Then straightaway I appointed
To chant by day and night,
The brilliant young Australian
Who sang "The Land of Light."
I also gave in fashion
Hilariously free,
The Girl and Horse Department
In charge of Ogilvie.
And on the roof-ridge Brady
Sang salt-junk chanties great
To cheer the stout sea-lawyers
Who sail the Ship of State.
And tender-hearted Lawson
Sang everybody's wrongs;
And Brennan, in the basement,
Crooned weird, symbolic songs.
And on the throne beside me,
Above the common din,
He sang his Songs of Beauty,
My friend, the poet Quinn.
Our own Australian artists
Made beautiful its halls --
The mighty steeds of Mahony
Pranced proudly on the walls.
Tom Roberts, he was there, too,
With painted portraits fine
Of men of light and leading --
Me, and some friends of mine.
And Souter's Leering Lady,
'Neath hat and over fan,
With Souter's cat was ogling
His check-clothed gentleman.
And Fischer, Ashton, Lister,
With beetling genius rife --
Pardieu! I was their Patron,
And set them up for life.
And from each dusky corner,
In petrified new birth,
Glared busts of Me and Barton,
By Nelson Illingworth.
And nine fair Muses dwelt there,
With board and lodging free;
Six by the States were chosen,
And I selected three.
And there we turned out blithely
Australian poems sound,
To sell in lengths like carpet,
And also by the pound.
For Paddy Quinn, the Statesman,
Had made a law which said
That native authors only
On pain of death be read.
O, brother bards, I grieve that
Good dreams do not come true;
You see how very nobly
I would have done to you!
But, ah! the vision vanished,
And took away in tow
The National Australian
Head Poetry Bureau.
First published in The Bulletin, 1 September 1904
The first part of this poem was reprinted last week.
