■liilliili THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES [% 1 7 AUSTRALIANS YET GRANT HERVEY. AUSTRALIANS YET AND OTHER VERSES By GRANT HERVEY MELBOURNE THOMAS C. LOTHIAN 1913 PRINTED IN ENGLAND Printtd by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London PR To JAMES EDMOND 136t946 ACKNOWLEDGMENT Of the verses contained in this first instalment of my Big-AustraHan message, the greater number originally appeared in the Bulletin. Others are reprinted from the Lone Hand, Sydney ; the Sun, Kalgoorlie ; Steele Rudd's Magazine, Brisbane ; the Spectator, Perth ; the Red Funnel Magazine, New Zealand, and Australia Junior, WA. " Australia," in which I have endeavoured to set forth the national feeling of this Commonwealth towards the Old World, now appears for the first time. Personally, I desire to express my heartiest thanks to Messrs. J. F. Archibald, A. G. Stephens, A. H. Davis, Captain Whitehead, C. W. Andree Hayward, J. J. Simons, and other Australian editors. Through their kindness the following ballads of Manhood, Work, Good Cheer, Mateship, Masculine Vigour and Nationalism — although I know their technical faults are many — have already obtained a wide Australian hearing. May all good friends of Australia prosper ! GRANT HERVEY. vu CONTENTS PAGE Australians Yet ...... 1 Upon the Hills ...... 4 The Gods and the Girls , . . . 7 The Night I Spent in Quod 9 Ballad of the Drums . . . . . 14 Five Years 18 Mulga-Land ....... 20 In Praise of Children 24 " The Max You Might have Been " . 27 The Need for Men .... 30 A Vagabond Heart .... 32 Going Blind ..... 33 Back to the Bush .... 35 " When the Doctor will not Come " . 38 The Passing of Captain Banks . 41 His Monument ..... 45 Thro' Storm and Gloom 47 Among the Thieves .... 49 Lips and Stars ..... 53 The Driver . 54 My Creed ...... 57 IX X CONTENTS PAGE The Coal-Ships ...... 59 The Whirligig of Time .... 62 Leaving the Town !..... 65 Star-Set ....... 66 Two Stars ....... 68 Kisses and Sin 70 Home-Sick ...... 72 When Ships and Harbours Part . 76 The Joy of Life ..... 78 The New Song and the New Singer . 82 Homer is my Friend .... 84 The Masters of the Sea 87 Have You Set Your Standards High ? 94. My Lady is Waiting for Me 97 Ballad of the Man Far Inland . 99 A Song of Work . 102 Australia 105 My Morning Rose .... 112 Ballad of Jock McPhun 116 When the Shoddy Idols Go . 120 A Song of Men and Women . 123 Kids ....... . 127 The Buccaneers ..... . 131 Button's Grave . 134 The Town of God-Forgotten . 139 Portland Bay (Victoria) . 144 The Western Road .... . 147 Ballad of Exile . 149 Walkers . 153 Home ....... . 156 CONTENTS XI The Voice of God The Old Colonial Days A Visit from the Zoo . Shell .... I Hear Australia Singing A Song of Ships . A Ballad of the Road An Idyll of the Rail A Song of the Millennium The Old " Blues " Battle Hyjsin of the New Australia The Night the Liner Died Buenos Ayres Tribute The Sweater's Dream . The Girl Who Came Between Transcontinental Railways Black Maria The Strength to Be . The Girls of the Morning . "Another Fall of Earth". Silk Cracker Days "Rolling Her Home". When a Fellow does his Damnedest page 159 1C2 166 172 173 179 184 187 189 192 195 199 203 206 208 211 214 219 223 227 229 231 235 239 AUSTRALIANS YET I SAW a Track shine out across The weariness and strife, And on it marched a Band that was The Vanguard of our Life. A small but loyal troop of men, With shining eyes and souls, That left the western gaol-pen For Freedom's far, white goals. They were our Nation's pioneers — The star-lift of our day ; Within their straining hearts and ears There rang the Call : " Away ! " *' Away, beyond the shackling Laws ; Beyond the empire-crest, Away, away, away — your Cause Lies Eastward — curse the West I " A small, great-hearted band it was — A troop of marching men ; They bore the dear, gum-fashion' d Cross- There were Australians then I 6 AUSTRALIANS YET They were our country's Pioneers, The warriors in advance, And were — by Faith's own royal tears — The first Austrahans ! West, where the sinking ships go down, Like plummet-souls to sleep, Their vanguard hearts refused to drown Within the turgid deep. Adown the track their spirits strode Unto the gleaming East. A turn ... a bend within the road — The stars, and Freedom's feast ! They knelt before this god with lips A-tremble in the light Of suns that drowned in red eclipse The dull grey moons of Night. They knelt, as