THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES Dream Tborees a tber /o Tfi DREAM HORSES AND OTHER VERSES 3. X. IRanfcen jffcelbourne : AUSTRALASIAN AUTHORS' AGENCY 1912 are due to the Editors of "The Sydney J. Mail," "The Lone Hand," "The Book Lover," "The Woman's Budget," "The Australasian," and to Messrs. Fitchett Bros, for permission to repub- lish from their Magazines. PK 6035 Contents PAGE Dream Horses ... ... ... ... ... ... 7 The Dancer ... ... ... ... ... ... 9 Moonlight 11 Flannel Flowers ... ... ... ... ... 12 When the Gums are Blossom Laden 13 The Flight ... 14 Wind and Rain... ... ... ... ... ... 15 Fulfilment 16 Morning, Noon, and Night 17 "Her Voice from the Bush" 18 Outlaws We 21 Winter Dawn in Camp ... ... ... ... 23 The Play 25 "Man Wants But Little" 26 Paris 27 Hey! Goosey Gander 29 When I am Old 30 A Hill-Top Garden 31 Over the Roofs of the City 33 Life 35 She 36 The Road that Leads from Town 38 Dream Boats 89 Love's Measurements... , 40 CONTENTS PAGE My Love 41 The Streets of Sydney Town ... 42 To Our Fathers ... ... ... ... ... 43 Our Games ... ... ... ... 45 A Bush Lullaby 46 Two Travellers ... ... ... ... 47 The First Night in Sydney Harbour ... ... 49 John o' Dreams ... ... ... ... ... 51 Her Thoughts 53 His Thoughts 54 The Land the Nobody Knows ... ... ... 55 The Kookaburra ... ... ... ... ... 56 Nocturne 57 The Only God 58 The Gift 59 Youth to Age 60 The Handicaps 61 The Coming of Day 62 A New Year Song 63 Pan's Camping Ground ... ... ... ... 64 Coaching 65 My Lady Wattle 67 The Challenge 68 Hobby Horses 69 Life 70 Travelling ... ... ... ... ... ... 71 Echoes ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 74 Hobart , 75 DREAM HORSES. Stay with me, dear Dream Horses ; Come, let us ride to-night, Forth on the old swift journey, Through fields of young delight. Ho ! now my gallant Chestnut, Come on our gray dawn ride ; The hope of youth before us, The whole world spreading wide. Oh, Grey, with soft eyes beaming, The moon for you and me, Her silver lamp is shedding, A sheen on road and tree. Down the abandoned pathway, Where weeds of time are grown, We go, my gray dream steed and I, And I ride not alone. My Black has borne me bravely In many a well-fought fight; My Bay and I have galloped Down hillsides gleaming white. DREAM HORSES Sometimes we rode for fortune, Or love would be our end, Whatever proved the journey, My dream horse stood my friend. And Black, and Bay, and Chestnut, And Gray, and Roan and White, We roamed the world together Old world of new delight. Black care we left behind us, And sorrow stayed apart, When we rode forth together, Dream Horses of my heart. THE DANCER. The winds have called me to their wild carousal, The shades have mocked me as I danced by night, My mad dance on the bare and windswept ridges, The pale curve of the waning moon my light. By Tuscan vines I've danced the dance of childhood, And wakened youth in old age tott'ring by. By funeral pyres I've trod the solemn measure For the still dead, and those about to die. When warriors' spears to death made salutation, 'Twas mine to dance, and stir their blood like wine, And see their mighty limbs, at ease and slothful, Made furious by the rhythmic swing of mine. I've seen the dull red flame of wakened passion Flood the fierce face of him I danced before. I've danced the dance the fiends within me prompted, Till women's eyes grew cold and looked no more. In many lands; through all the long past ages, Now feasted and now scorned; the jewel, the jest, Were mine while youth with buoyant step was by me, Youth passed, and with him hurried all the rest. THE DANCER But mine, 'tis ever mine to lead men blinded, To sway them as Salome did of old. The dance of death, of joy, of love, of passion, These will be 'mine, until the earth grows cold. 10 MOONLIGHT. The silver moon has cast her witching light On gum trees tall. The mystery that only lives by night Is over all. The shade the gaunt trees cast on all around Quivers, and seems The weird, mis-shaped reflections, once more found Of long-lost dreams. 11 FLANNEL FLOWERS. Moon-kisses that the wind had snatched In mocking mood, and flung afar. Where each fell, from the earth there sprang A pallid, gleaming star. 12 WHEN THE GUMS ARE BLOSSOM LADEN. When the gums are blossom laden, Leave the town ; Fare ye forth by road and river, See the sun on leaves a-quiver, And behold the matchless Giver Up and down, And far and wide o'er all the bushland Largesse flings. Giant gums so proudly swaying, Wdld festoons your path delaying. And to each dead tree arraying Beauty clings. Golden sprays that steal your senses Waving here. Lo, 'tis Fan who's come a-jaunting, From each tree his banner flaunting, Ev'ry nook his crew is haunting, Far and near. 13 THE FLIGHT. Upward soaring towards the light Bird in flight; Wdng your freedom through the air, Joy of life umveighed by care, Free to fly you care not where, Out of sight. Upward soul on wings of fire, Never tire. The night wind sighing 'mong the trees, The bush scent on the evening breeze, The splendour of the sunlit seas, Fill desire. All the myriad chains that bind, Left behind. All the cloying claims of earth, Broken at the soul's new birth, Seeing what alone is worth, No more blind. Seeing eyes which yet before Never saw. Saw the sky nor knew it God, Saw the earth and called it clod; Worship now each leaf and sod, Ever more. 14 WIND AND RAIN. Cobwebs gathered in the town, Brows that wear a weary frown, Feet -that drag along the street Wind and rain now work your will, Wind that blows adown the hill, Wind behind the rain is sweet. Wind and rain from off the sea, Wind and rain across the lea, Cleanse us, heart, and mind, and soul ; The clean wind of the open ways, The cool rain of the length'ning days, Strengthen us and make us whole. 