March 2012 Archives

White steeds of ocean, that leap with a hollow and wearisome roar
On the bar of ironstone steep, not a fathom's length from the shore.
Is there never a seer nor sophist can interpret your wild refrain,
When speech the harshest and roughest is seldom studied in vain?
My ears are constantly smitten by that dreary monotone,
In a hieroglyphic 'tis written --- 'tis spoken in a tongue unknown;
Gathering, growing, and swelling, and surging, and shivering, say!
What is the tale you are telling? What is the drift of your lay?

You come, and your crests are hoary with the foam of your countless years;
You break, with a rainbow of glory, through the spray of your glittering tears.
Is your song a song of gladness? a paean of joyous might?
Or a wail of discordant sadness for the wrongs you never can right?
For the empty seat by the ingle? for children 'reft of their sire?
For the bride, sitting, sad and single and pale, by the flickering fire?
For your ravenous pools of suction? for your shattering billow swell?
For your ceaseless work of destruction? for your hunger insatiable?

Not far from this very place, on the sand and the shingle dry,
He lay, with his battered face upturned to the frowning sky.
When your waters washed and swilled high over his drowning head,
When his nostrils and lungs were filled, when his feet and hands were as lead.
When against the rock he was hurled, and sucked again to the sea,
On the shores of another world, on the brink of eternity,
On the verge of annihilation, did it come to that swimmer strong,
The sudden interpretation of your mystical weird-like song?

"Mortal! that which thou askest, ask not thou of the waves;
Fool! Thou foolishly taskest us --- we are only slaves;
Might, more mighty, impels us --- we must our lot fulfil,
He who gathers and swells us curbs us too at His will.
Think'st thou the wave that shatters questioneth His decree?
Little to us it matters, and nought it matters to thee.
Not, thus murmuring idly, we from our duty would swerve.
Over the world spread widely, ever we labour and serve."

First published in The Queenslander, 31 March 1883;
and later in
Sea Spray and Smoke Drift by Adam Lindsay Gordon, 1909;
Bush Ballads and Galloping Rhymes: Poetical Works of Adam Lindsay Gordon by Adam Lindsay Gordon, 1970; and
A Collection of Australian Bush Verse, 1989.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

When an attorney is called before the Full Court to answer for any alleged misconduct it is not usual to publish his name until he is found guilty; until then the matter appears in the papers as "In re a Gentleman, One of the Attorneys of the Supreme Court", or, more shortly, "In re a Gentleman, One".

We see it each day in the paper,
   And know that there's mischief in store;
That some unprofessional caper
   Has landed a shark on the shore.
We know there'll be plenty of trouble
   Before they get through with the fun,
Because he's been coming the double
   On clients, has "Gentleman, One".

Alas for the gallant attorney,
   Intent upon cutting a dash!
He starts on life's perilous journey
   With rather more cunning than cash.
And fortune at first is inviting --
   He struts his brief hour in the sun --
But, lo! on the wall is the writing
   Of Nemesis, "Gentleman, One".

For soon he runs short of the dollars,
   He fears he must go to the wall;
So Peters' trust-money he collars
   To pay off his creditor, Paul;
Then robs right and left -- for he goes it
   In earnest when once he's begun.
Descensus Averni -- he knows it;
   It's easy for "Gentleman, One".

The crash comes as soon as the seasons,
   He loses his coin in a mine,
Or booming in land, or for reasons
   Connected with women and wine.
Or maybe the cards or the horses
   A share of the damage have done --
No matter, the end of the course is
   The same: "Re a Gentleman, One."

He struggles awhile to keep going,
   To stave off detection and shame;
But creditors, clamorous growing,
   Ere long put an end to the game.
At length the poor soldier of Satan
   His course to a finish has run --
And just think of Windeyer waiting
   To deal with "A Gentleman, One"!

And some face it boldly, and brazen
   The shame and the utter disgrace;
While others, more sensitive, hasten
   Their names and their deeds to efface.
They snap the frail thread which the Furies
   And Fates have so cruelly spun.
May the great Final Judge and His juries
   Have mercy on "Gentleman, One"!

First published in The Bulletin, 30 March 1889, and again in the same magazine on 30 April 1930;
and later in
Saltbush Bill, J.P., and Other Verses by A.B. Paterson, 1917;
The Collected Verse of A.B. Paterson by A.B. Paterson, 1982;
Singer of the Bush, A.B. (Banjo) Paterson: Complete Works 1885-1900 compiled by Rosamund Campbell and Philippa Harvie, 1983;
A Vision Splendid: The Complete Poetry of A.B. 'Banjo' Paterson by A.B. Paterson, 1990; and
Selected Poems: A.B. Paterson by A.B. Paterson, 1992.

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

See also.

Morning on the white sands,
The cool, salt, light sands!
   Stroll along the tide-mark where the gulls turn and wheel;
Watch the ocean sweeping,
Crested breakers leaping,
   Till your troubles count as little as the sand beneath your heel.

Noon on the dry sands,
The crowded, hot, high sands!
   Bask in the sunshine till you hear the breakers call;
Dash into the white foam,
The flying, soft, bright foam,
   Revel in the sparkling surf with raft and boat and ball.

Evening on the white sands,
The long, cool, moon-bright sands!
   Youth's heart is turned to love, what ever else betide.
With the slow waves calling,
And long shadows falling,
   The ocean seems a magic power to plight your troth beside.

First published in The Advocate, 29 March 1943

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

I met her on the Lachlan Side --
   A darling girl I thought her,
And ere I left I swore I'd win
   The free-selector's daughter.

I milked her father's cows a month,
   I brought the wood and water,
I mended all the broken fence,
   Before I won the daughter.

I listened to her father's yarns,
   I did just what I 'oughter',
And what you'll have to do to win
   A free-selector's daughter.

I broke my pipe and burnt my twist,
   And washed my mouth with water;
I had a shave before I kissed
   The free-selector's daughter.

Then, rising in the frosty morn,
   I brought the cows for Mary,
And when I'd milked a bucketful
   I took it to the dairy.

I poured the milk into the dish
   While Mary held the strainer,
I summoned heart to speak my wish,
   And, oh! her blush grew plainer.

I told her I must leave the place,
   I said that I would miss her;
At first she turned away her face,
   And then she let me kiss her.

I put the bucket on the ground,
   And in my arms I caught her:
I'd give the world to hold again
   That free-selector's daughter!