I who write shall kneel, As ye who read shall, too, One hand upon the blood-marked steel, One filled with faded Rue. One god there is in all the host Worth bend of true man's knee, AUSTRALIANS YET And East he holds his Pentecost — My god of Liberty ! With pains and woes and many tears Ye say the Road is set ? — I see a track blazed down the Years, We II be Australians yet ! UPON THE HILLS UPON THE HILLS There is a nobler, purer air Upon the Hills ; An atmosphere — a breath so rare My being thrills With the delights of living ! There is no rancour and no strife — No malice here ; One borders on the better life Where strong wills steer Past doubting and misgiving. The noble gums sway down their heads- To me they murmur gravely ; The spiders spin their fairy threads, And loop their grass-stalks bravely ; And I — I think what I should think — Of purest patriotism ; Australia's own warm breath I drink — Afar from sham and schism ! The rivers wind them back and forth, And breezes blow Out of the balmy, tree-topped north, And then I know How grand a country mine is UPON THE HILLS The essence of the Bush instils A hope that I May sleep for aye upon these hills When last I die, And have my humble finis. Australia's heart is beating here — O gracious land of glory ; Her mighty soul is pulsing clear Upon this promontory. Here at his ease a man might sleep Within her bosom vernal — And hear her life-blood throbbing deep ! — And take his rest eternal. O land of mine I do aspire, Each living day, To catch your cadences of fire In some swift way. And be your chiefest singer You need an arch-interpreter — Born of the soil — To carry your sweet voice of myrrh To those who toil. Yet you your message linger. There is a stirring in the heart Of those born of your passion ; O that I had the minstrel art To stir them in some fashion ! UPON THE HILLS I'd waken all the dormant love Of country hidden in them ; Gum-boughs that sing and sway above- Give me the power to win them ! Upon the hills I sing a song That some may hear In some far city's distant throng Or other where, And set their true hearts beating For her, our Mother of the Bush, Serene and grand — The goddess of the great hills' hush — Our OAvn dear land. Who sends her children greeting ! Upon the hills I sing a song — Straight from the heart it gushes, Like some vast river swift and strong From its deep source it rushes. I sing the song of liberty — The song Australia tells me To send from these far hills to ye — As loyalty impels me ! THE GODS AND THE GIRLS THE GODS AND THE GIRLS There's a toast that has waited proposing Since the first wine was pressed from the grape ; 'Tis a toast better far than the prosing Of the King and the Crown and the Crape ! There's a pledge fit for men waits a drinking — 'Tis a toast set with bright eyes and curls ; Set the hearts and the glass-rims a-clinking — Fill them up ! — To the Gods and the Girls ! 'Tis a toast for a man's heart to cherish, 'Tis a pledge for a true soul to sing ; It's a toast good to drink till we perish And the arms cease to clasp and to cling ! 'Tis a toast for the strong and the loyal — Who refuse it are outcasts and churls ; 'Tis a hail to the ones truly royal — So we drink to the Gods and the Girls. Set a foot on the chair and the table, Bring the best spidered wine in the bins ; Now a cheer that shall half lift the gable — Thank the Gods one and all for our sins ! 8 THE GODS AND THE GIRLS For we owe them to Bacchus and Cupid — They invented our vices, our pearls ; Man without them is muddy and stupid — Ho ! we drink to the Gods and the Girls ! 'Tis a toast to the twin founts of pleasure — A libation to Jove and to Love ; 'Tis a toast for the vine's purplest measure, Poured out to the good Gods above. He who drinks not is base and a varlet, So we drain to Sweet Life as it whirls ; Fill them now with a liquor of scarlet — Lo7ig life to the Gods — and the Girls ! THE NIGHT I SPENT IN QUOD THE NIGHT I SPENT IN QUOD I SPENT a night in Quod last year — in plain, unvar- nished Quod ; And I shall marshal swiftly here the myriad thoughts which trod Across my brain that dragging night, behind the bolts and bars — Behind the door which hid from sight my valued friends, the stars ! The world went by in grim review — for from that quiet cell Had marched a motley, nameless crew — I seemed to know them well. They all came back and sat with me, those shadow- felons odd ; And