15 FULFILMENT. When God has gathered us to him, And we think of the life that is done, The jesting, the song, and the sorrow, And the laughter and tears that are one. How we'll long for the danger and daring, And the nights, and the light of the Sun. We will think on the fevered striving, The struggle, the endless fight, And the fierce mad joy of the battle, And the wrecking of 'might on might ; We'll look back on the life that is ended, Like a dream that has passed with the night. When the rest that we've prayed for is granted, And we've finished with hatred and pain, The dream will remain unforgotten, Like the lilt of a haunting refrain; And the prayer that we'll pray in our heaven Will be, "God, let us dream once again." 16 MORNING, NOON, AND NIGHT. Gray eyes and red-gold tresses, And the rose flush of the dawn, Red lips whose smile caresses And that's my love at morn. A full deep bosomed splendour, A voice that love does tune, A joyous mouth, yet tender And that's my love at noon. A brow marked by time's finger, A brave head crowned with white, Eyes where dear memories linger And that's my love at night. 17 "HER VOICE FROM THE BUSH." In the sadness that comes with the sunset, In the quiet of the eve of my days, I dream of the sunlightened splendour, Of the life of 'the bush and dts ways. And voices, men's voices, have told us, Of its toiling, its joy, and its pain Let an old woman's voice join the singing, Let her dream she's a girl once again. They tell us the song of a woman, Is merely the song of her heart Ah, well ! I for one don't gainsay it, As for me life and love do not part. But the glad days of laughter have left me, Now it's only the waiting and tears, For "you" were my life in my girlhood, It's to "y u " that I sing 'cross the years. There was one night that lives for me ever, A night when we sat side by side, Alone on the creepered verandah, And I scorned what the future might hide. No sound had once broken the stillness, No movement, no cry of a bird, And I learned all the music and splendour Of a silence that speaks and is heard. 18 "HER VOICE FROM THE BUSH" You had told me your love, and I listened, And you might have gone on till the day, For the clouds of my life were all fading, I murmured good-bye to the gray. The sunshine might dim or grow darkened, The lights of the earth might grow pale, For the light of my heart began burning, On the night that you told me your tale. You remember the midsummer meeting, And the amateur steeplechase ride, When you made Salamander a winner, When they reckoned his last chance had died. In that moment of pride, when a victor, You were king of the rowel and rein, My heart with tumultuous beating, Re-echoed the cheering again. We held the race ball on that evening, We danced ere the night had begun, The notion of weariness scorning, We danced till the rise of the sun; And when, as first hint of his coming, The sky became tinted with red, We flew from our music and dancing, Like hares from the hunter we fled. From the pale gray dawn of the summer, And the scent of the good brown earth, And the first gold shaft of the sunrise, And the sweet of the new day's birth. 19 "HER VOICE FROM THE BUSH" To the last faint glow of the sunset, And the light that the red stars give, To a tired earth resting in slumber, Our life was so good to live. Oh, the years have been darkened by sorrow, The joy has been matched by the pain, And many a step would be altered, Were I only a girl once again. But still with its tears and its longing, Its sorrow, its toil, and its strife, I bend my grey head in the twilight, And thank God for the gift of my life. 20 OUTLAWS WE. Outlaws are we from the haunts of men, All as a matter of choice, For the open road is singing its song, In its old compelling voice. The sky for roof and the earth for floor, And never a wall to bar The path that leads by bush and plain, To the free glad world afar. The sweet faint scent is born abreeze, From the blossom laden gums, And honeyed treasures are lying stored In haunts where the wild bee hums. Chequered sunlight beneath the trees That shade when the sun is high, Dim cool ways as the evening falls, Then the blaze of the star-shot sky. Outlaws are we, for the city ways Have fretted, till every bond Is a galling chain that stays our feet, From the free glad world beyond. 21 OUTLAWS WE We cast them off, and we face afield, To the brown bush that we love, With only the good earth underfoot, And the brave blue sky above. So outlaws we, and our only law Is the fine old law of the road, A light heart on the roughest path, And a hand with another's load. 22 WINTER DAWN IN CAMP. The chill gray dawn is breaking Across the distant range, The night mists rise and scatter Like phantoms white and strange. The night wind flies reluctant Before the breath of dawn ; 'Tis time of fear and tremor, When brooding thoughts are born. Dim shapes grow large, then vanish, The she-oaks breath and sigh, The camp dogs wander, restless, The dead leaves rustle by. The dim pale light grows clearer, The ghost shapes fade away, The life around is stirring, And ready for the day. And look, away to eastward, The first shaft of the sun Is routing gloom and grayness, The day is well begun. 