First published in The Boomerang, 28 March 1891;
and later in
In the Days When the World Was Wide and Other Verses by Henry Lawson, 1900;
The Australian Town and Country Journal, 18 January 1905;
Humorous Verses by Henry Lawson, 1941;
Henry Lawson: Collected Verse: Vol 1 1885-1900 edited by Colin Roderick, 1967;
Along the Western Road: Bush Stories and Ballads, 1981;
A Camp-Fire Yarn: Henry Lawson Complete Works 1885-1900 edited by Leonard Cronin, 1984;
Henry Lawson: An Illustrated Treasury compiled by Glenys Smith, 1985;
A Collection of Australian Bush Verse, 1989; and
An Australian Treasury of Popular Verse edited by Jim Haynes, 2002.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library, The Poetry of Henry Lawson website

See also.

A ghostly wind just stirring the pine trees
   Along the sandy crescent where they grow --
A fragile wind -- a sea -- lost, pirate breeze
   That scarcely moves their branches to and fro.

The darkness of black opal on the sand
   Where, late, the gold noose of the Sun-God shone;
No glimmering light by sea, no light by land,
   No beacon ray to pin one's faith upon.

Not one pale star the midnight vigil keeps;
   The starless sea reflects a starless sky;
And a grey breaker, like a grey horse, leaps
   To where by North Steyne cold the grey rocks lie.

Keen sea-salt perfumes through the darkness steal,
   And out at sea strange southern thunders roll --
Manly deserted! In my heart I feel
   The sun-lost weeping of her midnight soul.     

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 27 March 1926

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

It has been discovered that a number of drinking men intend to vote dry at the forthcoming liquor poll, while many teetotallers are voting against No-Licence.

If one should say: "For many a day
   From alcohol I abstained
Because I think, in taking drink,
   For me, there's nothing to be gained."

And if he say: "Tho' others may
   Indulge in liquor now and then,
And find it good; think not I should
   Hold liberty from other men."

The chosen plan of such a man
   I find not hard to comprehend.
He may give up, himself, the cup,
   Yet not deny it to a friend.

No Pharisee to scold and fret
   I find in him, nor wonder why
A man, politically wet,
   May still be personally dry.

But if one say: "Take drink away!
   For, lo, my brother is a sot!
Tho', for myself I keep a shelf
   Within my cupboard for a 'spot.'

"For I am strong.  I see no wrong
   In holding from another's reach
This baneful stuff.  While I've enough
   Why should I practise what I preach?"

Such man I cannot understand,
   Now what his aim, nor what his end,
Who for himself one law has planned,
   But quite another for his friend.

May be that I am dull; but I
   Have never comprehended yet
How one, politically dry,
   Can still be personally wet.

First published in The Herald, 26 March 1930

Author reference sites: C.J. Dennis, Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

See also.

As I rode 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 altogether joyously ---
   Pull up the stakes and go!

         Pull up the stakes and go,
         The world is free, and so are we,
         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 odor 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!

The world is wide, and we are young,
   And 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.

         Pull up the stakes and go,
         The world is free, and so are we,
         Pull up the stakes and go.

First published in The Bulletin, 25 March 1899;
and later in
The Golden Treasury of Australian Verse edited by Bertram Stevens, 1909;
The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse edited by Walter Murdoch, 1918;
Selections from the Australian Poets edited by Bertram Stevens, 1925;
An Australasian Anthology: Australian and New Zealand Poems edited by Percival Serle, R.H. Croll and Frank Wilmot, 1927;
New Song in an Old Land edited by Rex Ingamells, 1943;
Australian Bush Songs and Ballads edited by Will Lawson, 1944;
Favourite Australian Poems edited by Ian Mudie, 1963;
Silence Into Song: An anthology of Australian Verse edited by Clifford O'Brien, 1968;
A Treasury of Colonial Poetry, 1968;
Effects of Light: The Poetry of Tasmania edited by Vivian Smith and Margaret Scott, 1985;
Australian Bush Poems, 1991;
An Australian Treasury of Popular Verse edited by Jim Haynes, 2002; and
River of Verse: A Tasmanian Journey 1800-1924 edited by Helen Gee, 2004.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Bibliography

See also.

Note: the "Eagle Hawk" mentioned in the poem refers to Eagle Hawk Neck in Tasmania, rather than "Eaglehawk" near Bendigo in Victoria.

Lo, once thy loveliness a radiance shed,
   The lustre of the stars was in thine eye,   
An aureole of beauty o'er thy head,  
   Marked thee too beautiful a thing to die.

Silent and stiff, no breath of fragrance now
   Wafteth its balm to lead me to my goal,   
The silken hair that traileth o'er thy brow
   A girdle was which bound me to thy soul.

Or so I dreamed -- thy voice so softly low;
   The deepest fibres of my being stirred,
Falling in silver quivers from the bow
   Of thy curved lips as a sweet harpsichord.

And when thy slender fingers touched the strings
   In cadence sad or passionate lament,
In spirit I could feel the mystic wings  
   Of love which sanctified our sacrament.   

The golden bowl is empty, and in vain
   My burning tears on thy frail heart have shone;   
Living, yet dead, thou art another's gain,  
   Thou whom it breaks my heart to look upon.     

First published in The Brisbane Courier, 24 March 1915;
and later in
Rustling Leaves: Selected Poems by Emily Coungeau, 1920.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

Three men stood with their glasses lifted
   Night was around them and flaring lamps: --
"Here's to the tried and true and sifted;
Here's to the flotsam tossed and drifted;
   Here's to the men in the Western Camps.

"Fill and drink (there is little drinking
   Night or day on the lonely track),
Mostly heroes are hourly sinking,
Mostly, vain in the firelight thinking,
   Gather the hearts of gold out back.

"Stars that fall are their lot forever;
   Lights that perish and stars that fall;
Fighting Fate with a brave heart ever --
Drifting leaves on a wayward river --
   Men for ever in spite of all.

"Here's to the gallant souls defeated;
   Here's to the heroes under-trod --
Hope-abandoned and mirage-cheated,
And, yet, by the right of their failure, seated
   Somewhere close to the feet of God.

"Here's to the heart that braves undaunted
   Toil and trouble for home and wife;
Here's to the fallen-spirit taunted;
Here's to the memory, sorrow-haunted;
   Here's to the soul grown sick of life.

"Drink to the man in the firelight sitting;
   Drink to his mistress of long ago;
Well --- 'twere well --- and the time were fitting,
If, in the shades of firelight flitting,
   She should come with her eyes aglow.

"Drink to the purpose, iron, oaken,
   Brought to nought by a woman's guile;
Drink to men with an old love-token
Somewhere -- close to their brave hearts broken;
   Drink to the martyred souls that smile.

