

For there, on that inviolate strand. 

Lives Homer's spirit, stark and bold. 
The staunch Pythagorean band 

Whom deathless bonds of love enfold: 
Dark Heraclitus, care-enstolled, 
Democritus, the Prince of Jest, 

And Socrates, the gentle-souled, 
Far in the Islands of the Blest! 

There, too, the puissant heroes stand. 

Titanic forms of godlike mould, 
There he that reft the fiery brand 
From sheer Olympus' cloudy hold. 
And he whom Jove, unwilling, sold 
To work the Argive King's behest — 

Full late his tale of labour told 
Far in the Islands of the Blest ! 



BLANCHE EDITH BAUGHAN. 63 

l'envoi. 

Ye princes all whom earth doth hold 

By load of lordship sore opprest, 
May Hermes bring you safe to fold 

Far in the Islands of the Blest! 



THE PADDOCK. 
(Extract.) 

Blanche E. Baughan. 

The settler's wife speaks 

Better yet, ay ! best of all, 
Clearer every day to trace 
The handwriting of release-r 
Patience brightening into Peace — 
In the faithful furrow'd face. 
In the heart more true than Truth : 
With whose every throb I feel 
As one cannot, quite, in youth. 
Ah, in; those chill years apart, 
Dealing trustfully and true, 
Nea.rer yet our natures grew; 
That shared struggle heart to heart. 
Soul to soul, more deeply drew:^- 
Till, so knitted now, so near. 
So to one-ness are we grown. 
Not one shred of me's alone! 
All I say, or mean, or do, 
Hope, or dream, is mixt with you — 
Andrew ! are we one or two ? 



64 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

In the eternal years ahead 

Can we come more closely wed? 

Thus each glorious day goes by 

In unhurried industry; 

And each night, the dear day done. 

Brings no setting to our sun. 

Sweet, sweet life, that knows no change ! 

— ^Just what Janet finds so strange. 

I must get that child away 

For a good long holidav : 

Young things need to rove and range. 

But Oh ! I triumph in my lot ! 

Oh ! I glory in my life ! 

Could my fortune be more fair? 

. . . Mistress of my home-made home. 

Mother of my happy pair. 

Happy Andrew's happy wife I 

Sometimes, in the quiet night, 
I lie still and think it over, 
Feel and finger o'er my joys. 
As my Jeanie does her toys. 
Till, as, drowsied with delight, 
Down the darling sinks to sleep, 
Carelessly in careful arms 
Cradled safelj^ nestling deep: 
So I, slipping out of thought, 
Sure of nothing else, still feel - 
Folded safe in happiness, 
Buoy'd up in the great Caress 
Of some lasting, world-wide Weal ; 
Mighty ; more than all things. Real ! 




HUBERT CHURCH. 



BLANCHE EDITH BAUGHAN. 65 

Shallow, once, quite dry in drought, 

Lay my little rock-bound well; 

Pain his fuse and powder brought, 

Patiently and long he wrought . . . 

Then, when rains of rapture fell, 

Lo, the miracle ! 

Not alone in larger measure 

Smiling shone the heaven-sent treasure, 

But, within the hollowing 

Of the torn and broken earth. 

See, Oh see ! a living spring 

Blasted into birth ! 

Daily, daily, more and more 

Drawing from its unseen store: 

Gushing, rushing, welling free, 

Welling, swelling, filling up 

Even this, my deepen'd cup. — 

Filling up ? Ay ! brimming over . . . 

Oh ! it is too much for me. 

To the All-holding Reservoirs, 

To the never-sounded Sea 

Of Your Joy, Heart Divine! 

Take the overflow of mine. 



66 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

MY QUEEN OF DREAMS. 

Philip J. Holdsworth. 

In the warm-flushed heart of the rose-red West, 
When the great sun quivered and died to-day, 
You pulsed, O star, by yon pine-clad crest. 
And throbbed till the bright eve ashened grey. 

Then I saw you swim 

By the shadowy rim 
Where the great gum dips to the western plain. 

And you rayed delight 

As you winged your flight 
To the mystic spheres where your kinsmen reign ! 

star, did you see her — ^my queen of dreams? 

Was it you that glimmered the night we strayed 
A month ago by these scented streams. 

Half-checked by the litter the musk-buds made? 
Did you sleep or wake? — 
Ah, for Love's sweet sake, 
(Though the world should fail, and the soft stars 
wane I ) 

I shall dream delight 
Till our souls take flight 
To the mystic spheres where your kinsmen reign I 



HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL. 67 

BELL-BIRDS. 

Henry Clarence Kendall. 
By channels of coo'lness the echoes are calling, 
And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling; 
It lives in the mountain, where moss and the sedges 
Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges; 
Through brakes of the cedar and sycamore bowers 
Struggles the light that is love to the flowers. 
And softer than slumber, and sweeter than singing. 
The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing. 

The silver-voiced bell-birds, the darlings of day-time. 
They sing in September their songs of the May-time. 
When shadows wax strong, and the thunder-bolts hurtle, 
They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle ; 
When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together 
They start up like fairies that follow fair weather. 
And straightway the hues of their feathers unf olden 
Are the green and the purple, the blue and the golden. 

October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses. 
Loiters for love in these cool wildernesses ; 
Loiters knee-deep in the grasses to listen. 
Where dripping rocks gleam and the leafy pools glisten. 
Then is the time when the water-moons splendid 
Break with their gold, and are scattered or blended 
Over the creeks, till the woodlands have warning 
Of songs of the bell-bird and wings of the morning. 

Welcome as waters unkissed by the summers 
Are the voices of bell-birds to thirsty far-comers. 
When fiery December sets foot in the forest. 
And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest, 



68 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Pent in the ridges for ever and ever, 
The bell-bird directs him to spring and to river, 
With ring and with ripple, like runnels whose torrents 
Are toned by the pebbles and leaves in the currents. 

Often I sit, looking back to a childhood 

Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood, 

Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion 

Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of passion — 

Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters 

Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest rafters; 

So I might keep in the city and alleys 

The beauty and strength of the deep mountain valleys. 

Charming to slimiber the pain of my losses 

With glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses. 



THE SICK STOCKRIDER. 

Adam Lindsay Gordon. 
Hold hard, Ned ! Lift me down once more, and lay me 
in the shade. 
Old man, you've had your work cut out to guide 
Both horses, and to hold me in the saddle when I sway'd, 

All through the hot, slow, sleepy, silent ride. 
The dawn at "Moorabinda" was a mist-rack dull and 
dense, 
The sunrise was a sullen, sluggish lamp ; 
I was dozing in the gateway at Arbuthnot's bound'ry 
fence, 
I was dreaming on the Limestone cattle camp. 
We crossed the creek at Carricksford, and sharply 
through the haze 
And suddenly the sun shot flaming forth ; 



ADAM LINDSAY GORDON. 69 

To southward lay "Katawa," with the sandpeaks all 
ablaze, 
And the flushed fields of Glen Lomond lay to north. 
Now westward winds the bridle path that leads to 
Lindisfarm, 
And yonder looms the double-headed Bluff; 
From the far side of the first hill, when the skies are 
clear and calm, 
You can see Sylvester's woolshed fair enough. 
Five miles we used to call it from our homestead to the 
place 
Where the big tree spans the roadway like an arch; 
'Twas here we ran the dingo down that gave us such a 
chase 
Eight years ago — or was it nine? — last March. 

'Twas merry in the glowing morn, among the gleaming 
grass. 
To wander as we've wandered many a mile, 
And blow the cool tobacco cloud, and watch the white 
wreaths pass. 
Sitting loosely in the saddle all the while. 
'Twas merry 'mid the blackwoods, when we spied the 
station roofs, 
To wheel the wild scrub cattle at the yard. 
With a running fire of stockwhips and a fiery run of 
hoofs ; 
Oh ! the Jiardest day was never then too hard ! 

Aye! we had a glorious gallop after "Starlight" and his 
gang. 
When they bolted from Sylvester's on the flat; 



70 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

How the sun-dried reed-beds crackled, how the flint- 
strewn ranges rang 
To the strokes of "Mountaineer" and "Acrobat." 
Hard behind them in the timber, harder still across the 
heath. 
Close beside them through the tea-tree scrub we dash'd ; 
And the golden-tinted fern leaves, how they rustled under- 
neath ! 
And the honeysuckle osiers, how they crash'd! 

We led the hunt throughout, Ned, on the chestnut and the 
grey, 
And the troopers were three hundred yards behind 
While we emptied our six-shooters on the bushrangers at 
bay, 
In the creek with stunted box-tree for a blind ! 

There you grappled with the leader, man to man and 
horse to horse, 
And you rolled together when the chestnut rear'd; 
He blazed away and missed you in that shallow water- 
course — 
A narrow shave — his powder singed your beard ! 

In these hours when life is ebbing, how those days when 
life was young 
Come back to us; how clearly I recall 
Even the yarns Jack Hall invented, and the songs Jem 
Roper sung; 
And where are now Jem Roper and Jack Hall? 

Aye! nearly all our comrades of the old colonial school, 
Our ancient boon companions, Ned, are gone; 



ADAM LINDSAY GORDON. 71 

Hard livers for the most part, somewhat reckless as a 
rule, 
It seems that you and I are left alone. 



I've had my share of pastime, and I've done my share of 
toil, 

And life is short — the longest life a span; 
I care not now to tarry for the corn or for the oil, 

Or for the wine that maketh glad the heart of man. 
For good undone and gifts misspent, and resolutions vain, 

'Tis somewhat late to trouble. This I know — 
I should live the same life over, if I had to live again; 

And the chances are I go where most men go. 

The deep blue skies wax dusky, and the tall green trees 
grow dim. 
The sward beneath me seems to heave and fall ; 
And sickly, smoky shadows through the sleepy sunlight 
swim. 
And on the very sun's face weave their palL 
Let me slumber in the hollow where the wattle blossoms 
wave. 
With never stone or rail to fence my bed; 
Should the sturdy station children pull the bush flowers 
on my grave, 
I may chance to hear them romping overhead. 



72 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



MORNING PEACE. 

Arthur H. Adams. 
The sudden sunbeams slant between the trees 
Like solid bars of silver, moonlight kissed, 
And strike the supine shadows where they rest 
Stretched sleeping; while a timid, new-born Breeze 
Stirs through the grasses, petulant — her eyes 
Half -blinded by the clinging scarves of mist: 
Her robes, that tangled through the grasses twist. 
Weave as she moves sweet whispered melodies. 

O, may it be a morn like this, when slow 
From a dark world beneath my soul shall go 
Through the wet grasses of a purple plain. 
Still stretching broader in the cool, grey glow 
Of morning twilight : then my soul shall know 
That life and love are lost — and found again ! 



Extract from ROOTS OF DREAMS. 

"Furnley Maurice.'' 

Stand by the Fact and let the Dream go by. 
The painted sunset and the sugared word ; 
Turn from the things that no soul felt or heard, 

And learn how young men laugh and old men die. 



JOHN SANDES. 73 



"WITH DEATH'S PROPHETIC EAR." 

John Sondes {"Oriel"). 
A dying Boer soldier speaks — 

Lay my rifle here beside me, set my Bible on my breast, 

For a moment let the warning bugles cease; 
As the century is closing I am going to my rest, 

Lord, lettest Thou Thy servant go in peace. 
But loud through all the bugles rings a cadence in mine 
ear, 

And on the winds my hopes of peace are strowed. 
Those winds that waft the voices that already I can hear 

Of the rooi-baatjes singing on the road. 

Yes, the red-coats are returning, I can hear the steady 
tramp. 
After twenty years of waiting, lulled to sleep, 
Since rank and file at Potchefstroom we hemmed them in 
their camp. 
And cut them up at Bronkerspruit like sheep. 
They shelled us at Ingogo, but we galloped into range, 
., And we shot the British gunners where they showed. 
I guessed they would return to us, I knew the chance must 
change — 
Hark! the rooi-baatjes singing on the road! 

But now from snow-swept Canada, from India's torrid 
plains. 

From lone Australian outposts, hither led. 
Obeying their commando, as they heard the bugle's strains. 

The men in brown have joined the men in red. 



74 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

They come to find the colours at Majuba left and lost, 
They come to pay us back the debt they owed ; 

And I hear new voices lifted, and I see strange colours 
tossed, 
'Mid the rooi-baatjes singing on the road. 

The old, old faiths must falter, and the old, old creeds 
must fail — ' 

I hear it in that distant murmur low — 
The old, old order changes, and 'tis vain for us to rail, 

The great world does not want us — we must go. 
And veldt, and spruit, and kopje to the stranger will 
belong. 

No more to trek before him we shall load ; 
Too well, too well I know it, for I hear it in the song 

Of the rooi-baatjes singing on the road. 



AN AUSTRALIAN SYMPHONY. 

George Essex Evans. 

Not as the songs of other lands 

Her song shall be 
Where dim Her purple shore-line stands 

Above the sea! 
As erst she stood, she stands alone; 
Her inspiration is her own. 
From sunlit plains to mangrove strands 
Not as the sohgs of other lands 

Her song shall be. 



GEORGE ESSEX EVANS. 75 

O, Southern Singers 1 Rich and sweet, 

Like chimes of bells, 
The cadence swings with rhythmic beat. 

The music swells; 
But undertones, weird, mournful, strong. 
Sweep like swift currents thro' the song. 
In deepest chords, with passion fraught, 
In softest notes of sweetest thought. 

This sadness dwells. ! 

Is this her song, so weirdly strange, 

So mixed with pain, 
That wheresoe'er her poets range 

Is heard the strain? 
Broods there no spell upon the air 
But desolation and despair? 
No voice save Sorrow's, to intrude 
Upon her mountain solitude 

Or sun-kissed plain ? " 

The silence and the sunshine creep 

With soft caress 
O'er billowy plain and mountain steep 

And wilderness — 
A vglvet touch, a subtle breath. 
As sweet as love, as calm as death, 
On earth, on air, so soft, so fine. 
Till all the soul a spell divine 

O'ershadoweth. ' 



76 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The gray gums by the lonely creek, 

The star-crowned height, 
The wind-swept plain, the dim blue peak, 

The cold white light. 
The solitude spread near and far 
Around the camp-fire's tiny star, 
The horse-bell's melody remote. 
The curlew's melancholy note, 

Across the night — 



These have their message ; yet f rein these 

Our songs have thrown 
O'er all our Austral hills and leas 

One sombre tone. 
Whence doth the mournful keynote start? 
From the pure depths of Nature's heart? 
Or, from the heart of him who sings 
And deems his hand upon the strings 

Is Nature's own? 



Could tints be deeper, skies less dim. 

More soft and fair, 
Dappled with milk-white clouds that swim 

In faintest air? 
The soft moss sleeps upon the stone, 
Green scrub-vine traceries enthrone 
The dead gray trunks, and boulders red, 
Roofed by the pine and carpeted 

With maidenhair. 



GEORGE ESSEX EVANS. 77 

But far and near, o'er each, o'er all, 

Above, below, 
Hangs the great silence like a pall 

Softer than snow. 
Not sorrow is the spell it brings, 
But thoughts of calmer, purer things, 
Like the sweet touch of hands we love, 
A woman's tenderness above 

A fevered brow. 



These purple hills, these yellow leas. 

These forests lone, 
These mangrove shores, these shimmering seas. 

This summer zone — ■ 
Shall they inspire no nobler strain 
Than songs of bitterness and pain? 
Strike her wild harp with firmer hand. 
And send her music thro' the land. 

With loftier tone ! 



Her song is silence; unto her 

Its mystery clings. 
Silence is the interpreter 

Of deeper things. 
O for sonorous voice and strong 
To change that silence into song! 
To give that melody release 
Which sleeps in the deep heart of peace 

With folded wings. 



78 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

WORDS. 

Charles Harpur. 

Words are deeds. The words we hear 
May revolutionize or rear 
A mighty State. The words we read 
May be a spiritual deed 
Excelling any fleshly one, 
As much as the celestial sun 
Transcends a bonfire, made to throw 
A light upon some raree-show; 
A simple proverb tagged, with rhyme, 
May colour half the course of time; 
The pregnant saying of the sage 
May influence every coming age; 
A song in its effect may be 
More 'glorious than Thermopylae, 
And many a lay that schoolboys scan 
A nobler feat than Inkerman. 



FAIRYLAND. 

Anne Glenny Wilson. 

Do you remember that careless band, 
Riding o'er meadow and wet sea-sand. 

One autumn day, in a mist of sunshine. 
Joyously seeking for fairyland? 



ANNE GLENNY WILSON. 79 

The wind in the tree-tops was scarcely heard, 

The streamlet repeated its one silver word, ' 

And far away, o'er the depths of woodland, 
Floated the bell of the parson-bird. 

Pale hoar-frost glittered in shady slips. 
Where ferns were dipping their finger-tips, 

From mossy branches a faint perftune 
Breathed over honeyed clematis lips. 

At last we climbed to the ridge on high : 
Ah, crystal vision ! Dreamland nigh ! 
Far, far below us, the wide Pacific 
Slimibered in azure from sky to sky. 

And cloud and shadow, across the deep 
Wavered, or paused in enchanted sleep, 
And eastward, the purple-misted islets 
Fretted the wave with terrace and steep. 

We looked on the tranquil, glassy bay. 
On headlands sheeted with dazzling spray. 

And the whitening ribs of a wreck forlorn 
That for twenty years had wasted away. 

All was so calm, and pure and fair. 
It seemed the hour of worship there. 

Silent, as where the great North Minster 
Rises for ever, a visible prayer. 

Then we turned from the murmurous forest-land. 
And rode over shingle and silver sand. 

For so fair was the earth in the golden autumn. 
We sought no farther for Fairyland. 



80 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

SOLITUDE. 
(After the picture by Lord Leighton, P.R.A.) 

J. L. Cuthbertson. 

This is the maiden Solitude, too fair 

For mortal eyes to gaze on — she who dwells 
In the lone valley where the water wells 

Clear from the marble, where the mountain air 

Is resinous with pines, and white peaks bare 
Their unpolluted bosoms to the stars. 
And holy Reverence the passage bars 

To meaner souls who seek to enter there. 

Only the worshipper at Nature's shrine 
May find that maiden waiting to be won, 
With broad calm brow and meek eyes of the dove. 

May drink the rarer ether all divine. 

And, earthly toils and earthly troubles done. 
May win the longed-for sweetness of her love. 



AFTER MANY YEARS. 

H. C. Kendall. 

The song that once I dreamed about, 

The tender touching thing, 
As radiant as the rose without. 

The love of wind and wing : 
The perfect verses, to the tune 

Of woodland music set. 
As beautiful as afternoon. 

Remain unwritten yet. 



HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL. 81 

It is too late to writfe them now — 

The ancient fire is cold; 
No ardent lights illume the brow, 

As in the days of old. 
I cannot dream the dream again; 

Butj when the happy birds 
Are singing in the sunny rain, 

I think I hear its words. 

I think I hear the echo still 

Of long-forgotten tones. 
When evening winds are on the hill 

And supset fires the cones; 
But only in the hours supreme. 

With songs of land and sea, 
The lyrics of the leaf and stream, 

This echo comes to me. 

No longer doth the earth reveal ' 

Her gracious green and gold; 
I sit where youth was once, and feel 

That I am growing old. 
The lustre from the face of things 

Is wearing all away; 
Like one who halts with tired wings, 

I rest and muse to-day. 

There is a river in the range 

I love to think about; 
Perhaps the searching feet of change 

Have never found it out. 
Ah ! oftentimes I used to look 

Upon its banks, and long 



82 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

To steal the beauty of that brook 
And put it in a song. 

I wonder if the slopes of moss, 

In dreams so dear to me — 
The falls of flower, and flower-like floss — 

Are as they used to be! 
I wonder if the waterfalls, 

The singers far and fair. 
That gleamed between the wet, green walls, 

Are still the marvels there! 

Ah! let me hope that in that place 

Those old familiar things 
To which I turn a wistful face 

Have never taken wings. 
Let me retain the fancy still 

That, past the lordly range, 
There always shines, in folds of hill, 

One spot secure from change 1 

I trust that yet the tender screen 
That shades a certain nook. 

Remains, with all its gold and green, 
r The glory of the brook. 

It hides a secret to the birds 
And waters only known: 

The letters of two lovely words — 
A poem on a stone. 

Perhaps the lady of the past 
Upon these lines may light. 

The purest verses, and the last. 
That I may ever write: 



ADAM LINDSAY GORDON. 83 

She need not fear a word of blame: 

Her tale the flowers keep — 
The wind that heard me breathe her name 

Has been for years asleep. 

But in the night, and when the rain 

The troubled torrent fills, 
I often think I see again 

The river in the hills; 
And when the day is very near. 

And birds are on the wing. 
My spirit fancies it can hear 

The song I cannot sing. 



HOW WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE. 
(A Lay of the Loamshire Hunt Cup.) 

Adam Lindsay Gordon. 

"Aye, squire," said Stevens, "they back him at evens ; 

The race is all over, bar shouting, they say; 
The Clown ought to beat her ; Dick Neville is sweeter 

Than ever — he swears he can win all the way. 

"A gentleman rider — well, I'm an outsider. 
But if he's a gent, who the mischief's a jock? 

You swells mostly blunder, Dick rides for the plunder — 
He rides, too, like thunder — ^he sits like a rock. 

"He calls 'hunted fairly' a horse that has barely 
Been stripp'd for a trot within sight of the hounds, 

A horse that at Warwick beat Birdlime and Yorick, . 
And gave Abdelkader at Aintree nine poimds. 



84 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

"They say we have no test to warrant a protest; 

Dick rides for a lord and stands in with a steward ; 
The light of their faces they show him — his case is 

Prejudged and his verdict already secured. 

"But none can outlast her, and few travel faster, 
She strides in her work clean away from The Drag; 

You hold, her and sit her, she couldn't be fitter, 
Whenever you hit her she'll spring like a stag. 

"And p'raps the green jacket, at odds though they back 
it, 

May fall, or there's no knowing what may turn up ; 
The mare is quite ready, sit still and ride steady. 

Keep cool ; and I think you may just win the Cup." 

Dark-brown with tan muzzle, just stripped for the tussle, 
Stood Iseult, arching her neck to the curb, 

A lean head and fiery, strong quarters and -wiry, 
A loin rather light, but a shoulder superb. 

Some parting injunction, bestowed with great unction, 
I tried to recall, but forgot like a dunce. 

When Reginald Murray, full tilt on White Surrey, 
Came down in a hurry to start us at once. 

"Keep back in the yellow! Come up on Othello! 

Hold hard on the chestnut! Turn round on The 
Drag ! 
Keep back there on Spartan! Back you, sir, in tartan! 

So ! Steady there ! Easy !" and down went the flag. 



ADAM LINDSAY GORDON. 85 

We started, and Kerr made strong running on Mermaid, 
Through furrows that led to the first stake-and-bound. 

The crack, half extended, looked bloodlike and splendid, 
Held wide on the right where the headland was sound. 



I pulled hard to baffle her rush with the snaffle. 
Before her two-thirds of the field got away, 

All through the wet pasture where floods of the last year 
Still loitered, they clotted my crimson with clay. 

The fourth fence, a wattle, floored Monk and Bluebottle ; 

The Drag came to grief at the blackthorn and ditch, 
The rails toppled over Redoubt and Red Rover, 

The lane stopped Lycurgus and Leicestershire Witch. 

She passed like an arrow Kildare arid Cock Sparrow, 
And Mantrap and Mermaid refused the stone wall; 

And Giles on The Greyling came down at the paling, 
And I was left sailing in front of them all. 

I took them a burster, nor eased her nor nursed her 
Until the Black Bullfinch led into the plough, 

And through the strong bramble we bored with a 
scramble — 
My cap was knocked off by the hazel-tree bough.' 

f 

Where furrows looked lighter I drew the rein tighter — 
Her dark chest all dappled with flakes of white foam. 

Her flanks mud-bespattered, a weak rail she shattered — 
We landed on turf with our heads turned for home. 



86 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Then crashed a low binder, and then close behind her 
The sward to the strokes of the favourite shook; 

His rush roused her mettle, yet ever so little 

She shortened her stride as we raced at the brook. 

She rose when I hit her. I saw the stream glitter, 
A wide scarlet nostril flashed close to my knee, 

Between sky and water The Clown came and caught her. 
The space that he cleared was a caution to see. 

And forcing the running, discarding all cunning, 
A length to the front went the rider in green; 

A long strip of stubble, and then the big double. 
Two stiff flights of rails with a quickset between. 

She raced at the rasper, I felt my knees grasp her, 
I found my hands give to her strain on the bit, 

She rose when The Clown did — our silks as we bounded 
Brush'd lightly, our stirrups clash'd loud as we lit. 

A rise steeply sloping, a fence with stone coping — 
The last — we diverged round the base of the hill ; 

His path was the nearer, his leap was the clearer, 
I flogged up the straight, and he led sitting still. 

She came to his quarter, and on still I brought her. 
And up to his girth, to his breast-plate she drew; 

A short prayer from Neville just reach'd me, "The 
devil !" 
He mutter'd — locked level the hurdles we flew. 

A hum of hoarse cheering, a dense crowd careering. 
All sights seen obscurely, all shouts vaguely heard; 

"The green wins!" "The crimson!" The multitude 
swims on, 
And figures are blended and features are bliirred. 



WILLIAM H. ELSUM. 87 

"The horse is her master !" "The green forges past her !" 
"The Clown will outlast her!" "The Clown wins!" 
"The Clown!" 

The white railing races with all the white faces, 
The chestnut outpaces, outstretches the brown. 

On still past the gateway she strains in the straightway, 
Still struggles. "The Clown by a short neck ^t most !" 

He swerves, the green scourges^ the stand rocks and 
surges, 
And flashes, and verges, and flits the white post. 

Aye! so ends the tussle, — I knew the tan muzzle 

Was first, though the ring-men were yelling "Dead 
heat!" 

A nose I could swear by, but Clarke said "The mare by 
A short head." And that's how the favourite we beat. 



WAITING. 

William H. Elsum. 

Set in the lonely wash of southern seas 

She stands and waits, all timorous, the time 

When the fierce whisperings shall have become 

The scream of senseless war. As the doomed wretch 

Doth bare his shrinking neck, and with a sigh 

Gives tithe to death, so must she, apeing yet 

Pitiful semblance of a waxlike wrath 

With little toys for tools, give nod to Fate, 

And set her silly travesty to rights. 

A prize for who comes first : — ^And what a prize ! 



AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Her empty places pierce, like a great wound, 
Her heart; while 'round her fringe of coast 
Her people fight, and strut, and waste fair, time 
In, tinkling platitudes and paltry sport. 
Conteiitious children, with no shudd'ring fear 
Of what the morrow means, so that to-day 
Be fair, and bright, and prodigal of joy. 
Would we had had to fight for what we have ! — 
We would be better patriots ; would rank 
Our country higher than to let her stand 
Sport for the butchers. 0, must it then be so? 
Is there no Man to guide our halting steps 
Thro' the red labyrinths of what will be 
Toward the light? Must we become the fools 
Of alien princes? Else, ere yet too Me, 
Summon the bloody thoughts of centuries 
Of splendid conquests to our halting aid. 
And, shoulder to shoulder. State to sister State, 
All wrongs forgotten, set our faces toward 
The honour of a white humanity ! 



BABYLON. 



A. G. Stephens. 

Babylon has fallen! Ay; but Babylon endures 
Wherever human wisdom shines or hiunan folly lures ; 
Where lovers lingering walk beside, and happy children 

play, 
Is Babylon! Babylon! for ever and for aye. 
The plan is rudely fashioned, the dream is unfulfilled, 
Yet all is in the archetype if but a builder willed; 



A. G. STEPHENS. 89 

And Babylon is calling us, the microcosm of men, 
To range her walls in harmony and lift her spires again ; 
The sternest walls, the proudest spires, that ever sun 

shone on, 
Halting a space his burning race to gaze on Babylon. 

Babylon has fallen! Ay; but Babylon shall stand: 

The mantle of her majesty is over sea and land. 

Hers is the name of challenge flung, a wa.tchword in the 

fight 
To grapple grim eternities and gain the old delight ; 
And in the word the dream is hid, and in the dream the 

deed, 
And in the deed the mastery for those who dare to lead. 
Surely her day shall come again, surely her breed be born 
To urge the hope of humankind and scale the peaks of 

morn — 
To fight as they who fought till death their bloody field 

upon, 
And kept the gate against the Fate frowning on Babylon. 

Babylon is fallen ! Nay ; for Babylon falls never ; 

Her seat is in the aspiring brain, in nerves that leap and 

quiver : 
Upon her towers of ancient dream Prometheus is throned, 
And still his ravished spark is ilung wherever manhood's 

owned. 
All vices, crimes, and mutinies were Babylon's ; and then 
All honours, prides, and ecstasies — ^for in her streets 

were Men; 
And Man by Man must grow apace, and Man by Man 

must thrive, 



90 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And Man from Man must snatch the torch that lights 

the race alive: 
Yea, here and now her citizens, as in the years far gone, 
Stone by stone, and joy with moan, upbuild Babylon ! 



THE POET. 

Bernard O'Dowd. 
They tell you the poet is useless and empty the soimd of 

his lyre. 
That science has made him a phantom, and thinned to a 

shadow his fire: 
Yet reformer has never demolished a dungeon or den of 

the foe 
But the flame of the soul of a poet pulsated in every blow. 

* * * * 

They tell you he hinders with tinklings, with gags from 

an obsolete stage, 
The dramas of deed and the worship of Laws in a prac- 
tical age: 
But the deeds of to-day are the children of magical 

dreams he has sung, 
And the Laws' are ineffable Fires that from niggardly 

heaven he wrung ! 

The bosoms of women he sang of are heaving to-day in 

our maids : 
The God that he drew from the Silence our woes or our 

weariness aids: 
Not a maxim has needled through Time, but a poet had 

feathered its shaft. 
Not a law is a boon to the people but he has dictated its 

draft. 



BERNARD O'DOWD. 91 

And why do we fight for our fellows? For Liberty why 

do we long? 
Because with the core of our nerve-cells are woven the 

lightnings of song! 
For the poet for ages illumined the animal dreams of our 

sires, 
And his Thought-Become-Flesh is the matrix of all our 

imselfish desires! 

Yea, yhy are we fain for the Beautiful? Why would 

we die for the Right? 
Because through the forested aeons, in spite of the priests 

of the Night, 
Undeterred by the faggot or cross, uncorrupted.by glory 

or gold, 
To our mothers the poet his Vision of Goodness and 

B6auty has told. 

When, comrades, we thrill to the message of speaker in 

highway or hall. 
The voice of the poet is reaching the silenter poet in all : 
And again, as of old, when the flames are to leap up the 

turrets of Wrong, 
Shall the torch of the New Revolution be lit from the 

words of a Song ! 



92 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

BALLADE OF -DREAMS. 

Marie E. J. Pitt. 

Across the loom the shuttles fly, 

Like random, rippled lights at play 
Upon the road where you, where I, 

Drift down the Valley of To-day; 
White snowdrop stars beside the way 

Illume the flight of fancies fled, 
In some far Spring-time's snowdrop spray 

Our dreams shall live when we are dead. 

We quibble over how and why. 

Or vex our souls with "yea" and ''nay;" 
Turn all the golden years awry, 

And bid the wheel of pleasure stay; 
And still our webs of hodden grey 

Are shot with many a wizard thread 
That passes not with passing clay — 

Our dreams shall live when we are dead. 

The proud, the strong, the brave shall die. 

All flesh shall perish e'en as they; 
Nor love, nor life, nor duty's tie 

Shall hold the fateful hour at bay: 
But past restraining barriers, yea. 

On universal pinions spread, 
A phoenix phalanx o'er decay, 

Our dreams shall live when we are dead. 

With cypress gather blooms o' may. 

Beyond the dark the dawn is red ; 
Peace! sad one, tho' the gods shall slay, 

Our dreams shall live when we are dead. 



THOMAS WILLIAM HENEY. 93 

DOLCE FAR NIENTE. 

Alex. Gordon Steven. 

How wholly sweet beside this sunlit flow 
Of choric water, to recline at ease, 
And drink the bowl of beauty to the lees. 

Heedless of all but of the dreams which grow ! 

Faintly we hear the distant cattle- low. 

Whilst thro' the rippling greenery of the trees, 
Lulled by the drowsy murmurings of bees, 

We see the moted sunbeams come and go. 

This verdured couch is all beflowered of Spring, 
Whose magic wine is leaping thro' the veins 

Of every breathing and insensate thing : 
The fretted dome is azure thro' the leaves: 

From feathered throats what rapt, inspired strains ! 
Such is the tapestry which Nature weaves. 



THE WILD DUCK. 

Thomas W. Heney. 
Tell me the charm of thy haunts, bird! 

Far in the unknown West, 
Of the desert-pools whose waves are stirred 

By press of thy plumy breast. 
And the diver's plunge, and flutter of wings. 
When the ripples speed their increasing rings. 

Tell of the lakes that sleep in the reeds. 

Crystal, and gold, and green. 
Whenever the wind his legion leads 

Through banks that sway and lean. 



94 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

They renew the fable of older Pan, 

Who taught his music through reeds to man. 

How oft sought'st thou rest in darkling glade, 

In some well-hidden pool, 
Where centurial trees o'erspread their shade, 

And waters glimmered cool. 
And the gentle murmur of leaf and wave 
Were the only voices that Nature gave. 

Say how, in a night of fear, thy glance. 
Through the dark woodland aisles. 

Saw the corroboree's measured dance. 
And the sway of the painted files 

In the camp-fire's light, while the echoes long 

Bore far the chant of the savage throng. 



OUR GUM-TREES. 

Nathan F. Spielvogel. 

Our fathers came from the war-stained North, 

The men who had strength to roam; 
They said "Farewell," and sallied forth 

To find for themselves a home. 
They sailed the sea to the bush king's realm; 

His groves, for their crops, they cleared : 
They thought of oak and of ash and elm; 

They looked at the gum and sneered; 

They thought his leaves were of sombre hue. 

Too mean to provide them shade; 
They sniffed his scent, when the breezes blew. 

And sighed for a primrose glade. 



NATHAN F. SPIELVOGEL. 95 

They said his limbs were of uncouth shapes 

Like threatening demons' arms, ' 
His strings of bark were like widow's crapes; 

They longed for their woodlands' charms. 



From war-stained North have our fathers come; 

But we have the bush sons' eyes, 
For we are kin of the gnarled Gum 

Who hearkened our infant cries. 
By him we played in our boyhood hours; 

By him we have earned our bread; 
And he will scatter his scented flowers 

O'er us when we're lying dead. 

We've seen the Red, like a thirsty king, 

Bend over the silent stream; 
We've seen the Mallee its tassels fling, 

To steal of the sunset's gleam; 
The Blue's young shoots, with his leaves gray pearled, 

A cloud that has gone awry; 
The Ironbark, with his limbs up-hurled 

As though he would win the sky. 

The oak and elm are but fair-day friends 

That smile when the sky is clear,, 
But close their eyes when the summer ends, 

And skies and the world grow drear. 
Our gum stands firm thro' the winter cold — 

There's never a change in him — 
He gives his best, like a comrade bold, 

When joy of the world grows dim. 



96 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

He stands apart from the Old World trees, 

Unbound by the laws of form; 
He bows his head to the zephyr breeze, 

But laughs at the drought and storm. 
We stand alone, like our own great tree, 

Afar from the nations' hum. 
Come, brothers! Keep we our homeland free 

As limbs of our Austral gum. 



THE GALLEY-SLAVE. 

H. F. Tracey. 

"O Chief," I cried, "this oar grows hard; 

Is there no rest for me?" 
"No rest until thy journey's end," 
He cried ; "and thou thine oar must bend 

While strength remains in thee!" 

"Take off these chains," I ^aid to him, 

"And let me free once more." 
"Thou slave," he roared, "in bondage born. 
Thou shalt be chained frorn morn to morn 

Until we reach the shore." 

"O Chieftain, say but whom thou art? 

And whither we must go? 
And why these chains and heavy oar? 
And say what waits us on the shore 

Beyond this sea of woe?" 

"This is the Ship of Life," quoth he, 

"That sails the sea of Time; 
And Hardship's storms beset our course; 




Talma, Pliolo. 



RODERIC QUINN. 



ROD ERIC QUINN. 97 

But Hope's strong labour must perforce 
Bring near the fairer clime. 