23 WINTER DAWN IN CAMP The magpie sings, insistent, His carol to the morn, The camp fire's glow and crackle Dispel the gloom of dawn. The brooding thoughts have vanished On black wings with the night, And hope, and cheery gladness Replace them in the light. 24 THE PLAY. It still draws crowded houses, Though played since the world began, The old, old tragic-comedy, Two women and one man. Sometimes they change the players, And the end comes quicker then, But still its tragic-comedy, One woman and two men. 25 "MAN WANTS BUT LITTLE." I'd take two roses dew-drop flecked, One pink as the sky at dawn ; The other white as the frost that cloaks The earth on a winter morn. I'd take some of the sea's deep blue, And gold from the morning's wing, Some satin from magnolia blooms, And then methinks I'd bring A spirit of molten gold, so pure That fire's refining flame Could make no finer; then I'd add A courage none could tame; Sweetness and strength, the kind of mind That could but by me be led Then mould all to the matchless form Of the woman I would wed. 26 PARIS. In crinoline, and with banded hair, Silk, and satin, and muslin, and lace, The Incroyables, and gay Merveilleuses, The wit, the sage, and the fair of face. Powder and patches, and minuets, And a hundred others from which to choose ; O'er the polished floors of old Versailles, Comes the dainty tapping of red-heeled shoes. From that window there is the rue Tournelle, Looked the face of Ninon forever young, While round about in the twining lanes, Pale envy lurked with its two-edged tongue. Beautiful, stately, la reine Margot Fled through these lanes with her war-like lord- Wit and beauty must fail at last, The city jeers where it once adored. A face of beauty, a keen hard brain, 'Tis the Pompadour, she is ruling France ; Grave ministers meet on affairs of State She pulls the strings and the puppets dance. 27 PARIS Gathering volume, the mutter grows, Grows till it bursts like a storm at last, A sea of faces, a pale, proud group, In the jolting turmbeil that's driven past. A silent city all soldier filled ; A shuttered carriage, its slow way plies ; A spell-bound silence, some drum-drowned words- A headless trunk on the scaffold lies. A joy mad city that cheers the way, Of the short, stout man who is riding past, Crown, and sceptre, and laurel wreaths, And a sea-girt rock for his 'home at last. City of laughter, and terror, and tears, Each in their turn have played a part, Great world school where the nations learn ; A tragic city, still gay of heart. 28 HEY! GOOSEY GANDER. "Hey, Goosey Gander, whither do you wander?" "High upon the hill-tops, and then down the dale, I've bags of fairy feathers, I fly above the tree tops, For fairy stories must have wings, and fairy barques must sail." "Hey! Goosey Gander, won't you take me with you?" "I cannot take you with me, for you're too old to fly, But go into the greenwood, and peer among the branches, And seek for fairy feathers I've dropped as I flew by." "Hey! Goosey Gander! When I've a fairy feather, What will I do with it if I'm too old to fly?" "If you've peered among the branches, and found a fairy feather, You're young again to fly with me when next I'm passing by." 29 WHEN I AM OLD. When I am old, And this dear joyous rush Of song and laugh is flown. Then contented grown, Will I sit in the hush, When I am old? When I am old, Will fevered longing cease? Ambition's love and rage, Is that all gone with age? Will't all be tender peace, When I am old? When I am old, Though years have quenched desire, God, this one last boon give, Let me in others live, For them young heart afire, When I am old. 30 A HILL-TOP GARDEN. I know a garden of fashion, quaint and olden, There are cool shades to rest in when the sun shines strong, And long straight paths, with hedges flower laden, And wide green lawns when the s'hadows grow long. A clump of oleanders by a time-worn gateway, And pink and blue hydrangeas by an archway set, And lavender to whisper tales of years long over, And heliotrope in masses, and dainty mignonette. And just beyond the palings the gums stand watch- ing, Like kindly guardians of the seeds that man has sown, And may be they are thinking of the time long distant, When where the flowers are blooming it was all their own. And far across the valley, by the hills' blue distance, Is the shimmer of the water, where the river winds along; 31 A HILL-TOP GARDEN And the flats, where lie the marshes with the cattle grazing, And the blossom laden wattles, where the wild bees throng. And looking out to eastward, from my hill-top garden, A splendid line of glory, the blue sea lies, While crowded all together in the harbour's shelter, Like a leafless forest, the swaying masts arise. 32 OVER THE ROOFS OF THE CITY. Over the roofs of the city, the wind from the moun- tains blowing, Singing its song of the silence, telling its tale of the tree-tops, Singing of wonderful places, the foot of the white man knows not, Singing old songs of warring, when the black man ruled in the forest. Over the roofs of the city, the wind is beating the measure Of feet that are marching ever, the tread of the men who press onward, Over the dead and the dying, leaving the weaklings lagging, Thinking of mankind only (man for mankind must suffer). Over the roofs of the city, the wind comes memory laden, With voices of dead men crying, "Do not forget our strivings, 33 OVER THE ROOFS OF THE CITY Your footsteps will grow more sure, if ye think of our fighting and falling, For never a foothold failed, but would serve as a warning for others." Over the roofs of the city, the drums of the wind are beating Onward, onward, ye laggards, fight for your unborn children, Fight for the spread of truth, and that splendid dream that is ever The beacon that lures us on to strive for they who shall follow. Over the roofs of the city, the wind is singing the glory Of the leaders of every cause, who give no thought for the danger The gallant army of they who have fought, and will fight, forever, Who love the strife, and have found the joy of life in the struggle. 