"Drink to courage and all fine daring --
   Spirit trampling the flesh beneath;
Drink to the reckless heart uncaring;
Drink to mates at the last pinch sharing
   Their little all in the face of death.

"Last toast this . . . may their hearts discover,
   On every track that the outcast tramps,
A friend in need and at need a lover,
Good roads beneath them and kind stars over,
   And pleasant dreams in their Western Camps.

First published in The Bulletin, 23 March 1905

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

See also.

Athwart the last sunflowers
   Across the valleys fold,
The sunlight pours bright showers
   Of shining April gold.

Gold on the sleepy ridges,
   Gold on the creek that twines
Beneath the mossy bridges
   And green blackberry vines.  

Gold where the groups of hoary
   Old pines keep watch and warden,
Gold on the patchwork glory
   Of my gay coloured garden.

Where autumn draws a hazy
   Gold pattern down the walks,
Past sprays of Easter daisy
   And nodding dahlia stalks.

Pale filtered gold that shivers
   Through boughs by south winds pressed,
Before the first star quivers,
   A gold flake in the west.

For days when keen winds racket
   Down ways grown chill and cold,
If I could keep a packet
   Of airy April gold.

First published in The Brisbane Courier, 22 March 1930

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

I love to lie under the lemon
   That grows by the fountain;
To see the stars flutter and open
   Along the blue mountain.

To hear the last wonferful piping
   That rises to heaven
(Six quavers to sum up delight in,
   And sorrow in seven).

To dream that the mythic wood-women ----
   Each brown as the honey
The bees took their toll of, from Hybla,
   On days that were sunny --

Come parting the hedge of my garden
   To dance a light measure
with soft little feet, on the green sward,
   Peak-pointed for pleasure.

While Pan, on a leopard reclining,
   And birds on his shoulder,
Gives breath to a flute's wanton sighing
   Until their eyes smoulder.

Then, lo, in the pool of the valley
   Cries centaur to centaur,
As, plashing, they leap the white moon-buds
   The goddess had leant o'er.

They climb the steep sides of the chasm
   With hollowy thunder ---
Whole cliffs at the stroke of their hoof-beats
   Split, tumbling asunder!

They climb the steep sides of the chasm,
   And rush thro' the thicket
That chokes up the pathways that lead to
   My green garden-wicket.

They seize on the dancing wood-women,
   And kick poor Pan over
The back of his fat, spotted leopard
   Right into the clover.

So I wake, and eagerly listen,
   But only the fountain,
Still sleeping and sobbing, complains, at
   The foot of the mountain.

First published in The Bulletin, 21 March 1907, and again in the same magazine on 6 January 1910;
and later in
Poetry in Australia 1923;
An Australasian Anthology: Australian and New Zealand Poems edited by Percival Serle, R. H. Croll and Frank Wilmot, 1927;
The Poets' Harvest edited by E. W.Parker, 1943;
The Penguin Book of Australian Verse edited by Harry Heseltine, 1972; and
Australia Fair: Poems and Paintings edited by Douglas Stewart, 1974.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

Poor little orphan! thou dost go,
   Seeming with heart at ease --
Rejoicing even, because 'tis so --
   To trust the treacherous seas.
And then hast paced that high ship's deck,
   In foreign climes, ere now;
And forth thou goest again, to seek
   Lands 'neath th' Equator's glow.

Thou'st seen that good ship's prow divide
   Old Ganges' sacred stream;   
By island shores hast watched her glide,
   Where conch and coral gleam:
Calcutta's streets of palaces
   Thou'st wandered through, alone;
And 'neath Sumatra's spice-fraught trees
   Dreamt of the dear hearts gone.

From summer isles afar thou'st brought
   Bright shells and fine wrought toys;
Not deeming then such things were nought,
   With none to share thy joys.
And oft with happy thoughts of home
   Thy little heart would burn --
Thou hadst forgot no friend would come
   To welcome thy return.

Alas, poor boy! a bitter fate,
   In childlhood's bloom, is thine:
Though wealth and honour elevate
   Thy fortunes, thou'lt repine.
For culture ne'er illumed thy mind,
   Life's sweets with thee were brief:
Thou ow'st to stranger's even each kind
   Word whispered 'mid thy grief.  

First published in The Australasian Chronicle, 20 March 1841;
and later in
Stolen Moments: A Short Series of Poems by Henry Parkes, 1842.

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

See also.

Australia sings her overland
   "From Murray back to Bourke,"
Her three-mile tracks, her sun and sand
   Her men that do the work --
And here's to them --- fill high the glass! --
   Who braved all winds that blow,
Tramping through the button-grass --
   Thirty years ago!

They left the flock to face the frown,
   The grip of foemen strange,
They fled the fleshpots of the town
   To front the iron range;
Old Bischoff saw their camp-fires pass,
   Mount Lyell saw them glow,
Tramping through the button-grass --
   Thirty years ago!

From Emu Bay to Williamsford,
   From Strahan unto Dumdas,
They won the way from flood and ford,
   They won the jagged pass,
Above, the pine and sassafras,
   Beneath, the drifted snow,
The men that trumped the button-grass --
   Thirty years ago!

Where red their outpost camp-fires roared
   To forest legions thinned,
The axe flung, like a levin sword,
   Its challenge down the wind;
They saw the dark pine phalanx pass,
   The myrtle host lie low,
The men that tramped the button-grass --
   Thirty years ago! --

From out their dreams the cities rose
   As still from hill heads grey
The first red flush of morning grows
   Into the lord of day.
Yes, here's to them, fill high the glass
   To Mount Read Esquimaux
And all that tramped the button-grass ---
   Thirty years ago! --

First published in The Bulletin, 19 March 1903;
and later in
Selected Poems of Marie E.J. Pitt by Marie E.J. Pitt, 1944;
Effects of Light: the Poetry of Tasmania edited by Vivian Smith and Margaret Scott, 1985;
River of Verse: A Tasmanian Journey 1800-2004 edited by Helen Gee, 2004; and
Our Country: Classic Australian Poetry: From the Colonial Ballads to Paterson & Lawson edited by Michael Cook, 2004.

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

See also.

Dedicated to W., in remembrance of a dry time.