"Thy chains are but the things you love 

In life, and that great oar 
Is resolution which you ply 
To make this little vessel fly 

To Fame's fair golden shore.' 

"And thou— but who art thou?" I said, 

"Who makest me labour so?" 
He, turning to me, grimly smiled: 
"I am thine own ambition, Child ; 

Now let us onward go." 



THE GOLDEN YESTERDAY. 

Roderic Quinn. 

After a spell of chill, grey weather 

( Green, O green, are the feet of Spring ! ) 

The heaven is here of flower and feather. 
Of wild, red blossom and flashing wing. 

Hither, of old, queer flotsam drifted. 
Borne from afar on an age-old stream — 

Men and women, with hope uplifted. 
Spurred and stirred by a splehdid dream. 

Hither they quested — the young and eager. 
The social misfit, the aged, the banned ; 

Friends were lacking and fortune meagre. 
And here was promise — The Promised Land. 



98 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Each had a hope, a star, a beacon — 
A good-bye smile, or a gold love-tress — 

To urge his feet lest his feet should weaken. 
Drag and falter with weariness. 

Love and honour, and mirth and pity — 

The joy that brightens, the gloom that chills — 

Dwelt at once in the tented city 
Set of old in these watching hills. 

The birds aroused them with matin numbers; 

The air was scented with waking flowers; 
They woke renewed from their starlit slumbers. 

They toiled, dream-warmed, through the sunlit 
hours. 

They had their triumphs, their gains, their losses. 
Their noons of laughter, their nights of care. 

Back on the hills are some rough crosses — 
A name — a date — and, perchance, a prayer. 

It seems like a dream that flashed and flitted. 
That reigned a moment and passed away; 

And only the earth — its kind face pitted — 
Tells the tale of that old, dead day. 

They dug the clay, and they broke the boulders ; 

They turned the creek, and they washed the 
mould ; 
But vain as makers and vain as moulders 

They lived and wrought in the Age of Gold. 

They worked and worried — their labour blotching 
The land's green surface with scar and pit ; 



FRANK MORTON. 99 

Yet, all around them the hills were watching — 
Flower-crowned, tree-crested and glory-lit. 

Like time-worn sages the green hills waited — 
Clouds round their foreheads, their hips in grass — 

They knew that the man at their feet was fated, 
That he and the work of his hands should pass. 

A breeze comes down from the highlands smoothing 
The green young wheat, and a bird makes mirth; 

And Spring is here with soft hands soothing 
The ruined rocks and the wounded earth. 

The diggers ' passed ; and the last red embers 
Of their night-iires — they are ashen grey; 

But, while heart beats and the mind remembers, 
They shall not fade as a dream away. 

They wrought as heroes (though shadows creeping 
Their moons and suns and stars oppressed). 

And ea,ch has earned him his time of sleeping — 
His hour of ease and his couch of rest. 



A NIGHT PIECE. 

Frank Morton. 

The Moon against my window beats and beams 
And -croons and sighs ; 

But mightier, lordlier, spurring all my dreams, 
Across the deeps great Sirius flames afar, 
Lord paramount of all these nearer skies — 

These homely skies that are a dust of gold. 



100 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The night is vast, 

And ah, my dreams are bold 

Now, by day's limitations uncontrolled, 

My hopes no longer dwarfed and overcast 
By day's dull reek of miseries manifold ! 

Day's noises past, 

The night is grave, inscrutable and grey. 
The night is golden, exquisite and deep. 
The silent comforter of those that weep. 

Incomparably grander than the day. 
Immense and cold. 

Across the deeps great Sirius flames afar 
And warms my heart, and makes it plain to me 
How small a corner of Infinity 
We call Creation; so that in my dreams. 
All careless of the smug, contemptuous Moon 
And of the sceptic Day that comes so soon, 
I feel and know 

That past the point where Sirius flames, afar 
There is a region where the old suns are. 
Where all things live in happy union, though 
Tremendous space begirts them, each demesne 
A point apart 'mid measureless vagues serene, 
A million, million leagues from star to star. 

The Moon against my window beats and beams 

And croons and sighs ; 
But mightier, lordlier, spurring all my dreams. 
Across the deeps great Sirius flames afar. 

Lord paramount of all these nearer skies. 
There is a region where the old suns are — 
The nearer heavens are a dust of gold. 



"ISHMAEL DARE." 101 

4 

THE SUM OF THINGS. 

"Ishmael Dare." 

This is the stun of things-^that we 
A moment live, a little see, 
Do somewhat, and are gone : for so 
The 'eternal currents ebb and flow. 

This is the sum of work — that man ■ 
Does, while he may, the best he can ; 
Nor greatly cares, when all is done, 
What praise or blame his toils have won. 

This is the sum of sight-^to find 
The links of kin with all our kind. 
And know the beauty Nature folds 
Even in the simplest form she moulds. 

i 
This is the sum of life — to feel 
Our hand-grip on the hilted steel. 
To fight beside our mates, and prove 
The best of comradeship, and love. 

This is the sum of things — that we 
A lifetime live greatheartedly. 
See the whole best that life has meant, 
Do out our work, and go content. 



102 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

From "YE WEARIE WAYFARER." 
(Finis Exoptatus.) 

Adam Lindsay Gordon. 



Hark ! the bells on distant cattle 

Waft across the range; 
Through the golden-tufted wattle, 

Music low and strange; 
Like the marriage peal of fairies 

Comes the tinkling sound, 
Or like chimes of sweet St. Mary's 

On far English ground. ' 

How my courser champs the snaffle, 

And with nostril spread, 
Snorts and scarcely seems to ruffle 

Fern leaves .with his tread ; 
CooL and pleasant on his haunches 

Blows the evening breeze. 
Through the overhanging branches 

Of the' wattle trees: 

Onward ! to the Southern Ocean, 

Glides the breath of Spring. 

Onward! with a dreamy motion, 

I, too, glide ■ and . sing — 
Forward ! forward ! still we wander — 

Tinted hills that lie 
In the red horizon yonder — 

Is the goal so nigh? 



ADAM LINDSAY GORDON. 103 

Whisper, spring-wind, softly singing, 

Whisper in my ear ; 
Respite and nepenthe bringing, 

Can the goal be near? 
Laden with the dew of. vespers, 

Frora the fragrant sky. 
In my ear the wind that whispers 

Seems to make reply — 

"Question not, but live and labour 

Till yon goal be won, 
Helping every feeble neighbour. 

Seeking help from none ; 
Life is mostly froth and bubble, 

Two things stand like stone — 
Kindness in another's trouble. 

Courage in your own." 

Courage, comrades, this is certain, 

All is for the best — 
There are lights behind the' curtain — 

Gentles, let us rest. 
As the smoke-rack veers to seaward 

From "the ancient clay," 
With its moral drifting leeward, 

Ends the wanderer's lay. ' 



104 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

CHALLENGE ! 

Dorothy Frances McCrae. 

Curled locks and fine white hand, 

O noble cavalier'! 
How haughtily you stand, 

My gallant, proud forbear ! 
I love you top to toe. 
Sir Soldier, do you know? 

I fancied. Sir, you smiled 

That, night our kisses clung, 
To-night I think : "Poor child !" 

Your eyes say---plain as tongue 
(Half pity, and half jest) — 
"I loved; but see, I rest." 

You rest. Sir ? I'll rest too ; 

But oh ! the long before-^ 
Drear twilight, endless blue — 

Ere beckons Heaven's door . . . 
You smile, Sir Cavalier, 

Your journey's done, you're there ! 

Curled locks and fine white hand, 

O noble cavalier ! 
How haughtily you stand ! 

I'll stand as proudly here — 
And prove as brave, I swear, 
As you, my brave forbear ! 



RODERIC QUINN. 105 



THE HIDDEN TIDE. 

Roderic Quinn. 

Within the world a second world 

That circles ceaselessly: 
Stars in the sky and sister stars — 

Turn in your eyes and see! 

Tides of the sea that rise and fall, 

Aheave from Pole to Pole — 
And kindred swayings, veiled but felt, 

That noise along the soul. 

Yon moon, noon-rich, high-throned, remote, 

And pale with pride extreme, 
Draws up the sea, but what white moon 

Exalts the tide of Dream? 

The Fisher-Folk who cast their nets 

In Vision's golden tide 
Oft bring to light misshapen shells. 

And nothing worth beside. 

And so their worn hands droop adown. 

Their singing throats are dumb; 
The Inner-Deep withholds its pearls 

Til], turn of tide be come. 

But patience! wait: — the good tide turns, 

The waters inward set; 
And lo, behold! aleap, alive 

With glowing, fish the net ! 



106 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Toilers of the Hidden Seas! 

Ye have strange gain and loss, 
Dragging the Deeps of Soul for pearls, 

And oft-times netting dross. 

Flushed to the lips with golden light. 

And dark with sable gloom; 
Thrilled by a thousand melodies, 

And silejit' like a tomb. 

Fierce are the winds across your realm, 
As though some Demon veiled 

Had loosed the gales of Spirit-land 
To ravage ways unsailed. 

But still sweet hours befall at times. 

Rich lit and full of ease ; 
The after-glow is like the light 

Of sunset on tired seas. 

And worse, perhaps, may be the lot 
, Of those whose fate is sleep ; 
The sodden souls without a tide, 
Dense as a rotten deep. 

Pain paves the way for keener joy. 
And wondrous thoughts uproll 

When the large moon of Peace looks down 
On high tide in the Soul. 



JAMES'HEBBLETHWAITE. . 107 

PERDITA. 

James Hebblethwaite. 

The sea coast of Bohemia 

Is pleasant to the view 
When singing larks spring from the grass 

To fade into the blue, 
And all the hawthorn hedges break" 

In wreaths of purest snow, 
And yellow daffodils, are out, 

And roses half in blow. 

The sea coast of Bohemia 

Is sad as sad can be, 
The prince has ta'en our flower of maids 

Across the violet sea ; 
Our Perdita has gone with him. 

No more we dance the round 
Upon the green in .joyous play, ' 

Or wake the tabor's sound. 

The sea coast of Bohemia 

Has many wonders seen, 
The shepherd lass wed with a king, 

•The shepherd with a queen ; 
But such a wonder as my love 

Was never seen before, 
It is my joy and sorrow now 

To love her evermore. 



,108 AN- AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The sea coast of Bohemia 

Is haunted by a light 
Of memory of lady's eyes, 

And fame of gallant knight; 
The princes seek its charmed strand. 

But, ah, it was our knell 
When o'er the sea our Perdita 

Went with young Florizel ! 

The sea coast of Bohemia 

Is not my resting place, 
For with her waned from out the day 

A beauty and a grace : 
O had I kissed her on the lips 

I would no longer weep. 
But live by that until the day 

I fall to shade and sleep. 



'TO SOAR AS A WILD, WHITE BIRD . . . . ' 

Louise Mack. 

To soar as a wild white bird, 

With a song unbound and fetterless ! 

With a gush of song in the throat, 
Loosened and loud and letterless, 

And the wind its only accompaniment. 

To sing and , soar and look down 
On a world one leaves when one tires of it : 

With a glajicing wing for a sail. 
Dashing, when one desires of it. 

Through the spray of the grea,t sea-wilderness. 



ALICE WERNER. 109 

Or sweeping with mighty curves 
From land to sky, and to land again: 

To cast oil Time, and to stay 
Where one's will alone lays hand on one : 

Not to own or owe in the universe. 

Sudden and swift some day 

Meet Death, and know no fear' of Him, 
But close the eyes and have done. 

. . . When a wild bird dies none hear of him. 
He has sung and ceased, and is happiest. 



KATE CUNNINGHAM'S RIDE. 

Alice Werner. 

Years have passed since my girlhood's prime. 

Some in sorrow and some in glee — 
But I never remember such a time. 

As the Summer of 'Fifty- three. 

The land was parched and fainting with drdught, 

'l^he flocks were dying on Banalong; 
And they came and told us the blacks were out 

On a raid, two hundred strong. 

They had burnt the station at Barrington's Bay, 
They had speared Jim Robertson and his wife. 

And young Dick Wallace rode night and day, 
And just escaped with his life. 



no AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

He reined hi? reeking horse at our gate, 
And shouted aloud to Mother and me: 

"Take the kids and come, or you'll be too late. 
They're crossing by Gundaree." 

Father was out on the upper run — 
Forty miles as the crow might fly — 

Warning must reach him by set of sun : 
There was none to ride, but I ! 

I brought out the horses — Black Gipsy, the mare, 
For me — and for Mother the tall, old roan. 

She mounted with baby — Dick had Clare — 
"Good-bye!" — I was off, alone. 

Off we went o'er the crisp burnt grass, 
And through the paddock, and met no soul. 

And crossed the level, to Scrub-Oak Pass, 
And the dried-up water hole. 

We'd got half-way through the Mallee scrub 
On Marriott's land, with nothing to fear, 

When I thought I saw the end of a club, 
And heard the whizz of a speax. 

Then I gathered my skirts, and set my teeth, 

I durst not look unto either side; 
I knew it was riding for life and death. 

And I'd reach the run, though I died. 

I dropped the reins on my beauty's neck, 
I drove my , boot-heel into her flank ; 

Already the foam had begun to fleck 
Her sides, as they heaved and sank. 



ALICE WERNER. Ill 

Whish ! . . . Had it hit her ? ... It stuck in a tree 
FivB yards ahead. I bent and looked down, 

She never slackened her pace . . . Ah, me ! 
There was blood on the edge of my gown. 

"Oh! Gipsy, lass! Oh! my darling!" I cried, 
"It's death to him if we faii^t or fail ... . 

"Oh ! help us ! God !" ... and that minute I spied 
The shepherd's hut within hail. 

Not a moment too soon^ for another spear — 
I knew it, though I seemed deaf and blind — 

Struck her ; another whizzed past my ear ; 
And I heard them yelling behind. 

Everything seemed to whirl and flash. 

I wondered, was I alive or dead? 
Then Gipsy came to the ground with a crash, 

And I went over her head. 

I caught a glinipse of a man at the door, 
I was up, cried wildly, sobbing for. breath, 

"It will be too late in a minute more ! 
A horse! It's for life or death." 

I stood and stared at the brave, bright face. 
The keen blue eyes, and the curly head, 

Dazed, unseeing, a moment's space, 
And — I don't know what I said. 

"Wait here a minute, sit down and reSt, 

You must save your strength for their sakes, you know." 
But, mad with the iire in my brain and breast, 

I cried, "I can't ! I must go !" 



112 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

He went and brought his own dapple-grey horse, 
And shifted the gear from mine as she lay, 

And lifted me into the saddle perforce. 
And then — as I turned away, 

I don't know what it was that smote 

On my br£iin, and my eyes began to swim. 

But I loosed the handkerchief from my throat. 
And tossed it over to him. 

"God keep you!" "Good-bye!" With a clatter and rush 
The good grey started. One last glance back: — 

He stood, loading his gun, in the sunset flush, 
And hearkened adown the track. 

We had crossed the bounds of Marriott's lot. 
We had leapt the fence of the upper run ; 

Far down the gully I heard a shot, 
Then all was still. ... I had won. 

"Father!" "Why, Kitty! what's up, dear lass?" 
I knew not till then I was scared to death, 

But there, like a fool, I sat on the grass. 
And laughed and cried in a breath. 

No time to lose, and he saddled up, 

We took the back track north of the ridge. 

And by dawn we had passed Koagulup, 
And were safe beyond the bridge. 

And Marriott's shepherd? When Tom and Bart 
Went up to the run .... you know the rest — . 

How they found him dead, with a spear in his heart, 
And a handkerchief on his breast. 



MARIE E. J. PITT. 113 

THE CLAN CALL. 

Marie E. J. Pitt. 

I patted the head of a pony, 

By a Collins-street kerbstone tied, 

And my soul is sick jf or the old things 
And the feel of the world outside. 

I patted the head of a pony,v 

My fingers are tingling yet; 
And I hear the call of the outlands 

Ring over the city's fret. 

He was low and little and weedy, 

But he bent his nose to my hand 
In the language that never was written. 

That the horse-lovers understand. 

And I feel the beck of the mountains. 
And the worn ways wandering white 

Thro' the ironbarks and the messmates 
Are calling to me to-night. 

And I ache in this city prison. 

In this desert of rolling roofs. 
For the lilt of snaffle and stirrup. 

For the ring of galloping hoofs, 

'Mong the hills where the circling eagle 

Sails dark on the rim o' the day, 
And the gang-gangs' shrieking phalanx 

Heralds the stormy fray. 



114 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Flemington, Caulfield, Ascot? 

The Derby, the • Melbourne Cup ? 
The seethe of the surging thousands? 

The steeds with their riders up? 

They're tainted with craft of Commerce, 

By minions of Pelf they're ruled, 
With a fig for the game outsider, 

And a curse for the nag that's "pulled." 

'Twas a merrier sport and cleaner 
Where the ironstone ranges rung 

To the race that never was written, 
To the steeds that never were sung. 

'Twas a merrier sport and sweeter, 
The chestnut against the brown, 

With the weight on the Gippsland gelding 
And a win for the mare, hands down. 

On the open road we have won them, 
Close finish and hard-set teeth, 

With God's own breath on our faces 
And His levin of life beneath. 

On the open road we have lost them. 
Light-hearted and ridden away; 

For there's never a game worth playing, 
Where the stake is more than the play. 

Yes ! I'm sick to-night for the old things 
That grip me like living hands. 

In the dark of a world of shadows — 
And I know, while the old faith stands. 



JAMES LISTER CUTHBERTSON. 115 

With the mate of my soul beside me, 

Light-hearted, without remorse, 
I would tackle The Styx to-morrow 

On a fretting Australian horse. 



THE AUSTRALIAN SUNRISE. 

/. L. Cuthbertson. 

The Morning Star paled slowly, the Cross hung low. to 
the sea, 

And down the shadowy reaches the tide came swirling 
. free, 

The lustrous purple blackness of the soft Australian 
night 

Waned in the gray awakening that heralded the light ; 

Out of the dying darkness, over the forest dim. 

The pearly dew of the dawning clung to each giant limb, 

Till the sun came up from ocean, red with the cold sea 
mist, 

And smote on the limestone ridges, and the shining tree- 
tops kissed ; 

Then the fiery Scorpion vanished, the magpie's note was 

heard, 
And the wind in the she-oak wavered, and the honey- 
suckles stirred, 
The airy golden vapour rose from the river breast. 
The kingfisher came darting out of his crannied nest, 
And the bulrushes and reed-beds put off their sallow gray 
And bufnt with cloudy qriuison at the dawning of the day. 



il6 AN. AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

LOVE'S TREASURE-HOUSE. 

D. M. Ross. 

I went to Love's old Treasure-house last night, 

Through soundless halls of the great Tower of Time. 

And saw the miser Memory, grown grey 

With years of jealous counting of his gems, 

At his old task within the solitude. 

By a faint taper the deep-furrowed face. 

Heavy, with power, lay shadowed on the wall — 

Shadow and shadowy face communing there — 

While the lean flame a living spear -point leaped 

With menace at the night's dark countenance. 

"And this," he said, "is gold from out her hair. 
And this the moonlight that she wandered in, 
With here a rose, enamelled by her breath, 
That bloomed in glory 'tween her breasts, and here 
The brimming sun-cup that she quaffed at noon, 
And here the star that cheered her in the night ; 
In this great chest, see, curiously wrought. 
Are purest of Love's gems.'' A ruby key. 
Enclasped upon a golden ring, he took, 
With care, from out some secret hiding-place. 
And delicately touched. the lock, whereat 
I staggered, blinded by the light of things 
More luminous than stars, and questioned thus — 
"What are these treasures, miser Meiflory?" 
And slowly bending his grey head, he spoke: 
"These are the multitude of kisses sweet 
Love gave so gladly, and I treasure here." 



LOUISE MACK. 117 



ON WAIREE HILL. 

Louise Mack. 

Do you remember meeting, meeting 

Here when the wattle's boughs grew golden? 
(Ah, golden wattle, how sweet, how sweet!) 

And under the drip of its gold burrs beating 
Light on our heads with the wind just risen. 
We cast our hearts, into one strait prison. 

And neither , asked for the key to keep. 
(Ah, golden wattles, how sad, how sweet!) 

Have you forgotten watching, watching 

There, where the white dust clouds the cross- ways 
(O, silent cross- ways, how still, how still!) 

My blade in the bark of a great gum notching 
Names that the years have made black and narrow- 
Your name and mine, and a heart and arrow ; 

And you were angry, you said, and smiled. 
(O, silent cross-ways^ how sad, how still!) 

Do you remember riding, riding 

West, with the stretch of the plains before us? 

(O, plains of Wair.ee, so great, so grey!) 
The sky in the west was gliding, gliding. 

Shedding its fed in a million places; 

The fleet wind gurgled against oyr faces — 
Our rush was swifter than wing or wind. 

(O, plains of Wairee, so grey, so still!) 



118 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

'Tis I remember creeping, creeping 
Over the hill with a slow procession, 
(Your slowest wending of Wairee Hill). 

I can hear through the years, your mother's weeping, 
See through the years the paddocks lying 
In noon's dead stillness, one far crow flying 

Where light made gold of its dingy wing. 
(Ah, God, those paddocks so wide, so still!) 



FERNSHAW (BLACKS' SPUR). 

Marion Miller Knowles. 

Where solitude still holds unbroken sway 

O'er fern-clad slbpe and softly-flowing stream, 
O'er purple hills that through the languid day 

Seem distant castles in a fairy dream. 
And passing shadows form a spirit band 
To guard the brooding calm of their enchanted land, 

There man ne'er toils nor grieves, 

But through the tender leaves 
The sensuous Summer sunlight slowly weaves. 
With heavy-lidded eyes, bright hues for Autumn eves! 

There through the drowsy stillness ever steals 

The sweet faint music of a choir unseen. 
Though lulled to rest, the musing spirit feels 

Time yet hath golden fields for her to glean. 
But rest is sweet when fragrant odours steep 
Tired soul and sense in self-forgetting sleep ! 

Far away the lyre bird's call; 

Splash of a distant waterfall ; 



MARION MILLER KNOWLES. 119 

The wind's sigh through the tree-tops tall — 

Weird, broken music, rising, floating, ever over all. 
Between the waving palm-fern branches shine 

The swaying musk-leaveSj broad and silver-lined. 
And with the lighter green their shades combine, 

As chords of music blend within a master mind. 
And ever rippling in sweet monotone 
The river glides o'er rock and mossy stone. 

Dreamy clouds float overhead — 

Snowdrifts on an azure bed. 
Soft down by the angels spread 

For the feet of some child spirit Heavenward gently 
led. 



Wherever home of man hath left its trace 

(As here in gardens long o'ergrown with weeds) 
Vague hints of mystery seem to fill the place — 

The 'shadow of the old-time reckless deeds ! 
The wild ride in the starlight dewy dusk 
Thro' fresh winds fragrant with the breath of musk 

Was but the prelude sweet 

To song and dancing feet — 
The loud bush revel, where for youth and maid to meet 
Proved oft the preface to a tale Love only could com- 
plete ! 



The Past with lingering step before me steals ; 

The rustic bridge above the river's flow 
Resounds again beneath the coaches' wheels. 

And phantom drivers of the long ago 



120 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Draw up before the poplar-shaded door 

The quaint old inn threw wide in days of yore ! — 

Nqs vestige of it stands, 

But Nature's kindly hands 
Have beckoned fairy sprites from all her magic lands, 
And fern and wild-flower now bend o'er the river's 
silver sands. 



DALEY'S GRAVE. 

A. A. D. Bayldon. 

The columns white against the lucent blue, 
The old unwearied sea for ever new, 
And these unplundered plots of stainless flowers 
Make death seem rich with lovelier dreams than ours. 
And here he sleeps, forgetting all his wrongs. 
Lulled by the ocean's rune and wild birds' songs. 
No more shall he, fastidious as the bees, 
Gather from bower of dreams sweet melodies. 
Or thrill to trumpets of the Dawn, when flare 
Wild splendours on her storm-dishevelled hair. 

He bore the pennon of the Sun when first 

To these ungenerous shores he came, and nursed 

The brood of Beauty from the nest of Time, 

That warble in his flowery brakes of rhyme. 

The Muse was gracious wlien he swept the lyre — 

The wofld slew all his hopes and damped his fire. 



ARTHUR A. D.BAYLDON. 12l' 

Saw asps hold orgies hissing at his fame, 
And bruised the eagle soul it could not tame. 
He passed, despising immaterial praise, 
Presumptuous tributes, and the spurious bays. 

I did not meet our Prince till, sombre grown, 
He touched the harp-strings to a troubled tone. 
The tremors of the Veil had caught his eye 
When he enthralled me with his sorcery — 
And like a fountain rose his voice and fell 
. With rhythm mellow as a golden bell. 

The black processions wind along the aisles 

Blind to the sun's regenerating smiles. 

The calm Pacific indolently sighs 

For the pure Sabbath stillness of the skies, 

And sweet growths restful as the slimibering dead 

Heed not the passing pall and muifled tread. 

And is bur Prince that gave such wonders birth 

Only a shredding vesture in the earth? 

Ah no ! when glancing from melodious spheres 

He pities us our vain unneeded tears. 

For he is folded in unfading bowers 

Or ranging meads of ever-blowing flowers. 

And round his temples, that now shine as snow. 

The blooms from gardens where God's rivers flow. 

Too happy to remember earthly things. 
Among his radiant peers he sweeps the strings 
To ecstasies so spiritually sweet 
They reach the Kings of Song, around whose feet 
Seas of seraphic wings for ever beat. 



122 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

AN OLD BUSH ROAD. 

Jennings Carmichael. 
Dear old road, wheel-worn and broken, 

Winding thro' the forest green. 
Barred with shadow and with sunshine, 

Misty vistas drawn between. 
Grim, scarred bluegums ranged austerely, 

Lifting blackened coliunns each 
To the large, fair fields of azure, 

Stretching ever out of reach. 

See the, hardy bracken growing 
Round the fallen limbs of trees; 

And the sharp reeds from the marshes, 
Washed across the flooded leas ; 

And the olive rushes, leaning 
All their pointed spears to cast 

Slender shadows on the roadway, 

• While the faint, slow wind creeps past. 

Ancient ruts grown round with grasses. 

Soft old hollows filled with rain; 
Rough, gnarled roots all twisting queerly, 

Dark with many a weather-stain. 
Lichens moist upon the fences, 

Twiners close against the logs ; 
Yellow fungus in the thickets. 

Vivid mosses in the bogs. 

Dear old road, wheel-worn and broken. 

What delights in thee I find ! 
Subtle charm and tender fancy, 

Like a fragrance in the njind. 



JENNINGS CARMICHAEL. . 123 

Thy old ways have set me dreaming, 

And out-lived illusions rise, 
And the soft leaves of the landscape 

Open on my thoughtful eyes. 



See the clump of wattles, standing 

Dead and sapless on the rise ; 
When their boughs were full of beauty 

Even to uncaring eyes 
I was ever first to rifle ■ ' 

The soft branches of their store. 
O the golden wealth of blossom 

I shall gather there no more ! 

Now we reach the dun morasses, 

Where the red moss used to grow 
Ruby-bright upon the water, 

Floating on the weeds below. 
Once the swan and wild-fowl glided 

By those sedges, green and tall ; 
Here the booming bitterns nested ; 

Here we heard the curlews call. 

Climb this hill and we have rambled 

To the last turn of the way ; 
Here is where the bell-birds tinkled 

Fairy chimes for me all day. 
These werebells that never wearied. 

Swung by ringers on the wing ; 
List ! the elfin strains are waking. 

Memory sets the bells a-ring! 



124 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

' Dear old road, no wonder, surely, 

That I love thee, like a friend ! 
And I grieve to think how surely 

All thy loveliness will end. 
For thy simple charm is passing. 

And the turmoil of the street 
Soon will mar thy sylvan silence 

With the tramp of careless feet. 

And for this I look more fondly 

On the sunny landscape, seen 
From the road, wheel-worn and broken. 

Winding thro' the forest green. 
Something still remains of Nature, 

Thoughts of other days to bring : 
For the staunch old trees are standing, 

And I hear the wild birds sing! 



A TREMBLING STAR. 

Ethel Turner. 

"There is my little trembling star,'' she said. 

I looked; once more 
The tender sea had put the sun to bed. 

And heaven's floor 
Was grey. 

And nowhere yet in all that young night sky 

Was any star, 
But one that liung above the seS,. Not high. 

Nor very far 
Away. 



ETHEL TURNER. 125 

"I watch it every night," she said and crept 

Within my arm. 
"Soft little star, I wish the angels kept 

It safe from harm 
Alway. 

"I know it is afraid," she said; her eyes 

Held a sweet tear. 
"They send it all alone into the skies, 

No big stars near, 
To stay. 

"They push it out before the sweet, kind moon 

Lights up the sea. 
They laugh because it fears the dark. 'Soon, soon. 

You'll braver be,' 
They say. 

"One night I climbed far up ^hat high white tree 
Beside the beach, ' 

And tried to stretch my hand across the sea 
And tried to reach 
The grey. 

"For something made me feel my heart would break 

Unless that night 
I in my hand my trembling star could take 

And kiss its fright 
Away. 

"There only blew a strange wind chillily. 

And clouds were swept. 
The angels would not let my own star see 

That someone wept. 
I pray 



126 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

"To Christ, who hears my little prayers each night, 
That He will seek 
Through all His skies for that sweet, frightened light, 
And stoop His cheek 
And say, 

t 

" 'My angels must not send so frail a thing 

To light the West. 
Lift up the little trembling star to cling 

About My breast 
Alway.' " 



POETAE ET REGES. 

Hugh McCrae. 

To be the star that lights the wave, 

To roll in glory to the grave : 

To be a poet is to stand 

Upon the dais and right hand 

Of warlike Caesar. Gods and kings 

Were but the very dust of things, 

Did not old Homer (and his crew 

Of lesser measure) grandly strew 

Their fitful progress with the bays 

Of deathless triumph-songs of praise. 

Each deed of martial enterprise. 

Of royal bounty, straightway dies. 

Save only when the magic fire 

Of Genius gives it to his lyre ... 



HUGH McCRAE. 127 

A king is but a mess of clay 

Set i' the light, then put away; 

A house of worms, a wealth of dearth, 

His tomb a pock-mark on the earth .... 

But he who drinks of Helicon 

Has life eternal surely won. 

He is the scabbard to Ihat sword 

Which, left alone, without its ward. 

Would rust its inches meanly down. 

While fatted fools enjoy the crown 

It once had fought for iii the steam 

Of heavy battles .... Ah, the gleam 

Is fresh as ever, underneath 

The scrolling bay-leaves of its sheath. 

And men shall tremble at the name 

"Excalibur." .• . . Such is the fame 

That poets hold and poets give — 

To live in making others live! 



128 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



WILD FLOWERS. 

Dowell O'Reilly. 

"O Father, let us go 

And gather flowers," cry 

My little ones, who love me so, 

Whose lips forever "want to know," 

And hearts still "wonder why." 

Like birds they hover and fly 

Where the wild flowers quiver and glow 

In the tremulous springtide ecstasy, 

And the glimmering sunbeams "want to know," 

And the shadows "wonder why." 

Christ, who loved them so 

When they, with glances shy. 

Crept even closer long ago 

To Thee, with wide-eyed "want to know," 

And wistful "wonder why." 

Still, let them dreaming lie 
'Close in thy heart, and oh ! 
When they at last awake — to die. 
Fulfil their yearning "want to know," 
And wistful "wonder why," 




Tosca, Photo 



WILL LAWSON. 



WILL LAW SON. 129 

WINTER SUNSET ON THE AUSTRALIAN 
COAST. 

/. L. Cuthbertson. 

Wild skies and wilder waters, and the glow 
Of stormy sunset on the forest capes, 
And deep below the black fantastic shapes 

Of boulders gleaming in tempestuous snow : 

The gloomy rollers for a moment show 
Upon their bellying green reflected back 
The sullen crimson of the cloudy rack, 

Driven by the s^trong south-wester to and fro ; 

A thousand fraying branches interlock 
Of hardy ti-tree warring with the gales, 
And vocal with a glorious minstrelsy ; 

But louder yet, on sand and ringing rock. 
Round all the island continent prevails 
The mighty diapason of the sea. 



TROOPERS. 



Will Lawson. 



I saw the mounted troopers pass 

Without a sound — 

They made no sound 
Save that of horse-hoofs on the grass 

, And sodden, ground ; 
Or jingling bit-bars tossed to ring 

In quick surprise. 

Oh, God, their eyes! 
As they rode tracking out this thing — 



130 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

This man, whose capture wealth would bring. 
(I heard the river sob and sing 
A dirge to sullen skies.) 



And as I watched, I saw one drop 

Without a sound — 

He made no sound — 
And, signing, bid his comrades stop 

, As he bent circling round 
To find the track — grass bent to some 

Unmated stem. 

I hated them 
Because they rode like mutes, all dumb, 
No jangling scabbards — tapping drum — 
They rode that none might hear them come 

Like harnessed men of Khem. 



Each man there sat his horse right well 

Without a sound — 

They made no sound ; 
And each man's eyes blazed fires of hell 

As they roved round ; 
Such eager eyes and hard-set lips 

Closed stubbornly. 

They seemed to me 
Like bloodhounds when the hand that grips 
Their straining leashes slacks and slips ; 
When one mad hound his mates outstrips, 

And they are racing, free. 



MARY GILMORE. 131 

I saw the King's tried troopers wheel 

Without a- sound — 

They made no sound 
Save that of horse-hoofs, shod with steel, 

On soaking ground. 
And in the rainy evening dim 

I watched them go — 

Relentless, slow. 
So sinister they seemed, these grim. 
Hard, l)m.x-eyed men of stalwart limb; 
And all my pity was for him — 

The man they hunted so. 



MARRI'D. 



Mary Gilmore. 



It's singin' in an' out, 
An' feelin' full of grace; 

Here'n' there, up an' down, 
An' round about th' place. 

It's rollin' up your sleeves, 
An' whit'nin' up the hearth. 

An' scrubbin' out th' floors, > 
An' sweepin' down th' path; 

It's bakin' tarts an' pies. 
An' shinin' up th' knives; 

An' feelin' '-s if some days 
Was worth a thousand lives. 



132 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

It's watchin' out th' door, 
An' watchin' by th' gate; 

An' watchin' down th' road, 
An' wonderin' why he's late; 

An' feelin' anxious-like. 

For fear there's something wrong; 
An' wonderin' why he's kep'. 

An' why he takes so long. 

It's comin' back inside 
An' sittin' down a spell. 

To sort o' make believe 

You're thinkin' things is well. 

It's gettin' up again 

An' wand'rin' in an' out; 

An' feelin' wistful-like, 
Not knowin' what about ; 

An' flushin' all at once, 
An' smilin' just so sweet. 

An' feelin' real proud 

The place is fresh an' neat. 

An' feelin' awful glad 

Like them that watch'd Silo'm; 

An' everything because 
A man is comin' Home! 



MARY H. POYNTER. 133 



SLUMBER SONG. ■ 

Mary H. Poynter. 

Now the golden day is ending, 
See the quiet night descending, 
Stealing, stealing all the colours, all the roses from the 
west. 
Safe at hom'e each bird is keeping 
Watch o'er nest 'and children sleeping, 
Dreaming tender dreams of sunshine, sleeping warm, for 
sleep is best. 

Sleep then, sleep, my li,ttle daughter, 
Sleep to sound of running water. 
Singing, singing through the twilight, singing little things 
to rest. 

Down beside the river flowing, 
Where the broom and flax are growing. 
Little breezes whisper gently, as night's music softly 
swells ; 
And like bells of Elfin pealing. 
Lonely through the shadows stealing. 
Tinkling, tinkling through the twilight comes the sound 
of cattle bells. 

Sleep, then, sleep, my little daughter. 
Cattle bells, and wind, and water. 
Weaving, weaving chains of slumber, cast about thee 
Dreamland's spells. 



134 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



ONAWE. 

Dora Wilcox. 

Peaceful it is: the long light glows and glistens 

On English grass ; 
Sweet are the sounds upon the ear that listens ; 

The winds that pass 

Rustle the tussock, and the birds are calling, 

The sea below 
Murmurs, upon its beaches rising, falling. 

Soft, soft and slow. 

All undisturbed the Pakeha's herds axe creeping 

Along the hill ; 
On lazy tides the Pakeha's sails are sleeping, 

And all is still. 