34 LIFE. In the west where the sunset's red fires flame, In the east at the dawn's gray birth, In the north, in the dark of the month's long night, In the southmost climes of the earth. Where never the foot of man has trod, Where never a star has shone, To the utmost depths of the deepest sea, The power of my breath has gone. For I am life, that quenchless life, That lives where no eye can see, And the deepest grave in the earth's brown breast Is never a grave to me. For I am life, and I will live, When the last of the earth has passed, In the highest heaven, the lowest hell, The strength of my power will last. 35 SHE. She isn't my mother, she isn't my aunt, And as I'm a woman she can't be my wife ; She is all that I might be, and would be, but can't She's part of my life. She's up on a pedestal, you may be sure, She sits on the heights of Olympus, you know, She's swift in her daring, and strong to endure, I'm part of the show, That she watches so calmly and keenly, and then Descends from her mountain and acts for the best, While I'm in the ruck of the women and men Who're never at rest. Who struggle on endlessly, fighting for this, Which may be of gold, but more likely is dross, Or for that which we think will be gain and all bliss, We find it all loss. She's calm and collected, and never does wrong, And she meets every shock with a dignified quiet, She's of those who are leading a following strong I'm part of the riot. 36 SHE Sometimes, in my dreams we get mixed, She and I, And 'tis I who am god-like, and all for my sake The people are cheering, my name is their cry But soon I awake. 37 THE ROAD THAT LEADS FROM TOWN. Too long the city's clash and clang Have claimed me for their own; Too long the paved and crowded streets My tired leet have known. Now I'm away at break of day, By the road that leads from town, To the open ways, the better ways, To starlit nights, and golden days, By the old road, the bold road, The road that leads from town. I'll be wakened at the dawning By the mapgies' hymn of praise, And at night the trees will whisper Their tales of bygone days. So I've packed my swag, and I'm away By the road that leads from town, To freer ways, and better ways, To moonlit nights, and sunlit days, By the old road, the bold road, The road that leads from town. 38 DREAM BOATS. See the little dream boats dancing O'er the waves of Slumber Bay, Till the children on the sea shore, All aweary with their play, Climb aboard the little dream boats And softly steal away. And black, and brown, and golden, The little heads lie low ; What's safer than a dream boat, When fairy breezes blow? And they're bound for Fairy Island, Where Fairy Dream Trees grow. Away on Fairy Island The dream trees never fail, And every night at bedtime The little boats set sail, And each child is carried safely, Although dream boats are frail. But you see the grown-up standing On the shores of Slumber Bay, The dream boats will not take them, They swiftly sail away, For the fare to Fairy Island Is "Belief," and they can't pay. 39 LOVE'S MEASUREMENTS. Love that asks its own return Gains but scanty measure; Love that gives and asks for nought Is a priceless treasure. Measured love is just a trade, Meagre profits showing; Love a gift the cup's returned Full and overflowing. Love will 'die for lack of care Dead love is hard to waken ; Tender love will still remain, Through life and death unshaken. 40 MY LOVE. Oh! baby mine, whither are you speeding? Out along the baby-lands with sun-lit flowers a-nod ; Baby songs are in the wind, And baby laughter round you, And baby hopes, and baby prayers, and love that's born of God. Oh! laddy mine, whither are you speeding? Out along the boyhood fields with winds of hope a-blow ; Stirring deeds you see ahead, And joy of life has found you ; And, dear, there's all my love for you to help you as you go. Oh! son of mine, whither are you speeding? Out along the broader lands where sun and shadow He- Rougher ground is at your feet, And sometimes clouds above you ; But there's my love to lean upon, and help you till I die. 41 THE STREETS OF SYDNEY TOWN. The sun upon the pavement, And the blue sky overhead, A glint upon the waters, Or an old wall gleaming red. A new house springing upward, An old house coming down, A hope for one, a sigh for one, They're both in Sydney Town. ' A street where time has loitered, A street where time is young; A street that tells a story, A street that's just begun. Old stones of sober staidness, Here new of yellowy brown, Or there the "Building Governor," Placed his mark on Sydney Town. Here lengthened curves of beauty Where the old teams make their way; There streets planned straight and even By the men of later day. And here the gold of childhood, There memory's silvered crown ; For tears, and hope, and laughter, They are all in Sydney Town. 42 TO OUR FATHERS. Oh, brave hearts resting quietly, In the breast of the earth you won, In the forefront of the battle, You fought till your day was done; And for you who never faltered, But strove for your sons unborn, We drink this last toast, standing, For the sake of the brave