No water! none! Great God, can it be true?
Is this the waterhole he said he knew,
That never failed, no matter what the drought?
His certain knowledge left me with no doubt ---
Witnesses silent! In the clear moonlight
The plains ahead, and scrub upon the right!
By Heaven! but 'tis too true; the grateful drink,
Of which for weary miles 'twas sweet to think,
Is not! But lo! The something in its place
Is, that King Death and I meet face to face!
As stops the heart, and curdles in the veins
(At some dread scene) the blood, so those broad plains
Struck to my heart a cold and dark despair! A
h! well I knew Death would await me there.
Now! Shall I turn? Go back the way I came? ---
Full well I feel that none would deem it shame.
Rest us awhile, and make the best, old horse?   
And in an hour pursue a backward course?
We should get back for certain, and the worst
Some little suffering from toil and thirst --
Never! so help me now the God above!
Adieu, my little ones, and those I love.
So far my work is done; and none shall say
That Death himself hath power or fear to stay
That course I fixed so surely when I said,
"You'll find I'll do it, or --- you'll find me dead;"
No power exists to alter my resolve!
I care not what the future may involve!---
Then through the silent hours of the night
Together --- horse and man --- we fought that fight.
I thought about the battle on the heights
Of Alma, and of all the Russian fights;
I thought about the splendid Light Brigade,
And of the famous headlong charge they made;
I thought of battles both on land and sea;
Oh, God! I longed, as each occurred to me,
That I'd been there, and numbered with the slain,
Instead of dying on this weary plain
Alone, unheeded --- of all deaths the worst,
Dying a maddening death of raging thirst!
Poor horse! --- poor tottering limbs and staring eyes!
My God! it seems a cruel sacrifice.
Stop here! Enough. Something within me warns
The end is near! See where the morning dawns.
I laid my head against a leaning tree;
Slowly in sleep a dream came over me.
Magical change! What radiant lovely sight!
Is this an angel? Do I see aright?
What wondrous flowers! --- and fragrance all around!
And green as loveliest emeralds the ground!   
While through the peerless flowers I see the gleam,
And hear the ripple, of a sparkling stream.
Speak! Who art thou, of form so fair and bright?
Fair as the flowers, brighter than the light!
With heavenly smile the Angel-face looked down:
"Brother, behold--brother, accept -- thy crown!
Truly and well has thy hard task been done ---
Nobly the battle fought, and victory won;
Acceptable is thy self-sacriflce
To Duty's stern demand. Behold! arise!"
Slowly I wakened --- slow the Vision passed:
Water! By Heaven! --- there it is at last!

Though the life that was nearly gone is vouchsafed yet,
For better or worse, I feel I shall never forget
All that I suffered from thirst in a few short hours,
And the dream of the Angel Form, the stream, and the flowers.

First published in The Queenslander, 18 March 1882

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

If I could keep a garden fair,
   Red poppies there would be;
No tragic bloom would whisper there --
   "Dost thou remember me?"

She walked the lonans long between,
   And lightly laughed at me.
Her head was draped in Irish green,
   Her limbs in cramoisie.

She held two roses in one hand
   (A sword swung to her knee),
The Scarlet Rose of Valor and
   The Rose of Purity.

She said -- "When I am rich, my Sweet,
   As I shall always be,
Three States shall march down Sackville-street,
   And I the first of Three."

First published in The Bulletin, 17 March 1904

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

See also.

Thou beautiful metal! tho' some may abuse,
Who heed not thy mission, -- who mark not thy use,--
To me thou appearest with purposes great:
Thou friend of the friendless! thou softener of hate!
Thou queller of pride! thou subduer of scorn!
Thou robe to life's desolate children forlorn!
To the hearts of exclusives thou magical key!  
Though others decry, I have blessings for thee.   
"Thou root of all evil!" thou agent of good!   
For many a day the pale artist had stood,
With a picture, whose tints e'en a Guido might own,
Whose lines, e'en an Etty, with pride might have shewn,
But Academies found that the Artist was poor,  
And drove the scorn'd youth from each pitiless door;
But an uncle through some breathless ventures in trade,  
The beautiful gold for his nephew had made;
The gold made the bars of Academies fly,
And Royalty smiled as the Artist drew nigh;
Oh! Gold! mighty gold! altho' Virtue may fade,
What envy or scorn can keep thee in the shade?

Thou type of our youth -- thou bright type of our love!
The sweet golden age -- the bless'd dream from above;
Tho' found in the earth in some wandering seam,
Thou wert sent from above with the Sun-god's first beam;  
Thou wert sent the rapt poet to save and defend,
Thou wert sent the starved orphan to feed and befriend,
Thou wert sent the brave heart in its honour to save --
To stand, like a god, 'twixt the tyrant and slave,
Thou wert sent the great powers of man to call forth,
To link the sweel south with the chivalrous North,--
The Orient to bring to the West, and to bind
The powers of Time and of Space, tho' combined     
Tho' others may rail, I have blessings for thee,
Flashing up thro' the quartz with a cry to be free!   

The Palaces of Crystal rose up at thy nod,
And sculpture displayed there the form of its God;
The loom sent its fabrics, the easel its pride,
And the engine with man seem'd the palm to divide:
All that Art could accomplish, or mind could devise,
The dream of the heart and the spoil of the eyes,     
All that labour minute, or skill half divine,
Could catch at the instant, or slowly combine,
Evoked by thy power in beauty arose;  
And nation with nation,-once bitterest foes,--
Came together, to bend in deep reverence the knee,
To the Glory of Intellect, quickened by thee!
All, save the poor savage, who knew not thy power,   
And shared not the glory, and joy of the hour.

And by thee, even here, shall the labourer now,
Find to clothe his wan limbs, and to shade his hot brow,
To build his own cot on his own rood of land;
To place his brave son where a freeman may stand,
With eyes that to pride give an instant reproof,
With hands that dare guard his inviolate roof.  

First published in The Empire, 16 March 1854

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

Where the wandering Barwin delighteth the eye,
   Befringed with the myall and golden-bloomed gorse,
Oh, a beautiful Squatter came galloping by,
   With a beard on his chin like the tail of his horse;
And his locks trained all round to so equal a pitch,
   That his mother herself, it may truly be said,
Had been puzzled in no small degree to find which
   Was the front, or the back, or the sides of his head.

Beside a small fire 'neath a fair-spreading tree,
   (A cedar, I think, but perhaps 'twas a gum)
What vision of Love did that Squatter now see,
   In the midst of a catch so to render him dumb?
Why, all on the delicate herbage asquat,
   And smiling to see him so flustered and mute,
'Twas the charming Miss 'Possum-skin having a chat
   With the elegant Lady of Lord Bandycoot.

The Squatter dismounted -- what else could he do?
   And meaning her tender affections to win,
'Gan talking of dampers and blankets quite new
   With a warmth that soon ruined poor Miss 'Possum-skin!
And Lord Bandycoot also, while dining that day
   On a baked kangaroo of the kind that is red,
At the very third bite to King Dingo did say --
   O, how heavy I feel all at once in the head!

