The Warrigal by Henry Kendall

Through forest holes the storm-wind rolls
   Vext of the sea-driven rain,
And up in the 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!
         When the Warrigal wakes
         And listens and takes
   To the woods that shelter the prey!

In the gully-deeps the blind creek sleeps,
   And the silver showery moon
Glides over the hills, and floats and fills
   And dreams in the dark lagoon  
While, halting hard by the station yard,
   Aghast at the hut-flame nigh,
The Warrigal yells,and the flats and fells
   Are loud with his dismal cry!  
         The Warrigal yells,
         And the flats and fells
   Are loud with his dismal cry!   

On the topmost peak of mountains bleak
   The south wind sobs and strays,
Through moaning pine and turpentine
   And the rippling runnel ways;
And strong streams flow and great mists go
   Where the Warrigal starts to hear
The watchdog's bark break sharp in the dark
   And flees like a phantom of Fear!
         The watchdog's bark
         Break sharp in the dark
   And flees like a phantom of Fear!

The swift rains beat and the thunders fleet
   On the wings of the fiery gale,
And down in the glen of pool and fen,
   The wild gums whistle and wail,
As over the plains, and past the chains    
   Of waterholes glimmering deep,
The Warrigal flies from the Shepherd's cries  
   And the clamour of dogs and sheep!
         The Warrigal flies
         From the Shepherd's cries  
   And the clamour of dogs and sheep!

The Warrigal's lair is pent in bare
   Black rocks, at the gorge's month:
It is set in ways where summer strays
   With the sprites 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.
         His bed is made         
         Of the dead grass-blade  
   And the leaves of the windy pine.      

He roves through the lands of sultry sands,
   He hunts in the iron range,     
Untamed as surge of the far sea-verge    
   And fierce and fickle and strange.  
The white man's track and the haunts of tbe black  
   He shuns and shudders to see,     
For his joy he tastes, in lonely wastes,    
   Where his mates are torrent and tree!  
         For his joy he tastes,
         In lonely wastes,     
   Where his mates are torrent and tree!

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 16 December 1867;
and later in
The Australasian, 13 June 1868;
Leaves from Australian Forests by Henry Kendall, 1869;
A Century of Australian Song edited by Douglas Sladen, 1888;
The Children's Treasury of Australian Verse edited by Bertram Stevens, 1913;
Selections from Australian Poets edited by Bertram Stevens, 1925;
Selected Poems of Henry Kendall edited by T. Inglis Moore, 1957;
The Poetical Works of Henry Kendall edited by Thomas Thornton Reed, 1966;
Silence into Song: An Anthology of Australian Verse edited by Clifford O'Brien, 1968;
A Treasury of Colonial Poetry, 1982;
Selected Poems of Henry Kendall edited by T. Inglis Moore, 1988; and
Henry Kendall: Poetry, Prose and Selected Correspondence edited by Michael Ackland, 1993.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

See also.