We know thy tale, and rashly deem it crime,
O Bard! who won us with thy wild bush songs;
No more shall we in thy deep passionate rhyme
Read the fresh utterance of a poet's wrongs.
Thy end was sad-cut off in Life's full prime,
When Fame seemed nigh, and all else that belongs
To high endeavour. Who, alas! can tell
The hidden sources of thy soul-felt woes?
Thou did'st not murmur, but th' untimely bell
Rang out that thou and this cold world were foes.
Ah! when he sailed, young, resolute, and proud,
From England's shore, to make a home on this.
Perchance some maiden weeping in the crowd,
Cared for naught else beside his parting kiss.
First published in The West Australian, 3 October 1885
[Thanks to the National Library of Australia's newspaper digitisation project for this piece.]