Here once the Mighty Atua had his dwelling 

In mystery. 
And hence weird sounds were heard at midnight, 
swelling 

Across the sea. 

Here once the Haka sounded; and din of battle 

Shook the gray crags. 
Triumphant shout, and agonised death-rattle 

Startled the shags. 

And now such peace upon this isthmus narrow. 

With Maori blood 
Once red ! — these heaps of stones, — a greenstone arrow 

Rough-hewn and rude! 



MARIE E. J. PITT. 135 

Gone is the Atua, and the hillsides lonely, 

The warriors deadj 
No sight, no sound ! the weird wild wailing only 

Of gull instead. 

Come not the Rangitira hither roaming 

As once of yore. 
To dance a ghostly Haka in the gloaming. 

And feast once more? 

Tena koe Pdkeha! within this fortification 

Grows English grass. 
Tena koe! subtle conqueror of a nation 

Doomed, doomed to pass ! 



THE REIVER. 

Marie E. J. Pitt. 

The floods are out on the ilats to-night, 

Moaning and maddened and wild and red ; 

Like a hooded serpent ready to smite, 
Old Mitchell rears in his straitened bed. 

Quick ! Lords of the cattle and crops your dole ! 
The reiver river takes toll, takes toll ! 

Hope for no harvest of eager hands, 
The ripened ears and the swollen cribs! 

The sludge-bar, tossed on the hungry sands, 
That gapes like a skeleton's sundered ribs. 

The break and the blight and the far-flung shoal 
Of the reiver river take toll, take toll ! 



136 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The lean teams lagged at the furrow end, 

And the plumed green ^rmy stood brave anon. 

Now from mourning upland to river bend 

The whisper is hushed and the plumes are gone. 

Only the waters a death-dirge roll 

Where the reiver river takes toll, takes toll! 

Plunder, full plunder of horn and hoof, 
Of torn green tresses and whitening bone. 

And a darker tribute, deep housed aloof 

Where the vespering pines on the hillside moan, 

Man, beast and bird, and the twisted bole— 

So the reiver river takes toll, takes toll! 

The floods are out on the flats to-night. 

Pray if you dare to and hold your breath; 

For a craft rides seaward with never a light. 
And the man at her wheel is Pilot Death. 

Was it curlew or plover? Or parting soul? 
Hush! — the reiver river takes toll, takes toll! 



THE DRAMA ETERNAL. 
( Extracts. ) 

Ivan Archer Rosenblum. 
1 
A Friend. 
Yes, in the changeful years mine eyes have seen 
The flush and fall of many a damask rose; 
Have seen soft smiles to bitter sneers' transformed, , 



IVAN ARCHER ROSENBLUM. 137 

Bright orbs bedimmed and lacking healthful fire, 
And generous souls turned harsh and cynical, 
And hopeful youth cut off before his prime, 
And gilt hypocrisy gain high reward. 

But in the Hurly-Burly I have seen 
The beauty and the majesty of Love, 
The triumph of the man of steadfast life 
Amidst the riot and 'inconstancy. 
And I hive seen the need for charity, ^ 
For we are erring all (and who shall blame?) 
Being the children of an infinite Past,, 
Inheritors o;f all its tangled wrongs. 

Kindness and charity of heart and mind — 

Give me the friend who boasts such attributes. 

Not harsh in judgment of another's fault. 

But ready to confess he, too, is weak, 

A pathless pilgrim, too, along a shore 

Rugged and rocky where we fall and bleed. 

Stumbling towards the quiet of the grave. 

Grant me that friend; so, when my hour is told. 

And I am lying still and passionless, 

He may proclaim me other than I seemed 

To those who knew me less ; and, with brave words. 

Tell a proud world that all its chimeras, 

Its glittering pomp and gaudy pageantry. 

Mock majesty and mighty littleness 

Shall vanish like a dream ; that not alone 

This sun-lit dust-speck, but the universe. 

Like morning mist shall, melt in nothingness ; 

That all the stars about the Milky Way 

Consume themselves as they irradiate, 



138 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And shall partake the universal gloom 
In that dark day when suns and systems lie 
Effete and impotent in their old age. 
When all the universe is one in Death, 
Surely man hath much call for Charity. 

2. 

Summer. 
In Summer-time, when skies are cheerful bright, 
'Tis good to loiter listlessly among ' 

The gleaming grasslands, or by shallow stream 
To wander with its waters through the woods. 
Or lie and dream in some secluded spot 
Far from the noise and bustle of the world. 

'Tis pleasant thus to pass the peaceful hours, 

When skies are soft and warm, and woodlands sunny. 

While low winds come a-wooing from the sea 

Afar-oflE drowsing in the slumbrous light: 

There through the languorous hours to lie adream. 

Lulled by the murmurous melodies which swell 

On every side, the insistent melodies 

Of running brooklets rippling over rocks, 

Of sleepy zephyrs crooning as they come 

And go amidst a harmony of leaves. 

'Tis pleasant thus to linger for an hour. 

And in such languid mood I lay at rest. 

Rejoicing in the splendour of the Day 

After Night's gloomy reign. All Nature smiled. 

And I, a Greek at heart, sang joyously: 

Grant me the Summer with its gracious glances, 

Not dreary Winter when the days are dead; 



"DRYBLOWER." 139 

For me the season of sweet, sunny feature, 
Music and mirth, bright noon and starry night; 
When wattles gleam among the deeper tinting, 
And purple clouds droop o'er the dreaming sea. 
When earth is . heaven ; when earth and sky are lovers, 
Whose gladsome hours glide by on golden wings. 



THE RHYMES OUR HEARTS CAN READ. 

"Dryblower.' 

' Give us a ballad that swings along 
With the bound of a striving steed; 
Give us — whether it's right or wrong — 
The rhymes our hearts can read. 

Tell us of men whose axes bite 

The hearts of the mountain gum; 
Sing of the pioneers who fight 

To waken the desert dumb; 
Write of the gaunt and grimy band 

That the far-away world forgets. 
As it pats the cheek and strokes the hand 

Of its curled and scented pets ; 

Tell of the slaves who sweat and strive 
Deep down from the light of day, 

While the spoon-fed drones of the human hive 
Are grudging their paltry pay; 

Write of the men for whom God waits- 
Men of a Christ-like creed ; 

Sing of the mates who die for mates. 
In the rhymes our hearts can read. 



140 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

We want to read of the mulga mines, 

Where the dolly precedes the mill ; 
We want to hear, between the lines, 

The ring of the pick and drill ; 
We want to crawl from page to page 

Through dusty drive and stope. 
To catch the hiss of the rushing cage 

And the roll of the winding-rope. 

Give us the rip-saw's grind and scream 

As it sunders the giant log; 
The groan and creak of the bullock team 

As it flounders across the bog ; 
The swish and crack of the stockmen's whips 

In the roar of the night stampede. 
Give us the music that bites and grips — 

The rhymes our hearts can read. 



Write of the long and lonely tramps 

That furrow the hearts out-back; 
Sing of the days of hasty camps. 

When Bayley blazed the track. 
Tell of the times we've fought for fun, 

A wearisome hour to wile. 
And whether we lost or whether we won 

Gripped hands with a jest and smile. 

Give us a ballad that swings along 
With the bound of a striving steed ; 

Give us — whether ifs right or wrong — 
The rhymes our hearts can read. 



ANNE GLENNY WILSON. 141 

THE MOTHER. 

Anne Glenny Wilson. 

My heart is o'erflowing, 

My foot treads the foam, 
Go tell to the wide world 

My son has come home 
From the far-rolling north sea, 

Where mermaidens cry. 
Where the sun, all the week long. 

Goes round in the sky. 
Where the ice-cliffs break seaward 

With thunder-loud fall. 
From the pale northern dancers — 

He comes from you all ! 



Go, seek in the oak-chest 

The blue-flowered plate. 
The bowl like an eggshell. 

The cup's silver mate. 
Lay on the round table 

The damask so fine. 
And cut the black cluster 

Still left on the vine. 
My hand shakes — but bring me 

That pure honeycomb, 
Now nothing shall vex me. 

My boy has come home ! 



142 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Now twine on the doorway 

Pale wreaths of jasmine, 
And tell all the village 

His ship has come in. 
How lucky my whe^t-bread 

Was baked yesternight ; 
He loves the brown home-loafj 

And this is so light. 
Now heap up wild berries 

As black as the sloe — 
I never must tell hiih 

I've wept for him so! 

The girls will come running 

To hear all the news, 
The neighbours with nodding 

And scraping of shoes. 
The fiddler, the fifer, ' 

Will play as they run, 
The blind beggar, even. 

Will welcome my son. 
He smiles like his father 

(I'll sit here and think). 
Oh, could he but see us — 

It makes my heart sink. 
But what is that?— "Mother !" 

I heard someone call. 
"Oh, Ronald, my first-born. 

You've come after all !" 



HUBERT CHURCH. 143 

SAINT HUBERT. 

Hubert Church. 

Comrades, to the woodlands come! 

Thrice afar the tasselled horn 
Pours a soul's elysium 

Thro' the white wake of the morn. 

Thrice the buck has hearkened still, 

Buried in the umber shades; 
Thrice the gleby-wandering rill 

Answers ere the bugle fades. 

Over yonder granite peak, 

Circled with a fleecy film, 
Leaps the glad sun's flaming streak. 

Kissing all his verdured realm. 

Unpremeditated hymns 

Pour from feather-throated choirs. 
Every note with joy o'erbrims. 

Every heart to soar aspires! 

Thrice afar the tasselled horn 

Pours a soul's elysium 
Through the white wake of the mom — 

Comrades, to the woodlands come! 



144 AN A USTRAL GARDEN. 

EARTH TO EARTH. 

E. S. Emerson. 

So, Earth to Earth! There is pain to-day 

In the preacher's solemn voice; 
But my thoughts go out and away, away 

Where the wild bush-birds rejoice; 
And I'm ten years old and a boy again, 

And the way to the creek is green, 
And it's oh ! for the wattles along the lane 

And the blue-bells in between. 

And it's oh! for a scamper across the rise 

And down where the scrub is dense. 
With a wild hulloo as a plover flies 

From the reed-bed by the fence. 
And here's a rabbit. Hey! sool 'em there! 

And hi! to the dogs that chase; 
And oh! for a touzle of brown-black hair 

And a wind-kissed, sun-burned face. 

And here's a hole where the yabbie dwells; 

Ho ! ho ! for a bait of meat ; 
And ha! ha! ha! for the kid who yells 

As the yib-yabs nip his feet. 
And it's off again at a racing run 

Where the stock-yard gate swings wide. 
And oh ! for the falls and the stolen fun 

With a young bull-calf to ride. 

And "it's not so far to the flannel flowers," 
And "the mountain creek's quite near"; 




Esma, Photo. 



E. S. EMERSON. 



WILL LAWSON. 145 

"We've grass-seed watches to count the hours, 

So, what have you got to fear?" 
And, tired at last, it's the old earth's breast 

And a wide bed ready made. 
With wattles to whisper a song of rest. 

And the great white gums for shade. 

So, Earth to Earth, in the golden noon, 

Or late in the waning day. 
We answered the dear old mother's croon 

As only her bush kids may; 
And so, when the Dusk has blurred our sight. 

And her last low call we hear. 
We'll sink to sleep in her arms o'night. 

Just Earth to Earth without fear. 



THE CRUISER. 

She came at break of day, 

Her hull against the dawn. 
Blundering up the sleeping bay 

Before the nets were drawn. 
But little we cared for that ; 

The cruiser claimed our eyes — 
Her funnels and spars lay flat 

And the air was full of cries. 

On her bridge the captain stood, 
His eyes were staring wide, 

Lost in a madman's mood, 
Searching the rosy tide. 



Will Lawson. 



146 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The smoke from the splintered stacks 
Rolled over her decks in clouds. 

In her armor were rents and cracks, 
In the water dragged her shrouds. 



We hailed, "Ahoy! ahoy!" 

But her steersman never turned. 
She scraped the channel buoy. 

And his eyes with madness burned. 
Her plates were shattered and bent. 

One screw was shot away ; 
Broken and wounded she went — 

Halt and lame, up the bay. 

A wild face came to the rail, 

Just aft of the broken guys; 
He did not answer our hail. 

But we saw the look in his eyes — 
Terror and weariness, 

And the look of a deafened man — 
Ah, well ! we could only guess 

This ship had' been in the van. 

She had fought where the fight was worst, 
With decks all splashed and strewn. 

When the shrill shells struck and burst 
In the light of a chill half-moon. 

The smoke rolled over the sea, 
And oh! she moved so slow. 

And oh! the moaning of agony 
From the wounded men below. 



WILL LAWSON. 147 

Into the port she went — 

We turned and watched her go. 
With armor shattered and bent 

And engines toiling slow. 
Yet proud she looked, and grim, 

As though she had fought her iight, 
Out there on the morning's rim. 

Back there in the awful night. 

Never shall I forget 

That sight in the early dawn, 
As we loimged in the sea-mist wet. 

Before the nets were drawn; 
When the broken cruiser came 

So slow that she raised no foam. 
Tottering, weary, crushed, but game. 

Groping her blind way 'home. 



THE FLYER. 

Will Lawson. 
Oh! this is the song of a flyer, 

Whose wheels are a dream to see ; 
Though many a rig lifts higher. 

There's nothing that moves so free. 
And over the level distance, 

I wager the townships know 
The throb of her heavy pistons. 

And smile when they hear her blow. 
For never a load can hold her; 

She drives by the clock — on time — 
A-rocking and all a-shoulder. 

And every chain a-chime. 



148 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And never a build flies fleeter — 
With half her long journey done, 

She snorts when the light grades meet her, 
And sways on the downward run. 

A whisper afar through the dead-light 

That lies on the lonely gums- — 
A dazzling beam from her headlight, 

And a shuddering rail that hums — 
A muffled roll like the throbbing 

Of myriad screws off-shore, 
And a labouring, rhythmic sobbing 

That grows to a pulsing roar — 
A strident call where the levels 

Dip down, and the red roads cross — 
A furnace and two red devils, 

A barrel that gleams a-toss. . . . 
And so, you have seen us racing. 

You'll stare till our tail-lights wheel. 
But only the night-winds, chasing. 

Can follow our flying steel. 

The whispering trees are bending — 

Some mimic our reckless speed. 
And circle and race, pretending 

They're giving the mail a lead. 
And, out in the clearings, grasses 

Moan sad in the draught we bring ; 
And every post that passes 

Lifts higher the wires that sing 
Of speed and a rosy morning 

To follow, oh, far behind ! 



WILL LAWSON. 149 

The twinkling "red" waves warning, 

The glittering "green" — "drive blind" — 

Green light, and a long bridge thunders, 
And, housed on the river flat, 

A youngster awakes and wonders 
"If ever I'll drive like that!" 

The shadows that shun the sunlight. 

Fly fast when they hear our stroke; 
But we fly faster with one light 

That jeers at the shadow-folk. 
Thrown clear in its flashing flicker. 

The quivering metals shine.; 
And, cursing, the wheels turn quicker, 

And tear at the stubborn line 
That swings o'er the plain-land, gleaming 

Through village and lonely town — 
They watch out west for our steaming, 

And laugh when our brakes go down. 
The grappling cranks are heaving — 

Each coupling-rod sweeps grand. 
And. softly her sheaves are weaving 

A tale of the overland. 

Oh! this is the song of a racer. 

Who never was taught to climb, 
And never a rig can pace her — 

She drives by the clock — on time — 
To waken the summer silence 

Or shatter the night-mist's pa,ll — 
For many a ringing mile hence, 

The people will hear her call. 



150 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And e'en when her day is ended, 

And heavier builds outstrip, 
She'll come in the moonlight splendid, 

And blow where the crossings dip ; 
And meii laid dead in the distance 

Will turn in their rest, I know. 
To hear the rush of her pistons, 

And smile when they hear her blow ! 



IN LONDON. 

Dora Wilcox. 

When I look out on London's teeming streets, 

On grim, grey houses, and on leaden skies. 

My courage fails me, and my heart grows sick, 

And I remember that fair heritage 

Barter'd by me for what your London gives. 

This is not Nature's city : , I am kin 

To whatsoever is of free and wild. 

And here I pine between these narrow walls, 

And London's smoke hides all the stars from me, 

Light from mine eyes, and Heaven from my heart. 

For in an island of those Southern seas 

That lie behind me, guarded by the Cross 

That looks all night from out our splendid skies, 

I know a valley opening to the East. 

There, hour by hour, the lazy tide creeps in 

Upon the sands I shall not pace again — 

Save in a dream, — and, hour by hour, the tide 

Creeps lazily out, and I behold it not, 

Nor the young moon slow sinking to her rest 



DORA WILCOX. 151 

Behind the hills ; nor yet the dead white trees 
Glimmering in the starlight: they are ghosts 
Of what has been, and shall be never more. 
No, never more ! ' 

Nor shall I hear again 
The wind that rises at the dead of night 
Suddenly, and sweeps inward from the sea, 
Rustling the tussock, nor the weka's wail 
Echoing at evening from the tawny hills. 
In that deserted garden that I lov'd. 
Day after day, my flowers drop unseen; 
And as your Summer slips away in tears, 
Spring wakes our lovely Lady of the Bush, 
The Kowhai, and she hastes to wrap herself 
All in a mantle wrought of living gold; 
Then come the birds, who are her worshippers. 
To hover round her : tuis swift of wing. 
And bell-birds flashing sudden in the sun, 
Carolling. Ah ! what English nightingale. 
Heard in the stillness of a summer eve, 
From out the shadow of historic elms. 
Sings sweeter than our Bell-bird of the Bush? 
And Spring is here : now the Veronica, 
Our Koromiko, whitens on the cliff, 
The honey-sweet Manuka buds, and bursts 
In bloom, and the divine Convolvulus, 
Most fair and frail of all oiu: forest flowers. 
Stars every covert, running riotous. 
O quiet valley, opening to the East, 
How far from this thy peacefulness am I ! 
Ah me, how far! and far this stream of Life 
From thy clear creek fast falling to the sea! 



152 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Yet let me not lament that these things are 

In that lov'd country I shall see no more ; 

All that has been is mine inviolate, 

Lock'd in the secret book of memory ; 

And though I change, my valley knows no change. 

And when I look on London's teeming streets. 

On grim, grey houses, and on leaden skies. 

When speech seems but the babble of a crowd, 

And music fails me, and my lamp of life 

Bums low, and Art, my mistress, turns from me, — 

Then do I pass beyond the Gate of Dreams 

Into my kingdom, walking unconstrained 

By ways familiar under Southern skies; 

Nor unaccompanied ; the dear dumb things 

I lov'd once, have their immortality. 

There, too, i^ all fulfilment of desire: 

In this the valley of my Paradise 

I find again lost ideals, dreams too fair 

For lasting; there I meet once more mine own 

Whom Death has stolen, or Life estranged from me; 

And thither, with the coming of the dark. 

Thou comest, and the night is full of stars. 



LOUISE M4CK. 153 

TO A SEA SHELL. 

Hubert Church. 

Friend of my chamber — O thou spiral shell 
That murmurest of the ever-murmuring sea! 
Repeating with eternal constancy 
Whatever memories the wave can tell ; 
Whatever harmonies may rise and swell, 
Whatever sadness in the deep may be : 
They are the Ocean's, and desired of thee; 
Thou treasurest what thou dost love so well. 

So all my heart is one voluted fold, 
Shielding one face, and evermore it seems 
Upon the threshold of the prying Day, 
Hid in the tangle of reluctant dreams; 
And in the noontide, and the evening grey. 
Its light illumines secrecies untold. 



IN THE ATTIC. 



Louise Mack. 



What does it matter what they say 

While there is the sunset, there the stars, 

And over the city's mistiness 

The moon comes out of her silver bars ? — 

And somewhere out of the sight of eye 
The river runs through a low, long mist. 

Under the bridge where the lovers cross 
Into the fields for their evening tryst. 



154 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

What does it matter? Up and up 

The mounting staircase twists and winds, 

Till, see! the starlight is almost touched, 
The world that hates us is left behind. 

Open the door with the rusty key, 

Close and lock it, and enter in : 
Straightway walk into Paradise, 

And let your time as a god begin. 

Here in the Attic all things fade. 
And dwindle into their own small size; 

Brain-fires burn when the coals go out, 
And stars shine in with solacing eyes. 

And weave a ladder into the room, 
And wave and beckon until we dare 

The first frail foot-hold. Then they turn 
And veil their windows and leave us there, 

Low and alone on the silver stair, 
The attic window out of our sight, 

The stars' gates hidden in mystery, 
The shining ladder our only light. 

Rolled in the mighty atmosphere 
We stumble heavenwards bar by bar. 

Through the midnights, till feet refuse, 

And reel and tremble — and there's the star! 

What if the Attic had not been! 

A silver ladder would never dare 
Down the stars to the basement world 

Whose dirt would tarnish the shining stair. 



L. A. ADAMSON. ISS 



Open the door with the rusty key, 
Close and lock it, and enter in; 

Straightway walk into Paradise, 
And let your time as a god begin. 



VICTI INVICTI. 
(1891.) 

L. A. Adamson. 

What is the prize of the vanquished, who have fought 

their last good fight, 
Who fought in grim bulldog fashion, but failed with the 

goal in sight? 
No wreaths have they for the wearing, no laurels have 

they to show ; 
What is the prize of the vanquished? — Give answer ye 

who know. 

Ye know, for your own hearts tell you, O gallant fighting 

four, 
Ye know what ye have for guerdon, now the long day's 

work is o'er ; 
For where teeth are set the tighter, and oar-blades flash 

and bend. 
Ye have drunk the delight of battle, have fought it out to 

the end. 

Ay ! the taste of success is pleasant, and laurels are comely 

to wear, 
And defeat is defeat at the best — at the best is but hard 

to bear; 



156 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Yet will defeat not lessen the sense of a duty done, 
And the tie will be still unbroken that knits your hearts 
in one. 

To-day you are with us ; to-morrow the larger life calls 

you away; 
Yet, though it be forty years hence, you'll remember the 

race of to-day; 
The free glad life that was in you, the courage that leapt 

to the strain, 
The joy of the fresh strong weather that tingled in sinew 

and vein. 

Others will take your places; a year hence another crew 
Perchance may gather the laurels that fate has denied to 

you. 
Yet better than victory's triumphs the triumph ye have 

wrought, 
And better to us than laurels the lesson ye have taught. 

All ye then, fain of the honour, who fain would the 

labour miss, 
Weak-limb'd and weaker-hearted, some lesson learn from 

this; 
For the honour is at your feet, if ye have but the heart 

to dare — 
In the labour lies the honour. Go forth and find it there ! 



A. G. STEPHENS. 157 

AVE AUSTRALIA! 

A. G. Stephens. 

There's a word in the south, where the Winter speeds for- 
ward, 
That kindles young hearts into jubilant flame ; 
There's a word where the Summer is fleeing to nor'ward 
That brightens young eyes with the pride of the' 
Name; 
There's .signal and token, there's welcome bespoken, 
There's a Star at whose shining the darkness grows 
pale, 
The barriers are broken, the sleepers have woken — ' 
She comes, a fair Nation ! Australia, hail ! 

The Bush-winds breathe freedom above and around her. 

From quarrel and anger she brings us release ; 
With, blessing and hea,ling she's girt her and bound her — 

Cinctured with Harmony ; sandalled with Peace. 
And yet they could slander her ! yet they could fear her ! 

Before that calm beauty could tremble and quail ! 
Ah, heed not ! delay not ! draw nearer, draw nearer, 

Our Lady of Promise ! Australia, hail ! 

Give us a scutcheon as wide as our Continent ! 

Give us a Flag that will shelter us all. 
Fold us a^d shroud us, if ever on blood-besprent 

Battle-field fighting, we falter and fall. 
For evil communion, give brotherly union ; 

For catchwords, a watchword ; for marsh-fires, a Grail ; 
Whatever is to be, let us front destiny 

Shoulder to shoulder! Australia, hail! 



158 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

There are thrills, there are tremors that set the blood 
tingling; 
There's lighting of beacons through all the broad East ; 
There's scent of blown orchids with wattle-bloom ming- 
ling— 
Strew fern for her footstep ! pour wine for her feast ! 
For She's coming — and singing ! you hear her ? you hear 
her? 
They shrink from her pathway, the prophets of bale. 
She's for us ! she's with us ! cheer her ! O cheer her ! 
Our Mother and Lover ! Australia, hail ! 



LOVE IN A COTTAGE. 

Daniel Henry Deniehy. 

A cottage small be mine, with porch 

Enwreathed with ivy green, 
And brightsome flowers with dew-filled bells, 

'Mid brown old wattles seen. 

And one to wait at shut of eve. 

With eyes as fountain clear, 
And braided hair, and simple dress. 

My homeward step to hear. 

On simimer eves to sing old songs. 

And talk o'er early vows. 
While stars look down like angels' eyes 

Amid the leafy boughs. 

When Spring flowers peep from flossy cells, 

And bright-winged parrots call, 
In forest paths be ours to rove 

Till purple evenings fall. 



JESSIE MA CKA Y. 1 59 

The curtains closed, by taper clear 

To read some page divine, 
On Winter nights, the hearth beside, 

Her soft warm hand in mine. 

And so to glide through busy life, 

Like some small brook alone. 
That winds its way 'mid grassy knolls. 

Its music all its own. 



FOR LOVE OF APPIN. 

[The people of Appin evicted and deported to America 
in the i8th century, wailed and sang "Lochaber No More" 
long after they put out to sea. It is said that the older men 
never smiled again lest they should be thought to have for- 
gotten Scotland.] 

Jessie Mackay. 

The hand is to the plough an' the e'e is to the trail ; 
The river-boatie dances wi' her heid to the gale; 

But she'll never ride to Appin ; 

We'll see nae mair o' Appin ; 
For ye ken we crooned "Lochaber" at the saut sea's gate. 

It's a land of giantrie ; 

Its lochs "are like the sea. 

But it's no a desert fairly, 
*The corn's fu' an' early; 

Ye'll hear the laddies daffing ; 

Ye'll hear the lasses laughing ; 

But we— we canna tine 

What lies ayont the brine : 



160 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

When we sang "Lochaber" then, 

We were grey, grey men. 

We'll smile nae mair for ever 

By the prairie or the river, 
Lest ony think perchance that we forget 

The rainy road to Appin, — 

East awa' to Appin,^ 
The rainy road to Appin that the leal men went. 



They tore us oot o' Scotland, they flang us in the west 
Like a bairn's thread o' beads, an' we downa look for rest. 

But it's O to lie in Appin, — 

r the haly sod o' Appin, — 
It's O to lie in Appin where the mist haps a' ! 

Cauld is this to live or die on. 

But we brought the tents o' Zion; 

An' weel the mark is seen 

Where the martyr-blood hath been 

That will clear us to the Lord, 

When the Angel wi' the sword 

Gangs nightly up the land 

O' an Egjrpt that is banned. 

But God do sae an' mair 

To us, gin we cast a care, 

Or smile again for ever 

By the prairie or the river. 
Lest ony think perchance that we forget 

The red road to Appin, — 

East awa' to Appin, — 
The red road to Appin that the heart's blood tracked! 




yanda, Photo. 



VlKSCi GILMORE. 



ARTHUR H. ADAMS. 161 

It's no a desert fairly, it's grand an' young an' fine: 
Here the sons o' Anak might live an' press the wine: 

But it's O for hame an' Appin ! — 

The^ heather hills o' Appin ! — 
The thousand years o' Appin where the leal men lie ! 

Our face is set as stane, 

But we'll thank the Lord again, — 

Gang saf tly a' our days ; 

An' wark shall be our praise. 

The bairns will tak:' a root 

By the mighty mountain foot; 

But we, we canna sever; 

It's no for us whatever; 

We hear nae earthly singing 

But it sfets "Lochaber" ringing. 

An' we'll never smile again 

r the sunlight or the rain 
Till oor feet are on the lang last trail, — 

The siller road to Appin, — 

East awa' to Appin, — 
The siller road to Appin rinnin' a' the way to God ! 



A SONG OF FAILURE. 
' Arthur H. Adams. 

Here is my hand to you, brother, 

You of the ruck who have failed. 
I, too, am only another 

(Fighter who faltered and quailed. 
Now with my courage for token 

Here to grim Fate I give tithe; 
I, too, am beaten and broken, 

Lying, the swath of the scythe ! 



162 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

We, to the conquerors' seeming, 

Crouch, an incongruous horde — 
Fighters, enmeshed in their dreaming. 

Dreamers who girt on the sword, 
Weaklings with splendid ambitions, 

Heroes who learnt to succumb, 
Poets a-swoon in their visions, 

Singers with ecstasy dumb. 

Failed ! So we cast off our burden, 

Done with our doubts and our fears: 
These we have won for our guerdon — 

Pity and tears — women's tears ! 
You with your conquests unending 

Dwell from a woman apart ; 
Only the himible and bending 

'Learn the low door to her heart. 

We that lie dumb in your scorning 

Made you the heroes you are, 
Built you a road to the morning, 

Taught you to reach for a star: 
We have had sight of the glory. 

Pointed it clear to the blind ; 
Yours is the conquerors' story, 

Ours is the vision you find. 

Here is no dread and no grieving; 

Over us hurtles the fray, 
Is yours a Heav'n worth achieving, 

If it be stormed in a day? 
Here is this world we must live in — 

Little to lose or to gain ; 
More is it worth to have striven 

Than in the end to attain. 



E.'S. EMERSON. 163 

A RAIN SONG. 

E. S. Emerson. 



There is music in the Mallee, 

Lilting music, soft and low, 
Like the songs in vale and valley 

Where the summer waters flow; 
But an anthem of elation 

Wedded to a woman's mouth 
Is the message from each station 

From the Mitchell river south. 

For it's raining! raining! raining! 

How the iron roof-tops, ring! 
How the waters, swiftly draining 

Through tl}e straining down-pipes 
Every dr'op a golden rhyme is, 

Every shower a stanza strong, 
And each day of raining-time is 

Canto sweet of God's great song. 



Oh, the earth was dry as tinder. 

And her lips were cracked with pain ! 

From the south to Thargomindah 
Like a dead thing she has lain; 

But, at last, the long drought broken, 
She — like Lazarus, the Jew, 

When the Christ words had been spoken- 
She shall leap to life anew. 



164 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

For ifs raining! raining.' raining! 

Don't you hear the merry din? 
Don't you hear the old earth straining 

As she sucks the juices in? ■ 
And the swelling creeks and rivers — 

Hark! their mellow madrigal! 
Oh, the sweetest music givers 

Are the autumn rains that jail! 

All the air is sweet with voices, 

Sweet with human voices now; 
And the anvil-tool rejoices 

On the ploughshare and the plough ; 
Yea, above the joyous beating 

Of the roof bass you can hear 
All the choirs of Nature meeting 

In an anthem loud and clear. 

For ifs raining! raining! raining! 

Over all the thirsty land! 
Don't you Jiear the old earth straining 

As the sapless roots expand? 
But her famine days are over. 

And her smiles shall soon be seen, 
For her old-time Autumn lover 

Brings her back lier garb of green. 



7. ALE}^. ALLAN. 165 



AN AUSTRALIAN BATTLE HYMN. 

7. AleXi Allan. 

Men of an island set in foam 

Linked with a lesser isle, 
Doth never a sea-wind blow you home 

A threat from the Af terwhile ? 
When over the brim of your belting seas 

The lifting smoke-lines streak and show, 
And the shouldering squadrons slay your peace, 
Shall your land lie stark to the rape of these, 

From the range to the reef below? 
Stand by! 

Braced feet, and the points laid low! 

Got from the loins of a greyer land, 
. Son, ye are stripling grown, 
Strong on your own set feet to stand. 

Girt with a pride your own. 
Shall the haft that your hard-strung fingers feel 

Be the haft of the drivifig plough — ^no more? 
Ye have wrought your shares from the smitten 

steel, 
So now for the sword, and the sheering keel 

Shall your fierce-lunged forges roar — 
Who goes? — 

Lo, a fleet and a foe ofiF-shore ! 

Once, in that gaunt cold greyer land. 

Buckler and bow and bill 
Twanged on the green in your greatsire's hand. 

So shall it serve you still 



166 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

That his sport be yours — when the shrill shells dip, 

And your russet cohorts leap crashing on, 
And the wrestling bayonets 4rive and rip 
For life and for land, and a white wife's lip — 
Till the roar , of the rout be gone, 

(Strong hearts!) 
And the Victor have rest anon. 

Watch, eyes, where your lazy vineyards shine 

And your white wives smile and weave. 
Lest an Orient foot crush down your vine 

And a Western robber reive ! 
So, grimed at your seawall's belching verge, , 
Shall ye thank God, peering the sick smoke 
through 
From "the shore and the wrack that your h6t guns 

purge 
To the line where your swept foes melt and merge, 
That your girdling chain strained true, 

(God send!) 
Whose links are the hearts of you. 



SUNRISE. 

Blanche E. Baughan. 
"Shingle Short" speaks : — 

Time to notify up at the house. 
An' start caressin' them jolly cows. 
— Hallo, Sun ! You're the bestest friend I 
Bull's the dinginess you can't mend, . 
Burstin' out with your kind old face, 
Chuckin' cheeriness round the place. 
Ain't the rain got the paddocks green? 



BLANCHE .EDITH BAUGHAN. 167 

— "If rain was honey, mud 'ud be money" — 
Don' the black o' the logs look clean? 
Dandy, them puddles in between! 
Each a-winkin' his bright blue eye — 
Little run-away bits o' sky. 
Minahs fossickin' round about, 
Thrush a-turnin' his song-box out — 
Feels so jolly, he's got to shout. 
Reckon the wet's a-polish'd the air — 
Such a shininess everywhere! 
Webs a-twinkelin' on the rails. 
An' even them mean old milkin' -pails 
Sunny as silver, . . . S'pose they were! 
S'pose I'd ha' milk'd 'em all they'd hold, 
An' Snap ! the two of 'etn turn'd to gold, 
An'- these old duds to satin an' silk, 
Drippin' with di'mon's, instead o' milk ! 
Wouldn't the folk at the fact'ry stare. 
An' Boss palaver about his share? 
— Was that someone a-callin? . . . 

Ay; 
Comin'j 0, comin' ! 

Ain't that fine, 
'Twixt that wattle an' old black pine? 
Deeps o' the Bush all dark below. 
Points o' the mountain bright aloft. 
Sharp an' solemn with sun, an' snow; 
An', 'twixt an' 'tween of 'em curly-curl'd, 
Mists o' the mornin*, rosy-soft. 
— Ain't it the beautifullest world? 



168 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

BEYOND KERGUELEN. 

Henry Clarence Kendall. 

Down in the South, by the waste without sail on it — 

Far from the zone of the blossom and tree — 
Lieth, with winter and whirlwind and wail on it, 

Ghost of a land by the ghost of a sea. 
Weird is the mist from the summit to base of it; 

Sun of its heaven is wizened and grey; 
Phantom of light is the light on the face of it — 

Never is night on it, never is day! 
Here is the shore without flower or bird on it; 

Here is no litany sweet of the springs — 
Only the haughty, harsh thunder is heard on it, 

Only the storm, with a roar in its wings ! 



Storm from the Pole is the singer that sings to it 

Hymns of the land at the planet's grey verge. 
Thunder discloses dark, wonderful things to it — 

Thunder, and rain, and the dolorous surge. 
Hills with no hope of a wing or a leaf on them. 

Scarred with the chronicles written by flame, 
Stare through the gloom of inscrutable grief on them, 

Down on the horns of the gulfs without name. 
Cliffs with the records of fierce flying fires on them — 

Loom over perilous pits of eclipse; 
Alps, with anathema stamped in the spires on them^ 

Out by the wave with a curse on its lips. 



HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL. 169 

Never is sign of soft, beautiful green on it — 

Never the colour, the glory of rose! 
Neither the fountain nor river is seen on it, 

Naked its crags are, and barren its snows! 
Blue as the face of the drowned is the shore of it — 

Shore, with the capes of indefinite cave. 
Strange is the voice of its wind, and the roar of it 

Startles the mountain and hushes the wave. 
Out to the south and away to the north of it, 

Spectral and sad are the spaces untold ! 
All the year round a great . cry goeth forth of it — 

Sob of this leper of lands in the cold. 