hearts gone. They've tramped the dead years grandly, With strong hearts to the last, Then here's our toast, "Fulfilment Of the brave hopes of the past." The dead years fling their challenge, To the years that are yet to be, "It is not yours to be greater, But can you be great as we?" And the new years, waiting dimly, Beyond the future's door, Have taken the challenge gladly, To equal the years of yore. 43 TO OUR FATHERS They fought with drought and famine, And a thousand deaths in one, But their brave hearts never faltered, For the sake of the years to come. Their paths are on the mountain, And the trackless plains have known The first heart-breaking struggle, Ere the nation seeds were sown. It was fighting, falling, hoping, Till they made the open ways So it's three times three we'll give them, For the pioneering days. Glass to glass, and eyes are dimming, As across the gulf of years, We drink to them, "Our fathers, The grand old pioneers." 44 OUR GAMES. Ruined relic of bygone days, Battered by wind and rain, Still stands the work of our childish hands, So I find our hut again. The years are gone, and a child once more, I wait for the signal cry, And take my shelter behind a tree, And duck as the bullets fly. Here is the log where we lay concealed, While the coach swung into sight; And along that track the troopers came, When we made our last hard fight ; That stately gum with the battered trunk, We surrounded with stealthy tread. 'Tis the bank we "stuck up" and took the gold, 'Ere they hurried us off to bed. Ah, me ! for the days when, light of heart, We played at danger and death ; Sometimes we lost, but, gallant still, We fought with our failing breath. And now we're playing the game of life, With song and sorrow, and jest, For the old days' sake, we must ''play the game' Till they hurry us off to rest. 45 A BUSH LULLABY. Oh, rock-a-by, rock-a-by, baby, my darling, The whispering gum leaves will hush you to rest; When the little bright eyes of the 'possums are peeping, 'Tis time for my baby to creep to his nest. Oh, lull-a-by, lull-a-by, wattles are bending, And singing their songs of the day that is dead; The cry of the curlew comes weird in the darkness, So 'tis time for my baby to go to his bed. Then hush-a-by, hush-a-by, baby is sleeping ! The night songs that bush babies only can hear Have lulled him to sleep, and the gumtrees will guard him, And the bright stars are watching to drive away fear. 46 TWO TRAVELLERS. Just wait a little, ere you lift your swag, And tramp once more along life's unknown track, Rest on this green slope in the sunset glow; Once you have passed it there's no coming back. Life has been good, the sun has often shone, Now I would rest and think of it awhile; Once I pressed on, the best seemed all ahead Now my eyes turn and look back, mile on mile. So often I have said, "All joy is gone;" But, lo! the world has always smiled again; The gracious fulness of th' blossoming years Is richness garnered from our tears and pain. A little child walked with me for a while, The track ahead gleamed bright with joys for him. So little time he stayed. For many days My steps were heavy, and light was dim. Another walked by me a long, hard way, Her smiles could lighten all that weighed my mind, We laughed together, even through our tears D'you see that gravestone not so far behind? 47 TWO TRAVELLERS She taught me life came laden with good gifts; We will not take. The Giver's done his part. Too late we think of flowers we might have culled- Let springtime teach eternity : take heart. The way has been so fair, I love to stay And think of all the good times one by one. You would press on, you see a light ahead? I'll come more slow, my tramp is nearly done. 48 THE FIRST NIGHT IN SYDNEY HARBOUR. January 26th, 1788. Darkness has fallen over sea and land, The only lights are where the small fleet lies; Dark forms are flitting on the wooded shores, From out the trees are peering frightened eyes. Snatches of song are coming from the ships, Then peace, save for the tramp of sentries' feet, Who through the night hours pace the storm worn decks, Eyes on th' new land, hearts in a London street. A hundred years from now, a myriad lamps That glow like 'clustered gems, shall pierce the night, Where now the densely wooded slopes are dark, A thousand homes shall rise and give their light. For even now the black man takes his flight, He knows not why the strangers seek his shore, But fear has waked, and stirs within his heart, A dim forboding that his reign is o'er. The water mirrors back the star-shot sky, Nor hints of future days, when to and fro 49 THE FIRST NIGHT IN SYDNEY HARBOUR The ferry boats shall flit, their gleaming lights Dancing on waves where only stars now glow. The soft waves lap the little sanded bays, The tall gums crown the heights, and seem to stand Expectant of their doom, the white man comes, Their day is over, death is in his hand. Where Nature for so long has held her sway, Home upon home will stand, and give their light. Our children's children, living, loving then, Will they ere think of this first wond'rous night? Where we see stretched before us, mile on mile, A masterpiece from out the master's hand, A city soon will rise, and they who build, Seeing this beauty, needs must understand- No chessboard city, planned by rule of thumb, B-ut growing bit by bit as Nature grows, With guarded spots where history laid a 'hand, And all the charm slow growing beauty knows Old ties are torn, we've come with hearts aglow, With hopes for all the unborn years to be, When there