But alas for the Belles of the Barwin! -- the youth
   Galloped home, to forget all his promises fair;
Whereupon Lady Bandicoot told the whole truth
   To her lord, and Miss 'Possum-skin raved in despair!
And mark the result! royal Dingo straightway,
   And his Warriors, swore to avenge them in arms!
And that beautiful Squatter on beautiful day,
   Was waddied to death in the bloom of his charms!

First published in The Weekly Register of Politics, Facts and General Literature, 15 March 1845;
and later in
The Port Phillip Patriot and Morning Advertiser, 26 March 1845;
The Poetical Works of Charles Harpur edited by Elizabeth Perkins, 1984;
The Penguin Book of Australian Satirical Verse edited by Philip Neilsen, 1986;
Old Ballads from the Bush edited by Bill Scott, 1987;
The Sting in the Wattle: Australian Satirical Verse edited by Philip Neilsen, 1993;
The Penguin Book of Australian Ballads edited by Elizabeth Webby and Philip Butterss, 1993;
Australian Verse: An Oxford Anthology edited by John Leonard, 1998;
100 Australian Poems You Need to Know edited by Jamie Grant, 2008;
Macquarie PEN Anthology of Australian Literature edited by Nicholas Jose, Kerryn Goldsworthy, Anita Heiss, David McCooey, Peter Minter, Nicole Moore and Elizabeth Webby, 2009; and
The Puncher & Wattmann Anthology of Australian Poetry edited by John Leonard, 2009.

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

See also.

The lizard leans in to October,
   He walks on the yellow and green;
The world is awake and unsober,
   It knows where the lovers have been.
The wind, like a faint violoncello,
   Comes up and commands him to sing:
He says to me, "Courage, good fellow!
We live by the folly of Spring!"

A fish that the sea cannot swallow,
   A bird that can never yet rise,
A dreamer no dreamer can follow,
   The snake is at home in his eyes.
He tells me the paramount Treason;
   His words have the resolute ring;
"Away with the homage to Reason!
   We live by the folly of Spring!"

The leaves are about him; the berry
   Is close in the red and the green.
His eyes are too old to be merry,
   He knows where the lovers have been.
And yet he could never be bitter;
   He tells me no sorrowful thing:
"The Autumn is less than a twitter!
   We live by the folly of Spring!"

As green as the light on a salad,
   He leans in the shade of a tree;
He has the good breath of a Ballad,
   The strength that is down in the sea.
How silent he creeps in the yellow --
   How silent! and yet can he sing:
He gives me, "Good morning, good fellow!
   We live by the folly of Spring!"

I scent the alarm of the faded
   Who love not the light and the play;
I hear the assault of the jaded,
   I hear the intolerant bray.
My friend has the face of the wizard;
   He tells me no desolate thing:
"I learn from the heart of the lizard,
   We live by the folly of Spring!"

First published in Aussie, 14 March 1931;
and later in
An Introduction to Australian Literature edited by C. D. Narasimhaiah, 1965;
Cross-Country: A Book of Australian Verse edited by John Barnes, 1984;
My Country: Australian poetry and Short Stories, Two Hundred Years edited by Leonie Kramer, 1985;
Two Centuries of Australian Poetry edited by Mark O'Connor, 1988;
An Anthology of Australian Poetry edited by C. D. Narasimhaiah, 1990;
John Shaw Neilson: Poetry, Autobiography and Correspondence edited by Cliff Hanna, 1991;
Selected Poems edited by Robert Gray, 1993; and
Hell and After: Four Early English Language Poets of Australia edited by Les Murray, 2005.

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

See also.

In the thick throng, of men, and mad. turmoil;
   'Tis well there should be left, beyond the press,     
Some interspaces of untrampled soil,   
   And guarded ground of woodland wilderness;  
Where, as one sang of old, no swath is mown,
   Nor any shepherd drives his flocks to graze;
Where, for all sound, the wild bee's wings alone
   Make murmurous music through the summer days;   
Whose trees are green undimmed by dust of crowded ways.      

Dear is the memory of those northern trees,
   Whereof some few have followed us thus far,   
To spread their boughs on unfamiliar breeze     
   Unchanged, as we, beneath an alien star;
The tasselled larch, in gloom of pines embrayed;
   The sailor oak, our fathers' trust of yore;       
The spreading chestnut's depth of caverned shade;
   The autumn scarlet of the sycamore;
And honeyed lime, whose bees still hymn her liberal store.

The mourning willow's veil of slender green,
   Along the hid course where the tiny brook         
Brings to the mere its tribute tear unseen;
   The rugged elm, whereon the civic rook
Most founds his black republic in the air,
   Or smoothest beech, whose soft and tender rind,
Love's register, seems formed express to bear
   Hearts arrow-pierced, initials intertwined,
As those in Arden bore the name of Rosalind.

Under their evening shadows, through the brake
   The tall deer steal like shadows, as they go
To dip soft muzzle in the dimpled lake,
   Where, wavering doubly wide, their antlers show.
Here, too, shall come, when darkness veils the view,
   A yet more delicate footfall. None hath seen   
The steps that deal it; but the morning's dew
   Leaves dry the trodden circle on the green,
Where merry fays have danced around their elfin queen.

First published in The Australian Town and Country Journal, 13 March 1897

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

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!

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.