there we held grey company, the night I spent in Quod I With sunken eyes and shoulders bent, the pallid legion sat ; All hopeless and impenitent — the scum of For- tune's vat. They spoke no word, but on their souls the vivid cyphers burned ; I scanned the blazing, fateful rolls, and knew how much they spurned 10 THE NIGHT I SPENT IN QUOD The plastic lies and sophistries which wrap the lives of men — The paltry, pale theologies, diluted ten times ten! I laughed at Churchianity ; how cheap the par- son's God Among those wrecks appeared to be — the night I spent in Quod. I spoke my thoughts aloud, and one gave forth a bitter cry ; " I was," he said, " in days long gone, a pilot to the sky. I guided souls across a sea which I had never crossed — That Gulf of Grim Adversity, where many men are lost ! I stood upon the wharf — I waved directions from the shore ; And I concluded all were saved, for they returned no more. But once I ventured — once I steered " the voice of Ichabod Reverberated sad and weird, the night I spent in Quod ! Another shadow lifted high his puny, shaking paw ; THE NIGHT I SPENT IN QUOD 11 " And I," he said, " in years gone by, I made the precious Law. I tabulated punishments — I made a bitter code For those who dwell in Ishmael's tents and go the devil's road. I swore that I would conquer crime — ^that I would shelter pelf ; Behold the ghastly jest of Time — where am I now myself ? Where am I now ? " he cried again. " The chains my soul corrode " — I saw a shoreless sea of pain that night I spent in Quod! And yet another hoarsely cried — his voice was like a scar ; " And I stood on the further side — was not as others are ; I was the Upright Citizen — Respectability And all the high Commandments Ten were typi- fied in me ! The siren voice of Self-Esteem made music in my breast — Whene'er I crossed life's turbid stream that voice shut out the rest ! I only thought of Mine and Me — I patronized my God "— 12 THE NIGHT I SPENT IN QUOD I saw a foundered Pharisee the night I spent in Quod! The others sat with burning eyes — the voiceless multitude Whose unartieulated Whys in flaming symbols stood. I spoke for them, and said : " Behold ! What think ye now of these Whom ye sent forth in days of old to cross un- charted seas ? For these ye made your bitter codes, for these ye made the laws ; They tramp alway the evil roads of vice and crime because Their fathers' blood is in their veins — their fathers' ways they plod." I called the Three the Sons of Cain — that night I spent in Quod 1 " Aye, ye are Cains, ye Three," I said. " Ye regulated well The great machine which surely sped these others into Hell. The parson and the Pharisee, the man who made the laws ; The ushers of eternity — ye are effect and cause ! THE NIGHT I SPENT IN QUOD 13 Go now and lead these brothers hence, to what they ought to be — God's surplus of omnipotence is rotting use- lessly ! " They rose and left me in my cell — like phantoms grey they trod ; A slender ray of sunshine fell, and it was dawn in Quod ! 14 BALLAD OF THE DRUMS BALLAD OF THE DRUMS Lo ! the thresher-drums are booming 'mid the hills at early morning — 'Tis the wheat that's rolling mill-ward in a tawny, yellow stream ! Near the dawn our engine-whistles give their hasty toots of warning, And the sheaves fly from the stack-tops as our pitchforks flash and gleam ! Marching down the teeming valley of the winding Wannon River — Marching down upon the harvest that is waiting for our tread ; Ho ! our threshers lift their drum-notes when the heat-rays dance and quiver — Aye ! our drums throb on like thunder when the sun flames overhead ! Hear the music — roaring music that our rolling drums are playing — 'Tis the Anthem of a Nation that is marching bravely on ! In mine ear the roaring threshers are forever grandly saying : " March ! Australians — fight and conquer — care is dead, and fear is gone 1 " BALLAD OF THE DRUMS 15 As I tend my rocking engine all the world rolls on in glory — Lo ! the pistons and the fly-wheel sing a splendid marching song ; Aye they tell me that my country shall be famous yet in story — For the wheat shall raise up Workers for the Nation stout and strong ! Ho ! my " blues " may be all oily, but I feel a king, right royal — And my oil-can is a sceptre that controls the mighty earth ! Lo ! I thresh the food for millions — for the millions true and loyal — And my hand hath fed the people in the