No man hath stood; all its bleak, bitter years on it — 

Fall of a foot on its wastes is unknown: 
Only the sound of the hurricane's spears on it 

Breaks with the shout from, the uttermost zone. 
Blind are its bays with the shadow of bale on than ; 

Storms of the nadir their rocks have uphurled; 
Earthquake hath registered deeply its tale on them^ 

.Tale of distress from the dawn of the world! 
There are the gaps, with the surges that seethe in thepi — 

Gaps in whose jaws is a menace that glares! 
There the wan reefs, with the merciless teeth in them, 

Gleam on a chaos that startles and scares ! 

Back in the dawn of this beautiful sphere, on it — 

Land df the dolorous, desolate face — 
Beamed the blue day; and the bountiful year on it 

Fostered the leaf and the blossom of grace. 
Grand were the lights of its midsummer noon on it. 

Mornings of majesty shone on its seas: 



170 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Glitter of star and the glory of moon on it 
Fell, in the march of the musical breeze. 

Va,lleys and hills, with the whisper of wing in them. 
Dells of the daffodil — spaces impearled, 

Flowered and flashed with the splendour of Spring in 
them — 
Back in the morn of this wonderful world. 

Soft were the words that the thunder then said to it — 

Said to this lustre of emerald plain ; 
Sun brought the yellow, the green, and the red to it — 

Sweet were the songs of its silvery rain. 
Voices of water and wind in the bays of it 

Lingered, and lulled like the psalm of a dream. 
Fair were the nights and effulgent the days of it — 

Moon was in shadow and shade in the beam. 
Siuniner's chief throne was the marvellous coast of it. 

Home of the Spring was its luminous lea: 
Garden of glitter ! but only the ghost pf it 

Moans in the South by the ghost of a sea. 



ENID DERHAM. 171 

THE WIND CHILD. 

Enid Derham. 

My folk's the wind-folk, it's there I belong, 

I tread the earth below them, and the earth does me 

wrong, 
Before my spirit knew itself, before my frame unfurled, 
I was a little wandering breeze and blew about the world. 
The winds of the morning that breathe against my cheek 
Are kisses of comfort from a love too great to speak. 
The whimpering airs that cry by night and never find 

their rest 
Are sobbing to be taken in and soothed upon my breast. 
The storm through the mountains, the tempest from the 

sea, 
That ride their cloudy horses and take no thought of 

me, 
They are my noble brothers that hasten to the fight, 
They fill my heart with singing, they fill my eyes with 

light, 
They're a shield upon my shoulder, a sword by my side, 
A battle-cry for weariness, and a plume of pride. 
But sometimes in the moonlight when the moon is in the 

West, 
Young and strange and virginal and dropping to her rest. 
There comes a wind from out the South, a little chill and 

thin. 
And draws me from the human warmth that houses it 

within. 
My soul streams forth to follow a soul that lures it on, 
The sleepy flesh calls kin to it, and murmurs to be gone, 
Across the dreaming dewy flowers and through the 

shadowy trees 
The sweet insistent whisper comes, and I am ill at ease. 
How, they have not told me, and where, I do not know. 
But the wind-folk is my folk, and some day I'll go. 



172 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



THE DESERT. 

Frank Morton. 

In the beloved kingdom of my dreams 

I walked afraid, unfriended and alone : 

The old blind gods slept each upon his throne, 

And every nymph had fled the sacred streams: 

Weary, the sun cast dim discouraged beams. 

And every blossomed dell that I had known 

In happier days was barren: naked stone, 

Sour swamp, dead leaves, a vulture's rancorous screams. 

Then I found sobbing by the desolate way 
A timid child with poor frail bleeding feet 
Torn by the thorns of the rough path he'd trod. 
I kissed his wounds and soothed his sore dismay, 
And of a sudden found myself (ah, sweet!) 
Weeping glad tears upon the knees^ of God ! 



THE RED WEST ROAD. 

Will Lawson. 

Off shore I hear the great propellers thunder. 
And throb and thrash so steadily and slow; 

Their booming cadence tells of seas that plunder^ — 

Of Love's rnoon-seas and brave hearts thrown asunder, 
Of hot, red lips and battles, blow for blow; 

And as they sing my heart is filled with wonder. 
Though why — I scarcely know. 



WILL LAWSON. 173 

Perhaps it is because they tell a story, 
And lift a deep storm-measure as they come, 

A song of old-time love and battles gory. 

When men dared Hell, and sailed through sunset's glory 
With pealing trumpet tuned to rolling drum, 

To hunt .and loot and sink the jewelled quarry 
In seas too deep to plumb. 

I only know I watch the steamers going 
Along the Red West Road, with heavy heart, 

And when the night comes, look for head-lights showing, 

And mark their speed — the ebb-tide or the flowing, 
For loth am I to see them slew and start 

Adown that path ; aind every deep call blowing , 
Stabs like a driven dart. 

The blazing West to me is always calling, 

For in the West there burns my brightest star. . . 

Oh, God! to hear the anchor- winches hauling. 

And feel her speeding, soaring high and falling. 
With steady swing across the brawling bar — 

To hear the stem-struck rollers tumble sprawling, 
And watch the lights afar. 

To South and East and North the screws are singing. 

So steadily and tunefully and slow. 
But on ^e Western Track they thunder, flinging 
Their wake a-foam, and by their roar and ringing — 

By lajighter sweet, deep in my heart, I know 
That down that Red West Road, with big screws 
swinging, 

Some day I'll go. 



174 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



THE LAST GOAL. 

D. M. Ross. 

'Twas just at the close of an autumn day, 
That had stolen from summer and lost its way, 
That I saw you pass on your iron grey, 

By the iield where we used to meet; 
I heard you sing as you used to sing, 
, A song half sad and half rollicking, 
But the grey went by with never a ring 

Of steel on the stony street. 

Your voice was the voice of one who sees 
No glimmer or glint of light oij the trees, 
Nor hears the sound of the evening breeze 

That sighs to the sinking sun. 
For your eyes were bent on the clouds ahead. 
O'er the piled-up crags of the watershed, 
And you rode in your saddle as ride the dead. 

When their life's last race is won. 

I called, and you seemed to hear the cry. 

For you waved your hand as you passed me by, 

And I fancy I heard a last good-bye — 

"Just say 'Good-bye' to them all. 
I must run to the farthest goal to-night, 
And play on a field, with flowers all white. 
On a sky-plain circled with shafts of light, 

With sun and star for a ball. 

"For I hear in the distance the hurrying feet 
Of ponies fleet as the winds are fleet. 
The rap arid rattle as mallets meet, 
The muttered half-curse, half -prayer ; 



DAVID MACDONALD ROSS. 175 

And the hundred sounds that we loved and knew, 
When the hand was quick and the eye was true, 
When straight to the goal the white ball flew, 
Low, like a bird, thro' the air." 

Good-bye, good-bye! Nay, I do not doubt 
You heard the rattle, the rush, and shout 
Of the game you loved, as the light went out 

Thro' the west all silently: 
For we see you not in your old-time place. 
When the players halt for a little space, 
With a shadow set on each friendly face, 

Where the sunshine used to be. 



I do not doubt that your eyes behold 
The milk-white steeds that never grow old, 
Saddled with crimson and shod with gold. 

That are more than fair to see; 
I do not doubt that you ride as well 
Thro' the Amaranth scent and the Asphodel, 
As you rode where the brown hills rise and swell 

In wave and wave o'er the lea. 

Yet oft and oft in the rush of play. 

And in waking dreams at the close of day, 

We will see you astride of your iron grey, 

Thro' the night-shades riding fast ; 
And at times we may mark in a bright star's fall. 
Your mallet stroke, and the flying ball. 
And, galloping past, we may hear you call, 

"Comrades, a goal at last !" 



176 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



WANDERLUST. 

Seaforth Mackenzie. 

"The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky. 

The deer to the wholesome wold." — Gipsy Song. 

In the charm of lazy days, I rode upon the upland trails ; 
Or out beyond the tide-rip fed the fill of flawless sails; 
Flicked the fly over running reaches; dreamed to the 

lyric of lapping sea; 
Or watched the wing of a querulous rover,^0 life o' 

mine, fancy-free. 

Out of the carol of ripple-reaches and challenge that 

rang in the wild swan's call. 
The Wanderlust went unto my heart with the whisper 

that frets like a gall, — 
"Take the rifle from the rack, Til show the spoor the 

hunters missed : 
I'll fill your sails to the ends of Earth, O lad, if you 

will but listl" 

Loth was I and lief was I ; full loth for her laughing 

eyes': 
But lief to compass the stave of Life note and note under 

changing skies! 
"Follow, oh follow, thro' lift of water, rain and rift, 

and tangle and mire. 
For I go down the wind's way, the will's way, the way 

of all desire !" 




Monteath, Photo. 



SEAFORTH M^ACKENZIE. 



'SEAFORTH MACKENZIE. \11 

Blue to the freezing light the homestead smoke in a 

ciirl wrote "Stay!" 
And my chestnut, sick for saddle and fence, looked out 

of his stall with a neigh ; 
White the throat and rich the voice that welled the song 

I besought; 
But — "O lad, why wait when the sea is white with the 

off-shore wind for your Thought?" 



Break you down the embers, where between the bars the 

purpose glowed ; 
, Knock the ash from out the briar's bowl, where the plea- 
sant fancies bode. 

Like as Spring hath vexed the river chafing that a curb 
restrains, 

So the heart's snows are a-meltin'g and the fresh is in 
the veins. 

my lips, I thank you for the lilt that tells me all my 

blood beats young ; 
Life, I thank thee for the trails untracked and rifle yet 

linslung ; 
For the easy, swinging stride, for the keenness of the 

viewless quest. 
And the promise of the quarry, and the lure to all 

unrest ! 

Strung with hope is the blue rim's bow, and the shaft it 

is the ship I loose! / . 

Whatso thing that lije may be I chase it with a running 

noose. 



178 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

West are the days, O vagrant heart, of the vaunt you were 

fancy-free, 
And now your king is a voice, and you must list to what 

words speaks he. 



THE DEAD MARCH OF THE WATERS. 

W.A.B. 

By the blazing messmate seated as the skies begin to 
darken. 
And the eager flames ascending seem to flout the tem- 
pest's din, 
Swells, mysterious and- mournful, over all a surging. . . 
hearken? . . .■ 
'Tis the Dead March of the Waters . . . and the 
tide is creeping in. 

Near the headland, where the she-oaks swing their mel- 
ancholy tresses. 
And the ti-tree turns to twilight all the sultry glare of 
noon. 
Where the wrack in clinging clusters every basalt crag 
caresses, 
Broods, in solitary silence. Desolation Point Lagoon. 

There, when youth's brief course grows sluggish, and its 
lures have given over. 

Are the merry mountain waters to the bitter ocean wed, 
And the tides roll heavy laden with the gages of a lover, 

And in secrecy and sorrow doth the sea give up its dead. 



EDWIN JAMES BRADY. 179 

Evermore from furthest ocean drift wan garlands to that 
wooing ; 
Stiff and twisted, bruised and broken, are they cast 
upon the strand ; 
On each face a pallid calmness, half a smile at its 
undoing, 
Half a shattered hope of rescue, and a clenching at 
the hand. 

Though I'm ageing to that music, I shall never cease to 
fear it ; 
Still I draw up to the fireside, happy but to be within. 
Think it foolish ? . . . Listen ! . . . there now . . . 
that low moaning ! Can you hear it ? 
'Tis the Dead March of the Waters . . . and the tide 
is creeping in. 



THE LAKE. 

E. J. Brady. 
Its call is peace — de.ep sylvan rest, 

Unbroken, save by chords 
The Mozart touch of Nature, best 

In low, harmonic words 
Of Music, draws from bough and breast 
Of tuneful trees and birds. 

Through silvern Morns and golden Noons 

And jewelled Nights, ablaze 
With sapphire stars and opal moons 

Of topaz- tinted rays; 
From wooded hills to seaward dunes 

It spreads its sparkling ways. 



180 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Mount Howe red granite walls uprears 
To guard its northern verge; 

And West, with sharp, forbidding spears, 
The grass-tree plains emerge; 

While South and East one faintly hears 
The warnings of the surge. 

So — shielded round by mount and sea — 
O'er scarcely trodden shores, 

The Bird of Ancient Mystery 
On musing pinion soars, 

While yet its beauties virgin be 
To Vandal sail or oars. 

No ash of tribal camp-iires gray, 
No cryptic trunk or mound — 

Wheteon the naked savage lay 
By vanished fires — are found ; 

For 'twas, the dusky grey-beards say, 
All times a sacred ground. 

Its note is peace ! While Theban kings 
In robes of conquest shone ; 

While lions fierce with flaunting wings 
Were carved in Babylon; 

Its autumns and its southern springs, 
To woodland harps, danced on. 

No song Hellenic fluted o'er 

Its calm and placid tide; 
No beacon lights the white dunes wore 

Home-coming ships to guide; 



EDWIN JAMES BRADY. 181 

No mourning voice along its shore 
Proclaimed how Caesar died. 



Mailed legions marched ; green harvest lands 

Were reddened as they sped; 
Proud monarchs, mouthing high commands, 

Came forth, and backward fled ; 
Their names were written on the sands, 

And by the sands o'er-spread. 

As ever Time's all-circling blade 

In steady downstrokes whirled, 
Gaunt prophets, standing in the shade 

Of frowning temples, hurled 
Fierce inspirations forth that made 

And yet unmade the World. 

Lone sons of Genius, from the Night 
Where dead Dust crowds the Urn 

Of Nothingness, uprose in bright 
Mortality, to burn 

Their tapers at the Shrine of Light — ' 
And . . . into Night return ; 

Their ideathless Words o'er years between 

Yet loud reverberate; 
No Echo fell ; in jungles green 
The wild wood-pigeon sate. 
And cooed across that still demesne, 

Love greetings to her mate. 



182 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

O'er water clear the black swan plied 

His graceful gondolet; 
Or slowly from his glossy side 

A vagrant white wing set 
To. sail the Lake's unrippled tide 

In roving amoret. 

Peace bideth here. Clear skies, unstained 

By smoke of 'Progress, blue 
Its daylight loveliness. Gold maned, 

Apollo's horses through 
Their cloudless sky-tracks tramp, unreined 

From dew to ev'ning dew : 

On slender pipes of reed the West 

Wind plays a silken song, 
When from their dry, discarded nest 

The feathered cygnets throng. 
And Summer's sandalled footsteps rest 

That cooling marge along. 

In iridescent flight swift pass 
Winged insects o'er its stream; 

A python windeth through the grass. 
His patterned length a-gleam; 

Their shadows mirrored in a glass. 
The mottled bitterns dream. 

But, when the lonely ranges hide. 
Deep-mantled, from the day, 

She lays her golden gown aside 
And locks her pearls away, 



JESSIE MAC KAY. ■*'.. 183 

I' 
With chilly vassals at her side 

To meet the Cloud Kings grey. 

Lean Cares that hunt the highways hard 

And trodden tracks austere 
Of men who hold in most regard 

Earth's goods, and gods revere 
Of Might and Gold, the musing bard 

May not encounter here. 

For, velvet Dawn, and damask Eve, 

And Night with stars o'erstrown, 
Afar from harried Hours that grieve 

And driven Days agroan. 
By this fair lakeside soft achieve 

Their pleasant tasks alone. 

And at the Dusk one dimly hears. 

In echoes, faint and low 
As dew upon the rustling ears. 

Or clouds on moonlit snow. 
The Voices of the ended years 

From crystal depths below. 



A FOLK SONG. 



Jessie Mackay. 



I came to your town, my love. 

And you were away, away ! 
I said, "She is with the Queen's maidens ; 

They tarry long at their play. 
They are stringing her words like pearls 
To throw to the dukes and earls." 



184 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

But O, the pity! 
I had but a morn of windy red 
To come to the town where you were bred, 
And you were away, away ! 

I came to your town, my love. 

And you were away, away ! 
I said, "She is with the mountain elves 

And rhisty and fair as they. 
They are spinning a diamond net 
To cover her curls of jet.'' 

But O, the pity! 
I had but a noon of searing heat 
To come to your town, my love, my sweet. 

And you were away, away! 

I came to your town, my love, 

And you were away, away ! 
I said, "She is with the pale white saints. 

And they tarry long to pray. 
They give her a white lily crown, 
And I fear she will never come down." 

But O, the pity! 
I had but an even grey and wan 
To come to your town and plead as man. 

And you were away, away ! 



WILL H. OGILVIE. 185 

WILLANJIE. 

Will H. Ogilvie. 

We were travelling down the Bogan, where the scrubs 

are deep and dense, 
With a thousand head of Tyson's, from the Queensland 

border fence — 
Great curly-horned Brewarras, bred among - the black 

belars 
To a scorn of six-wire fences, and a dread of twelve-foot 

bars; 
In their eyes the light of battle, where the hide and 

stockwhip meet. 
And the spell of open ranges in their hot and restless feet. 

We were camped in ridgy country, wi,th a homestead fence 
aback. 

And twenty chains of T.S.R. to shield us from the track ; 

For a thousand head of Tyson's — well, they're safer held 
aloof 

From every chance belated wheel or early passing hoof. 

The day had been a furnace breath, and, charged with 
coming change. 

The purple clouds- came rocking in from westward of 
the range. 

While fitful gleams of moonlight showed the blackboy 
on his Ijprse 

Set dim against the timber line that marked the water- 
course. 

The cattle close together lay at rest, perhaps to dream 
Of luscious knee-deep river-flats beside a northern stream. 



186 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Of noonday camps in wilga shade, and star-lit feeding 

trips 
In long-lost nights before they learned the lesson of the 

whips ; 
And we all saddle-weary lay dozing round the fires, 
Till some night-wandering , kangaroo rang music 'in the 

' wires : 
Then every beast was on his feet, and half were circling 

round, 
And you could hear the swift hoofs beat like thunder on 

the ground. 

A moment's work to catch the nags, the hobble-straps 

undo, 
And fling the saddles in their place and run the girth 

"Straps through. 
To lightly touch the stirrup-bar, and saddleward to 

swing, — 
God knows there's little time to waste when wild Bre- 

warras ring! 

I caught the gray Willanjie, a pearl where gems were 

rife — 
The gallant gray Willanjie that is more to me than life: 
Long days, upon the Western side, the old gray horse 

and I 
Have heard the mulgas crash, and watched the blue-grass 

miles slip by. 
And heart to heart, as comrades true, in Fortune's smile 

and firown. 
Have fought grim battle in the West, to live a lost love 

down. 



WILL H. OGILVIE. 187 

I caught the gray Willanjie, and the girths were scarcely 
drawn 

Before the wild mob passed us with a sweep of hoof and 
horn: 

The ridges shook beneath us and the skies reeled over- 
head, 

And where the whirling dust-clouds showed a glint of 
roan and red 

We plunged into the darkening scrub with only stars to 
guide, 

For when the wild Brewarras break, it's "Shake the reins 
and ride!" 

We saw them climb the stony rise and cross the ridge's 
crown ; 

We heard them lift the post-and-wire and fling the cap- 
rails down ; 

We passed the black boy struggling through — his brown 
horse, nearly spent, 

Could never see for dust and . dark the way Willanjie 
went; 

The old gray slipped between the trees and dodged the 
swinging boughs. 

And held the wing of Tyson's mob as cheap as milking 
cows. 

A ring-barked flat before us, and across the dust-clouds 

dense. 
We saw the maddened leaders, wheel upon a two-rail 

fence ; . 
But hot upon their lieaving flanks the sweating rear-guard 

pressed, . 



188 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And what's the worth of fences, with a thousand steers 

abreast? 
A crash of splintered railing in a whirl of lifting dust, 
And Tyson's border beauties took Hodson's farm on trust. 
With clashing horns and thundering feet they held the 

homestead track, 
And gray Willanjie snatched the bit, and tossed the white 

foam back ; 
Across the grassy, open flat, to where the stockyard stood, 
We shot beside the leaders, with his gray flanks dripping 

blood. 

Through all the roar of maddened throats, above the 

tramp of feet. 
Rang out one cry that held my heart a moment from 

its beat: 
A white form crouched before us, and across Willanjie's 

mane, 
I stooped and took the hand I feared to never hold again ; 
Aild through the dust and jar of hoofs leapt back the 

hidden years, 
The happiness and parting, and the bitterness and tears. 

I drew her to the saddle and the gray horse bounded on, 

And softly through the purple clouds the silver moon- 
beams shone; 

I kissed her warm red lips and drank the nectar of her 
breath, 

And scarcely saw for drunken joy the wraith of trampling 
Death. 



"FURNLEY MAURICE." 189 

I took the wild Brewarras down before I claimed my 

bridej 
And offers for the Queensland horse cairie in from every 

side; 
But to buy the gray Willanjie, though they come from 

near and far, 
They'll never hold the money in the ring at Kirk's 

Bazaar ! 



PISGAH. 

"Furnley Maurice." 

Tall hills, bright rivers to the utmost sea, 
He saw his promised country ; while he prayed 

He heard soft wings of death call anxiously, 
And' knew his God's injustice, and obeyed. 

Have we not seen him, ponderous and slow. 
Go up to take his portion? He who' made 
The Law, who ruled the sickle and the blade, 
Bore, calm, the brunt of Israel's want and woe. 

He wandered year on year, and when they cried 
Rebelliously, he raised a quieting hand 
Palsied with age! Then once he saw the land. 
His people's land, and praised his God, and died. 

Only a glance ! The soul whose genius made 
A God's will possible worked its part and went. 
Worn with a troublesome people's discontent. 
Out to the deep, inviolable shade. 



190 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



PRIMROSES. 

William Gay. 
They shine upon my table there, 
A constellation mimic, sweet, 
No stars in Heaven could shine more fair. 

Nor Earth has beaiity more complete; 
And on my table there they shine, 
And speak to me of things Divine. 

In Heaven at first they grew, and when 
God could no fairer make them. He 

Did plant them by the ways of men 
For all the pure in heart to see. 

That each might shine upon its stem 

And be a light from Him to them. 

They speak of things above my verse. 
Of thoughts no earthly language knows. 

That loftiest bard could ne'er rehearse. 
Nor holiest prophet e'er disclose, 

Which God Himself no other way 

Than by a primrose could convey. 



BERNARD O'DOWD. 191 



RESURGENT. 

Bernard O'Dewd. 

O'er every field a lark, 

Op every wattle gold ; 
No gully now is da;rk, 

Nor sunny hillock cold; 
Up to the valley head, 

From creeks alive with song, 
The white fire and the red 

Of heather run along ; 
The pink convolvulus 

Demurely watches us; 
Birds and buds and savours 

Heal the scars of June; 
Spring is throwing favours, 

Says she's coming soon. 
Gone the gloomy hours. 
Winter and his mire ; 
Softer fall the showers, 

Russets leave the briar ; 
Yearnings in each vein 

Signal to the brain — 
"The Spring ! the Spring is near ! 

Earth is young again!" 
And You are with me here! 



192 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



GUM LEAVES. 

Ethel Turner. 

I asked the red gunj tree : 

"Why red? Why red?" 
"The blo'od-red suns rise up and die o'er me," 

It said', it said. 

"And you, oh gaunt gum tree, 

Why white? Why white?" 
"The ghosts of all the bush passed, creepingly. 

One night; one night.*^ 

"And you, oh blue gum tree,- 

Why are you blue?" 
"The far, sweet seas thrill every leaf of me 

Till I grow blue." 

"And why these nuns in grey, .. 

With silvered hair?" 
The grey gums sighed, and answered sobbingly, 

"We bear and bear." 




Monteathy Photo. 



BERNARD O'DOWD. 



AGNES L. STORRIE. 193 

WAITING. 

Agnes L. Storrie. 

He stands all day by the paddock rail, 

With downcast head, and drooping tail. 

And he looks across to the stable door, 

And waits for a step that will come no more. 

The clover blossoms, so faint and sweet, 

Lift wooing faces about his feet. 

And the tall grass sways in the gentle breeze. 

But I do not think he even sees. 

And the cloudless blue of. the summer skies 

Finds only shadow within his eyes. 

When the sun has climbed to his sapphire dome. 

And pauses, turning his face towards home, 

You will see this lonely watcher turn. 

With lifted ears and eyes that burn; 

You will see him toss an impatient mane, 

And quiver with eager hope again; 

You will hear in his sudden deep-toned neigh, 

"Surely, ah ! surely he'll come to-day !" 

But the hours drag by and the shadows fall. 

And nobody ever comes at all. 

The browsing cattle, fat and sleek. 

Find luscious pasture beside the creek, 

They neither understand nor share 

This exile's longing and despair. 

Perhaps, on some sunny windless noon. 

He will hear far off the thrilling tune 

Of baying hounds, that lightly floats 

Across the upland in ringing notes, 

7 



194 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And his eyes will flash, and his muscles strain 

As he lives it over in dreams again, 

And the blood leaps up with a sudden fire, 

As he takes in his stride the wood-capped wire. 

He feels live currents of wild delight, 

Sympathies born of their headlong flight 

Thrill from the slender sunburnt hands 

That hold his reins, like electric bands. 

He has given his strength and his matchless speed 

To his rider who has inspired his steed 

With his human courage, his dauntless soul, 

And so they are merged into one grand whole, 

Triumphantly filled with the power to dare 

Anything, everything, whatsoe'er; 

A magic that turns the air to wine, 

The turf to elastic, and fills with a fine 

Free flood of quicksilver every vein, 

That hurries the pulses and fevers the brain. 

'Tis only a dream! and the eager fire. 

The sparkle that tells of his famous sire 

Dies from his eyes, and a strange dumb smart 

Falls like a shadow across -his heart. 

He remembers, and — ^yes, though he's only a horse. 

Remembers it all with a dull remorse — 

That last wild run on the afternoon 

Of the blue and white of a golden June, 

Whe'n he would be first in the eager crush. 

When he would not steady his reckless rush. 

Remembers the glorious thunder of feet 

On the level plain, where the hedges meet. 

Remembers how proudly he led the field 

With a passionate daring that would not yield, 



AGNES L. STORRIE. 195 

The lust of conquest was in his brain, 
Ahd he would not answer the guiding rein, 
But seized the bit in his teeth, and flew 
Like a soul possessed, and never knew 
The fence was there, till, with a crash 
He struck and fell, and in a flash 
The sky was hurtling overhead, 
A hideous vision black and red. 
He heard one groan, one quivering breath; 
And then — the eloquent hush of d.eath. 

Ah! even now as he stands alone, 

He seems to hear that one deep groan. 

And see a form 'mid the flowering furze 

With blood-stained pink and shattered spurs. 

And a young face turned to the cloudless skies. 

Can it be thus that his master lies? 

Eddy, his master, so young and gay. 

Whose mother, kissing him just that day. 

And watching him mount at the big white gate, 

Had said, "Now, Eddy, you won't be late!" 

All this he sees in a hazy way, 

As he stands in the sunshine day by day. 

And it sometimes flashes across his brain 

That Eddy will never come back again. 

Yet he waits and waits by the paddock rail 

With a patience that 'does not flag or fail, 

For his heart is true, though his reason's dim. 

And it's all rather misty and dark to him. 

And the clover blossoms so faint and sweet, 

May cluster softly about his feet. 

But his eyes are fixed on the stable door. 

And he waits for a step that will come no more. 



196 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



LULLABY. 

Agnes L. Storrie. 
Lulla-lulla-bye-oh ! 
Shut that little eye oh! 
Tuck that little drowsy head into its little nest. 
Lulla-lulla-bye-oh ! 
Baby go to bye oh! 
Of all the pleasant things I know, sure slumber is the 
best. 

Lulla-lulla-lay-oh ! 

Where's the yellow day oh? 
Gone to sleep upon its rosy pillows in the west. 

Lulla-lulla-lay-oh ! 

Baby knows the way oh ! 
That leads along a dreamy path into a land of rest. 

Lulla-lulla-bye-oh ! 

Mother still is nigh oh ! 
Mother's song is just a prayer to Heaven's high gate 
addressed. 

Lulla-lulla-bye-oh ! 

May God hear her cry oh! 
And keep the little soul for ever innocent and blest. 



THE SLEEPIKINS. 

Frank Morton. 

When the sun has set and all the stars a-twinkling and 
a-peeping, 
Spread like a blinking dust across the sky, 



FRANK MORTON. 197 

The Sleepikins from Dodoland come slyly, slyly creep- 
ing, 
Each crooning soft a tender lullaby. 
For the Sleepikins tread softly 'neath the beaming of 
the moon, 
And gently, when the night is dark and lonely, 
And the little girls they sing to, all get sleepy pretty soon, 
As the music buzzes through each curly head. 

They drop their dolls and teddy-bears, they stop their 
tricks, and only — 
They only, only want to go to bed. . . 

By-by ! 
It is nightie-time, my Dearie, time for bed ! 

The Sleepikins have fingers soft, delicious and caressing, 

With a honey-scented soothing in their tips; 
On drooping, drooping eyelids they're a-coaxing and 
a-pressing, ' 

They're a-toying with bewitching little lips. 
Each Sleepikin comes creeping with a box of magic 
dreams 
Of things the most delightful and beguiling. . . 
There are troops of snowy angels, there are woods and 

fields and streams. 
There are sweets and cakes and cherries ripe and red; 
There are heaps and heaps of pleasant things to keep 
wee gijlsi a-smiling, 
A-smiling all the time that they're in bed. . . 

By-by ! 
It is nightie-time, my Sweetheart, time for bed! 



198 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

GETTING UP. 

Frank Morton. 

Eyes that laugh through sleepy veils, 
Soft white arms a-wreathing; 
■ Lips (that soothe when all else fails), 
Gentle dreams of cosy night, 

Wistful in their breathing; 
Dainty hands all frail and white. 
Dimpled cheeks and chin. . . 
Night has gone, we know not where; 
Blackie's mewing on the stair, 
Waiting there for you and me. . . 
Getting-up time, Marjorie! 

Blackie's scratching on the stairs. 
Get up now, and say your prayers. 

"Father God, if you can hear 

All the things I say, 
Don't let any troubles, dear, ^ 

Bother me to-day! 
When I want to scold and fret. 

Keep me sweet and kind. 
If your wishes I forget. 

Please, God, never mind! 
Please, I do try all I know. 

Every now and then. 
{Send that bear . ,. , . / want him so!) 

Good-bye, God . . . Amen." 



FRANK MORTON. 199 

THE SHADOWS. 

Frank Morton. 

When moonshine's on the trees so tall, 
So's night don't seem like night at all 
(Sometimes small stars let go and fall), 
I watch the Shadows on the wall. 

Small stars sometimes get tired, you see, 
And have to fall into the sea. 
Such lots of stars there seems to be. 
The Shadows is enough for me. 

The Shadows is so strong and tall, 
They creep, an' creep, an' never fall. 
I hear 'em whispering as they crawl 
On moonlight nights along the wall. 

When I half-close my eyes, it brings 
New Shadows tliat have eyes and wings ; 
Bishops an' Elephants an' Kings 
An' Walruses an' other things. 

Then sometimes when the Moon goes out. 
The Shadows climb 'way down the spout; 
'Cept some too big to jump about. 

An' through my dreams I hear them shout. 

Some picks me up an' laughs an' slips 
Down coils of rope to pirate ships. 
With some I go on other trips 
An' chase big whales with horns an' whips. 



200 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

I fire big cannons on the deck, 
I dig up treasure from the wreck. 
I caught a Roc Bird once — its peck 
Gave me a crick right in my neck. 

I march with soldiers o'er the plain, 
The Terror of the Spanish Main, 
And every time I have a pain. 
The Shadows bring me home again. 

But sometimes when I'm tired of fight, 
A st-ar lets go an' shines so bright. 
So then I know that I'm all right, 
'Cause Muwer's come to say Good-Night. 



TO A FRIEND, ON HER ARRIVAL IN 
ENGLAND. 

Enid Derham. 
What is the sound of singing 

By moor and dale and hill? 
The voice of fountains springing 

That winter kept so still. 
The noise of myriad laughters. 
And glancing, dancing waters, 
Earth's silver-footed daughters 
From Tamar unto Till. 

They bubble in recesses. 

In many a lonely spot 
Where summer sets her cresses 

And blue forget-me-not. 



ENID DERHAM. 201 

They sob down mountain-passes, 
Murniur through lowland grasses 
Through lush green-growing grasses 
And flowers that wither not; 

From lake and tarn and river, 

From brook and pool they come. 
All the springs of England 

To sing the wanderer home. 

What is the mighty murmur 

That swells from forests old? 
The voice of ancient ages 

That drift as leaves untold. 
Their hearts a dream entrances 
Of vanished rites and dances, 
When Druids struck the branches 

With sickles all of 'gold. 

The forest-lawns remember 

Full many a lovely Spring, 
When after bleak December 

May spread the fairies' ring. 
Oh, there the sleepless lover 
Might potent charms discover, 
Where every primrose cover 

Once hid the Fairy King. 

With branches wide to Heaven, 

And rooted deep in loam. 
The storied oaks of England 

Shall sing the wanderer home. 



202 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The birds, the birds of England, 
They flit by dale and down, 

The nightingale in moonlit brakes. 
The sparrow in the town, 
■ And all the hedge-row bushes 

Tremble with song that gushes 

From lonely-singing thrushes 
And choristers in brown. 

Yet when the day declining 

Is dashed with Autumn rain. 
Their baby hearts are pining 

For skies without a stain. 
Horizons lure them yonder, 
The wind blows fond and fonder. 
They spread their wings to wander. 
And seek the South again. 

But now a bird of passage 

Comes North across the foam, 

O wake, ye birds of England, 
And sing the wanderer home ! 



FORGOTTEN. 
(In Memory of A. J. R.) 

Lala Fisher. 
I wonder if he knows 

That on his grave the parching, seeded grass 
Wholly neglected blows. 
And if lie waits and waits 
For well-loved footsteps that forget to pass 
Through the wide-open gates. 



EDWARD DYSON. 203 

I wonder if he feels 

Forsaken when a stranger passes by 

And at the next grave kneels. 

And if he, listening, hears' 

Falling on other mounds unceasingly 

The many, many tears. 

I have been far away, 

Or else so lonely he had never been ; 

I would have watched each day. 

That no dead leaflet thrust 

Its faded blade among the grasses green 

Above his precious dust. 

I can forget him not, 

And if' the life-blood from my heart could pass, 

I'd shed it at this spot. 

That, sinking down, it might 

Distil one message through the tangled grass 

To his unbroken night. 



MEN OF AUSTRALIA. 
On the Eve of Federation. 

Edward Dyson. 

Men of all the lands Australian from the Gulf to Der- 
went River, 
From the Heads of Sydney Harbour to the waters of 
the West, 
There's a spirit loudly calling where the saplings dip 
and quiver. 
Where the city crowds are thronging, and the range 
uplifts its crest ! 



204 AX AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Do ye feel the holy fervour of a new-bom exultation? 
For the task the Lord has set us is a trust of noblest 
pride — ' 
We are named to march imblooded to the winning of a 
nation. 
And to crown her with a glory that may evermore 
abide. 

Have ye looked to great old nations, have ye wondered 
at their making. 
Seen their fair and gracious cities, gemmed with palaces 
of light. 
Felt the pulse of mighty engines beating ever, never 
slaking. 
Like the sandalled feet of Progress moving onward in 
the night? 
Can ye stand on some high headland when the drowsy day 
is fading. 
And in dreamlike fancy see a merchant fleet upon the 
seas. 
See the pinioned ships majestic 'gainst the purple even 
sailing. 
And the busy steamers racing down to half a thousand 
quays? 

Bushmen, loaming on the ridges, tracking "colours" to 
their sources. 
Swinging axes by the rivers where the mill-saws rend 
and shriek. 
Smoking thoughtful pipes, or dreaming on your slow, 
imtroubled horses. 
While the lazy cattle feed along the track or ford the 
creek. 



EDWARD DYSON. 205 

Ye have known our country's moods in all her wild and 
desert places, 
Ye have felt the sweet, strange promptings that her 
solitudes inspire; 
To have breathed the spirit of her is to love her — turn 
your faces, 
Ride like lovers when the day dawns, ride to serve 
her, son and sire ! 

Miners in the dripping workings, farmers, pioneers who 
settle , f ' 

On the bush lands, city workers of the benches and the 
marts. 
Smart mechanics at the forges, beating out the glowing 
metal. 
Thinkers, planners, if ye feel the love of country stir 
your hearts, 
Help to write the bravest chapter of a fair young nation's 
story — 
Great she'll be as Europe's greatest, more magnificent 
in truth! — 
That our children's children standing in the roselight of 
her glory 
May all honour us who loved her, and who crowned 
her in her youth ! 