First published in The Bulletin, 12 March 1881, and again in the same magazine on 16 May 1896;
and later in
Where the Pelican Builds and Other Poems by Mary Hannay Foott, 1885;
The Bookfellow, 29 April 1899;
An Anthology of Australian Verse edited by Bertram Stevens, 1907;
The Golden Treasury of Australian Verse edited by Bertram Stevens, 1909;
The Children's Treasury of Australian Verse edited by Bertram Stevens, 1913;
A Book of Queensland Verse edited by J. J. Stable, 1924;
The Register, 31 March 1925;
Selections from the Australian Poets edited by Bertram Stevens, 1925;
An Australasian Anthology: Australian and New Zealand Poems edited by Percival Serle, R. H. Croll and Frank Wilmot, 1927;
New Song in an Old Land edited by Rex Ingamells, 1943;
Australian Bush Ballads and Songs edited by Will Lawson, 1944;
Spoils of Time: Some Poems of the English Speaking Peoples edited by Rex Ingamells, 1948;
Favourite Australian Poems edited by Ian Mudie, 1963;
From the Ballads to Brennan edited by T. Inglis Moore, 1964;
Silence into Song: An Anthology of Australian Verse edited by Clifford O'Brien, 1968;
A Treasury of Colonial Poetry, 1982;
The Illustrated Treasury of Australian Verse edited by Beatrice Davis, 1984;
My Country: Australian Poetry and Short Stories, Two Hundred Years edited by Leonie Kramer, 1985;
The Poet's Discovery: Nineteenth Century Australia in Verse edited by Richard Douglas Jordan and Peter Pierce, 1990;
The Macmillan Anthology of Australian Literature edited by Ken L. Goodwin and Alan Lawson, 1990;
The Penguin Book of Australian Ballads edited by Elizabeth Webby and Philip Butterss, 1993;
The Oxford Book of Australian Women's Verse edited by Susan Lever, 1995;
Australian Verse: An Oxford Anthology edited by John Leonard, 1998;
Hell, Highwater and Hard Cases edited by Bruce Simpson, 1999;\
Classic Australian Verse edited by Maggie Pinkney, 2001;
Our Country: Classic Australian Poetry: From the Colonial Ballads to Paterson & Lawson edited by Michael Cook, 2004;
100 Australian Poems You Need to Know edited by Jamie Grant, 2008;
The Penguin Book of Australian Poetry edited by John Kinsella, 2009;
Macquarie PEN Anthology of Australian Literature edited by Nicholas Jose, Kerryn Goldsworthy, Anita Heiss, David McCooey, Peter Minter, Nicole Moore and Elizabeth Webby, 2009; and
The Puncher & Wattmann Anthology of Australian Poetry edited by John Leonard, 2009.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Old Qld Poetry

See also.

Winnie was winsome and sunny and fair,
   Golden her tresses, her sweet eyes of blue;
(Dora's dark eyes are divine, I declare:
   Off with the old love and on with the new!)

Winnie was winsome --- and witty was she;
   Winnie would yield in her beauty to few;
(Dora's so dainty, so frank, and so free:
   Off with the old love and on with the new!)

Winnie I loved with an ardour divine;
   Swore to be faithful --- and tried to be, too;   
(Dora has promised at last to be mine:
   Off with the old love and on with the new!)

Sweet 'tis to flutter on butterfly wing,
   Visit each flower for its sweet honey-dew;
Sip at each cup as we find it and sing:
   "Off with the old love and on with the new!"   

If a youth love a dear damsel to-day,
   Shall he not give her fair sisters their due?
If the maid pout in a petulant way,
   Shall he not change the old love for the new?
   
'Way with your tales of the lovers of old,
   Constant and crazy --- a pitiful crew:
This be the song of the Bachelor Bold:
   "Linger not long if the maiden wax cold ---
Off with the old love and on with the new!"

First published in The Queenslander, 11 March 1893

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

Gashes of gullies mock the dried creek-bed,
Gaping like wounds in ridges festered white,
Where trails of ashes scar the distant height.
All colour from the tortured bush is bled,
Save for some blistered tree's torn skin flushed red,
Or smouldering stump burning carbuncle-bright
Through the blinding smoke-haze. Limbs still alight,
Rocket a requiem for the charred dead.
The stricken earth, like a used parchment scroll
Of grass and plant and every flower effaced,
Bares to the hot west wind her blackened breast,
Red dust-clouds from the long- parched inland roll,
And, with armadas of scorched leaves enlaced,
Eerily pattern a grim palimpsest.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 10 March 1945

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Old Qld Poetry

See also.

Trim Oak! why cast thy garments sere,
That fall as gently as a tear
   Upon earth's saddened face?
Has one short season made them old
By turning green to green and gold,
   And robbed them of their grace?

Dame Nature, wisely, has decreed
One dress a year shall be the meed
   For the English Forest Queen,
In which to play propriety,
And has decreed the shade shall be
   A changing sort of green.

Art thou so lost to love of dress
That, with a girlish fretfulness ---
   But lacking girlish fear ---
Thou°lt shed thy tarnished mantle, and,
Without a blush or tremor, stand
   Stark naked half the year?

Why thus outstretch thy undraped arms,
And bare to wanton winds thy charms
   That eyes should never see?
Erstwhile commended for thy dress,
I call thee in thy nakedness,
   Immmodest symmetry.

Rough Eucalypt! I turn to thee,
The typical Australian tree,
   Who, though thou dost not wear
The queenly Oak's superior grace ---
And hast, perchance, a freckled face --
   Art clothed throughout the year.

Unlike the fashionable Oak,
Thou dost not take thy verdant cloak
   And fling it to the breeze,
When Autumn, with her chilly hand,
Has soiled it, and consent to stand
   For half a year to freeze.

Thy grey-green form is lithe and long,
Thy heart is iron, thy limbs are strong,
   And never made to be
The puppets of life's storm and stress;
And well befits thy common dress,
   A serviceable tree.

Because thou dost not live for show
Where north winds scorch, and south gales blow,
   And dost not doff thy dress,
I have for thee a friendship ripe,
Though, truth to tell, thou art a type
   Of modest ugliness.

First published in Melbourne Punch, 9 March 1905

Author reference site: Austlit.

See also.

Dear dreams! How the sharp-sorrow passes;
   How feeble the mem'ry of pain!
The moon is frost-white on the grasses,
   The grasses of Brigalow Plain.   

In the dusk of the scrub I am waiting,
   Glad now for the shelter of trees,
As your horse turns; his quick stride abating
   To pressure of leather and knees.  

Oh! shine not, fair moonlight, too brightly,
   And rend not the shadows apart,
Where warm hands are clinging so tightly,  
   The heart lying close to the heart.  

The wind in the boughs beats a measure,
   A fairy song, silv'ry with bliss;   
Two arms can enfold all our treasure,
   Stamped safe with the seal of a kiss.  

How real! . . . (Yet a marvel of dreaming!)
   Away from my heart falls its load;   
The frosty-white moonlight is streaming  
   As of old upon trees and on road.    

How real! . . the fond words you are saying,
   Reclaiming the promise I gave.
I wake . . and the warm wind is playing   
   And whispering -- over a grave.    

First published in The Australian Town and Country Journal, 8 March 1905.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also. 

Three thousand tons o' metal,
   Two hundred hearts a-score,
Ten thousand winds a-beatin',
   Ten billion seas a-roar!
Ten furnace-doors a-bangin',
   Ten sweaty chests a-steam,
Ten souls a-cursin', cursin',
   With pain and heat o' steam!

She ships it down her funnel --
   Splash on her boiler steel!
We get it on our bodies,
   In livid scar and weal!
We get it when she wallows
   Down under water-spire --
We "get it" when the ocean
   Pours down and drowns her fires!