days of drought and dearth ! There are kingships waiting for you on the thresher decks, my brothers — Yea, the thresher deck were better than a crumbling, effete Throne ; They are kings who flail the wheat out to sustain the hungry others — And the drums extol our kingship in a roaring, major tone ! We are kings who rule in earnest — lo I the mills are waiting for us — 16 BALLAD OF THE DRUMS We control the vastest kingdom that the world has ever seen ; All the world strains for the music that we thunder forth in chorus — For it lives upon the substance that we sweaty monarchs glean ! Better far to rule in denim than to rot in purple vestures — Aye, the wheat-stacks left behind us are the Symbol of our might. Let the politicians wrangle — let them make their signs and gestures — For the men who feed the people are the kings in solid right ! Lo ! the thresher-drums are booming 'mid the hills at early morning — 'Tis the Wheat that's rolling mill-ward in a tawny, yellow stream ! Near the dawn our engine-whistles give their hasty toots of warning. And the sheaves -fly from the stack-tops as our pitchforks flash and gleam ! Marching down the teeming valley of the winding Wannon River — Marching down upon the Harvest that is waiting for our tread ; BALLAD OF THE DRUMS 17 Ho ! our threshers lift their drum-notes when the heat-rays dance and quiver — Aye ! our Drums throb on like thunder when the sun flames overhead ! 18 FIVE YEARS FIVE YEARS I NEVER see a woman, save To look upon and love her — When I am hidden in my grave I'll wake when girls pass over. When ladies tread The earth o'erhead I'll stir once more my tomb in. Ah ! pity me, Ye people free — I never see A Woman ! I never see a girl go by, With cheeks like stolen roses ; No sun-rise lip or laughing eye My prison-wall encloses. These three years gone I've lingered on, This stony box of doom in ; And earnestly, For long years three, I've prayed to see A Woman ! FIVE YEARS 19 No high-heeled shoes of black or tan Trip 'neath our barren gateway ; No scented hair or jewelled fan — These things are off a great way. These two years more My body sore Must dwell this arid gloom in. Ah ! pity me, Ye lovers free — I never see A Woman ! 20 MULGA-LAND MULGA-LAND Land of stars and stunted gum, where the crawling camels come To the " soaks " at night, like 'phantoms freighted down with pain and woe ; Land of lustre and of love, where the meteors march above. Like a hand of constellations lamping Venus to her home ! 'Tis a land where men lived lives — coddled not with homes and wives — 'Tis a land of desert places and of dawn-lifts grimly grand ; 'Tis a land where strong men toil in the golden- hearted soil With begrimed and dusty faces all, a brown heroic band. I have seen the Yilgarn coach through red seas of heat approach ; I have seen the grim dry-blowers tramping store- ward for their mail ; I have heard the driver swear while the red dust clogged the air MULGA-LAND 21 And hung o'er the dim horizon like a crimson battle- veil. I have heard the ball-mills roar, I have watched the skips of ore Flying upward to the platforms o'er the dumps at Golden Gate ; I have sharpened picks and drills in the red Westralian hills, And I've heard the stamps in chorus when the night waxed tired and late. Ah ! the music that they made — it was like a cannonade As the cams turned on serenely and the shoes came crashing down ! There's a spirit dwelling there that bids men do and dare, In that glowing land of glory where all things are big and brown. Ha ! the strong, great-hearted men — men who toiled with pick and pen — Who shall count the stalwart heroes in their far Westralian graves ? They were big and they were strong — symbolistic of the throng 22 MULGA-LAND Where the roasters drip the ore-dust that the 'malgamator craves. Yanks, Austrahans, Germans, Swedes — doers all of daring deeds — Men whose hearts were mighty engines beating bravely to the last ; Men w^ho faced the desert brown, men who spurned the paltry town — Men whose souls will drive through ether till the last long trumpet-blast ! Ha ! the life ! the life ! the life ! it was red and strong and rife ; 'Twas nq place for fops or weaklings, unctuous, polite, and bland ; Hagar's children one and all — pearls the desert held in thrall — Ay, the Ishmaels led the legions to the heart of Mulga-land ! Now electric fans are whirring where the Hannans crowds were stirring — There