206 AX AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



A SWAN SONG. 

Sydney Jeplicatt. 

Follow, comrades! and joia oar %iiig! 
Crash into fligit. 
Jarring the niziit. 
And scale the hollow, vast winter sky. 

Above aQ danger, abore all 4^ing 
Far w^e fly. 

The very sky 
StrsaTtting i:i tenn;:is torrent by! 

Oreriiead all the star; are shaken, 

Tho' s»j far : 
ETenr star 
Thxobbfiig bai±: to tos beating wings. 

Under tis all the wfcids awaksi, 
Tho' sc. s-fll: 
Heavy anH chill 
Under the strokes of oar wondnras win^ 

La::tccs of ligiit diat doobly darken 
The deadfy ^ark 

Mate ns taeir mark! — 
Swerve! S'-erve, and stfll redoohle :t:r flixktl 

Pas£i:ni:e. perceant! dreadful! — faeaAoi — 
The airlew'; scream 
SpiLmig Its stream 
O^it of the quivering heart of night! 



SYDNEY JEPHCOTT. 207 

Startle the eagles lonely sleeping 
On pathless peaks 
That sunrise seeks 
While the world is smothered beneath in night ! 

Cloudlets across the heavens creeping 
Eddy back 

From our termless track, 
While- lightnings are lost and the storms bleed white ! 

Mist-like up-roUs the river's roaring, 
Huge, huge and slow 
From gulfs below — 
Dissolving mist-like it rolls away 

Among the night-winds, that slowly soaring. 
Murmur wide 
As the tide 
That lifted our breasts in the dawn-lit bay. 

Beyond the stars see the blue deeps brighten — 
We shall soon ' 

Meet the moon, 
Sliding on with the eager sky. 

We climb aloft till our wing-beats whiten ; 
Then downward stream 
Like souls a-dream; 
Or cloudy levels along we ply. 

Toward us, trumpeting triumph, journey 
Other swans ! 
Their response 
Sounds like the song of a falling star! 



208 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

. Comrades unknown ! O, to us turn ye ! > 
They are gone! 
On and on ! 
Faint, fainter their voices, and very far! 

O, comrades follow, and join our flying ! 
Crash into flight, 
Jarring the night. 
And scale the hollow, vast winter sky! 

Above all danger, above all dying 
Far we fly! 
The very sky 
Streaming ia tenuous torrent by! 



FAILURE. 

"Furnley Maurice." 
"This shall abide, and this and this shall grow 
Upward and touch perfection," saith the soul 
And paints her Dream on Life's eternal scroll. 
She toils the withering heights the great ones know 
Upward and on, till the imagined glow 

Of fame is almost hers; but thunder wakes — ■ 
Out from the depth an awful fiat breaks — 
"Thus far and no foot farther shall ye go !" 

'Tis hers to fail — she weeps not — be it so — 
Failure is God's steel mould of character. 
Doth she then spum her Ideal's face and throw 

Down passions that inspire her in despair? 

Strong yet — she toils that others reach their goal 
And least reward shall make the mightier soul. 




Gainsborough, Photo. 

MARION MILLER KNOWLES. 



MARION MILLER KNOWLES. 209 



THE SPRINGS, BLACKS' SPUR. 

Marion Miller Knowles. 

This is the haunt of the fairies ! 

Do }'ou know it, child or poet? 

For only you two are dreaming still 

Of the bonny wee folk that live under the hill. 

The dainty wee folk with the shoon of gold. 

Made of buttercup buds unrolled — 

The wondrous, winsome fairies. 

Here is their palace of moss and fern — 

Fern for tower, moss for bower ! 

Here by the waters so cool and sweet, 

You may trace the mark of their dancing feet; 

And if you listen alone and long. 

You will hear faint echoes of merry song 

In this magical haunt of the fairies. 

They hid up here when the years were young, 
(The world knew not of the chosen spot), 
And they wove their spells for the forest green. 
Till never a lovelier place was seen. 
And never a wanderer passed that way 
But longed to return on a future day, 
So sweet was the charm of the fairies. 

In moss that covers old trunks of trees, 
Once so bare, now so fair, 
Staghom ferns they have artfully set. 
To soften the pangs of a sore regret-^ 



210 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

For lonely and sad would the trees have been, 
But for the beautiful robe of green 
So daintily trimmed by the fairies ! 

There are the rocks that defend their town — 

Ramparts brown, frowning down; 

Over their rivulets' crystal tide. 

The fairies' flotillas all gleefully glide — 

For tiny canoes of the leaves they've made, 

And they row them adown with a bonny grass-blade. 

Do the wise, wee, wonderful fairies. 

They show the maidenhair where to hide — 
Laughing low, peeping so — 
And the wind cannot find her, however it blow; 
No secret escapes that the dear fairies know; 
And the wild winter wind may rage as he will 
At the darling wee folk that live under the hill. 
He cannot dismay the fairies! 



WHEN WATTLES BLOOM. 

M. J. Tully. 

When wattles bloom, and earth and air 

Are quickened by the breath of Spring, 
A subtle balm steals everywhere. 

And gladdens every living thing ; 
And one and all their joy declare, 

With shout and song the woodlands ring 
When wattles bloom and earth and air 

Are quickened by the breath of Spring. 



ARTHUR H. ADAMS. 211 

Shall we not cast aside our care, 

And from us vain vexation ' fling, 
And take with grateful hearts our share 

Of gracious gifts the bright hours bring 
When wattles bloom and earth and air 

Are quickened by the breath of Spring? 



FLEET STREET. 

Arthur H. Adams. 

Beneath this narrow, jostling street, 
Unruffled by the noise of feet. 
Like a slow organ-note I hear 
The pulses of the great world beat. 

Unseen beneath the city's show 
Through this aorta ever flow 
The currents of the universe — 
A thousand pulses throbbing low ! 

Unheard beneath the pavement's din, 
Unknown magicians sit within 
Dim caves, and weave life into words 
On patient looms that spin and spin. 

There, uninspired, yet with the dower 
Of mightier mechanic power. 
Some bent, obscure Euripides 
Builds the loud drama of the hour! 



212 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

There, -from the gaping presses hurled, 
A thousand voices, passion-whirled. 
With throats of steel vociferate 
The incessant story of the world! 

So through this artery from age 
To age the tides of passion rage. 
The swift historians of each day 
Flinging a world upon a page! 

And then I pause and gaze my fill 
Where cataracts of traffic spill 
Their foam into the Circus. Lo! 
Look up, the crown on Ludgate HUl! 

Remote from all the city's moods. 
In high, untroubled solitudes. 
Like an old Buddha swathed in dream, 
St. Paul's above the city broods! 



THE OUTPOST. 

M. Forrest. 
A line of hills, a sudden spurt of flame, 
A crackling volley, and from whence it came 
A stirring — as of leaves upon the tree. 
When pale September buds drift silently. 
The sky is blue and smiling overhead 
Above a tumbled heap of brown and red ; 
And thro' the yellow stems of long, dry grass 
A startled train of searching black ants pass. 
They do not fear, so quietly he lies; 
They climb above the sightless staring eyes ; 
Across the lips a woman loved of yore. 
This is the Red God's harvest — ^this is war ! 



JAMES HEBBLETHWAITE. 213 



WANDERERS. 

James Hebblethwaite. 

As I rose in the early dawn, 

While stars were fading white, 
I saw upon a grassy slope 

A camp-fire burning bright ; 
With tent behind and blaze before, 

Three loggers in a row 
Sang all together joyously — 

Pull up the stakes and go!. 

As I rode on by Eagle Hawk, 

The wide blue deep of air. 
The wind among the glittering leaves, 

The flowers so sweet and fair, 
The thunder of the rude salt waves. 

The creek's soft overflow, 
All joined in chorus to the words — 

Pull up the stakes and go! 

Now by the tent on forest skirt. 

By odour of the earth. 
By sight and scent of morning smoke,' 

By evening camp-fire's mirth. 
By deep-sea call and foaming green, 

By new stars' gleam and glow, 
By summer trails in antique lands — 

Pull up the stakes and go! 



214 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The world is wide, and we are young, 

The sounding marches beat, 
And passion pipes her sweetest call 

In lane and field and street ; 
So rouse the chorus, brothers all. 

We'll something have to show 
When Death comes round and strikes our tent- 

Pull up the stakes and go.' 



AN ECHO. 

James Hebblethwaite. 

O the wattle trees are yellowing, 

Adown the dark green lane. 
And the bush winds are blowing so sweetly. 

But I and my true love shall never meet again 
When I come home from the riding. 

With a cooee from the mountain. 

And a cooee from the vale. 
With a trample and jingle so gaily, 

I call to my true love to meet me at the rail, 
When I come home from the riding. 

Now the she-oak leaves are sorrowing 

For hearthstone cold and grey. 
And my bosom is aching with sadness. 

But when through the River I shall ford at close of 
day. 
She will welcome me home from the riding. 



MARIE E. J. PITT. 215 



MOUNTAIN MYRTLE. - 

Marie E. J. Pitt. 

Myrtle by the mountain rills! 
Dark-plumed monarch stern and scowling, 
You that hear the thunder growling 
And the black sou'-wester howling 
'Mong the wild Tasmanian hills. 
Myrtle by the western springs !, 
Harp whose chords have ne'er been smitten, 
Land whose songs have ne'er been written. 
Where no tooth of scorn has bitten 
To the inner heart of things. 

Myrtle, myrtle, watching yet. 

Where old Montezuma races 

Pown the waterworn rockTfaces, 

Singing songs to lonely places 

Set in ways of wind and wet ! 

Myrtle, myrtle, stern and stark. 

Where they turned them f roni the questing, 

When their sun of life was westing — 

Still your dark boughs soothe their resting. 

Moaning, moaning in the dark. 

Myrtle, myrtle, lying low. 

With the moss about you creeping. 

With the torrent round you leaping. 

And the grand old mountain keeping 

Vigil as the seasons go. 

Still to nie your music comes. 



216 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Set in chords, august, specific. 
When a storm-voice, weird, terrific, 
Beats across the waste Pacific 
Like the roll of muffled drums. 

Guardian of far peaks untrod 
By fierce cloven-hoofed excesses 
And Humanity's distresses. 
Where no clamour for redress is, 
And the hills look up to God, 
Pillars of a larger sky. 
Immemorial altars f olden 
Deep in aisles of green and jgolden. 
Whose white taper-stars are holden 
By supernal hands on high! 

On the wings of evenfall 

Soft as clouds their sky-ways wending, 

Or white angel-hosts descending 

With the gift of peace tmending 

When the dark is over all. 

Like the sough of Southern seas 

Comes to me the drowsy droning 

Of the wizard priests, intoning. 

When the Western wind is moaning — 

Moaning in the myrtle trees. 



R. M. CROOKSTON. 217 



TROUBADOUR SONG. 

R. M. Crookston. 

Where last they laid her, white among the lilies, 
The high heaped blooms no paler were than she ; 

And yet her rare sweet smile had hardly faded, 
But lit her face as starshine lights the sea. 

But I — I placed a wreath of damask roses 
Upon the lilies lying on her breast — 

The richest blossoms that the year uncloses. 
Love-red I laid them there among the rest. 

I heard the wind a-sighing in the forest, 
I heard the waves a-moaning on the shore, 

I knew that there was silence in the places 
Whence she had gone to come again no more. 

But I — I winged with passion, as the swallow 
Is winged for flight to summer and the south. 

A song that I had heard on hill, in hollow, 
A song that I had found upon her mouth. 

If she had known, before she died that summer. 
That I had loved her as the years went on. 

Would she have passed without a word to leave me. 
To join the shadows of the summers gone? 

But I — I dared not trust e'en song the holding 
Of all my soul shall keep until the last! 

I bear the burden of the days unfolding, 
The growmg burden of the changeless past ! 



218 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN, 

Where last they laid her, sleeping by the cypress, 
They come to strew their lilies at her feet; 

But lying on her breast's unstained perfection, 
The lilies with the damask roses meet. 

For I — I weave my songs of love and longing, 
And speed them over seas of Death and Time; 

Perhaps, for all the vaster music thronging. 
She waits and listens for their broken chime. 



THE MOON-FLOWER. 

Lola Fisher. 

I know a valley through whose solitude 
A brown road winds towards a mountain crest : 
There gnarly ti-trees dripping sweetness rest. 
And grasses bend too-heavily bedewed. 

In that still valley by the still lagoon, 
A ruined homestead for her secret shrine, 
Dwells Beauty's self, half earthly, half divine — 
Thrilling I saw her waken to the Moon. 

In peaks of emerald the cactus crept. 
And there o'er rafters falling to decay, 
A miracle of flowers, spray on spray, 
Burst into perfect life while Nature slept. 

First a slim silver riband from the sky 
Uncurled green fronds from each imprison'd bud, 
Then one hy one, bathed in the beaming flood, 
Like ghost notes in a spirit litany, 

They blossomed out before my very eyes, 
Great chalices of snow filled up with light 



HUBERT CHURCH. 219 

Set in the dusky beauty of the night : 
They seemed a vision from immortal skies. 

Hidden in shadow near the still lagoon, 
Nightly I worship at a secret shrine j , 
There on a ruin, lily-white, divine, 
Is Beauty lying naked to the Moon. 



From "ACHERON VALLEY." 

Hubert Church. 

Let the pomp of peaks 

Draw clouds ethereal where the eagle seeks 

The last glow of the sun; this shaded glen, 

Forgotten e'en by eremites of men, 

Has poured its brook in happiness away 

For ever ; glad to bid the tui stay 

One moment in his sable lustre till 

He shook his merriment upon the hill. 

The bird has gathered sunbeams here and knows 

The tussock is wild cousin to the rose, 

And all as happy; every breeze that turns 

Has secrecy to whisper to the ferns. 

So be it thine ; and let thy name be writ 

As one that loved. God does not number it 

The all -essential that we gather tears 

More t'han the brethren. But I think He hears 

The song of every heart we bid arise 

With words of comfort, and compelling eyes, 

So full of love are they ; and if a blot 

Has marred our page, He will remember not. 



220 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



THE LOST FAIRIES. 

Marie E. J. Pitt. 

They come no more with the dancing feet, 
Where the daffodil chorus rang sweet, so sweet; 
Fairies o' mine, have yet fled for ever? 
Shall we meet no more as we used to meet? 

They come no more and the wheels run slow, 
And the laughter is hushed that I used to know; 
The white owl cries in the twilit meadow 
Where our revels rang in the long ago. 

a fairy came knocking one day, one day. 

At the meadowsweet gate where we used to play — 

1 heard him knock, but my heart was weary, 
And I sent him weeping away, away. 

And evef since then, tho' my heart be sore 
With waiting and watching, they come no more; 
And the lilies have stolen their golden sandals. 
And the poppies are flaunting the gowns they wore. 

Ah! ever since then, in the noon o' the flowers. 
When the lights are soft in the fairy bowers, 
I sigh and sigh for the banished laughter, 
For the singing soul of the wasted hours. 

Do they mourn me, I wonder, as one that passed 
While the sentinel snapdragons slumbered fast? 
Or is it they seek me, all loyal-hearted, 
And dream they shall find me at last, at last? 



MARIE E. J. PITT. 221 

I know not; ever the red suns rise 
And roll to their rest in the western skies, 
But the loved, lost voices are silent, silent, 
And leaps no light to the darkened eyes. 

Only when twilight lifteth her wand 
And turneth the glory to shadowland, 
I hear in the stillness a sound of Weeping — 
And know the meaning, and understand. 

They have passed the boundaries mortals know, 
Where the asphodel blooms and the dream-stars glow, ' 
Tho' I seek them, seek them till suns be ashes, 
I shall never find them wherever I go. 

They will come no more with the dancing feet. 
Where the daffodil chorus rang sweet, so sweet; 
Where the white owl cries in the haunted meadow. 
We shall meet no more as we used to meet. 



A GALLOP OF FIRE. 

Marie E. J. Pitt. 

When the north wind moans thro' the blind creek courses 

And revels with harsh, hot sand, 
I loose the horses, the wild, red horses, 
I loose>the horses, the mad, red horses. 

And terror is on the land. 

With prophetic murmur the hills are humming, 

The forest-kings beiid and blow; 
With hoofs of brass on the baked earth drumming, 



.222 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

brave red horses, they hear us coming, 
And the legions of Death lean low. 

O'er the wooded height, and the sandy hollow 

Where the boles to the axe have rung, 
Tho' they fly the foeman as flies the swallow. 
The fierce red horses, my horses, follow 

With flanks to the faint earth flung. 

Or with frenzied hieroglyphs, fear embossing 

Night's sable horizon bars. 
Thro' tangled mazes of death-darts crossing, 

1 swing my leaders and watch them tossing 
Their red manes against the stars. 

But when South winds sob in the drowned creek courses 

And whisper to hard wet sand, 
I hold the horses, the spent red horses, 
I hold the horses, the tired red horses. 

And silence is on the land. 

Yea, the South wind sobs 'mong the drowned creek 
courses 

For sorrows no man shall bind — 
Ah, God! for the horses, the black plumed horses. 
Dear God ! for the horses. Death's own pale horses, 

That raced in the tracks behind. 



LOUIS ESSON. 223 

A CAMEL DRIVER. 

Louis Esson. 

Where the Never- Never 

Sands of Fate unroll 
Phantom lake and river, 
Mirage of the soul, 
There a camel driver gropes in vain endeavour. 

Mecca-ward he sets 

Swart face, travel-smeared, 
Gripping amulets. 

By the Prophet's Beard! 
Golden mosques are lifting sapphire minarets. 

(No more willy-willies 

Flee the mad monsoon ; 
And no more red lilies 
Flush the lone lagoon. 
Water-bags are empty, and the desert still is.) 

Hark ! the bulbul sings 
From the pepul-tree 
Of enchanted things 

When the soul breaks free. 
Black tents, desert-driven, fold their weary wings. 

There strut peacocks bright, 

Roses shed perfume; 
Marble steps, snow-white, 

Lead to bowers of bloom. 
Imtiaz Mahal, Garden of Delight! 



224 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And his hot eyes trace 

'Neath green tamarisks. 
Like gazelles for grace, 
Unveiled odalisques. 
Sweet rose-water fountains spray his burning face. 

Allah judges best. 

Holy wells and pahns 
Soothe and shade the Blest. 

Pains are mixed with balms : 
In the desert, fountains; after travel, rest. 

In the Never-Never 

Dervish-dancing sands, 
Lord of Fate, forever 

Freed from fleshly bands 
Soul released, an Afghan leaves the world's endeavour. 



THE ROAD TO GUNDAGAI. 

R. J. Cassidy. 

From peaceful townships shoreward, 

From stations south and west. 
From golden ranges nor'ward, 

To those we love the best, 
Perchance as dusty drovers, 

The old road bore us by, 
And times between as rovers, 

— The Road to Gundagai. 




Monteath, Photo. 



MARIE E. J. PITT. 



R. J. CASSIDY. 225 

The road — the winding Road to Gundagai; 

Swinging along. 

And singing along 
The road — the road — the Road to Gundagai. 



Where Fate and Fortune speed us, 

Unceasingly we roam; 
Where Hope and Honour lead us 

We fight for those at home. 
And now we ride, returning, 

By dawn and dusk and day, 
'Neath crimson stars a-burning 

We take our homeward way. 

By quaint old townships dreaming. 

By humpy lights aglow. 
By far-off fires a-gleaming. 

Through star-lit lands we go. 
By rills, and rocks, and ridges; 

By mountain crag and crest — 
Home! to the great twin bridges. 

And those we loye the best. 



We signal (rovers' lore- way) 

The roadsteads near and far — 
It's whispered at the door-way: 

"I wonder who they are!" 
By tall green crops a-waving. 

Through stretches long and dry. 
By rippling waters laving 

The Road to Gundagai. 



226 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And now at last returning 

All through the golden day — 
At night 'neath red stars burning, 

We take our homeward way. 
Yes, now we're riding homeward, — 

The Kimo hills are nigh — 
The lazy smoke curls domeward — 

Hurrah! for Gundagai! 

The road — the winding Road to Gundagai; 

Swinging along, 

And singing along 
The road — the road — the Road to Gundagai. 



THE HORSEMEN. 

(A Bush Girl's Reverie.) 

R. J. Cos sidy. 

I saw the horsemen go — 

In the sheen of the morning sunshine, while the mists 

hung yet in the. breeze, 
And the clouds of the night were floating far away to 

the roaring seas. 
In the sheen of the morning sunshine, while the dew on 

the silvered grass 
Was flashing like countless diamonds, aye, I watched the 

horsemen pass. 



R. J. CASSIDY. 227 

Yea, I watched the horsemen go — 

At the birth of the bright New Year, 

To the tinkj tink, tink. 

And the jink, jink, jink 

Of the hobble-chains. 

And the mounted reins, 

To the tune of the rover's gear. 

Aye, I watched them ride a-row. 

With their jig, jig, jog, and slow — 

Thro' the golden sheen 

Of the bushland green, 

O ! I watched the horsemen go. 

I watched the horsemen go — 

In the glare of the noonday sunshine, when the great 

nor'-westem haze 
Swung across to the dreaming mountains and beyond to 

the ocean ways. 
! the blood of my girlhood tingled to the sound of one 

far-ofiE belli 
As I watched them file" thro' the gateways — as I waved 

them a last farewell. 

I watched the horsemen go — 

In the glow of the crimson sunset, when the mountain 
shades had crept 

Round the base of the quartzy foothills, yea, and deep 
in the gorges slept. 

Then I watched them fade in the twilight, and I whis- 
pered a prayer for him. 

As they wandered away to the Westlands, far away in the 
twilight dim. 



228 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

I watched the horsemen go — 

In the blaze , of the silver starlight I had .seen them move 

away 
To the land of the Drover's Castles, to the West of the 

Dying Day. 
"I'll return," he said, "to you, girlie, ere the daisies have 

bloomed again. 
Ere the creeks and rivers have emptied their great stained 

loads of rain." 



Yea, I watched the horsemen go^- 

At the birth of the bright New Year, 

To the tink, tink, tink. 

And the jink, jink, jink 

Of the hobble-chains. 

And the mounted reins. 

To the tune of the rover's gear. 

Aye, I watched them ride a-row. 

With their jig, jig, jog, and slow — 

Thro' the golden sheen 

Of the bushland green, 

O ! I watched my horsemen go. 



"AUSTRALIE" (MRS. HERON). 229 

AT LINDSAY GORDON'S GRAVE. 

M. J. Tully'. 

Now earth and air are redolent of spring, 
And odorous boughs aflame with wattle-bloom, 
Yet here thou tarriest in thy seaside tomb, 

Heeding not any change the seasons bring. 

Ah, how of old thy pulses used, to sting 

With rapture, riding through the leafy gloom, i 
Thy horse's steaming flanks thick-flecked with spume. 

Like rhyme-beats brave the hoof -strokes' mufEled ring. 

Poet, is it a joy to thee to know 

That in this land — this sunny Austral clime — 
Stout hearts that with heroic fervour glow 
' Drink inspiration from thy manly rhyme. 

And catch wide gleams of that adventurous time 
Fast vanishing into the long ago? 



THE WEATHERBOARD FALL. 

Extract. 

"Australie." 

A mighty crescent of grim cavern'd rock, 
:^.ed-grey, or gold-brown, with black broken rifts 
Upon the bare face of the circled walls 
TJiat bold uprise from out a sloping wealth 
Of foliage rich, that in moist shadow'd depths 
Revel in shelter, spread out happy leaves. 
To be for ever kiss'd by dewy dropsN 
Light-wafted from the murmuring waterfall. 



230 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Ah, who can show the beauty of the scene? 
Above, the wooded mountain-summit, green, 
How gently falling into softer banks, 
Emerald with fern, gleichenia, grass-tree bright. 
Yet bolden'd, strengthen'd, by rough aged crags. 
In bare wild outline, amber-tinged, and streak'd 
With hoar grey lichen, yet oft holding too, — • 
Like touch of child-love in a stern cold breast, — 
Cherish'd in clefts, some tender verdant nests 
Of velvet moss, lone flowers, and grasses soft. 

Beyond — seen 'twixt two guardian cliffs that cast 
Black giant shadows on the tree-clad slopes — 
An inland sea of mountains, stretching far 
In undulating billows, deeply blue, 
With here and there a gleaming crest of rock. 
Surging in stillness, fading into space, 
Seeming more liquid in the distance vague, 
Transparent melting, till the last faint ridge 
Blends with clear ether in the azure sky 
In tender mauve unrealness; the dim line 
Of mountain profile seeming but a streak 
Of waving cloud on the horizon's verge. 

A few steps further — comes in fuller view 
The stream that o'er the mountain summit winds. 
Forcing its way with many a cascade step, 
And hurrying to the rampart's brow, from which 
Adown a thousand awful feet it falls. 
Changing from gleaming water to white foam, 
Then all dissolving into separate sprays. 
Like cluster'd columns white of moving light. 



LOUISE MACK. 231 

Or April shower of diamond-gleaming rain, 
Whereon the sun plays with his rainbow hues, 
Till hid in shadow oft it disappears , 

Into the grateful coolness of the depths; 
Resigning centred beauty for awhile. 
Yet showing forth its presence by the tints 
So rich enhanc'd by the bedewing love 
That with soft tears refreshes budding leaves 
And calls forth life. 



LAND I LOVE. 



Louise Mack. 



Land I love ! I will find your meaning. 

See, I swear I will know you yet! 
You shall reveal the soul of your song, 

And I will set it as never set. 
March of shadows to muted music. 

Heat-mists creeping, I know, I know; 
And I know, dear Rain, that your desolate story 
Has a hidden sweet and an inner glory. 

Trees of mine ! ah, the nights I listen. 

Nights I steal through your black, black shade, 

I and the old gums sorrow alone, 

The young gums give me their accolade. 

Mile on mile through the death-grey silence, 
Twilight, midnight, or yellow noon, 

And 'tis I who know that your desolate story 

Has its hidden sweet and its inner glory. 



232 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Dark and dawn through the grey gums sweeping, 

Blazing gold of the afternoon, 
All have revealed the soul of their song. 

But where, O Land, is my promised tune? 
I am silent, I have no music. 

Maestoso nor Allegro, — 
But you know how fain is my impotent story 
To unfold the hymn of your veiled great glory. 

Only this can I sing, and singing. 
Land of riiine! you will understand; 

You have revealed the heart of my song. 
While I went seeking for yours, O Land ! 

Your young lips have disclosed my courage. 
Deathless courage, my Continent! 

For I learnt from you that my life's own story 

Has a deeper depth and a higher glory. 

Heat and haze ! you have crept and caught me ; 

See, 'tis you who will know me yet. 
You have revealed the soul of my song ; 

'Tis you who have set it, as never set. 
March of shadows to muted music. 

White gums waiting, we know, we know ! 
And we know. Dear Land, that our desolate story 
Has its hidden sweet and its inner glory. 



W. M: WHITNEY. 233 



MAGNIFICAT. 

W. M. Whitney. 

At dewy dawn I heard a Voice, 

Whose lute-sweet rhythm silenced strife; 

"Rejoice!" it sang, "O man, rejoice. 
In all the ecstasies of Life." 

It was an angel's orison;. 

And then a soft, mysterious sound 
I heard, as 'twere the heavenly' One 

Passed lightly over grassy ground. 

Dawn came, and rosebuds breathed sweet prayers. 

And leaves sighed sempiternal vows 
To sun-gods, and fantastic airs 

Pert sparrows chirruped to wet boughs. 

Far eastward shimmered sea and sky. 

Merged in phantasmal purple-grey; 
In Heaven's blue the roving eye 

Marked not a single bird of prey. 

New-washed with radiant summer rain, 

N«!w-lit with God's immortal eyes. 
All earth heaved «glad and green again; 

'Tis cply human joy that dies. 

Earth hath no visionary grief; 

She seemed a sleeper, angel-fair, 
Waked by love's kisses . . . past belief. 

His bright, enchanted presence there! 



234 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

While o'er the hills I tramped, a throng 
Of birds delighting, scarce above 

My breath I hnmmed a little song — 
A little song of peace and love. 

The joy of life sang in my heart : 
'Twas with immffled rapture that 

I sang my tranqnil-dreaming part 
In earth's sdblime Magnificat. 

Far-off the palpitating town. 

In keen, snrpiising sunbeams caught. 

Flashed signals, pnrple, gold and brown; 
Snch the entrancements God hath -isrotiglit! 

Abont eadi busy, bnmished street, 

'Mid showers of gold and sib-er darts, 

Yonng girls were colour-bright, and sweet 
As sunbods their uplifted hearts. 

In gardens, green and blossom-dight. 

Pods scattered seed for Spring-"; return — 

Spring, whose soft language of delight 
Young birds and lovers love to learn. 

Greai-fire stirred the ineiniate air. 

Earth's joy breathed life in everY stone; 

Wild songs were warbled everywhere. 
In all creation not a moan! 

Where rippling water Inllabies 

A bank that willows dream above, 

With tender homage in h«' eyes, 

A true girl brimmed my aip with love! 



W. M. WHITNEY. 235 



The gold sun burned the hours away; 
, My heart was passionately glad. . . 
"Now, surely, in all earth to-day 
There hideth not a creature sad !" 



THE HARVEST. 
I 

The summer pageant passes, 

The Harvest-time is here; 
The corn waves golden banners, 

The wheat is in the ear. . . . 
But J see, limned on the sky-line, 

With lilt of fife and drum. 
And flash of bit and sabre. 

The grey Rough-Riders come! 

A happy-hearted people. 

In low or high employ, 
Our songs are songs of freedom. 

Our heritage is joy; 
'Tis said we have forgotten 

Ancestral ties. . . I say 
The spirit of our fathers 

Sits at our hearth to-day! 

'Tis not unmeaning, surely. 
That sun-gods' passion fires 

The aureole of glory 
Investing city spires; 



^. M. Whitney. 



236 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

'Tis then I hear the voices 

Of "choirs invisible," 
That honour, worth and wisdom 

And sovereignty foretell. 



The silver moon-led waters, 

That lullaby the sands 
Of long red-burnished beaches, 

Spell me with strange demands, 
Till an unearthly rapture 

Uplifts my soul beyond 
The ken of mortal wisdom. 

The chafe of earthly bond. 

'Tis then by strange enchantment 

Ineffable and sweet,' 
I see the Nation's glory 

Resplendent, and complete ; 
I see with fire-new vision 

The twin-lords. Right and Wrong, 
Sway multitudes whose passion 

Shall live in Art and Song! 

The yellow corn is waving. 

The grape is big with wine. 
The sun-beams kiss the vineyards. 

And red, red lips kiss mine; 
The day is blue and golden. 

The Harvest-time is nigh. . . 
The pulses of the nation 

Are beating fever-high. 



W. M. WHITNEY. 237 

But, look, limned on the sky-line, 

The grey Rough-Riders come 
With flash of bit and sabre 

And lilt of fife and drum! 
Their message is Destruction, 

Death forged their gleaming arms. 
The happy-hearted people 

See nothing that alarms!, 



How shall we portion Pleasure, 

How discipline Desire — 
With honey-sweet indulgence, 

Or soul-consuming iire? 
I love the happy people, 

I love the radiant skies; 
The heart that is too niggard 

Of pleasure surely dies! 

In earth and sky when sunrise 

Sweeps on in roseate floods, 
A thousand joys are bursting 

Like sweet September buds; 
The trees gleam green and russet. 

The wet pearls gem the sod. 
Till colour is a passion, 

The outward sign of God. 



What shall the Harvest render? 

What our profusion raise? — 
A monument of sorrow 

To dark our children's days? 



238 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Be our attainment worthy 
When grey Rough-Riders come! 

Let every true man follow 
The nmible of the drtmi' 



PIERRE VIDAL CHAXI \ la BELLE AZALAIS. 

R. M. Crookston. 
— Tianslatum — 

Out in the fields or down in the dty. 

Rest by the river or strife in the street; 
Still shall the dream of your face be before me. 

Still shall I follow the gl^m of your feet, 

I shall have passed as the rill to the river. 
You shall remain to the last as the sea; 

I be forgot as the songs of vay singing 

Die as the leaves that are blown from the tree. 

Morning and noon-time and night-time revolving, 
I shall be far from the somid of your voice; 

Yet shall I hear in the clear running water, 
Murmur its music, and I shall rejoice. 

Down in the dale, 'mid the iris and marshes. 

Up on the hill 'mid the bracken and fern. 
Shade in the woodland or wind on the mountain. 

All through the v.orld shall remembrance retoni. 



W. A. OSBORNE. 239 

You that have moved on my way as a vision ! 

You that have stood by my side as a friend! 
I shall have gone as the flowers of the simmier, 

You shall remain as the sun to the end. 

None may deny when I sing of your sweetness, 
Troubadour songs of Provence and the South, 

Warm as the wine of their wide purpled vineyards, 
Rich as the red of the rose of your mouth. 

Nothing can harm me from dawning to darkness, 
Though I shall wander a world till we meet; 

Still shall the dream of your face be before me. 
Still shall I follow the gleam of your feet. 



AN OLD MAP OF ASSYRIA. 

W. A. Osborne. 

What potent names these faded pages show, 
With pigmy figures drawn to represent 
Chaldean tower or storied monument 

Flanked by Euphrates' immemorial flow — 

Wrecks of mysterious empires, which did grow 
To quick magnificence, and then o'erspent 
In warfare 'gainst invasions vehement. 

Fell headlong in tempestuous overthrow! 

Ah, they are dead, their glory passed away; 
Yet, oft I hear in unforgetful sleep 
The din of multitudinous chariots drawn 
Through surging streets of lordly Nineveh, 
And mingled myriads voiceful in the deep 
Roar of irrevocable Babylon. 



240 AX AUSTRAL GARDES. 

AN ORCHESTRAL SYMPHONY. 

Alex. Sutherland. 

Forth from the sflence grows a tremnlons note. 

The air with vague suggestivoiess is stirred; — 
Cimfiised, yet sweet: delicioas, though remote; 

As when far inland murnmrings are heard 
Of seas that on a shingly beadi are thrown; 

Or like the sotmd when many a mellow bird 
Makes distant music by some river4)rim. 
Waking the day with rich tnnndtaons hymn, 
.And trills that flnttezing float 
Throngh open casranents, soft, snbdoed and dim. 
And oh' the sweetness gargling from each throat, 
To blsid in that rich interwoven tone, 
Till morning dreamers wake and all its rapture own! 

So swells the rich confnsion, interlaced 

With brief melodious turns and glad foretaste 

Of tnnefiilness to be. 
That f rran the maze shall swell, bright, flowing, free. 
Like Aphrodite frcnn a rhythmic sea. 
Hark to the beat of mnltitndjnons wings! 

Their flattering fills the air with gladsome qniver. 
Till, at a chord whereto the whole heart springs 

In one delicious shiver. 
The harmony dissolves with toach profound. 

And wanders, on the deftly woven strings, 
A world of mazy sonni 
That stirs within the soul some lion-^night 
We knew not slumbered there. 
Great glimpses pass, and, struggling blindly, tear 
The breast with thoughts that own no hmnan name. 



ALEXANDER SUTHERLAND. 241 

Sweet sounds that melt my frame! 
How secret is the magic power ye claim ! 
For in the rich transition of your keys, — 

Harmonious mysteries, 
Ye mould my inmost being at your ease. 

But hush! a change is near I 

Methinks a princess comes! 
Those drowsy notes I hear 

Are of the throng that hums 
Attendant where she moves with cadenced feet. 

She enters, and the drums 
Roll out their turbulent tones ; they crash and fleet 
In billowy throbs of gladness, so to greet 
The sandalled beauty, who, majestical. 
Paces the marble floor. 

Her limb-encircling garments, flowing fall 
In gauzy waves of whiteness evermore; 

So moves she stately on, through her great father's hall. 

The vision fades. Again the master's touch 
Bids vague dissolving fancies throng the sight. 
The courtly dance, with youthful limbs aglow. 
Where youthful faces flush 

Amid a silken rustling and the beat 

Of satin shoes and lightly twirling feet. 
The hall is warm and bright 
With many a gem and many a spangled light. 
But, ah I without, how fresh the gracious night. 
On terraced gardens, where the cool airs flow 
Up from the shimmering crescent of the bay below! 



242 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And yonder in the moonlight-floods, the pace 
Of lover-feet on path and terrace stair 
Sounds silver sweet, while laughter everywhere 
In bubbling peals lurks in each shadowy place. 