"Why ain't she steamin' faster?"
   King Gold-lace thunders down;
With scorched and parboiled bodies,
   His Maj.'s stokers frown.
Why ain't she steamin' faster! --
   Because we get no coal
To drive this cursed hell-box
   To aught but Davy's goal!

Because our fuel's measured --
   So many tons per diem;
Because our fires are out, an'
   Our souls are scorched with steam!
Because she's took to drinkin'
   The salt stuff thro' her stack;
Because her engines funk it;
   Because her heart's a-rack!

"It's bully in the navy,"
   Chips Johnny Mercantile;
"It's bully in the King's ships,
   With lazin' shafts to ile!"
It's bully down in hell, then,
   If it is bully here!
A man can leave a liner --
   A King's man cannot clear.

You've got to stop and stand it --
   The torture of the steam;
You've got to clean her boilers,
   With heart and soul a-scream.
"It's bully in the navy!"
   Yah! bully when she ships
The seats to boil and scald you,
   Down thro' her funnel lips!

It's bully when your flesh is
   Boiled soft as tender lamb;
It's joyous when the stokehold
   Is used for picklin' ham!
It's better in the Navy?
   Gimme the Mercantile!
A King's man's got to stop, an'
   Graft under Sheol's smile!

Gimme the liners' stokeholds,
   A man can clear from them! --
You cannot when you're stokin'
   For Crown an' diadem!
It's Hell to be a King's Man,
   With lazin' shafts to ile;
You're parboiled in the Navee! ---
   GIMME THE MERCANTILE!

First published in The Bulletin, 7 March 1903

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

We see the world's great heroes stand
   With steadfast hearts and shining shields;
Their fame is wafted o'er the land ---
   The victors of a thousand fields.

The victors of a thousand fields
   Where moral courage won the day;
No dimness mars those shining shields ---
   Their fame shall never pass away.

But had I some great poet's lyre   
   To stir the inmost souls of men
With passion's strength, with notes of fire,
   And write high thoughts with poet's pen,

I'd sing not of those names of pride
   Whose fame has o'er the welkin rung,
But of the millions who have died
   Unknown, unnoticed, and unsung.

All the world's heroes! Can we know?
   Those countless throngs who move along
Firm in the path they have to go;
   Who choose the right and spurn the wrong?   

Each noble thought, unselfish deed,
   Can never fade --- can never die;
The world may pass on without heed,   
   But angels write it down on high;

'Tis writ on scrolls of fire above,
   And holy angels gently say:
"The record of each deed of love   
   Can never fade or pass away."

The world rolls on and time declines
   With every day, with every hour;
Truth like a star eternal shines
   And goodness blossoms as a flower.

Yet, though unnoticed and unknown
   Some humble hero sinks to die,
His record stands in heaven alone,
   And heavenly records cannot lie.

First published in The Queenslander, 6 March 1886

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

See also.

Blue seas above my head-blue seas of sky,
Margined with shores of thin translucent leaves --
Green coats of fancy! An adventurer I,  
In a high world where nothing stays nor grieves
The full-blown sail of happy fantasy,
For toil lets slip what idleness retrieves.
My head on earth's kind pillow, and my soul
Loosed like a bird. The fretted irtaies lean
Across the gulf where never cloudy shoal
Troubles the zeniths deep of blue serene,
But with slack tiller ships of fancy roll
From shore to shore of the inverted scene.
Above me. . . But is there beneath, above,
Or past or present, in this deep still pool,
Where thoughts, like fishes through the coral-grove,
Dart Instant, and are drunk into the cool
Deep shadows of rest, bright filaments that rove,
Fanciful shoals, a vaguely glimmering school.
The quiet hath confessed me and aneals
My blindness, till the soul with walls of glass
The immanent crowding life beholds, and feels
Birth, marriage-flight and burial come to pass,
(Where death is but the shade life's light reveals)
Each hour amid the immeasured, murmurous grass.
Somewhere a bird tells beads of golden song
The silence takes and in her bosom lays,
Their tremulous, golden mystery to prolong,
And utter peace translated is to praise,
As minutes pass, a velvet-footed throng ---
Ah, God be thanked for length of summer days.

(Irtaies -- i.e., in aboriginal dialect, the giant nettle-trees of the Big Scrub.)

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 5 March 1932

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

An'--wilt--yeh--take--this--woman--fer--to--be
   Yer--wedded--wife?-- .. . O, strike me!  Will I wot?
Take 'er?  Doreen?  'E stan's there arstin' me!
   As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!
   Take 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got
Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,
   I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,
An' speaks me piece: "Righto!" I sez, "I will."
 
"I will," I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout
   Come from me bustin' 'eart--I know it did--
Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out,
   An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid.
   "I will," I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid
To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss,
   An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid
To see this solim hitchin' up of us.
 
"Fer--rich-er--er--fer--poorer." So 'e bleats.
   "In--sick-ness--an'--in--'ealth," ... An' there I stands,
An' dunno 'arf the chatter I repeats,
   Nor wot the 'ell to do wiv my two 'ands.
   But 'e don't 'urry puttin' on our brands --
This white-'aired pilot-bloke -- but gives it lip,
   Dressed in 'is little shirt, wiv frills an' bands.
"In sick-ness--an'--in--" Ar! I got the pip!
 
An' once I missed me turn; an' Ginger Mick,
   'Oo's my best-man, 'e ups an' beefs it out.
"I will!" 'e 'owls; an' fetches me a kick.
   "Your turn to chin!" 'e tips wiv a shout.
   An' there I'm standin' like a gawky lout.
(Aw, spare me! But I seemed to be all 'ands!)
   An' wonders wot 'e's goin' crook about,
Wiv 'arf a mind to crack 'im where 'e stands.
 
O, lumme! But ole Ginger was a trick!
   Got up regardless fer the solim rite.
('E 'awks the bunnies when 'e toils, does Mick)
   An' twice I saw 'im feelin' fer a light
   To start a fag; an' trembles lest 'e might,
Thro' force o' habit like. 'E's nervis too;
   That's plain, fer orl 'is air o' bluff an' skite;
An' jist as keen as me to see it thro'.
 
But, 'struth, the wimmnin! 'Ow they love this frill!
   Fer Auntie Liz, an' Mar, o' course, wus there;
An' Mar's two uncles' wives, an' Cousin Lil,
   An' 'arf a dozen more to grin and stare.
   I couldn't make me 'ands fit anywhere!
I felt like I wus up afore the Beak!
   But my Doreen she never turns a 'air,
Nor misses once when it's 'er turn to speak.
 
