He twangs a loud note on his harsh-stringed lyre,
And startles all the world with riotous sound;
His rough-hewn verse is all ablaze with fire
Of genius, bursting boldly through the bound
Set by convention to a man's desire;
He scorns with easy steps to tread along
The gentle slope, but strives to clamber higher
Up perilous passes of the Mount of Song.
He has not learned the art of Watson's grace,
Nor yet the trick of Dobson's dainty touch;
He has not Swinburne's skill of rhythm, nor such
Melodious mastery of word and phrase:
But with the strong voice of his stalwart race
Imperially he sings the Empire's praise.
First published in The Queenslander, 27 July 1895