shall rise the nation of our dreams, Strong in the power and might we shall not see. We shall not see, but we shall plant the seeds Of that great future, and the heritage Of those who follow us shall surely be Strength and endurance proved in this first age. 50 JOHN O' DREAMS. Away across the star-lit hills, A fitful glow light gleams ; It beckons me, I must away, For sure 'tis John o' Dreams He called me many years agone, With thoughts of fairy rings, Just as to-day he still can lure, With hopes of other things. For wishes grow; the magic rings Still hold their power to please, But now I follow John o' Dreams, With larger hopes than these. Dear John o' Dreams, I follow you Where'er your lantern gleams, But when I wearied wander home, My dreams remain but dreams ; But still wherever on the earth, That glow lamps meets my eyes, The world takes on a fairer look, And kinder thoughts arise. 51 JOHN O' DREAMS So John o' Dreams, although you trade, In unsubstantial wares, A dreaming heart is never old, And never crushed 'neath cares. I know until the day I die, Whene'er that glow light gleams, I'll leave the world of every day, And follow John o' Dreams. 52 HER THOUGHTS. Who tapped last night at my window pane, Was it only a twig from a tree-top hurled, Or was it my Love of years agone, Come back to me from across the world? Ah, Love, was it you? Did you bring back youth? The love and the youth that were one together; Till you felt the weight of the chains that bound, While to me they were light as a feather. You broke the chains, and you broke my heart, New faces, new scenes your heart contenting; For me were the weary days and nights, And a deathless hope that you'd come repenting. Love, was it you who tapped last night? Did you come back broken and worn to me? Would I take you back, or, would pride forbid? Ah, Love, come back, and you soon shall see. i There's never a wound but my care can heal, There is no sorrow I can't dispel, Love, come back to my side once more, And let me teach you that all is well. 53 HIS THOUGHTS. There was a girl whom I loved long since, She was sweet and good as a girl should be; And life was a tender, peaceful dream, Till I heard the call of the restless sea. And I roamed the world as a man will roam, I found more women as sweet in their ways, And I laughed when I thought of the narrow bounds, I had thought would content in those early days. But I often think of my fair first love, 'Tis a pleasant dream that I would not loose; But give me the world as my camping ground, And the thought that still I've a wife to choose. She is wedded for sure, this many a year, She would make good mother and wife in truth, Ah, well, some day I will marry, too, Some fair sweet 'maid in the blush of youth. What dearer thought for a lonely man, Than to know some day he will take as his bride A girl so fresh in her springtide charm, That he will grow young again at her side. 54 THE LAND THAT NOBODY KNOWS. Across the water the hills are green, Those hills I have known since my childhood's days, Then, they shut out a world that no one had seen, A world of queer people, and queerer ways. Ah, me, for that world that nobody knows, On the other side of the hill-tops green, Where "make-ups" dwell, and the story wind blows, And the other "me" lives whom no one has seen. A land where all brave deeds were dared and done, And the victors greeted and crowned with flowers, The fortified castle of fame was won, And the fairies danced through the sunny hours. And now I have looked on the hills' far side, On the place whence "pretends" and "make-ups" rose, And the world is fair, and the vision wide. But I want the land that nobody knows. 55 THE KOOKABURRA. Up on the mountain and down in the vale, Then on the top of a five-barred rail, Down in the paddock when no one is by, Then swinging again on the tree tops high; Flinging his laugh out loud and shrill, Which echoes, quaintly, back from the hill ; Resting o'ercome by his wild delight, Then off again on his merry flight. Bringing a smile to the eyes grown sad, For who can but laugh at his ha ha glad? Merrily, swiftly, flying along. Then singing again his rollicking song. Ha, ha, ha, on the mountain breeze, And a half-smothered chuckle among the trees, First ha, ha, ha, loud, 'hearty and free, Then ha, ha, ha, worn out with glee, A gurgling trill in his little brown throat, Then you answer back to his merry note, And he mocks and chuckles at all you say, One last clear laugh, and he flies away. 56 NOCTURNE . The daylight dies, and tender night comes stealing To spread her kindly cloak on land and sea, And hide the scars the day has been revealing, And beckon us to love and mystery. The soft warm wind is all athrob with passion, The night is singing old familiar tunes, That countless ages past were in the fashion, That will be so when wane a million moons. A splendid flower of love is gathered nightly, That dies at daylight, and at death gives birth To crimson blooms of hatred, weird, unsightly, In their turn breeding death, the toll of earth. And red lips lure red lips ; the glamour sharing Of warm sweet earth, and glitt'ring star-shot sky All are afire, and filled with love's mad daring, To drink life's very essence, or to die. 57 THE ONLY GOD. Mahomet Ali, or Buddah, or Christ, Or an image of wood or stone, A god with a court of a thousand gods, Or a great god reigning alone. Some take the god that their fathers made, Some fashion a god anew, And some are bowing on every side, For the single of heart are few. But who am I, and who are you, To