Alas! my dream is shattered! Hark! the sad. 
Soft rumbling that presageth coming woe! 

The distance bears the sound of martial tread 
With tramp depressed and slow. 

That long deep note, so plaintive, yet so sweet. 

Whispers the path the fairest maid must go. 
Yes ! heroes must lie low ! — 

So do those massive harmonies repeat 

How much our souls resent the clay-cold doom! 
Oh ! that I might but know 

What dull remains of what once noble sonl 

They carry to the tomb! 

Those wild, weird notes of gloom 

Would burst the hearts wherein deep sorrows rolL 

They come not near ! They fade ! They die away 

Far towards the resting-place of that dumb clay. 

Fainter, and yet more faint; soft, soft, and still 

They die into the hush of some foreboding ill. 

When, — ^hark! from out the realms of formless fear 

Rises a note, firm, bold, and clear! 

Yet lonely is it heard. 

Like the first pipiag song of the first love-sick bird. 
It swells; then once more wakes 
The surging chorus of the banks and brakes. 

And far aloft, as if on angel wings. 

Above all sombre things. 



, ALEXANDER SUTHERLAND. 243 

At the glad touch my spirit springs 

From out the realms of death, and its free flight it takes. 

Oh! sweet, heart-healing strain! 

Again and yet again, 
Those vague desires and hopes insinuate 
That lift the soul somewhere by Heaven's gate. 

The cheerful music to full volume grows. 

The deftly-handled bows 

With lightning touch fly o'er the speaking strings. 

The horns and deep bassoon 

Exultant hurry onward. All is life 

And eagerness and zest. 

The flute with liquid trill, 

The oboe, sharp and shrill, 
And the sweet clarionet, with mellow tune, 
In rival concord, and harmonious strife. 
Speed with impetuous haste. 
Away ! ye thoughts of death and musty sorrow ! 

Away! The life we quaff 
Is a wild draught of bliss from which we borrow 

Wherewith to laugh ! 
We greet thee, merry drum ! 
And you, ye cymbals, come 
To lift our frolic to the very mound 
And pinnacle of sound. 

When ah! There rings a crash, and yet another!' 
The rolling drums their reckless tumult smother. 
A short, sharp crash; and then 
Silence has folded close her slumbering wings again. 



244 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH. 

Kenneth Mackay. 

I love thy spaciousness. Each lonely distance, 
Each scrub-set solitude, each sand-swept plain 

Calls to me with a mother's deep insistence. 
In symphonies of mingled joy and pain. 

Sweet scent of myall, belts of deep green yarran. 
The crimson splendour of thy solemn dawns, 

The stillness of thy deserts vast and barren, 

Where Death and Life play chess with men for pawns ; 

The music of the horse bells — then the rattle 
Of horn on horn, presaging fear and flight; 

The swift, uneasy stamp of "ringing" cattle, 

Then all things swallowed in the crashing night — 

Waking the last watch from their fitful slxmibers. 
Rushing to where each horse expectant stands, 

Then for the "lead" — God help the man who blunders 
When boughs stretch down, and grip with countless 
hands. 

Red, hunted eyes: a thousand hoofs' deep thunder — 
Danger supreme to gallop at and face; 

Surges of living things that burst asunder. 

And ebb and flow in maddened waves through space. 

Fierce moments when your horse can race no faster ; 

Grim seconds when Death rides beside your knee ; 
A swerve that touched the rim of sure disaster; 

A stoop that missed that eager leaning tree: 



KENNETH MACK AY. 245 

Wild gallops through the brigalow and mallee, 
Where risks to life and limb are paid at call; 

Long watches — then the sudden moonlight rally, 
With keen-horned "outlaws" fighting as they fall. 

Glad hours of kingly strife with brave wild horses, 
Where'er he led, beside their best to race — 

What joy has he in turfed and level courses 
Who once has met such chances face to face ? 

Long spring-time days when sheep are slowly creeping 
Across the plains and thrpugh the river runs. 

In slumb'rous hours when all the world's a-sleeping 
Beneath the soft caress of sensuous suns. 

And then, at night, when camp fires red Eire gleaming, 
To yam with trusted mates 'neath star-lit sky, 

Or else to slip into that land of dreaming. 
Which holds the storied realm of "by and by." 



Years of brave working full of high endeavour; 

Nights bright with hope, and days when hope is dead ; 
Seasons when luck seems to have gone forever. 

And gold is not more hard to win than bread. 



Such are the fortuntes of those dauntless legions 
Who seek to read thee, Sibyl of the West! 

The wraiths of ruin haunt thy mystic regions. 
And yet, for all thy crimes, they love thee best. 

But thou 'hast in thy confines many a haven 
Where peace and plenty reign from year to year. 

Where lines on fair, white brows are never graven 
By lonely days and nights of nameless fear. 



246 AX ACSrHAL GARDEN. 

Lost st.u:on of my dreams, how many others 

Can see in memory's glass such bright eyes shine, 

When all the world was glad with us, my brothers. 
And love sat with us by the blazing pine? 



Such is the groundwork of the brave, old story 
Writ by the fathers of our land and race, 

^^^lo fought and died without one hope of glory. 
And lie forgotten on thy sphinx-like face. 

Four square to changeful Fate you stand, my mother! 

Crowned by the skies and girdled by the sea, 
God gave thee Freedom for a deathless lover 

That thou mayest cradle empires yet ro be. 



GUM LEAVES OX THE FIRE, 

E. S. Emerson. 
Dad's just a bent old cripple now : 

Full eighty winters gone have reared 
Their snow-drifts high above his brow 

And spilled their frosts down on his beard ; 
Blind, too, for in the eyes that blazed 

Defiance unto armed might 
.\t Ballarat, the years have raised 

A misty monument of Xight. 

He speaks not mucJi, but. like an Age 

Witliin the shadow Time has cast. 
Sleeps in his place — a tattered page 

Touched with the pathos of the Past. 
But soiuetimes for the old times' sake 

\^"e stir dead embers of desire, 



E. S. EMERSON. 247 

And bid old memories awake 

By burning gum-leaves on the fire. 
The pungent smoke rolls up and spreads 

Its aromatic fumes around, 
Arid back through vanished years Dad treads 

Like one who walks on holy ground, 
Till, as his thoughts the decades span, 

He tells us tales of times long gone — 
The "I remembers" of a man 

Who fought and lost and still fought on. 

Again Eureka's voices ring 

From blazing bivouacs of night; 
Again the rifle bullets sing 

Across the palisaded height; 
Again we hear the bugle call. 

And, where Rafaello's ardor led, ^, 
We watch one fight, and- fighting fall 

Where Lalor fought and Lalor bled. 

Again by mountain-spur and creek 

He sits by many a camp-fire's blaze, 
And bearded mates come back and speak 

Of golden deeds, of golden days ; 
With here the riot of the rush. 

The shanty and the gleaming lode. 
And there, ah! there, the mournful hush 

Of comrades wandered from the road. 

Dead comrades ! but the , gold of Time 

Death washes into History, 
And such as Lalor, Burke and Syme 

Are wealth for all posterity; 



248 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And these the old man worked beside; 

And these, and such as these, come fast 
To show us how the world grew wide 

From scattered camp-fires of the past. 

But not of men, and not of gold, 

And not of bush-ways undefined. 
Are all our father's stories told; 

The burning gum-leaves bring to mind 
One simple tale of love that glows 

With faith and loyalty and truth; 
Then where the swift Campaspe flows 

He sings again his song of youth. 

Oh ! she was glorious ; her smiles 

Such magnets strong men might not miss : 
He rode at night a hundred miles 

To claim at mom, perchance, one kiss. 
"And she" — the blind eyes seek the light — 

"She was your mother!" proudly said; 
Then with a broken "Boys, good^night!" 

The old man gropes his way to bed. 

"Good-night ! Good-night !" perchance he dreams. 

When the last link of life shall break, 
Of wooing on, by radiant streams, 

Ouj- mother for her own sweet sake; 
But this we know, who sit alone. 

And watch the blinking coals expire — 
Dad sits upon a kingly throne 

When gum-leaves crackle on the fire. 



WILFRID MAILLER. 249 

THE OCEAN BEACH. 

Wilfrid Mcdller. 

I weary of the sun-scorched plain, 

Its yellow, sere monotony; 
I want the whisper of the rain; 

I want the great, blue, surging sea 

With all its murmurous mystery; 
My weary soul, my aching brain, 

That sicken of the hot, bare landj 
Are hungry for the wizardry 

Of crested wave and cool, wet sand. 

Out here the moon may waste and wane, 

She cannot work her witchery, 
She needs the tossing; tumbling main 

To croon to her its melody. 

And then she glows, a fantasy. 
Ah, once I heard that haunting strain 

By dusk-dimmed shore, by star-lit strand ; 
But now I dream, and dream in vain 

Of crested wave and cool, wet sand. 

All day the surge's strong refrain 

Sounds in my soul incessantly. 
And in the night I hear again 

The wandering water's harmony, 

The ocean's siren minstrelsy. 



250 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Oh, just to wash away the stain 
Of dust eternal and be fanned 

By winds that sing exultantly 

Of crested wave and cool, wet sand! 



Stern Fate or Chance, whiche'er you be, 
Lift for a space your iron hand. 

And grant once more the joy to me 
Of crested wave and cool, wet sand. 



THE ALTAR. 



Wilfrid Mailler. 



Misty, unknown, the steeps tower overhead; 

But you, who toil through gloom towards' the light. 

Look down and see your valley lost in night. 

Whose darkness cloaks the bones of creeds long dead; 
The road you follow far from there has' led. 
And many hands have helped you on your way, 
And many hands your course have sought to stay. 

You shall not pause upon the path you tread. 

Look to the Heights ! Their peaks are tipped with gold. 
The Altar-veil of mist is rent! Behold! 

Stabbed with the spears of dawn the night has died! 
The Sun is born within the crimson East, 
And from the crest both Sacrifice and Priest 

Flames forth a Cross where droops One crucified ! 



LESLIE H. ALLEN. 251 

HAPPY CHILDREN. 

Arnold Wall. 

Theirs is the land of dreams-come-true 

And story dove-tailed into story, 
And nothing we can say or do 

May blur its unsubstantial glory. 
Theirs royal skies without a flaw, 

Rich hearts, large natures calm and warm, 
A kinder than the human law, 

A statelier than the human form. 

The bridle-bells of princes bold, 

Bad giants, witches, kings, princesses; 
Ghostly enchanted castles old, ' , 

Dark dragon-haunted wildernesses; 
And lazy rivers murmuring low. 

And jolly lives of love and laughter. 
That do not end, but softly flow 

On to the golden "ever-after.'' 



THE WOODCUTTER. 

Leslie H. Allen. 

Down in the summer gully 

The air is heaven- white. 
Nor dust nor hazes sully 

The 'gum-leaves' scarlet light. 
They sitain the Crystalline 
Like a deep-hearted wine. 



252 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Amid the leafy brightness 

That makes a quivering gleam 

Like the remoter whiteness 
Within a noonday stream, 

Close by a curl of smoke 

Rings out an axeman's stroke. 

A grey-haired wife is tending 
The blackened water-can, 

Above a log is bending 
A sturdy-armed old man : 

With .every swing and flash 

Echoes a manful crash. 

There pass few words between them- 
Each knows the other's will. 

A tent will do to screen them, 
A rug against the chill. 

Quiet and wise with years 

They have outgrown life's fears. 

The gums that long have brooded 

On every secret sound, 
And hear, in stillness hooded. 

Strange stirrings in the ground, 
Take the old man and wife 
Into this silent life. 

They know the rain and thunder. 
They wander calm and wild 

Filled with the old Earth-wonder 
Each ancient-hearted child. 

Nor the tree-silence mar 

More than a Shatjow-Star. 



LESLIE H. ALLEN. 253 

THE LARK. 

Leslie H. Allen. 
The air was hazed, and charged with blossom-scent, 
A tingling white was in the firmament, 
The drowsy noon lay on the yellow sheep 
And bronzen oranges that basked in sleep. 
The air was wrinkled o'er the heated grass. 
Leaf shadows flecked the sand in the stream's glass — 
I caught it in my fingers, and it spread 
In golden sparkles like that song o'erhead. 
Up went my eager vision, all afloat 
To catch some light-line on the hidden throat 
That drank the blue, and turned it into song. 
Straight up above me, in the noon-rays strong. 
There shot the upward throat, and as I stood 
The spread wings burst into a shower of blood ; 
Then the sun-drunken Spirit was fled ; there leapt 
A magic where the bronzen fruitage slept. 
The flame-strings of the blossom shook their blaze 
Trembling and song filled all the heavy haze. 



RICHMOND. 

Leslie H. Allen. 
No sunset fire is in the mountain-rifts; 

The ancient silence settles from the deeps; 
The moon shakes out her heavy hair and lifts 

Immortal gaze upon the purple steeps. 
The plains curve whitely like a slumbering breast 

Loved by the leaning hills' eternal eyes, 

And lofty cypress-branches solemnise 
The marble-shadowed mounds that hold the dead at rest. 



254 An austral garden. 

A church uplifts its spire to the wind's kiss, 
Beneath its eaves a hundred swallow-nests 

Give shelter to the sleeping swallow-breasts; 
The red panes glimmer through the clematis, 

And a low bourdon from the organ-keys 
Enriches the dim chant of kneeling folk 
Who worship where the hallowed bread is broke 

And a God's blood is drunk from holy chalices. 



Richmond's moon-hour ; it is her gentlest mood, 
But she can subtly glass the seasons' hues 

When Autumn, all one gold beatitude, 

Droops her sheafed hair beneath the honey-dews ; 

Or when, beneath the winter's pale blue shell 
Of chilly crystal, all the fields are hoar. 
And tree-trunks in the dawntime glisten frore, 

She fronts the crisping winds, a shining citadel. 

Her skies will whiten on Spring's clearest days, 
Putting a shimmer of vapour round each fleece. 

And where the cattle stretch their necks at graze 
The light-lines flow in every silken crease, 

And blood from the hid heart of the firmament 
Distils, around the orchard- trees to light 
A dimming swelling tremor of red and white, 

The soul of fruitage brooding ere the great Descent. 

Sometimes the moving columns of grey rain 
Like hooded goddesses bend o'er the meadows. 

Touching with fruitful feet the swaying grain 
And strips of ploughland in their dark-brown shadows. 



LESLIE H. ALLEN. 255 

The tall corn beads the rain-drops iij his beard, 
The grass is all a web of delicate white, - 
The windy trees shake in a rustle of light, 

And shingles drip on flowers round cottage-windows 
sphered. 

Sweet is the mystery of the crooning sea, 
It brings to me that man of golden throat 

Who sang of magic casements goldenly; 
But sweeter is the river, like a moat 

Set round the plain, whose overhanging boughs 
Are magic casements where moon-maidens hide, 
Beckoning their arms to shadow-craft that glide 

Above the shadow-stars toward the hills' mystic brows. 

Too well I know the hours of fiercer strife. 
The chafing challenge of a thwarted mood 

Against the wanness of o'erdriven life. 
The sadness of uncaptured altitude. 

The blood is slackened not by fitful stress. 
But by the numb recoil before the gloom 
That gathers round the vacant eyes of Doom 

When we would know what means her high imperious- 
ness. 

Impassive, like the Queen of Dreadful Night 

That looms above the City of Despair, 
She sends above our blur of lower light 

Her pallionless unfathomable stare. 
We have thrust arms at our own fantasies. 

Called them the shadow of beauty unbeheld. 

And known too late the Goddess that withheld 
The heart from deed, yet not from its own agonies. 



256 . AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

But now the moon uplifts her blessing arm, 

And from her breast escapes the secret gleam, 
Her inmost gold, abovS this tinteless calm. 

My lids are caught to stillness by their dream 
Till, mastered by the insensible spell of her, 

Merging my turmoil in the monotone, 

T am become as timeless as this stone, 
Lost in a gaze that knows not if the lashes stir. 

Touched by the brooding of the cypress-trees. 

The light leans o'er the tombstones dimly-stoled. 

The church is mute and dark ; I share with these 
The priesthood of the silence and the gold. 

We are the eyes of Timelessness that drowse 
Above the plain, above the sundering tide, 

. Where golden-misted shadows gaze and glide 

Above the shadow-stars toward the hills' mystic brows. 



CRADLE SONG. 

Louis Esson. 
Baby, O baby, fain you are for bed. 

Magpie to mopoke busy as the bee; 
The little red calf's in the snug cow-shed. 
An' the little brown bird's in the tree. 

T)addy's gone a-shearin', down the Castlereagh, 
So we're all alone now, only you an' me. 

All among the /wool- O, keep your wide blades full-0 ! 
Daddy loves his baby, parted tho' he be. 

Baby, my baby, rest your drowsy head. 

The one man that works here, tired you must be. 

The little red calf's in the snug cow-shed. 
An' the little brown bird's in the tree. 




Mendelssohn, Photo. 



A. G. STEVEN. 



C. H. SOUTER. 257 

THE BLACK SWANS. 

C. H. Souter. 

North-east by north, in an inky sky, 

Five hundred feet o'erhead, 
With stately stroke of wing they fly 
' To the land where they were bred. 
The scent of the far-ofE billabong 

And the gleam of the lignum brake 
Come to them as they swing along. 

Led by the old grey drake. 

With flash of pearly underwing 

And swish of rushing wind. 
The reeling miles astern they fling 

And leave the sea behind. 
For well they know the summer's past 

And there is a sense of rain, 
And winter has returned at last ! 

The swamps are full again ! 

So two by two, in echelon, 

With the old grey drake ahead. 
All through the night they swing along 

Until the east is red : 
North-east by north, on 'tireless wing. 

All through the glaring day — 
And as they go, a chorus sing. 

To cheer them on their way. 



258 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

And as I lie awake at night 

Upon my restless bed, 
And hear the black swans in their flight 

Five hundred feet o'erhead, 
And listen to the old grey drake 

Calling his cohorts forth, 
I would be flying in his wake. 

North-east by north, half north! 



IRISH LORDS. 

C. H. Souter. 

The clover-burr was two feet high, and the billabongs 
were full, 

The brolgas danced a minuet, and the world seemed made 
of wool ! 

The nights were never wearisome, and the days were 
never slow, 

When first we came to Irish Lords, on the road to Ivan- 
hoe. 

The rime was on the barley-grass as we passed the 
homestead rails, 

A Darling jackass piped us in, with his trills and turns 
and scales, 

And youth and health and carelessness sat on the saddle- 
bow. 

And — Mary lived at Irish Lords, on the road to IvaAhoe. 



/. SHAW NEILSON. 259 

On every hand was loveliness, and the Fates were fair 

and kind; 
We drank the very wine of life, and we never looked 

behind ; 
And Mary! Mary everywhere went flitting to and fro 
When first we came to Irish Lords, on the road to 

Ivanhoe. 

* * Hi >)e 

The window of her dainty bower, where the golden 

banksia grew, 
Stared like a dead man's glazing eye, and the roof had 

fallen through. 
No violets in her garden bed, and her voice— hushed, 

long ago ! 
When last we camped at Irish Lords, on the road to 

Ivanhoe. 



OLD GRANNY SULLIVAN. 

/. Shaw. Neilson. 

A pleasant shady place it is, a pleasant place and cool — 
The township folk go up and down, the children pass to 

school. 
Along the river lies my world, a dear sweet world to me : 
I sit and learn — I cannot go ; there is so much to see. 

But Granny she has seen the world, and often by her side 
I sit and listen while she speaks of youthful days of 

pride ; 
Old Granny's hands are clasped; she wears her favourite 

faded shawl^ — 
.1 ask her this, I ask her that: she says, "I mind it all." 



260 , AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The boys and girls that Granny knew, far o'er the seas 

are they, 
But there's no love like the old love, and the old world 

far away; 
Her talk is all of wakes and fairs — or how, when night 

would fall, 
" 'Twas many a quare thing crept and came," and 

Granny "minds them all." 

A strange new land was this to her, and perilous, rude 

and wild — 
Where loneliness and tears and care came to each 

mother's child. 
The wilderness closed all around, grim as a prison wall; 
But white folk then were stout of heart — ah! Granny 

"minds it all." 

The day she first met Sullivan — she tells it all to me — 
How she was hardly twenty-one and he was twenty-three. 
The courting days ! the kissing days ! — ^but bitter things 

befall 
I'he bravest hearts that plan and dream. Old Granny 

"minds it all." 

Her wedding-dress I know by heart ; yes ! every flounce 

and frill ; 
And the little horne they lived in first, with the garden 

on the hill. 
'Twas there her baby boy was born; and neighbours 

came to call. 
But none had seen a boy like Jim — and Granny "minds 

it all." 



J. SHAW NEILSON. 261 

They had their fight in those old days ; but Sullivan was 

strong, 
A smart, quick man at anything; 'twas hard to put him 

wrong . . . 
One. day they brought him from the mine . . . (The big 

salt tears will fall). 
" 'Twas long ago, God rest his soul !" Poor Granny 

"minds it all." 



The first dark days of widowhood, the weary days and 

slow, 
The grim, disheartening, uphill fight, then Granny lived 

to know. 
' "The childer," ah ! they grew and grew — ^sound, ro,sy- 

cheeked and tall : 
"The childer" still they are to her. Old Granny "minds 

them all." 

How well she loved her little brood! Oh, Granny's - 

heart was brave ! 
She gave to them her love and faith — all that the good 

God gave. ' 

They change not with the changing years ; as babies just 

the same ^ 

She feels for them, though some, alas ! have brought her 

grief and shame. 
♦, 
The big world called them here and there, and many a 

mile away : 
They cannot come — she cannot go — the darkness haunts 

the day ; 



^61 AN AVSTkAL GARDEN. 

And I, no flesh and blood of hers, sit here while shadows 

fall— 
I sit and listen — Granny talks; for Granny "minds 

them all." 

Just fancy Granny Sullivan -at seventeen or so, 
In all the floating finery that women love to show; 
And oh! it is a merry dance: the fiddler's flushed with 

wine, 
And Granny's partner brave and gay, and Granny's eyes 

ashine. . . . 

'Tis time to pause, for pause we must; we only have our 

day: 
Yes, by and by our dance will die; our fiddlers cease to 

play; 
And we shall seek some quiet place where great grey 

shadows fall, 
And sit and wait as Granny waits — we'll sit and "mind 

them all." 



O HEART OF SPRING! 

J. Shaw Neilson. 
O Heart of Spring ! 
Spirit of light and love and joyous day 
So soon to faint beneath the fiery Summer : 
Still smiles the earth, eager for thee alway : 
Welcome thou art, so ever short thy stay, 
Thou bold, thou blithe newcomer! 

Whither, oh whither this thy journeying? 
O Heart of Spring ! 



DOROTHEA MACKELLAR. 263 

O Heart of Spring ! 
After the stormy days of Winter's reign, 
When the keen winds their last lament are sighing, 
The Sun shall raise thee up to life again. 
In thy dim death thou shalt not suffer pain : 
Surely thou dost not fear this quiet dying? 
Whither, oh whither blithely journeying? 

O Heart of Spring ! 

O Heart of Spring! 
Youth's emblem, ancient as unchanging light, 
Uncomprehended, unconsumed, still burning: 
Oh that we could, as thee, rise from the night 
To find a world of blossoms lilac-white 
And long^winged swallows unafraid returning! . . . 
Whither, oh whither this thy journeying? 
O Heart of Spring ! 



MY COUNTRY. 

Dorothea Mackellar. 

The love of field and coppice, 

Of green and shaded lanes. 
Of ordered woods and gardens, 

Is running in your veins. 
Strong love of grey-blue distance, 

Brown streams, and soft, dim skies — 
I know but cannot share it, 

My love is otherwise. 



264 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

I love a sunburnt country, 

A land of sweeping plains, 
Of ragged mountain ranges; 

Of droughts and flooding rains. 
I love her far horizons, 

I love her jewel-sea, 
Her beauty and her terror — 

The wide brown land for me! 



The stark white ring-barked forests. 

All tragic to the moon. 
The sapphire-misted mountains. 

The hot gold hush of noon. 
Green tangle of the brushes, 

Where lithe lianas coil, 
And orchids deck the tree tops 

And ferns the warm dark soil. 

Core of my heart, my country! 

Her pitiless blue sky, 
When sick at heart, around us. 

We see the cattle die — 
But then the grey clouds gather, 

And we' can bless again 
The drumming of an army, 

The steady, soaking rain. 

Core of my heart, my country! 

Land of the Rainbow Gold, 
For flood and fire and famine. 

She pays us back three-fold. 



FRANK S. WILLIAMSON. 265 

Over the thirsty paddocks, 

Watch, after many days,' 
The filmy veil of greenness 

That thickens as we gaze. . . . 

An opal-hearted country, 

A wilful, lavish land — 
All you who have not loved her, 

You will not understand — 
Though earth holds many splendours, 

Wherever I may die, 
I know to what brown country 

My homing thoughts will fly.^ 



DIRGE. 

Frank S. Williamson. 

Strew the flowers at Love's behest. 
Meet for such a lovely guest ; 
Coronal the sapling weaves. 
Rainbows made by Spring of leaves. 
Blackwood blossom hither bring 
To perfume her slumbering. 

Lay upon the simple tomb 
Scarlet eucalyptus bloom, 
Wreath of starry clematis 
Visited by Artemis ; 
Bluebell garlands hither bear, — 
All the flowers she loved to wear. 



266 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Here the magpie loves to croon 
From the dawn to rise of moon; 
Flutes the grey harmonious thrush 
In the early morning hush; 
Shyly sings the oriole; 
All the day the bell-birds toll. 

Softly moves the wind that blows 
When the day's red petals close ; 
And, remembering past delight, 
Dream of her the stars of night. 
Though no more the stars arise, 
Set within her darkened eyes. 

Whisper wind, and glimmer star, 
Blossom breathe thy sweet afar. 
"Love intones the master word" 
Is the song of every bird ; 
Here he stands with Death in thrall, 
Keeping Beauty's festival. 



ERNEST O'FERRALL. 267 



THE TRIUMPHANT FISHERMAN. 

Ernest O'Ferrall. 
He sits . - his line in his hand, 

And a blank look in his eye, 
Between the sea and the land, 

And under a steel-grey sky, 
While the salt wind blows on his cold, red nose, 
And the lonely hours go by. 

He sits . . his bag by his side. 

In the biting, wintry blast, 
He watches the flowing tide, 
, And . . . catches a fish at last! 
But alas ! for the haul it's much too small, 

So back in the sea it's cast. 

But still he sits on the pier 

And shuffles his ancient bait 
With a savage, bitter sneer, 

Like one who is filled with hate 
For all fish that swim in the depths so dim, 

Or lie down dead on a plate. 

The sun goes down in the west 

And the wind is cold and chill, 
But with a most dreadful zest 

The fisherman fishes still. 
For they say at night thg,t the fish should bite 

(Tho' they very seldom will.) 



268 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The night hath fallen at last 

And the hour is windy and late. 
He makes yet another cast 

With older, smellier bait, 
But the line hangs limp with its sodden shrimp, 

So he sits him down to 'wait\ 

The black tide whimpers and laps, 

A shadow on bended knee 
Tries to kill something that flaps — 

(Oh! what on earth can it be?) 
It's something he dragged from the string that sagged 

In the vast, wet, empty sea! 



IF WE ONLY COULD. 

Mary Gilmore. 
Ah! if we only could 

Blot out the bitter thought, 

Make life the thing we should. 

And shape it as we ought. 

Turn back the brooding eyes 

From things long, long gone by ; 

And, looking upward, rise 
Toward a clearer sky; 

Hold fast each other's hands — 

Nor loosely let them go — 
Until each understands, 

And, loving, learns to know. 



MABEL FORREST. 269 

I REMEMBER. 

M. Forrest. 

I sit by the fire, for the nights are cold, 

And the winter's ,hard wheri' you're growing old. 

Ah! I remember, 

A creek that rippled the whole day long 
And sang to the Dogwoods a mystic song. 
The sparse-leaved gum, with its flowering crest. 
And the tunnelled banks where the sand-tits nest, 
And a wide warm stretch of sun-kissed sward, 
Where pebbles glmt in the shallow ford. 

Ah! I remember. 

What it was to be young, and glad, and strong, 
By a creek that rippled the whole day long ! 

I heap more wood on the smouldering fire. 
That burns like Age with its weak desire. 

Ah! I remember, 

The muster of cattle away Out Back, 

The thunder of hoofs, and the stockwhip's crack. 

The panting breaths on the warm sweet breeze. 

The tossing horns by Rosella trees. 

And that whirl of dust, and the hot hide's reek, 

When that red bull cornered me by the creek ! 

Ah ! I remember. 

What a muscle I had for a stockwhip's crack. 
In the rollicking mustering days Out Back! 



270 ^.V AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

The wind blows chill from the range to-day, 
Blows chill from those blue peaks miles aw^. . . . 

Ah! I remember. 

The shiv'ring sheep in the deep wash-pool. 
The smilight bleaching the scoured wool 
(That was white and pure as a boy's first years). 
And the ewes, jnst fresh from the ringer's shears. 
Or patched here and there with the tar pot's shine. 
Where some novice's blade had clipped too fine! 

Ah! I remember. 

The long, low shed, and the bales of wooL 
And the huddled sheep by the wide wash-pool. 

Now I crouch by the fire, the days are cold, 

And the nights are long, when you're growing old! 

Ah ! . . I remember. 

How I reined my horse by the rough slip -rail. 
When a waning moon o'er the ridge rose pale. 
And in the hush of the scrub's stOl gloom, 
I saw the stars of clematis bloom; 
While from the dusk of the lightwood tree. 
Out of the shadows she came to me . 

Ah ! I remember, 

And shall recalL till my soises fail. 

How I held her close, by the rough slip-rail ! 



ERNEST SAN DO EMERSON. 271 

MAY TIME. 

E. S. Emerson. 

With morn-mists grey and golden 

The May-time journeys west, 
And hill by hill is folden 

In beauty to her breast. 

Oh! sweet are her embraces, 

And with her mists of grey 
She smoothes their troubled faces 

And hides them from th& day ; 

And knowing well they weary 

Of April's plaintive moans, 
She sings them sleep-songs cheery 

In leaf -wet undertones. 

Yea! with white clouds a-smother 

She sings her rain-soft croon, 
And, like a loving mother, 

Leads on to latent June. 

And, for her children's waking. 

She kneels beneath the trees 
And sets the heath-bells shaking 

With bloom-time melodies. 

Oh, dear old mother May-time I 

The Old World May is sweet, 
And glad with flow'r and fay-time. 

Strews daisies at men's feet. 



272 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

But here thou axt no maiden 
With mating songs to sing, 

But our dear mother laden 
With promises of Spring. 

For what thou hast of sadness 
And what thou hast of gloom, 

The gums put on their gladness. 
The wattles strain to bloom ; 

And though thy ways are sere ways 
Where Old World tree leaves fall, 

Thou leadest us by near ways 
To where the thrushes callj 

And maybe ere thy going, 
The misty mountain dells 

Will set thy garments glowing 
With wild boronia bells. 



SANCTUARY. 

Lala Fisher. 

Perchance the Night is but the magic closing 

Of some vast flower in sleep. 
Beneath whose mighty dome the earth's reposing 

Is infinitely deep. 

And maybe Dawn is but the blossom waking. 

With petals upward curled, 
'Neath which the outer glory inward breaking 

To Day transforms the world. 



HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL. 273 

"WHAT LOOK HATH SHE?" 

Mary Colborne Veel. 

What look hath she, 

What majestic, 
That must so high approve her? , 

What graces move 

That I so love. 
That I so greatly love her? 

No majestic 

But Truth hath she; 
Thoughts sweet and gracious move her ; 

That straight approve 

My heart to love, 
And all my life to love her ! 



THE WARRIGAL. 
(Wild Dog of Australia.) 

Henry Clarence Kendall. 

The warrigal's lair is pent in bare 
Black rocks at the gorge's mouth ; 

It is set in ways where summer strays 
^With the sprite^ of flame and drOuth ; 

But, when the heights are touched with lights 
Of hoar-frost, sleet, and shine, 

His bed is made of the dead grass-blade 
And the leaves of the windy pine. 



274 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Through forest boles the stonn-wind rolls, 

Veji;t of the sea-driv'n rain; 
And, up in a clift, through many a rift. 

The voices of torrents complain. 
The sad marsh-fowl and the lonely owl 

Are heard in the fog-wreaths grey. 
When the warrigal wakes, and listens, and takes 

To the woods that shelter the prey. 

In the gully-deeps the blind creek sle^>s. 

And the silver, showen,- moon 
Glides over the hills, and floats, and fills, 

And dreams in tlie dark lagoon; 
^^"hile halting hard by the station yard. 

Aghast at the hut-flame nigh. 
The warrigal yells, and flats and fells 

Are loud with his dismal cry. 

On the topmost peak of the mountains bleak 

The south wind sobs, and strays 
Through moaning pine and turpentine. 

And the rippling runnel waj-s; 
And strong streams flow, and dank mists go, 

Where the warrigal starts to hear 
The watch-dog's bark break sharp in the dark, 

And flees like a phantom of fear ! 



WILLIAM PEMBER REEVES. 275 

"c 
THE PASSING OF THE FOREST. ' 

W. Pember Reeves. 

All glory cannot vanish from the hills. 

Their strength remains, their stature of command, 
Their flush of colour ere calm twilight stills 

Day's clamour, and the sea-breeze cools the land. 
Refreshed when rain-clouds swell a thousand rills. 

Ancient of days, in green old age they stand 
In grandeur that can never know decay. 
Though from their flanks men strip the woods away. 

But thin their vesture now — the restless grass, 
Bending and dancing as the breeze goes by, 

Catching quick gleams and cloudy shades that pass, 
As shallow seas reflect a wind-stirred sky. 

Ah ! nobler far their forest raiment was. 
From crown to foot that clothed them royally. 

Shielding their mysteries from the glare of day. 

Ere the dark woods were reft and torn away. 

Well may these plundered and insulted kings. 

Stripped of their robes, despoiled, uncloaked, dis- 
crowned. 

Draw down the clouds with white enfolding wings. 
And soft aerial fleece to wrap them round, 

To hide the scars that every season brings. 

The fire's black smirch, the landslip's gaping wound ; 

Well may they shroud their heads in mantle gray. 

Since from their brows the leaves were plucked away! 



276 -J-V AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Gone are the forest birds, arboreal things. 
Eaters of honey, honey-sweet of song. 

The tui, and the bell-bird — ^he who sings 

That brief, rich music we would fain prolong. 

Gone the wood-pigeon's sudden whirr of wings. 
The robin, quaintly bold, unused to wrong. 

Wild, harmless, hamadryad creatures, they 

Lived with their trees, and died, and passed away. 



And with the birds, the flowers, too, are gone 
That bloomed aloft, ethereal, stars of light. 

The clematis, tlie kowhai like ripe com, 

Russet, though all the hills in green were dight : 

The rata, draining from its tree forlorn 

Rich life-blood for its crimson blossoms bright. 

Red glory of the gorges — well-a-day! 

Fled is that splendour, dead and passed away. 

Lost is the scent of resinous sharp pines, 

Of wood fresh cut. clean-smelling, for the hearth. 

Of smoke from burning logs, in wavering lines 
Softening the air with blue, of cool, damp earth 

And dead trunks fallen among coiling vines. 

Brown, mouldering, moss-coated. Round the girth 

Of the green land, the winds brought hill and bay 

Fragrance far-borne, now faded all away. 

Lost is the sense of noisel^s, sweet escape 
From dust of stony plains, from sun and gale. 

When the feet tread where shade and silence drape 
The stems with peace beneath the leafy veil. 



WILLIAM PEMBER REEVES. 277 

Or where a pleasant rustling stirs each shape 
Creeping with whisperings that rise and fail 
Through labyrinths half-lit by chequered play 
Of light oh golden moss now burned away. 



Gone are the forest tracks, where oft we rode 
Under the silver fern-fronds climbing slow, 

In cool, green tunnels, though fierce noontide glowed 
And glittered on the tree-tops far below. 

There, 'mid the stillness of the mountain road, 
We just could hear the valley river flow. 