Ar, strike! No more swell marridges fer me!
   It seems a blinded year afore 'e's done.
We could 'a' fixed it in the registree
   Twice over 'fore this cove 'ad 'arf begun.
   I s'pose the wimmin git some sorter fun
Wiv all this guyver, an 'is nibs's shirt.
   But, seems to me, it takes the bloomin' bun,
This stylish splicin' uv a bloke an' skirt.
 
"To--be--yer--weddid--wife--" Aw, take a pull!
   Wot in the 'ell's 'e think I come there for?
An' so 'e drawls an' drones until I'm full,
   An' wants to do a duck clean out the door.
An' yet, fer orl 'is 'igh-falutin' jor,
   Ole Snowy wus a reel good-meanin' bloke.
   If 'twasn't fer the 'oly look 'e wore
Yeh'd think 'e piled it on jist fer a joke.
 
An', when at last 'e shuts 'is little book,
   I 'eaves a sigh that nearly bust me vest.
But 'Eavens! Now 'ere's muvver goin' crook!
   An' sobbin' awful on me manly chest!
   (I wish she'd give them water-works a rest.)
"My little girl!" she 'owls. "O, treat 'er well!
   She's young -- too young to leave 'er muvver's nest!"
"Orright, ole chook," I nearly sez. Oh, 'ell!
 
An' then we 'as a beano up at Mar's --
   A slap-up feed, wiv wine an' two big geese.
Doreen sits next ter me, 'er eyes like stars.
   O, 'ow I wished their blessed yap would cease!
   The Parson-bloke 'e speaks a little piece,
That makes me blush an' 'ang me silly 'ead.
   'E sez 'e 'opes our lovin' will increase --
I likes that pilot fer the things 'e said.
 
'E sez Doreen an' me is in a boat,
   An' sailin' on the matrimonial sea.
'E sez as 'ow 'e hopes we'll allus float
   In peace an' joy, from storm an' danger free.
   Then muvver gits to weepin' in 'er tea;
An' Auntie Liz sobs like a winded colt;
   An' Cousin Lil comes 'round an' kisses me;
Until I feel I'll 'ave to do a bolt.
 
Then Ginger gits end-up an' makes a speech --
   ('E'd 'ad a couple, but 'e wasn't shick.)
"My cobber 'ere," 'e sez, "'as copped a peach!
   Of orl the barrer-load she is the pick!
   I 'opes 'e won't fergit 'is pals too quick
As wus 'is frien's in olden days, becors,
   I'm trusting later on," sez Ginger Mick,
"To celebrate the chris'nin'." ... 'Oly wars!
 
At last Doreen an' me we gits away,
   An' leaves 'em doin' nothin' to the scram
(We're honey-moonin' down beside the Bay.)
   I gives a 'arf a dollar to the man
   Wot drives the cab; an' like two kids we ran
To ketch the train -- Ah, strike! I could 'a' flown!
   We gets the carridge right agen the van.
She whistles, jolts, an' starts ... An' we're alone!
 
Doreen an' me! My precious bit o' fluff!
   Me own true weddid wife! ... An' we're alone!
She seems so frail, an' me so big an' rough --
   I dunno wot this feelin' is that's grown
   Inside me 'ere that makes me feel I own
A thing so tender like I fear to squeeze
   Too 'ard fer fear she'll break ... Then, wiv a groan
I starts to 'ear a coot call, "Tickets, please!"
 
You could 'a' outed me right on the spot!
   I wus so rattled when that porter spoke.
Fer, 'struth! Them tickets I 'ad fair forgot!
   But 'e fist laughs, an' takes it fer a joke.
   "We must ixcuse," 'e sez, "new-married folk."
An' I pays up, an' grins, an' blushes red....
  It shows 'ow married life improves a bloke:
If I'd bin single I'd 'a' punched 'is head!

First published in The Bulletin, 4 March 1915;
and later in
The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke by C. J. Dennis, 1915;
Selected Works of C. J. Dennis by C. J. Dennis, 1988; and
Favourite Poems of C. J. Dennis by C. J. Dennis, 1989.

Author reference sites: C.J. Dennis, Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

See also.

All up the hillside the long grass is leaning,
Leaning while the wind blows like a lost soul keening,
Keening for the other dead that have lately died
And must wander sunless on the lone hillside.
 
All through the dark bush desolate and dreaming,
Dreaming of the sunlight, the wattle-trees are gleaming,
Gleaming like the thought of friends, warm with love and light,
Though the clouds are driving on the steps of night.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 3 March 1928.
 
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

With low-hung clouds, the sun is draped,
   The bush, with wreckage thick is strewn,
The hour-glass falls, the course is shaped,
   The morn hastes on to afternoon;
The gumleaf falls, the she-oak sighs,
   Love to a shadow'd cavelet flies!

The foliage eaves are whisper-stirr'd,
   The lavish blooms mosaic the grass,
Upon the wind a cry is heard,
   Borne from the burgeon'd mountain pass;
The gumleaf falls, the she-oak sighs,
   Love-pours the sorrow from her eyes!

The world is stern, its features rude,
   Its lips are thin, its bosom cold,
Love's mouth is full and rosy-hued,
   Her breasts are firm with bliss untold!
The gumleaf falls, the she-oak sighs,
   The day is sped, love droops and dies!

The trees are hush'd, the night is dark,
   Impressive silence girds around,
And through the boughs one star to mark
   The vestal sphere my love has found!
The gumleaf falls, the she-oak sighs,
   Love sends a message from the skies!

First published in The Australian Town and Country Journal, 2 March 1901

Author: William Montague Whitney was born in 1866.  Other than this nothing is known about this author.

Author reference site: Austlit

Friends will quickly leave you,
Slight you and decieve you,
Or will not believe you
      If you have a wrong.

Those who hurt will hate you,
Enemies will slate you,
And as crank distrate you
      If you have a wrong.

But if you are righted
Those who coolly slighted
Will be so delighted.
      Said so all along!

But you then can show them,
That you would forego them,
As too well you know them
      Since you've had a wrong.

But yuo friends, God bless them!
Take their hands and press them,
You'll not have to guess them
      If you've had a wrong.

First published in The Dawn, 1 March 1904;
and later in
The Lonely Crossing and Other Poems by Louisa Lawson, 1905;
The Bulletin, 21 December 1905; and
Louisa Lawson: Collected Poems with Selected Critical Commentaries, edited by L.M. Rutherford, M.E. Roughley and Nigel Spence, 1996.

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

See also.