say, as the fools have done, "Down with your god, and your false beliefs, My faith is the only one." Mahomet Ali, or Buddah. or Christ, Say, are they one or three? And they who bow to a god of stone, May be nearer to Christ than we. Give heed to the word of the eastern sage, Who traced where the seekers trod, And found, though their tracks lay worlds apart, That all roads lead to God. 58 THE GIFT. I held out eager hands for roses, roses, Fate frowned and gave me bitter herbs instead ; I strained my ears for songs of joy and laughter, I heard a song of sorrow for the dead. I swore, the gods, outwearied with my praying, Should grant me love, ere life itself had fled. The gods laughed as they gave the gift I'd fought for, The fight was gained. The love I clasped was dead. 59 YOUTH TO AGE. Out of childhood's leisure, Pleasure springs to meet the eye, See the stacks of treasure Measure upward to the sky. Sunny days swift gliding, hiding, Speed with jest and song; To youth they seem abiding, riding Leisurely along. Why should we pause, thinking, drinking, While the wine is red? You would have hearts sinking, shrinking, From the years ahead. If the days are flying, sighing Will not make them stay; Smiles are worth the trying, crying Only dims the way. Leave us then, our singing, flinging Care to later years ; Hearts like joy bells ringing, bringing Smiles to frisrhten tears. 60 THE HANDICAPS. The gods on their thrones are laughing, At man, poor man, and his strife, That all should have equal chances, For the long hard race of life. But tears have broken the laughter, As the gods hold the prize on their laps; For how may the living start fairly, When the dead gave the handicaps? 61 THE COMING OF DAY. A fading of the stars' clear light, A restless tremor of the night. The cold breath of the rising breeze, A whispering among the trees. Then come dim hosts that day has sent, The vanguard of her armament, Who, clad in flowing robes of gray, Remorseless drive the night away. Then armour clad, with gold-tipped spears, The body guard of day appears. Their radiant banners wave before, In all the panoply of war. The feathered minstrel's trumpet shrill, As Day herself comes o'er the hill. Her golden eyes glance o'er the land, And rout the foe on every hand. Serene, assured, her bloodless fight Is won against the flying night; For pale Night cannot hope to stay The swift advance of radiant Day. 62 A NEW YEAR SONG. Come, listen, merry gentlemen, To the chiming of my bell, With one hand I ring a joy peal, With one a funeral knell. Now as a cause for laughter, I hail a New Year's birth ; But a year has died, good masters, So tears must check your mirth. I'm found where tears are falling, I'm found where joy is rife ; Some call me Death, good gentlemen, And many call me Life. But a year has died, good gentlemen, This is no time for mirth, Though I don't know why, good masters For some say death is birth. But a year is born, my masters, So raise your glasses high, And drink this toast unto him, "A good time ere you die." 63 PAN'S CAMPING GROUND. When Pan's clear piping thrills the leafy glade, Where broken sunlight quivers all around, And rustling leaves are telling by their sound Where nymph and faun are dancing in the shade :- As you draw near they chant you as they fade, The bush in summer is Pan's camping ground. The bush in summer is Pan's camping ground. You come, and his wild herds take flight and fade, Or turn to fancies quickened by the shade ; And merry mocking music is the sound That taunts your ears and echoes all around From laughing dryads hiding in the glade. When Pan's clear piping thrills the leafy glade, The rustling leaves are telling by their sound That nymph and faun are dancing in the shade The bush in summer is Pan's camping ground. 64 COACHING. Sing Ho, for the coaching days say I, And the ring of the hoofs on the road, With the careless ease of the dull off days, And the joy of the Christmas load. The cheery greetings along the way, And the children all of a row, For never a driver but was their friend In the days of Cobb and Co. The gum trees whisper and sigh for the days When the coach went swinging by, And echoes would waken among the hills At the driver's whistle and cry. The folk from each clearing along the way, To stand by the road would come, For the joke and news they'd get in exchange For, "Tom, what kind of a run?" A seat on the box of a coach for me, By a man of the old brigade, Who could guide a team at a spanking rate, On a road that the devil had made. And there isn't a track in the land out back. Where there's room for a coach to go, That you couldn't be driven safely o'er, By the drivers of Cobb and Co. 65 COACHING There's many a man now worn and gray, Who drove in the good old days, Who'll rouse your blood till your heart beats high, With his yarns of the lawless ways. Then listen, the story is nearly told, And the men grow few who know The tales of the road in the stirring days They were driving for Cobb and Co. There's many a coach still goes out back, But the stirring days are done, The railways come, and the coaches go, They are vanishing one by one. And the drivers taking the last mail out, On the route they will go no more, Are sadly thinking of "Auld lang syne," And the road in the days of yore. 66 MY LADY WATTLE. There's a flash of yellow among the trees, And a glitter of golden hair, And a gay little smile on the dancing leaves, For my lady wattle is there. Her gowns are of velvety yellow and gold, And silver and green are her shoes, She carries a scent that will waken the heart To music that no one should lose. She dances divinely her dance of the spring, Just for sheer joy and to please, She tosses her arms and sways this way and that, And curtseys and bows to the breeze. She lures you away from the cities and towns, To come to the bushland and see, What a glory of gold she has donned for your gaze, What a healer of hearts she can be. 67 THE CHALLENGE. I'll fling a challenge in the face of fate, I'll sigh no more, that halcyon days are over. The coming years with confidence I'll wait, I'll greet them with the ardour of a lover. No more the sweetness of the dear dead years I'll mourn, but hail the new with joy and gladness ; If "like seeks like," then I'll have done with tears, My smile shall bring me smiles good-bye to sadness. 