Whose voice through many a windless summer day 

Haunted the silent woods, now passed away. 
i 

Drinking fresh odours, spicy wafts that blew, 
We watched the glassy, quivering air asleep, 

Midway between tall cliffs that taller grew 
Above the unseen torrent calling deep; 

Till, like a sword, cleaving the foliage through, 
The waterfall flashed foaming down the steep : 

White, living water, cooling with its spray 

Dense plumes of fragile fern, now scorched away. 

The axe bites deep, the' rushing fire streams bright. 

Clear, beautiful and fierce it speeds for ]\Ian, 
The Master, set to change and stem to smite, 

Bronzfed pioneer of nations. Ay, but scan 
The ruined beauty wasted in a night. 

The blackened wonder God alone could plan, 
And builds not twice ! A bitter price to pay 
Is this for Progress — beauty swept away. 



278 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN McKENZIE. 

Jessie Mackay. 
They played liim home to the House of Stones, 

All the way, all the way, 
To his grave in the sound of the winter sea. 

The sky was dour, the sky was grey. 
They played him home with the chieftain's dirge 
Till the wail was wed to the rolling surge. 
They played him home with a sorrowful will 
To his grave at the foot of the Holy Hill ; 

And the pipes went mourning all the way. 

Strong hands that struck for right 

All the day, all the day, 
Folded now in the dark of earth, — 

The veiled dawn of the upper way! 
Strong hands that struck with his 
From days that were to the day that is 
Carry him now from the house of woe 
To ride the way the Chief must go ; 

And his peers went mourning all the way. 

Son and brother at his right hand 

All the way, all the way! 
And O for them and O for her 

Who stayed within, the dowie day! 
Son and brother and near of kin 
Go out with the Chief who never comes in! 
And of all who loved him far and near 
'Twas the nearest most that held him dear; 

And his kin went mourning all the way. 



JESSIE MAC KAY. 279 

The clan went on with the pipes before 

All the way, all the way; ^ 

A wider clan than ever he knew 

Followed him home that dowie day. 
And who were they of the wider clan? 
The landless man and the No Man's man, 
The man that lacked and -the man unlearned, 
The man that lived but as he earned ; 

And the clan went mourning all the way. 

The heart of New Zealand went beside 

All the way, all the way. 
To the resting-place of her Highland Chief : 

Much she thought she could not say. 
He found her a land of many domains, 
Maiden forest and fallow plains: 
He left her a land of many homes, — 
- The pearl of the world, where the sea-wind roams ; 

And New Zealand went mourning all the way ! 



280 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 



SINODUN HILL. 

/. L. Cuthbertson. 

L'nder sweet Sinodun Hill 
The oars were heavy, the wind was still ; 
We drifted on at the current's will — 
Heard the chime of the Dorchester bell 
Lazily over the meadows swell. 
Looked to the Him grey spires that rise 
Under the blue of the English skies — 
Under sweet Sinodun Hill. 

Under sweet Sinodun Hill 
I dreamed of a camp in a southern land — 
Dreamed of the breakers, the yellow sand, 
The cool sea-breeze and the flying boat. 
The liquid warble of magpie's note. 
Counted the wild, free days as more 
Than the beauty the soft Thames valley wore — 
Under sweet Sinodun Hill. 

Sinodun Hill I see no more: 
Near is the South Pacific's roar — 
Hands that are trusty, hearts that are warm. 
Drive our boat through the rain and storm; 
But the dull green eucalyptus tree 
Takes not the place of the elm for me. 
And the face has vanislied, the vbice has gone 
That touched my heart as we floated on — 
Under sweet Sinodun Hill. 



FRANCIS W. L. ADAMS. 281 

O! SINGER IN BROWN. 

Mary Gilmore. 

0, singer in brown! 

O, bird 6' the morn! 
O, heart of delight 

In the deep o' the thorn! 

-Glad, glad is thy song, 

Thou joy o' the morn! ' 

Thou palpitant throat 

In the heart o' the thorn! ', ; 

Thy song of a nest, , ' 

O, sweet o' the morn ! 
A nest and an egg 

In the thick o' the thorn. 



A DEATH AT SEA. 
(Coral Sea, Australia.) 

Francis W. L. Adams. 
1. 
Dead in the sheep-pen he lies, 

Wrapped in an old brown sail. 
The smiling blue sea and the skies 
Know not sorrow nor wail. 

Dragged up out of the hold, 

Dead on his last way home. 
Worn-out, wizened, a Chinee old, — 

O he is safe — at home ! 



282 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

Brother, I stand not as these 

Staring upon you here. 
One of earth's patient toilers at peace 
• I see, I revere ! 



In the warm cloudy night we go 

From the motionless ship ; 
Our lanterns feebly glow; 

Our oars drop and drip. 

We land on the thin pale beach, 

The coral isle's round us; 
A glade of driven sand we reach ; 

Our burial-ground's found us. 

There we dig him a grave, jesting; 

We know not his name. 
What heeds he who is resting, resting? 

Would I were the same! 

Come away, it is over and done! 

Peace and he shall not sever, 
By moonlight nor light of the si^n, 

For ever and ever ! 

Dirge. 



"Sleep in the pure driven sand, 

(No one K'ill know) 
In the coral isle by the land 

IVhere the blue tides come an(l go. 



SEAFORTH MACKENZIE. 283 

"Alive, thou wert poor, despised; 

Dead, thou canst have 
What mightiest monarchs have prized. 

An eternal grave! 

"Alone with the lovely isles. 

With the lovely' deep 
Where the sea-winds sing and the sunlight 
smiles, 

Thou liest asleep!" 



L'ENVOI. 

Seaforth Mackenzie. 

So over, all over: the whistle peals "Time!" 

The field lies bare to the last of the light. 
Too late to tell what you might have done; 
The goal is kicked, and a stronger has won. 
, To you is only the glow of the fight; 
To you is only the soreness and grime. 

What matter, so long as you played the game? 

What matter, provided you filled your place, 
And took the fall, (he kick, the blow. 
And tackled the foeman clean and low — 

Blind sun in ydur eyes, wet wind in your face — 
What matter, so met ye the luck as it came? 



NOTES. 



Page 

12. Omar. — Omar Khayyam, a Persian astronomer and 

poet, author of "The Rubaiyat." He was born at 

Naishapur, in Khorassan. Died 1123 A.D. 
Herod. — King of the Jews at the time of the birth 

of Christ. 
Nero. — A Roman Emperor, who oppressed the early 

Christians, 54-68 A.D. 

13. Paynim. — A pagan, an infidel. 

20. Sargasso. — The Sargasso is a large tract in the North 
Atlantic Ocean where Sargasso (a sea weed) is 
found floating on the surface of the sea in large 
quantities. 
20. Delos of a Comiiig Sun-God's race. — According to 
Greek mythology, Apollo, the sun-god, was born 
on the Island of Delos, in the Aegean Sea. 

Light. — Reference to the Scriptural parable of the 
wise and foolish virgins. 

iMammon. — The demon of riches. 

Cenotaiihs of species dead elsewhere. — The native 
fauna and flora of Australia contain many 
examples of species which have long disappeared 
from other parts of the world. 

22. The Pillars of Hercules. — The name given by the 

Greeks to the rocks on either side of the narrowest 
, part of the Strait of Gibraltar. 
Doge. — The elected ruler of Venice, once a great 
maritime power. 

23. White Haired Spaniard. — The discoverer of Florida, 

Herman Ponce de Leon, who lost his life in seek- 
ing the "Fountain of Perpetual Youth," 1512. 

De Soto. — A Spanish nobleman, who, in 1538, under- 
took the conquest of Florida; his expedition proved. 
unfortunate, and he died whilst making the at- 
tempt. 

Cortes. — The famous Spanish conqueror of Mexico 
(1519)- (See Prescott's "Conquest of Mexico.") 

Hartog. — After whom Dirk Hartog Island, off the 
coast of Western Australia, is named; a Dutch 
navigator. 

24. Dey. — Ruler of Algeria. The Barbary pirates were 

formerly dreaded by merchantmen. 



NOTES.- 285 

2^. Letters of marque are a licence given by the govern- 
ment of a country to a private person authorising 
him to fit out' an armed ship ih order to make 
prize of an enemy's ships ' and goods. 

25. Cunard packet. — One of the Cunard line of fast, mail 
ships trading between Great Britain and North 
America. ' 

33. Bent. — Stiff grass or sedge. 

36. Desiree. — The desired one; ideal love. 

38. Gods of Hellas. — ^The gods worshipped by the Greeks 

before the Christian era. 
Diana. — The maiden goddess, represented by the 
Greeks as a huntress; also the goddess of the 
moon. 

39. Pan. — The great god qf flocks and shepherds aiftong 

the Greeks. 
Sea Nymphs. — The Greeks peopled nature with tute- 
lary deities. Thus there were sea nymphs, also 
nymphs of the trees (JDryads), of streams (^Naiads), 
01 the mountains (Oreads'). 
Fauns were sylvan deities usually represented as men 
with sihort goat's tail, pointed ears, and small 
horns. Sometimes represented also as .having the 
hind legs of a goat, and as subsidiary to Pan. 
41. Appian Way. — The greatest and most famotis of all 
the Roman- highways, which led from Rome to 
Brindisi, and cSiinected ancient Rome with Greece, 
Macedonia, and the East. , It was 360 miles in 
length. 
43. Arcady, or Arcadia, means any ■ region of simple 
pleasure and peaceful happiness. 
SI. The Blessed Isles, or The Islands of the Blest (p. 62). 
— The Happy Islands, where the Elysian fields 
.were supposed to be. The ancients supposed that 
perfect peace and happiness reigned there. 
56. Chivalry upside down. — A perverted forni of chivalry. 
The creed of the outlawed push. — The belief strongly 
held by bands of larrikins that each must stick to 
his mates, and not hesitate to fight and lie in order 
to ,help them. 
57. Where the Pelican Builds Her Nest. — The formerly 
unexplored portions of Australia west of Queens- 
land. It was a popular belief, that the nests could 
not be found, but their position is now well known 
to bird observers. (See Leach's Australian Bird 
Book.) 



286 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

62. Homer. — The famous blind poet of antiquity; author 

of"The Iliad" (a tale of Troy), and the "Odyssey" 
(the wanderings of Ulysses). 

Pythagorean Band. — The followers of Pythagoras, 
the famous Greek scientist, philosopher, and 
mathematician; born B.C. 608. He taught the doc- 
trine of the transmigration of souls and founded 
a school or brotherhood of philosophers. 

Heraclitus. — "The weeping philosopher." Like Py- 
thagoras, he was a great traveller. 

Democritus. — Another famous Greek philosopher, 
whose cheerful disposition has become proverbial. 

Socrates. — The celebrated Athenian philosopher, who 
was born in 468 B.C. 

Titanic Forms. — According to Greek mythology, the 
Titans — a race of demi-gods — disputed the sover- 
eignty of Olympus with the gods, and were hurled 
down into a cavity below Tartarus. 

Olympus. — A mountain in Thessaly, formerly sup- 
posed to be the abode of the gods. Prometheus is 
supposed to have brought fire from heaven to 
mankind. 

Jove. — The Greek Zeus, the ruler of the classic 
heaven, whose abode was on Olympus. 

The Argive King. — iHercules, the most famous of all 
heroes of antiquity, performed his famous twelve 
labours at the bidding of Eurystheus, the king of 
Argos, a portion of Greece. 

63. Hermes. — The messenger of the gods, commonly 

represented as conducting the souls of the departed 
to their future abode. 

y^. — rRooi-Baatjes. — Red-coats. The Boer name for British 
soldiers before the introduction of khaki uniforms. 

74. Majuba. — In 1881, 400 British soldiers were ■encamped 
on Majuba Hill, overlooking the Boer camp, when 
a portion of the Dutch farmers' force, taking " 
advantage of the cover offered, surrounded the 
British' and slaughtered General Colley, 6 officers 
and 90 men. 

73. Potchefstroom. — After the disaster at Majuba, and 
partly in order to save a beleagured garrison at 
Potchefstroom, an armistice, followed by an agree- 
ment for peace, was made with the Boers, 1881. 
Bronkerspruit.-i-In 1881 the Boers ambushed and 
practically destroyed a British column of two 
hundred and fifty men marching to Pretoria. 



NOTES. 287 

Ingogo. — During the first Boer, war General CoUey 
suffered a reverse at Ingogo Heights, in which 4 
officers were killed and 150 men killed and 
wounded. 

78. Raree Show. — A peep show. 

Thermopylae. — A mountain pass in northern Greece, 
where the famous battle between a snjall army of 
Spartans and a Persian host was fought, 480 B.C. 

Inkerman. — The battle of Inkerman began on the day 
after the famous charge of the Light Brigade 
during the Crimean War, 1854. It was one of the 
fiercest engagements in the campaign, and was 
largely a hand to hand fight between the English 
and Russian soldiers. 

83. "Hunted Fairly." — The context indicates that the 

owner of the favourite has barely qualified his 

racehorse to compete in a race intended for 

hunters only by "trotting him within sight of the 

hounds." 

88. Babylon. — A magnifideijt city, once the capital of the 

Chaldee Empire; also the mystical Babylon of the 
Apocalypse. Here used metaphorically. 

89. Prometheus. — One of the Titans; fabled by Greek 

poets to have excelled in knowledge and to have 
formed from clay men to whom he gave life by 
means of fire stolen from Heaven. 

92. Phoenix Phalanx. — A phalanx was a massed band of 

soldiers. The phoenix was a bird of which, accord- 
ing to an old fable, only one existed at a time. 
It used to consume itself by fire and be born again 
from its own ashes. Hence the phoenix is used 
as a symbol of immortality. 

93. Dolce Far Niente. — Sweet do-nothing, sweet idleness. 

107. The Sea Coast of Bohemia. — An imaginary place im- 
mortalised in Shakespeare's "Winter's Tale," 
which see for references to Perdita and Florizel. 

tog. Cor Cordium. — Heart of Hearts. The inscription on 
Shelley's tomb at Rorne. 

rro. Mastodon. — An extinct giant elephant, whose bones 
are found in most parts of the world. 

Urus. — An extinct wild ox, abundant in Europe at 
the beginning of the Christian era. 

Silurian. — One of the geologic divisions of time, 
sometimes called the era of invertebrates. 



288 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

115. The Styx. — One of the rivers of Hades, across which 
souls were supposed to pass on their way to the 
lower world. 

Scorpion. — ^A brilliant reddish constellation. 
127. Helicon. — A range of mountains in northern Greece, 
celebrated as the favourite- haunt of the Muses. 
The name 15 sometimes given to springs , there, 
which were regarded as fountains of inspiration. 

Excalibur. — The magic sword of King Arthur. 
130. Khem. — An ancient name for Egypt. "The Egyp- 
tian Pan, who, as Herodotus observes, was one of 
the eight great gods." — RawUnson. 
132. Siloam. — It was believed that at intervals an angel 
disturbed the waters of the intermittent spring 
known as the pool of Siloam, near Jerusalem. 
134. Onawe. — A small peninsula' in Canterbury, X.Z. It 
was fortified for the last stand by the southern 
Maoris against a great North Island chief, early 
in the nineteenth century. The fortress was taken 
by stratagem and dreadful slaughter followed. 

Pakeha. — ^The white man. A Maori term, meaning 
"stranger."' 

Mighty Atua. — ^The ancestral tribe spirit. Onawe 
was long held sacred as the abode of the Spirit of 
the Wind, who, however, left the place because k 
gun was discharged near his sacred abode. He 
prophesied, the overthrow of the southern Maoris. 

Haka. — Ceremonial song and dance of the Maoris.. 

Rangitira. — The leading men and counsellors of a 
Maori tribe. 

Tena Koe. — Maori words of greeting, literal! v, "Good 
day." 
140. DoUy. — ^An elementary contrivance for washing earth 
to obtain gold. 

MilL — The battery for crushing ore. 

Bayley. — The discoverer of the famous mine known 
as Bayley's Reward (W.A.). 
15 [. Kowhai. — A New Zealand flowering tree; also 
known as the locust tree. 

Weka. — A native wood hen (N.Z.). 

Tui. — .\ remarkable -bird, which, from it? talent of 
mimicry, has been called the "^nocking Jjird." It is 
also known as the "parson bird," on account of its 
black plumage and two tufts of white feathers on 
its breast, resembling clerical bands. 
153. The Attic — The realm of self-communing and imagi- 
nation. 



NOTES. 289 

155. Victi Invicti. — The conquered unconquered. These 
lines were written after a boat race. 

159. Appin, a town and district on Loch Linnfae, in the 
west of central Scotland. 

172. The Red West Road. — The way towards the setting 
sun. 

176. Wanderlust. — The desire to rove. 

180. .Theban^ — The Thebes referred to is the city of 
ancient Egypt. 

182. Apollo's Horses. — The sun-god, Phoebus Apollo, was 
represented by the Greeks as driving his car, i.e., 
the sun, daily across the sky. 
Belars. — ^Aboriginal name for the Casuarina Glauca; 
also called Bull Oak and Cassowary tree. 

185. T.S.R. — Travelling. Stock Reserve — a reserve on the 
road for travelling cattle. 

189. Kirk's Bazaar. — A well-known auction mart for ; 
horses in Melbourn-e. 

200. Roc. — The roc bird is a fabulous bird of prey, of 
enormous size and great strength. It plays a pro- 
minent part in Arabian and Persian fables. (See, 
e.g., the voyages of Sinbad the Sailor.) 

211. Fleet- Street, London, where many leading news- 
papers are published. 
Euripides. — A famous Greek tragic poet, who lived in 
the fifth century B.C. Here, a publisher. 

223. The Prophet's Beard — The sacred beard of Mahomet. 
Bulbul. — ^The Persian nightingale. 

Mecca-ward. — In reference to Mecca, the holy city 
of Islam, in the direction of which Mohammedans 
turn daily when they prostrate themselves in 
prayer. ^ , 

224. Tamarisk. — The flowering cypress tree. 
Odalisques; — Female slaves. 

Allah. — God — so-called in the Koran. 
224 Gundagai. — A 'town in the Riverina, N.S.W. 

225. Humpy Lights. — Lights from huts. 

239. Euphrates. — The largest river in Western Asia. 

255. The Man of Golden TKroat. — Keats. 

280. Sinodun Hill. — A well-known landmark on the River 

Thames, England. 
284. T&kled the Foeman Clean and Low. — As in the 

Rugby game of football. 



10 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



The following biographical notes have been supplied in the main by 
the authors. The editors are indebted, in a few cases, to such books 
of reierence as Johns' "Notable Australians," and "Who's Who?" and 
to biographical notes in published editions of various collections^ 

ADAMS, ARTHUR H. 

Born June 6th, 1872, Laurence, New Zealand.' B.A. Otago University. 
Studied law, then becam'e a journalist. Special Correspondent to China 
(Boxer Rebellion) for N.Z. papers; Associate Editor "N.Z. Times," Wel- 
lington; Red Page Editor, . "Bulletin" for 2^ years; then Editor "Lone 
' Hand" for 2^ years ; now Editor Red Page "Bulletin." 
^'^WORKS.— "Maoriland and Other Verses"— Verse (Bulletin Co.) ; "Tussock 
^"^ Land" — Novel (Fisher Unwin) ;'' "The Nazarene" — Verse (Wellby) ; 
•^ "London Streets" — Verse (Foulis) ; "Galahad Jones" — Novel (Lane) ; 

"A Touch of Fantasy" — Novel (L^ne) ; "The New Chum" — Novel 
(N.S.W. Bookstall Co.). 

ADAMS, FRANCIS WILLIAM LAUDERDALE. 

Bom at Malta, 1862. Educated in England. Spent several years of 
his life travelling over the world. Altogether, his experience of Aus- 
tralia extended over some 5 years. Died by his own hand, in England, 
1893. 
WORKS.— "Henry and Other Tales" (London, 1884); "Poetical Works" 

(London, 1887) ; "Songs of the Army of the Night" (Sydney, 1888) ; 

"Tiberius" — A Drama (London, 1S94). 

ADAMSON, LAWRENCE ARTHUR. 

. Born in Isle of Man, f86o. Educated at Ru^by and at Oxford, where 

he graduated B.A. Has been for many years Head Master of Wesley 
College, Melbourne. 1 

ALLAN, JAMES ALEXANDER. 

Born FitzLoy, Melbourne, 1882, of Scottish parents. Educated State 
schools and college. Matriculated honours, Melbourne University. Writing 
since 1902. First verses of any consequence,' "The Silver Ship." Joined 
Lands Department 1900, Agriculture 1907, State Land Tax igii, (still 
there). Has seen a great deal of country life. 

WORKS.— "A Wine Shop Madonna and Other Verses," 1912 (The 
Argonaut Press). 

ALLEN, LESLIE HOLDSWORTH. 

Born at Maryborough, Vic, in 1879. Educated at Newington Col- 
lege, Sydney, and graduated at Sydney University, B.A., and at Leipsic, 
University, Ph.D. At present. Lecturer in German and Latin at the 
University of Sydney. His poems have been published in various maga- 
zines. ' 

"AUSTRALiE" (Mrs. Heron). 

The daughter of the late Sir William Manning, Chief Justice of 
New South . Wales. Married Mr. Heniy Heron, a Sydney solicitor, in 
1S73. Deceased. 
WORKS.— "The Balance of Pain, and Other Poems" (Geo. Bell and 

Co., London, 1877). 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 291 

B., W.A. 

This writer retains his incognito. 

BAUGHAN, BLANCHE EDITH (Miss). 

Bom 1870, a,t Putney, England, English parents. Educated ati Brighton 

High School, and Royal. HoUoway College, Ehgl^nd. Graduated B.A. 

London University, 1891. .Arrived in New Zealand 1900. Now living near 

Christchurch^ New Zealand. 

WORKS. — "Verses" (Consfable ^.nd Co., London, i8g8) ; "Reuben and. 
Other Poems " (Constable and Co., London, 1903); "Shingl^-Short and 
Other Verses" (Whitqombe and Toijibs, 1908) ; "The Finest Walk in 
the World" — Prose ' i(Whitc6njbe and Tombs) ; "Snow Kipg^ of the 
Southern Alps" — Prose (Whitcombe and- Tombs), 

BAYLDON, ARTHUR A. D. ,. < 

Born in Leeds, Yorkshire, England, March . 20th, 1865. Educatetl ' 
there, and travelled .throughout Europe. Came, to Australia about Sep-} , 
fember, 1887: Has travelled, over the greater part of Australia as a 
free-lance journalist: At present in Sydney. 

WORKS. — "Lays and Lyrics,", out of print (Geo. Bell and Co., London); 
"The Sphinx, and Other Poems" (T. R. Tutin, Hull)] "The Western 
Track, and Other Verses" (H. T. Dunn and Co., Sydney) ; "The 
Tragedy Behind the Curtain, and Other . Stories" (S. D. Tbwnsend, 
Sydney) ; "Apollo in Australia" — a volume-, of poems, now in pre- 
paration. ' 

BOAKE, BARCROFT HENRY. 

Bom Sydbejy, 1865. . Ediicated there. .Spent a few months in Sydney 
Grammar School. At the age of seventeen,, entered the office of a sur- 
veyor, and later, took a position' as field assistant; in this calling spent 
twQ years of a' free, outdoor, congenial life. Became a boundary rider 
at Mullah Station, N.S.W., but found the monotony of the life unen- 
durable, and sought a way out of it by working with a drover. Re- 
turning to the settled country, he joined a suTvey party, and remained 
with it for _ some time. Arrived in Sydney, to find his family in 
, straitened -circumstances. Died by his own Ijand, 1892 — a victim of 
melancholia. After his death, his works were collected and published 
by the Bulletin Company, under the title of "Where the Dead. Men 
Lie, and Other Verses." 

BRADY, EDWIN JAMES. 

Born at Carcoar, N.S.W., 1869. Educated in New South Wales and 
America. Engaged in various occupations for some years in N.S.W. 
Editor of _ "The Worker," Sydney, 1905, "Australian Workman," 
1911. Contributed as, a free-lance to many papers ' and magazines, 'and 
became -Editor of "The Native Companion," igo6. Engaged now in 
writing as a poet and journalist, of his wide experience throughout 
Australia. - . 

WORKS.— "The King's Caravan" (Edward Arnold, Loiidon) ; "River 
Rovers/' "Bells and Hobbles," and "Picturesque Pprt Phillip" (Geo. 
Robertson and Co.); '.'The Ways of Many Waters," and "Bush- 
land Ballads" (T. C. Lothian) ; "The Earthen Floor" (out of print) ; 
"Tom Pagdin; Pirate" (N.S.W. Bookstall Col). 

BRERETON, JOHN LE GAY. 

Bom at Sydney, and September, 1871. Educated at several 'schools, 
including the Sydney Grammar School, whej-e he thrice took, the Cape 
Verse prize for English. Verses, and at the University of Sydney (Univer- 
sity medal for English Verse thrice, first-class honours in English,, B.A. 
in 1893)., Was a sphoolmaster for a time, and intermittently a temporary 
employee (proof corrector and clerk) in the Civil Service ; " tried a tea 



292 AN AtlSTNAJ, GARDEN. 

builneia, and learned In llir iirmriiK nl lirlnu awljulli'cl lu »yj]mcalil»c' wlili 
dofauUerif" worked for n ym" '>i' iwo In tlir (iiiv(inirri(^iii Htiul»ttlilini'» 

Ofliqo, became A«»lltOnt l.lliliuhui lo lllr lllllyrjnlly nl Syihiry III Ufvl. 

WOKKS.- "IJii- Siiiiit i,\ DdiIipiImmiiI" ((i.oia>' Allnii, iH.j.|) ; "I'n.lliu" 
A HoJillrl Rpiiinl (Aimmi,) (I1<-u, I<,iI«Mmiii iumI CIu,, iM.ji,); ".Hwpc-I- 
hrlirl Mini-" (Allislll. lillil KnlifUKinl, iKu/l; "I.Hli.llri|i.r»" I':. mi' (Will, 
UrooU« mill Cu,, iyi».) ; "(lilliuiiii" Vi-im- (iiiivnU'ly liiiinril, \'iKi)\ 
"Syiliii'y lliilvi'inily l.iljiiny I'lihlii riliims" (Syilmy llliivrinlly, I'lufi) ; 
"Hi-ii linil Sliy" Vi'iM- ( Lulliliiri, i.jnH) ; "I'lli/nln iliiiii Driiiiiii" Nnli'i. 
mill Stuilim (Will, llniiilcn, 11,111); '"I'll liiiiiliiw" A Diiiimilli .Sliili ll 
(AiiKuii mill KiihiTiwiii, ii/iii); Hililml "I'l-rliiii Winliri li," liy luliii I'niil 
(Willi J, I'. I'ii;l(liiini, iKr/i); Ivlllcil "Si'liTl I'linmiKrh liiiiii tlir Wmli« 
of Marliiwr" ((irii, i'lilllip mill Sun, Hiuj.). 

CARMICHAEL, GRACE JGNNINOB (Mri. Mulllll. 

Born iti Victoria, 1H07, .SiimL tlir yii-uii-r piui ul Iirr niiily IIIp in (lir 
buili of Oippsland, ICntrinl ('liililii-ti'ii llunpiiiil, mnl liniinip 'I'luinnt 
Nui'te, Uleu 1(104, in I'jiuinnil. 
WORKS,— "Poem*" (Mi-lvil|p uml Mullfii, IMrlbimiin ), 

CA88IDY, R. J, 

A writer nl verieii, dlorlen nnd «rloli>, win,, innlcr ilir imiii ili- iiliinn 
"Oilrooney," in u fririjucnt rinilfilnitoi 11, ilip roliiiiiiiK i,l "I In- Uiillriin" 
and other nt^rioilirulH, Nuw llvinij nt llnilirn lllll. 
WORKS.— '•'I'llB l.miil iif (111- .Slurry Cii.bV' (i.ulliiiin, njii) 

COLBORNE-VEBL, MARY. 

lioMi in C'lirihii-liuri'Ii, Nfw /i-lllniiil. II'*r fdlbcr, nl tin iil.j (llmirt ,,11 1 
tihirc fmiiily, caifn- nut In CmiLprbury in JM57, It hm* Imrn wrlltni nl 
him that w, "plnyni It urrfit mill wnrtliy piirt in tin- liiti-lii-i tniil liti' 
ni thf! provinur," IVIiiry (■uibnriu' Vi*pl'ti 'Iiri»l writliiKh iippi-iiii-ii in iMH-/, 
Sllf Inih iiinlriinili-'l in iniiny nniyii/.iiMI*, j'iili/iltili mn! ( 'nlnnliil. mnl liiif 
iliinr iiiurli iii'WHiKip'-r wnilt rtf it liliTHry ihimim', Hux piilillalir'il niily intp 
book, in iHiH' liinuf.ll npftilili-ns 111 lift Idirr wurk llftvr iipprurt'il id 

vurioui milliiilniiii-», 

WORKS,— '"I III- I'liiri-hi 111 llii- AiiKcln, uml oilnt Vi-r»i'i." (Ilniiiii- Cuk, 
London). 

CHURCH, HUBERT. 

linrn 1 ftli Iniir, iNsy, m llnliiiil Snii 111 Ihiljfil Uiiv ( liniili. Iliirtiolpr, 
M,A,, Jluilimn, I'l.luiiili-il In I'.niilmi.i ,|iiini-il Ni-w /fiilmid Civil 
.SitryitT, ill 1H7,), 
WORKS,- "WcM Wiiiil" (Hiillriiii Cn); ■•|-npin«" (Wiiiiinn.l,, iind 

'I'uinl>H) ; "I'iifinnnt" iiimI "I'nriiiM" (l.nliiiitn, inia), 

CROOKtTON, ROBERT MELVILLE, 

IJiirii in 'rnfiwnninljii, (^upriihlmi'l, 1HH7. 'In Iilh liitln-r, thr l(<-v J, 
Crniiktilnn, nl Ur-inliKii. Viitnriii, mnl fn tiir iiai- ni lliii lilnary. Inr nwrst 
IMUilh nf llih tahfi* Inr Irtlf-rn. Allm rrrcivlny pri-lilllilKiiy urllniiiinu In 
(^ui'Pnwimnl, lir- llvnl fur hnan- yrjirn In Nrwiai>lli-, NSW, mnl litter 
in IJi-lMilKn, wl|i-ri' In- iii;itriiii!iif''il Irniii Sf- Aililrfi'.'t, ('nil,,.! In i,,,,^, 

fifli-r trai-hillu in IJaiilirfU ('nllt-^yf Inr tt liw lilnlltlla, lir i:niiinM'nrf(| lllp 
htuily III inr-illi'inr at tlir Mi'lbniinii' llriivtiftily. Kiii'iuatina, willl IiiMiinir*,, 
in n;ij. III- IniH piihlinln-il (riiiii liiiip in tiiiii- in vminiitt ]niirniiU, but 
llih writillKh liavr linl v^t iicril i;nIlM tnl in iinnk Iniiii, 

CUTHBERTtON, JAMES LISTER. 

Ilnni ill Siiillmi'l, iH.v, I'liiiii'iil'-il lliirr, and nl Dsliml, wIii'm' In- 
Krailuati-il 11. A Ounpii-il lln; pnhl nl Si-iiinr Clasidiiil Mlmlii, iil liri'lmlK 
Oi'annnar SilinnI, iHyn'/i, l)ii-'l njin, 
WORKS "llarwnn lliillinli." ((;,-p|nnK, ,«,,(); a . nllpiliMJ nhilnn nl kin 

poerrii* i* in bp puiilinln-il nlmfllv. 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 293 

DALEY, VICTOR JAMES. 

Bom in Ireland, 1858. . Arrived in Australia at the age of 18 years. 
Followed the profession of Journalism, and earned a somewhat precarious 
livini^. Died 1905- One of our greatest poets. 
WORKS.— "At Dawn and Dusk" (Angus and Robertson, 1898); "Wine 

and Roses" (Angus and Robertson, 1911)- 

DENIEHY, DANIEL HENRY. 

Bom at Sydney, 1828, and was educated there. Travelled in England 
and Europe, and on his return studied Law, and became the first native- 
bom Solicitor on the rolls in Australasia. Elected a Member of Par- 
liament, and. later, edited periodicals. Died 1865. 

DERHAM, ENID. 

Bom 1883, at Hawthorn, Vic. Educated Hessle College, Camberwell, 
Presbyterian - Ladies' College, and Melbourne University. Final Honour 
Scholarship in Classics, and the Shakespeare Scholarship. Graduated 
M.A., 1905- Tutor in English at - Ormond College. 'University Coach. 
WORKS.— "Empire : A Morality Play for Children" (Osboldstone and 

Co.); "The Mountain Road and Other Verses." 

DYSON, EDWARD. 

Bom at Morrisons, between Geelong and Ballarat, 1S65. English 
parents. Unmarried. Attended State schools at Bendigo, BallaieLt, and 
Alfredton until thirteen. Spent most of youth at Alfredt^n. . As a 
youngster, at Bendigo, Ballarat, and Clones, soaking up mining inspira- 
tion fqr the making of future verse and stories, he worked as whim- 
boy £ind battery-feeder. Went to Lefioy, a Xasmanian field, when 17. 
Worked there in shallow alluvial, afterward^ sluicing pyrites, and on 
the brace. Later worked at Victorian mines. Began writing for Bal- 
larat papers at 19. Worked in a factory in Melbourne, and wrote during 
the evenings for "The Bulletin" and other papers. Became SubrEditor c^ 
"Lifej" a Melbourne magazine, at 21- Since then has been busy as 
a contributor to many Australian papers. 
WORKS. — "Rhymes from the Mines" (Angus and Robertson) ; "Below 

and on Top" (Geo. Robertson and Co.); "The Gold-stealers" (Long- 

matn's) ; VThe Roaring Fifties" (Chatto and Windus) ; "Factory 'Ands/' 
Vfhe Golden Shanty" (Geo. Robertson and Co.); "The Missing Link," 

"Tommy, the Hawker," "Benno" (N.S.W. Bookstall Co.). 

ELSUM, WILLIAM HENRY. 

Bom ' Williamstown (Vic), December ^th, 1875. State school edu- 
cation. Took to journalism as .a profession, and after editing from 
time to time a number of provincial newspapers in Victoria and New 
South Wales,' made a specialty of class journals. At the present time 
edits a large class journal in Melbourne, and represents a large number 
of British and American class journals. For some years was successful 
in literary . competitions throughout Australia and New Zealand. 
WOR£S.-^"Au"stralia, and Other Poems" — Songs of Nation-making and 

Descriptive Verse (Geo. Rq^ertson and Co. P^y. Ltd., 1910). 

EMERSON, ERNEST SANDO. 

Bom ^t . Ballarat (Vic), loth Npvember, 1S70; youngest child of the 
. late William Emerson, formerly of Bnstol. Primarily educated at Faiaday- 
street school, Carltpn. First worked as a Clerk. Went to the Riverina 
as Station Bookkeeper in 1887, and returned two years later to join 
the staff of Melboume "Table Talk." Went West with the gold fever, 
and eventually was appointed Sub-editor of "Clare's Weekly," and Editoi' 
of the "Sunday Chronicle" in Perth. Started contributing verse to the 
"Bulletin" as "Milky White," 1898. MsErried in igo6, and settled down 
in the Gippsland mountains. Contributor of stories, articles, and verse to 



294 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN, 

the "Lone Hand," "Bnlletin," '^dmy Woifcer," "Sydney Mail," etc 
Forced by ill-health to leave Victoiia, he has since been Editor of 
"The Westialian Worker," at Kals^oorlie, W.A., and is at present Editor 
of the Brisbane "Woriter," Q. 
WORKS. — "A Shanty Entertainment," "Santa dans and a Snndial." 

"An Australian Bird Calendar" (all pablished by Geo. Robertson 

and Co-)- 

ESSON, LOUIS. 

Bom Edinburgh, 1879. Parents Scottish. Came to Anstralia as a 
child. Educated Ouiton Grannnar School and Melbourne UniveTsity. 
Occupation, Journalist. Hps written for various papers, especially the 
"Bnlletin," Sydney. Visited India and Japan 1908, -as "Lone Hand" 
representative. Edited "National Advocate" (Bathurst) for about a year. 
At present living in Melboiime. 
WORKS-— "Bells and Bees" (Lothian, 1910) ; "Three Short Plays" (Eraser. 

and Jenkinson, ^911)- 

EVANS, GEORGE ESSEX. 

Bom in London, 1863, and educated tn Wales and the Channel Islands- 
Came 10 Queensland in 1881, and, after farming for some years, entered 
the Qneen^and GDvermnent service, acting latterly as District Reg^trar 
at Toowoomba, where he died in 1910. Won the prize for die best Ode 
on the Inauguration kA the Commonwealth. 