68 HOBBY HORSES. Come order out your hobby horse, And mine is ready, too ; We'll pack some wishes in our swags, And fancies just a few. We'll argue not with common sense (We'd better save our breath), For hobby horses carry well, If ridden not to death. Then come, we'll start while yet 'tis dawn, And shadows still are long; We'll climb the hill of Make-Believe, And watch the fairies' throng; And then we'll take the Golden Road, What better ride in, truth, Than hobby horses trotting us Back to the days of youth. 69 LIFE. In the west where the sunset's red fires flame, In the east at the dawn's gray birth, In the north, in the dark of the month's long night, In the southmost climes of the earth. Where never the foot of man has trod, Where never a star has shone, To the utmost depths of the deepest sea, The power of my breath has gone; For I am life, that quenchless life, That lives where no eye can see, And the deepest grave in the earth's brown breast Is never a grave to me. For I am life, and I will live When the last of the earth has passed In the highest heaven, the lowest hell, The strength of my power will last. 70 TRAVELLING. Last night I went ajaunting while all the town was sleeping, I travelled o'er the country from Cape Leuwin to the north ; In the day the city holds me, I cannot break the shackles, But night's the time for venture, so I go faring forth. So I take the old road westward, the road our fathers travelled, Far across the plains and mountains to the country way out back, And I dream again the story that the brave west road has told us, Of the danger and the daring ere they cut the first rough track. Then I take the coach to Goulburn, and at every old-time tavern, They give us gossip of the road, and city news we bring, The Governor's escort gallops by when Liverpool we're nearing, And tramping down the highway come the red coats of the king. 71 TRAVELLING The sea is mine for sailing in those hours before the dawning ; There are far fair lands to wander in, and fill my heart with joy, The laws of time have vanished, the past becomes the present I tramp along the Dover Road with a little foot- sore boy. I follow in the steps of Nash, at some gay Bath assembly, And take myself to London Town, to see the sights so fair. I watch a swarthy man ride by with eyes for every lady, Or join the crowd that presses when "Miss Gun- ning takes the air." Then for a border foray, when steel on steel comes clashing, "A Logan, a Logan," and ready at the call, Comes many a sturdy Ayrshire lad and when the fray is over, The Quaich is passed from lip to lip within Knock- shinnock's hall. Adown the long brown furrow, a lad a plough is guiding, And lovingly he looks upon a daisy by the way. 72 TRAVELLING He's singing songs that cannot die while Scottish hearts are beating, He's waking laughter, smiles and tears with every simple lay. I often seek the land of France when on my nightly journey, I go forth on high adventure with Henry of Nevarre, I follow lovely Queen Margot, and fight for Ninon's favours ; And see a masked man spend a life behind a prison bar. And far and wide o'er all the world I wander in my journey, But my heart is, aye, returning to a sunny southern home, Where the gums are always singing to those who love their musk, Their songs of brave years over, and of hope for year to come. 73 ECHOES. Some days are dim with shadows, That confuse the far and near ; And echoes of dead voices, Are sounding in my ear. I flee in stress and terror, And know not whence nor why ; I hear the sounds of tumult, And feet that hurry by. And echoes of dead laughter, And ache of long shed tears, And thrills of pride and anger, From out the buried years. Sometimes from out the dimness, There darts a sudden light, A vivid glimpse revealing Some long-forgotten sight. And high upon a scaffold, Exposed to every eye, I hear the ribald insults They fling me ere I die. Once more the shadows gather, And thought is gyved again, And memory is sleeping The sleep that follows pain. 74 HOBART. Dear mountain sheltered city, With old homes time enchanted, Each gray wall has its story, Ev'ry street its tale to tell. Worn steps in some old doorway, A spacious stone-flagged courtyard, Where perhaps a ghostly story Is woven round the well. A stately gateway leading, To a big dream haunted garden, Where daintily along the paths Same tender summer night, A lady fair, whose home was here, When George was King in England, May wander to and fro again Beneath the moon's clear light. From up the proud old mountain, On some sun-gladdened morning, We see the gray-green city Lie resting at our feet. The Derwent twines around her, A silver ribband winding Through tree-clad banks to where afar The sea and river meet. 75 FRASER & JENKINSON Printers