WORKS. — "The R^exitance of Magdalene Despar, and Other Poems" 
^London, 1891) ; "Won by a Skirt" (Brisbane) ; "Loraine, and O^er 
Verses" ((5eo. Robextson and Co., 189S) ; "Tbe Sword of Pain" (Tob- 
woomba, 1905) ; "The Secret Key, and Other Verses" (Angus and 
Robertson, 1906). 

FISHER, LALA (Mrs.). 

Lala Fi^er, bom Rockhampton, QueenslaDd, 1872. Eldest danghter oi 
Archibald John Richardson, who was for over 33 years District Surveyor 
and Lands Ckmmiissioner in Rockhampton. Mrs. Fisher won the "Lone 
Hand" £sisl- quarteriy pnze for the best contributed verse (Fdimaxy' 
ApiiJ, 3909) with "Flowei^" She is a freqnent concribntor to vaiioos Aie- 
tralian papers, and is the advertising manager of "The Theatre Maga 
zine," Sydney. 
WORKS.— "A Twilight Teaching" (iSgS). and "By Creek and GoSkf 

(3899) (T. Fisher Unwin, London). 

FOOTT, MARY HANNAY (Mrs.)- 

Bom in Glasgow, Scodaod. Daughter of James Black, grain mer- 
chant there, afterwards of Dtuidoo Station, Qneen^and. Widow of Hunnas 
Wade Foott, elder son of James Foott, of Springfort Co., Cork. Ireland. 
Since 1S84 occupied in journalistic and literary woric Has two sons. 
Major Cecil Henry Foott. R.A.E:. and Mr. Arthur Patrick Foott, Editor 
of the Bundaberg (Q.) "Daily Mail." 
WORKS.— "Where the Pelican Builds, and Other Poems," '"Moma Lee, 

and Other Poems" (Gordon and Gotch,' Brisbane). 
* * 

FORREST, MABEL (Mrs.). 

Bom in Queensland. Maiden name Siills^ Twice married. -Wrote 
from the age of ten years, when a story was publish^ in the "Queens- 
lander," shortly followed' by lerse. Winner of eight first prizes in different 
literary competitions, including &rst for short story in Woman's Work 
Eidiibition, Melbourne, 1907. aiid the Austral GvAA MedaL 0*nfribntr« ■■ 
to the "Spectator," "Pall Mall ilagazine.*' "London," "Cassdl's" and- 
all leading Australian papers. .\11 her chidhood was spent in tfae Aus- 
tralian bush or on Queensland stations. 
WORKS.— "Alpha Ontanri"— A Book of Verse (Lothian, igo^. 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 295 

FULLERTON, MARY E. 

Born at Gleninaggie, North Gippsland, Vic. Educated at State School. 
Has been a contributor of verse and prose to Australian periodicals 
from an. early age. Liyed in Melbourne for some years, and is associated 
with several literary societies and "forward" movements. 
WORKS.~**Moods and Melodies" — a book of sonnets and lyrics (Lothian).' 

GAY, WILLIAM. 

Bom in Scotland,- 1865. Came to the colonies \vhen 20 years of" 
age. Was Assistant Master at Scotcli College, Melbourne, until _ his 
health broke down.- For the last few ye^rs of his life he was an invalid. 
Died at Bendi^o, 1897. 
WORKS.— "Collected Works," igii (T. C- Lothian). 

GILMORE, MARY (Mrs.J. 

Daughter of Donald Cameron. Born at Cotton Valley, Goulburn, 
in 1865. Became a teacher under the ' Education Department of New 
South Wales, holding positions at Wagga, Silverton, and at Neuts^ Bay 
and Stanmore (Sydney). Travelled in Paraguay and Uruguay.- 
Visited England and India, and returned to Australia. Settled for some 
years at Casterlon, Victoria. Wrote for magazines and "The Bulletin,'' 
and in igo8 took charge of the Women's Page of the Sydney "Worker," 
which, she still conducts. In Paraguay, married William A. (jilmore. 
_ WORKS.— "Marri'd, and Other Verses", (Geo. Robertson and Co.). 

GORDON, ADAM LINDSAY. 

Bom at Fayal, Azores Islands, 1833. Educated at Cheltenham CoUegCi 
England, and > at Woolwich Military Academy^ and afterwards at Merton, 
Cofiege, Oxford. Arrived in Australia, 1853, and joined the mounted 
police. Elected to South Australian Parliament, 1865. Went into busi- 
ness as livery stable keeper, 1867. Failed. Turned his attention to 
steeplechase riding, and gained the reputation of being the best rider of his 
day. Lived for a time at Brighton, .in straitened circumstances. Died 
by his own hand, 1870. 
WORKS.— "Poems" (A. H- Massina and Co., 1877, and later). For a 

full criticism of his works, see Introduction to "Poems," by Marcus 

Clarke, also "The Development of Australian Literature," by Turner 

and Sutherland (Geo. Robertson and Co., iSgS). 

GREEN, HENRY MACKENZIE C"Harry Sullivan"). 

Born Sydney, 1881. Married. Australian for three generations. Sydney 
Urfiversity, 1899-1905; took Arts and Law Degrees and a few Essay prizes. 
Spent three months in a Solicitor's office, and about 18 months in England, 
with visits to Germany and' Paris. Started newspaper work on "Sydney 
Morning Herald," 1907; now on reporting staff of "Daily Telegraph." 
Has written prose -and a. good deal of verse, mostly under pen-name of 
"Harry SulliYan" ; some printed in "Bulletin," "Lone Hand," "Worker," 
and "Lilley's Magazine." 

HARPUR, CHARLES. 

O^e of the first of Australian poets ; he has been called "the father 
of Australian verse," and greatly influenced Kendall. He was born 
at Windsor, New South W^Ies, in 1817, the son bf a schoolmaster. His 
chief occupation was farming. Served fdr eig^ht years as gold commis- 
sioner. He died in 1868. 

WORKS. — "Thoughts" — Sonnets (Sydney, 1843) ; "The Bushrangers, - and 
Other Poems" (Sydney, 18^3); "A Poet's Home" (Sydney, 1862); "The 
Tower of the Dream" (Sydney, 1865); "Poems" (Melboums, 1883). 



296 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

HEBBLETHWAITE, JAMES. 

Born at Preston, Lancashire, England, 1857, o£ English parents. En- 
tered with scholarship St. John's College, Battersea, London, 1877. Re- 
mained there two years. Was occupied in teaching the next twelve years, 
also lectured on English literature at the Harris Institute, Preston.' Came 
to Tasmania in i8go, and engaged in teaching. Took orders in the 
Anglican Church, 1903. Is now Vicar of D'Entrecasteaux Channel, Tas. 
WORKS.— "Verses" (Hobart, i8g6) ; "A Rose o£ Regret" in "A Southern 

Garland" (published by The Bulletin Co., 1904); "Meadow and Bush" 

(The Bookfellow, Sydney, 1911). 

HENEY, THOMAS WILLIAM. 

Born 1862, native of Sydney, N.S.W. Educated in State and private 
'schools. Entered upon journalism 1878; has been at it ever since. Married; 
wife. Amy F., elder daughter of Henry GuUett, M.L.C., formerly Editor 
of "The Australasian." , Three chilcTren. Editor-in-Chief of "The Sydney 
'Morning Herald" since 1903. Has been connected with that journal 
since 1878. 
WORKS.— "Fortunate Days"— Poems; "In Middle Harbour"— Poems ; "The 

Girl at Birrell's" — ^Novel; "A Station Courtship"-TNoveL 

HOLDSWORTH, PHILIP JOSEPH. 

Bprn Sydney, 1849. * Followed the profession of journalism for some 
years. Became Editor of the "Sydney Athenxum," and later of the ■ 
"Illustrated Sydney News." Took up a position in the Treasury Depart- 
' ment, and later obtained the post of Secretary of the Forest Department. 
Died 1902. 

WORKS.— "Station Hunting on the Warrego, and Other Poems" (Wm. 
Maddock, r88s). 

JEPHCOTT, SYDNEY WHEELER. 

Born on Upper Murray, r864. Brought up in the bush, and nexer 
had any schooling, private nor public. Married in i8s6. Has resided 
on Upper Murray all his life, saving one year (1904) spent in Monaro. 
WORKS.— "Secrets of the South" (.Wm. Reeves, London, i89t) ; "Pene- 
tralia" (Lothian, I9r2). 

JOSE, ARTHUR WILBERFORCE ("Ishmael Dare"). 

Born at Bristol, England, in 1S63, and educated at Balliol College, 
Oxford. Since 1904 Australian Cortespondent of "The Times" (London). 
Has written several books on Australian History. 
WORKS.— "History of Australasia" (Angus and Robertson) "The Growth 

of the Empire " (John Murray) ; " Australasia," one of the Temple 

Encyclopaedic Primers (Dent). 

KENDaLl, HENRY CLARENCE. 

Born 1841, near Milton, N.S.W. Was educated in the bush. At 
an early age he lost his father, and for a time was dependent on rela- 
tives and friends. At the age of thirteen, he went to sea as cabin-boy 
on a small brig, owned by his uncle. Returning to Sydn^ at the age 
of fifteeri, he found employment, at first in a draper's shop, and later, 
in the o£6ce of James Lionel Michael, a solicitor. Here similarity of 

.taste with his employer led to young Kendall's introduction to a choice 
library of English literature. About this time appeared his first pub- 
lished work, "Songs Without Music." Appointed to Lands Office, Sydney 

^ and a few years later married Miss Charlotte Rutter. Essayed jour- 
nalistic work in Melbourne tor a time, and returned to Sydney, where he 
was employed for seven years by ' a firm of timber merchants. Appointed 
to the office of Sjiperintendent of State Forests in i88t. Died in i88z 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 297 

WORKS. — "Poems and Songs" (Clarke, 1862) ; "Leaves from Australian 
Forests" (Geo. Robertson and Co., 1870) ; "Songs from the Mountains"^ 
(1880) ; '"Poems of Henry C. Kendall" ^Collected) (Geo- Robertson 
and Co., 1903). For a full account of his works, see "The Develop- 
ment of Australian Literature," by Turner and Sutherland. 

LAWSON, HENRY HERTZBERG. 

Perhaps th^ best-known Australian writer. Bom near Grenfell, N.S.W., 
in 1867. On. leaving school, Worked for some time with his father, who 
was a farmer and contractor. At the age of seventeen went to Sydney. 
Frqm 1887, lie has been engaged chiefly in literary work. Most of his 
best' work, both in verse and prose, appeared first in the^ columns ot 
"The' Bulletin." 

WORKS (Poetical).— "In the Days when the World was Wide, and 
Other Verses," "When I was King, and Other Verses," "Verses, 
Popular and Humorous" (Angu^ and Robertson) ; "The Skyline 
Riders"- (Lockley) ; "Short Stories in Prose and. Verse," "Chil- 
dren of the Bjish"_ (Angus and Robertson). « His chief prose works 
are: "Joe ' Wilson and His Mates," "The Country I Come From," 
"On the Track,", and "Over the Sl^prails" (Angus and Robertson). 

LAWSON, WILL. 

Born Newcastle-on-Tyne, England, 1876. Came with parents to New 
Zealand in • 1880, thence to Queensland in 1883', . where he was educated 
at Brisbane Grammar School. Lived in Wellington, N.Z., for the last 
20 years; employed as Insurai^ce clerk. First literary efforts were verses 
coUitributed tcj Sydney "Bulletin" in ' igoo. Later work includes short 
stories and sketches, some of which will shortly appear in" book form. 
WORKS.— "The Red West Road" (Turnbiill, Hickson and Gooder. Wel- 
lington, N.Z.) ; "Between the Lights" (Ferguson and Hicks, Wel- 
lington, N.Z.); "Stokin', and Other Verses," "Steam in the Southern 
Pacific" — the only history extant of steam navigation in Australasian 
.waters (Gordoni and -Gotch, Wellington, N.Z.). 

MACK, MARIE LOUISE (Mrs. Creed). 

, Bom at Hobart. Educated at Sydney High School. Became a teacher. 

and, later, a journalist. Published school stories and, a, novel. Left 

Sydney in rgori and is now in London. 

WORKS. — "Dreams in Flowers" — one of the booklets of verse ih "A 
Southern Garland" (The Bulletin Company). Has also , published 
"The World is Round," "Teens," "An Australian ' Girl in London," 
"Girls Together," and other novels. 

MACKAY, JESSIE (Miss). 

Born in Canterbury, N.Z.,, in 1864, of Scottish parentage. (See poem, 
"For Love of Appin"). Educated at Christchurch Normal School, and 
then became a teacher, first in the public (State) schools, and afterwards 
in private schools. ■ ^ 

WORKS.— "The 'Land of the Morning" ' (Whitcombe and Tombs); "The 

Sitter on the Rail, Etc." (Simpson and Williams, N.Z.). 

MACKAY, COL. KENNETH. 

Born June 5, 1859, at Wallendbeen Station, N.S.W. Eldest son of 
Alexander Mftckay.^ Educated at Camden College and Sydney Grammar 
School. Raised First Camden Light Horse, 1885. Raised ist Australian 
Horse Regiment, 1897. M.L.A. for Bunowa, 1895-9, when he was called 
to the Legislative Council; Vice-President of the Executive Council, and 
Representative of the' Government in the Legislative Council in Lyne 
Ministry, 1899-1900, when he resigned to take command of the N.S. Wales 
First, Imperial Bushmen's Contingent; Vice-President Executive Council, 
1903-4. 



:j5 ^-v austral gardes. 

Y; ■:: vv_-..- (BeaEin-. L:^.--.-cr ^-Jv:.^i^ a£ a S^j^T L»!rf- ti-i-- 
MACKELLAB. DOROTHEA. 

MACKENZIE. SEAFOBTH. 

ef T.T.. B . an£ v-^^ .-^lei k> Ebe bur v :;«:c. X^rv C^ear cf 
VVOSL5.S.— Rijr^rsszryi ''-J wises a> 1^; ;,-:,c »jr,j iai--r:;^irs-— -Sea 

■cCRAE. DOROTHT FRANCES W-^ Ckarias E. Mrt). 

>?,--."c ^Lu;>;^r ,: f-::-ge G wrf att >£--CrjL!r. tlie "' 'j:,'-^'.:! ;^;<c, 
Bura at -A=>--i,'-+<;-i- r£-i.»-i>-rr- atrlfciiai'i f- EJlKaacd «t it-me- aad 
at "Raiitaak SL;« M-trr^i K;-. Ckuks. K. «amr, T«tar at ic ,---ki s. 
Cb f fc uiatJ L Far i%^ ;<-:;,us r>ir^i -wunr pbffies ca tte Oau^esx jj:?^ £ai^- 
laaA. Is a T-;s'::l-'-r oaBOJMtar aC »«5ss i3si shaft 9ta«s b» "Aastrtta^a 



McCRAE. HUGH. 

>or aC -vV-cr;^ O-'rica i£.-CrjLr. -"i*f fitirc -~r Vi a a nU a paettT.*" aa4 
rr;ciffr a( IVr-ciy Fri30« XtcC.-.tr Mr^ T;—" Ban at n,lTiid>ani. 

-•.-"^- '^i :- a ^"- :- jLr,~i-:^fc:s. ^c;t -^K-^-'i-^-ei :>^ 'vri ;r- >»«rm»Ss^ a«i 
ast- I-iv~- ~ Syz^^t^. ,trvi ^ a ccirirtbaasc cr fcwBrr-xs JjMtaMg st aji£ - 
verses E» rxr^--:;< rirrtolSci"^ X--w Arc Ec;c^r c£ ""Tie O^cisc AaaaaJ&Bft.** 
WORKS, — ^TK:E.ipta» Ijibi;i.~" acwr r;r',i':-;:-si^i j,? "-Sirr-^ i:»i '^laaTi'.t*'* 
(IjidtfaaK 

MAILLER, WILFRID. 

Bv— >■ 5;. -".ey. L; r-i x Bj&--i=jir. ISr ■,-£ At ktt« IJCJ* *r^^ 
.--> ;.i-y :=j,r>-x--i. i^isr-i^ iri.x-4 ke ,-,xr:r4itK-i -.?r«r amt pease te Tisr 

VW^RKS,— liK- ?«?,■-!; Gaid« aad Otfcw Svataa*- COk K t^stj* P««sSv 

MILLER KNOWLES. MARION iMr&>. 

BorTT it WaadT^ FvanC ;- K-r i-r af CUf^s^awi. A-itCank. F^ik*. 
.Uinrs Xft:jrr, a mcU.fciiHwK ;,-,- ;,:--- 13,; s>aa«at meidaat ri«i.M< 

fi^-jitx-ii IV^sRaeat af Vcc-r.t latw, MMsca nSnaiQ: s«a«, as^ n 
,--rsr,--:K-o;- tcctt^ns- »<rt« -.-; 3.'- -------- wMi.dic Va^ smMXr af aS ^aits 

« \ x--._-- ■- Oa:~"b-awi wrar s^ jc.-sf ta> oausy AaetxaBaa i:»;c<^ 
WORKS-— "S.ri> (i«K d>r HBb~ ^'-- , a»t jfabr v^ -"-iiitrr 

Ste»«*es~ Eir-T-- aad aiaaie); i ---i* &<« thr 5 ^.Wjtar \o«» 

Rnbectsaa .1^ C^- laxi). 



BIOGRAFHIES OF AUTHORS. 299 

MORTON. FRANK. 

Bdiii at Bromley, in Kini, May uihj i80(). Livcil fifteen years ;il 
Siukf-oiv-lrciit, in the luart of the Stal'ordiilurc potteries. Came to Sydney; 
spciu some time in a futile attempt to learn engincerins. and some tinie 
ill attempting business. Then went to sea before the mast, American ship 
"Conqueror, of Boston. Left the vessel at Hong Kong. Wandered about 
the Far East, and then settled in Singapore* and after some months of 
school teaching, fell somehow into journalism. Since then served periodicals 
In India, most States of Australia, and New Zealand, as Reporter, 
Special Correspondent, War Correspondent, Editor, Critic, etc. 
WORKS.;— "Laughter and Tears: Verses of u Journalist" (New Zealand, 

1908); "The Angel of the Earthquake" (Melbourne, 1009); "The Vacht 

of Dreams" (London, 191 1). 

MURPHY, EDWIN GREENSLADE C'Dryblower). 

Born Castlemaine, Vic, 1870. State school education. South Mel- 
bourne, for s years. Modeller by trade. Net-fished Gippsland Lakes s 
years; sang in chorus with the Lonnen Gaiety Co., 1899-3, and wrote 
local verses. Went to Coolgnrdie in 1893. Swagged from Perth 390 
miles. Found small rich leader, Bulong. Roamed Europe three years on 
proceeds. Returned to W.A., 1890. 
WORKS.- "Jarrahland Jingles" (Sunday limes, Perth, W.A.). 

NEILSON, JOHN SHAW. 

Bqrn ,at Pcnola, Soutli Australia, on jjnd February, iS;^. Educated 
at State schools, S.A. and Victoria. Came witli parents to Wimmera 
district, Victoria, in 1881. Started to write yerse about 1893- Since 
then has contributed verse to different papers, chiefly "Bulletin, ' Sydney, 
"Clarion," Melbourne, and "Bookfellow," Sydney. Now engaged in fann- 
ing at Eureka, near ChillingoUah, Victoria. 
WORKS.— "Green Days" (The Bookfellow, Sydney). 

O'DOWD, BERNARD. 

Born at Beaufort, Victoria, ittli April, iN6o- His father, Bernard 

O'Dowd, from County Mouaghan, Ireland; mother, from County Antrim, 

Ireland. Educated at Mr. Pennell's private school, Beaufort; State schools 

at Snake Valley, Carnghtjim, Soldier's Hill, and Mount Pleasant. Bal- 

larat; and at Grenville College, Ballarat, State school exhibitioner; 

graduated B.A. (with honours in Logic and Philosophy) and LL.B., 

Melbourne University; admitted to .Victorian Bar, Has been Assistant 

Librarian, Supreme Court Library, Melbourne, since 1SS7. Before that, 

was Headmaster at St. Alipius' School, Ballarat, and for a time had 

a private school at Beaufort. (Contributed verses and prose to many 

Australian papers and magazines. Ex-President of Literature Society of 

Melbourne; Vice President of Australian Literature Society. 

WORKS.— "Dawnward?" (in "A Southern Garland " by Bulletin Co.. 

Sydney. 1904, and separately by T. C. T-othian) ; "The Silent Land 

anil OtTier Verses," 1900, "Dominions of the Boundary," 1907. "Poetry 

Militani"— Prose, 1909, "The Seven Deadly Sins, and Other Verses, 

io»io. "Poems" — Selections, miniature edition. (All by Lothian, 1910.) 

O'FERRALL, ERNEST FRANCIS. 

Horn November asth, iSSi, at East Melbourne, Victoria. Educated 

at Christian Brothcfs' College, Eastern Hill. Left school in 1896, and 

spent eleven years doing clerical work. Started writing about igoo, and 

unt first "Bulletin" story luid set of verses published in 1901. Thenei - 

forward' eontiibuted steadily to "Bulletin" under pen-name of "Kodok" 
Joined litei;iry staff of the "Bulletin" in December, 1907. 

OGILVIE, WILLIAM HENRY. 

Boru Seulland, 1869. Educated tlieie. Arrived In .Aubtralia. i^Sg. 



300 Ai\ AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

and engaged in bosh occnpatioos for two years, dniing vfaich Omc 
be was a coo£ribotc«' to sereial AnstiaJian papers and maearinfyi . Re- 
turned to Scotland, 1908. 
WORKS.— "Fair Girls and Grav Horses," 1898, "Hearts of Gold" CThe 

Bolktin Cp., Sydney, 1903;; "Rainbows and WiiclKs" <Londo4, 1907); 

"My Life in tfe Open," and other wprks Cfisbcr VDwin, 1908); 

"Wanp o' the Rede" (1910). 

O'HARA, JOHN BERNARD. 

Bom Bendigo, Viccona, iS6^ Edccated Cariton College and Ocmcaid 
College. Graduated M.A. in School of Matberaalics and Physics, 18S5. 
Appointed Lecturer in Matl^nmtkrs and Physics at Oimcnid College. 
I3S6. Hag been Principal (tf Sonth Melbonzne Colles:e since 1889- 
WORKS —"Songs of the South"— First and seccmd series (Ward, Lock ' 

and C£i., London) ; "Lyrics of Natore," "A Book a£ Sonnets." "Odes 

a-d Lyrics" ^Melille and Mnllen). 

O'REILLY, DOWELL PHILLIP. 

Bom at Sydney, i£6s- Edocaced at Sydney Grammax School and 
Sydney Cniversity- Blected member for Parrasoatta, in K-S-W. Parlia- 
ment, in 1S94- Forsoc& iIk dmoaln of politics for that of teaching, and 
was for some time a T»*?''=*er at Sydney Grammar SchooL Sow eiqtloyed 
in the Federal Land Tax Department. 
WORKS.— "A Fragment," iSS^ ; " Anstialian Poems."' iSSj ; "A Pedlar's 

Pack/' 188S- 

OSBORNE, WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 

Bom in Ireland, 1S73, ^^^ educated there. Holds the degrees :: 
M.B., B.S. (Belfast). D.Sc (Tnbingen). Formerly Assistant Professor 
of Pfaysiolc^y in UniTersty Coll^^e, London. Since 19&3, Pro£cssor 
ai Physaolo^^ in the f niversity t£ Melbonrae^ In addidon to a book and 
irarions papers fm scientific sobjects, has pnbli^ied — 
WORKS. — "The Laboratory, and Other Poons" (Lesbian). 

PATERSON, ANDREW BARTON ("Tbe Banjo"). 

One of the most popidar of Anstra^an poets. Bom at Nanaral^a. 
in N.S.W., in iScs- Eincated at Sydney Grammar School, and after- 
wards became a So'iciior in Sydney. War Correspondent dnring Sontb 
African War, and Special Correspcmdent in China and Philif^iiie Islanriis- 
Editor of •*nie Evening Xew=." Sydney (i9a£-6), and "Town and CaanSij ^ 
Jonrnai" (zgoT-SJ. Xow for some time engaged in pastoral porsnits. 
WORKS-— "The Mas from Silottt River and Other Verses"; "Rio 
Grande's Last Rac£ and Odier \er^ei": and a NoveJ. "An Oothack 
Marriage"; Editor of Old Eii=h B^J^d=- (.\n try An^ns and Robertson.) 

PITT, MARIE ELIZABETH JOSEPHINE (Mrs.). 

Bom at Bnlnmwaal, ia. little mining township amnng the moontains of 
Nortb-East Gippsland. Father's name, Edward McKeown. rkattre of 
Armagh, Ireland. Left Bclnrawaal at tiK age of three f or Wy Ynng. and 
spent girlhood in that faxmii^ and dairying district; edncated. at the little 
State school of Wy Ynng. * Married WSliam Pitt, and spent 1= years in 
the mining disiric:? of West Coast, Tasmania. Took cp '- ritiiig deven - 
years ago. and is now engaged in jonmalian. 
WORKS-— "Horses "of the HHIs" (Lothian).- 

POYNTER, MARY H. (Miss). 

Bora near Dunedin, N~. Z. . and has lived most of her life there. 
First pnblicaticns appeared in New Zealand Christmas papers. Came 
to V'ictoria, and lived in Melbonrne tor -i years, in the employnKnt of 
Mr. H. H. Champion, founder of "The Book Lover^' and Ansaalian 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS 301 

Authors' Agency. Returned- to New Zealand about two years ago, and 
is at present on the staff of the "Southland Daily News." No collected 
works published. Has written , prose and verse, which have appeared in 
various periodicals. 

OUINN, RODERIC JOSEPH. 

Born at Sydnejr-, in 1869. Studied law, and for a short time was ^ 
teacher in a N.S.W. public (State) school. Has been engaged in jour- 
nalistic and literary work since iSgo. Was Editor of "North Sydney 
News," and is a frequent contributor to "The Bulletin," "The Lone 
Hand," etc. 
WO|lKS.— Two small volames, "The Hidden Tide" and "The Circling 

Hearths," are included in "A Southern Garland" — a volume of booklets 

published by the "Bulletin" Company; "Mostyn Stayne" — Novel (Geo. 

Robertson and Co., 1897). 

REEVES, WILLIAM PEMBER. 

Born New Zealand, 1857- Educated at Christ's College and University. 
Admitted to the New Zealand bar. Acted as journalist ; in, 1887 
elected member of the House of Representatives, New Zealand. Was 
successively Minister for Education and Minister for Lab,our; was ap- 
pointed Agent-General in 1897, and filled post of High Comihissioner for 
New Zealand. 

WORKS.— "Colonial '.Couplets" (i88g) ; "In Double Harness" (1891) ; 
/ "New Zealand, and Other Poems" (Grant Richards, London, 1898) ; 
"Ao-tea-Roa: The Long White Cloud" (Marshall, London). 

ROSENBLUM, IVAN ARCHER. 

Native ' of Ballarat, "Victoria ; educated at the Ballarat School of 
Mines, then at Trinity College, Melbourne University. . After three 
years 'of i^iedical pourse, he abandoned that career and devoted himself 
to writing as a "free-lance," editing, etc.. In six years he produced six 
serials in the "Austra^lian Journal," "Leader," Weekly Times," etc. ' In 
1906, produced an original comic opera — "The Musical Millionaire" ; in , 
rgio, the blank verse poem, "The Drama Eternal," published in Lon(lon; in 
191 1, "Stella Sothern," an Australian novel. ' 

WORKS.— "The Drama Eternal " (Elliott Stock, London, 1910) ; "Stella 

Sothern"— A Novel (N.S.W. Bookstall Co., 1911). 

ROSS, DAVID MACDONALD. 

Born in 1865, at' Moeraki, Otago, N.Z-, and educated at Palmerston, 
entering the Agricultural Department, and in 1893 was appointed Stock 
Inspector in the Waikato district, being promoted ^n igo6 to the Napier 
district. 
WORKS.— "The After-Glow" (Auckland) ; "The Promise of the Star" 

(Jarrold, London) ; "Hearts of the Pure" (Walter Scott^ London). 

SANDES. JOHN. 

Born in Ireland, 1863. Educated at King's College, London, and 
Trinity College, Stratford, and finally graduated as B.A. at Oxford. 
Came to Australia in 1887, and joined the staff of "The Argus" till 1903 ; 
since that- time on the staff of "The Daily Telegraph," Sydney. 
WORKS (Verse).— "Rhymes of the Times," "Ballads of Battle," "The ' 

House of Empire" ; Novels — "Love and the .'ieroplane " (N.S.W. 

Bookstall Co.); "Designing Fate" (Hodder and Stoughton). 

SOUTER, C. H. ("Nil"). 

Bachelor of Medicine. Born at Aberdeen, Scotland, 1864. Childhood 
passed in Aberdeen, Birmingham, and iTondon. Left school at fourteen, 
and came with family to Sydney, in i^yg. Then three years of freedom 



302 AN AUSTRAL GARDEN. 

with a horse, a revolver, and a kangaroo dog, on the head waters of the 
Castlereagh, N.S.W. In 1882, went to Aberdeen to study medicine. Re- 
turned to Australia in 1887, with a degree. Three years in the Never- 
Never, in charge of a hospital." Later ship's surgeon to China ; afterwards 
practised in South Australia, and now residing in Adelaide. 
WORKS.— "Irish Lords, and Other Verses" fBookfellow Publishing Co:, 
1912). 

SPIELVOGEL, NATHAN F. 

Born 1874, in Ballarat. Educated at Central Training School. Began 
teaching there, and is still in State service. German by descent. Took 
to writing in 1898, when stationed in back-blocks school. Did much 
work for the "Bulletin" and "Steele Rudd's Magazine," , under pen-names 
of Genung, Eko, E.K.O. Had his Wanderjahr in 1903, and wrote "A 
Gumsucker on the Tramp" in 1904, as a result. During the last few years 
has done much patriotic verse for Victorian' School Papers, and Aus- 
tralian historical sketches for "The Lone Hand." Now resident of Long- 
wood, Victoria, where he is Headmaster of the local school. 
WORKS.— "A Gumsucker on the Tramp" and "The Cockie Farmer" 

(Geo. Robertson and Co.), 

STEPHENS. A. G. 

Born in Queeiisiand. .Passed Sydney University Junior and Senior Ex- 
aminations; apprenticed to printing trade^ and studied languages at Sydney 
Technical College; entered journalism, travelled Europe and America, 
1893 and 1902; now conducting "The Bookfellow," a monthly liteiury 
review. One of the chief Australian critics of literature. 
WORKS.— "A Queenslander's Travel Notes" ; "Oblation"— \'erses ; "The 
Red Pagan" — Criticism; "The Pearl and the Octopus" (Geo. Robert- 
son and Co.) ; joint author of "The Lady Calphumia. ' 

STEPHENS, JAMES BRUNTON. 

- Born in Scotland, 1835. Arrived in Australia when 31 yeitfs of age, 
and for a time was tutor to the family of a Queensland squatter. Later, 
entered the Queensland Civil Service as Correspondence Clerk, and rose 
to the position of Under-Secretary. ' Died 1002. 

■WORKS. — "Poetical W^orks" (Angus and Robertson, 1902). For a full 
criticism of his work, see "The Development of Australian Literature," 
by Turner and Sutherland. 

STRONG, ARCHIBALD THOMAS. 

Born at South Yarra, Victoria, sbth December, 1876. Went to Eng- 
land, 1883. Educated Sedleigh School, and Liverpool University — M-A^"; 
also attended Magdalen College, Oxford (Classical Exhibitioner, B.A-, 
Oxon). . Son of Professor H. A. Strong, . formerly Professor of Classics 
at Melbourne University, and Latin at Liverpool University. Was ad- 
mitted member of Middle Temple, 1900. Returned to Melbourne for 
reasons of health. Has since been engaged in teaching, in University 
Extension Lecturing, and in journalism. Edited "The Trident," 1908-g. A 
regular weekly contributor of literary articles to "The Herald," Melbourne. 
WORKS. — "Sonnets and Songs"- Verse, chiefly ballads and sonnets (Black- 
wood, 1905) ; "Nature in Meredith and Wordsworth" — An Essay (Advo- 
cate Press); "Peradventure" — A Book of Essays (Lothian, 1911). 

STEVEN, ALEXANDER GORDON. 

Bom in London, England, 1885; only son of Dr. and Mrs. Alexander 
Steyen. Came to Australia when 6 months old. Educated in Melbourne 
at "Cumloden," and privately ; matriculated igor. Completed two ypars 
of medical course at University of ^Melbourne, when health broke down. 
Tutor on stations in Victoria during two years. Visited Europe, 1912. 
WORKS.— "The Witchery of Earth "—Poems (Geo. Robertson and Co... 

1911). 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 303 

STORRIE, AGNES L. (Mrs. Kettlewetl). 

Born at Glenelg, South Australia. Now resident in Sydney, 
"WORKS.— "Poems" (Kettlewell, Sydney, 1909). 

"SULLIVAN, HARRY" (see H. M. Green). 

SUTHERLAND, ALEXANDER. 

BorH in Glasgow, 1852, and came to Sydney in 1864, and six years 
later to Melbourne, where he lived almost continuously till his death in 
igo2. Taught for a time at Hawthorn Grammar School, and graduated in 
Arts at Melbourne University. Founded Carlton College, which institu- 
tion was very successful. Retired from teaching, and engaged in jour- 
nalistic work and literature. Was appointed Registrar of Melbourne 
University in igoi. 

WORKS. — "History of Australia, 1606-1876" (Geo. Robertson, Melbourne, 
1877); "History of Australia and New Zealand, i666-i8go" (.Longman's, 
London, 1894); "Victoria and Its Metropolis" (McCarron. Bird and Co., 
rSSS) ; "Thirty Short Poems" (Melville and Mullen, 1890) ; "Develop- 
ment of Australian Literature" (part author) (Geo. Robertson and Co., 
1898) ; "(Origin and Growth of the Moral Instinct" (Longman's, 1898) ; 
"The Praise of Poetry" (selections) (Melville and Mullen, igoi). 

TRACEY, HERBERT. 

Born at Sydney, 1887. ' Closely connected with the advertising pro- 
fession for many years in N.S.W., Victoria, and South Australia. At 
present living at Kensington, N.S.W. Has made occasional contributions 
to magazines and journals. 

TULLY, MICHAEL J. 

Born in Melbourne, 1866, of Irish parents. Educated- at St. George's 
R.C. Primary School, Carlton. Fifth son. Has lived in Melbourne all 
his life. Worked iirst as a mason. For some time has been engaged in 
clerical work. 
WORKS— "Half-a-Hundred Sonnets" ; "The Silliad" (privately printed) ; 

"Verses from a Pocket-Book" (McGill's Agency, Melboutne). 

TURNER, ETHEL (Mrs. H. B. Curlewls)'. 

Born in Yorkshire, 1872. Father of Scottish family, mother English. 

Came to Australia as a child. , E^ducated at, Girls' High Schpol, Sydney. 

WORKS.— "Seven Little Australians," "Family at Misrule," "Story' of 
a Baby," "Three Little Maids," "The Camp at Wandinong," "The 
Little Larrikin,'' "B^tty and Co.," "Little Mother Meg," "The 
White Roof Tree," "Mother's Little Girl," "In the Mist of the 
Mountains," "The Stolen Voyage," "Fugitives from Fortune," "The 
Ethel Turner. Birthday Book," "Tiny House"— Verse. ' (All - published 
by Ward, Lock, and Co.) ; "That Girl" (Fisher Unwin) ; "The 
Wondeychild" (R.T. Society, London) ; "Fair Ines," and "The Apple of 
Happiness" (Hodder and Stoughton). 

WALL. ARNOLD. 

For the last 12 years Professor of English Language and Literature at 
the Canterbury. College', Christchurch (N.Z). 
WORKS.— Blank Verse Lyrics ("King Marchant and His Raigamuffin"— 

New Poems; "A Century of New Zealand's Praise" — (in 100 Sonnets). 

All by Simpson and .Williams, N.Z. 

WERNER, ALICE. 

Bom at Trieste, Austria^ 1859. Lived iii New Zealand during -the 
early years ;pf her childhood. Educated at Newham College, London. 
Entered upon a journalistic career, and later spent some time studying 



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