are tram-cars on the Boulder and along the Golden Mile ; Lo ! the locomotive urges past Binduli and Mount Burgess — IMULGA-LAND 23 Where the camels once tramped slowly in a long, clay-coloured file. The explorers are forgotten — ay, the bones of some are rotten — But one breathes their strength and spirit in the wild Westralian air ; There's a something half immortal that Westralia throws athwart all — There's a something more than mirage in the dawn's red-shrouded glare. Bayley knew it, Bayley felt it — ay, the blazing roasters smelt it — In the telluride it's hidden — it's within the diorite ; You can feel it in the camps clustered round the Boulder ramps — I have known it 'yond Kalgoorlie when the stampers shook the night. When the stamps are sounding shrill — when the white stars watch the mill — Then Westralia walks incarnate, with a firm, right royal tread ; It is she who leads the brave to their fortune — or the grave — And the Gods have bound the planets for a symbol round her head I 24 IN PRAISE OF CHILDREN IN PRAISE OF CHILDREN Give me the kids for comrades — I'm tired of politicians, I'm weary of the wantons, and hard-eyed men of trade ; Call in a troop of children — dear, golden-haired magicians, Whose hearts are yet with Nature — whose souls are white-arrayed. Give me the glad-eyed children. I am their friend forever, Aye, hand in hand I'd lead them across the shining stars ; I'm weary of cold Mammon — the people harshly clever, Who draw their inspiration from turgid whisky- jars. Here in the Bush I'd wander, with children's fingers clasping — With children's hands so tender laid trustfully in mine. Give me the kids for comrades — I'll cease my worldly grasping — IN PRAISE OF CHILDREN 25 Their hearts shall be my mansion, their souls shall be my shrine. I love their sinless faces and all their happy laughter — My heart and soul grieve always at sight of children's tears, I'll march me down the world-ways, and fear no grim Hereafter, If children's hearts go with me across the field of years. My hopes lie in the youngsters — the legions of To-morrow, The pure-eyed, coming cohorts, who clasp my hands to-day ; Together we shall conquer — shall rid the world of sorrow — Aye, souls unborn shall help us to clear the world's sad way ! My troops shall close around me — the troops ye take no thought of — A mighty host to-morrow these baby souls shall be ; We'll show the laggard legion what stuff our hearts are wrought of — We'll roll the world on bravely towards Eternity ! 26 IN PRAISE OF CHILDREN I love their vivid voices and all their faith and fairness — I ask no greater tribute than children's simple trust, Their love is all I ask for — bow down before its rareness — Would that its light might jewel the haggard eyes of lust. Their love has all the fragrance of tender-petalled flowers ; Their lips, like op'ning roses, breathe happiness and love ; Their smiles blot out the sadness of all life's bygone hours — Whene'er a baby blossoms, a star goes out above ! Here in the Bush Fd wander, with children's fingers clasping — With children s hands so tender laid trustfully in mine. Give me the kids for comrades — Fll cease my worldly grasping — Their hearts shall he my mansion, their souls shall he my shrine. " THE MAN YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN " 27 " THE MAN YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN " There's a fearsome lot of pages filled by pessimistic sages — Men who sing glad songs no longer, but deplore the festive scene ; And these scribes are all explaining, like a grey- sky when it's raining, What very wondrous characters they really might have been. It was Drink, they say, that did it ; but I'm game to bet a quid it Was a sort of spinal sinkage that wrought all the grievous work ; And opine that every writer should remain a cheerful fighter — He should be a gladsome mixture of the Devil and the Turk ! What's the use of dismal whinings ? — fit your soul with cast-steel linings — Turn your face toward your troubles and untwist their tangled skein ; Fix a cheerful eye upon it, write no tearful, sodden sonnet, And, for Satan's sake, don't maunder re the " Man You ^lisht Have Been ! " 28 " THE MAN YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN " It's the Man You'll Be that matters, though you tramp around in tatters, But the road to fame and fortune isn't paved with grief and beer ; It is paved with grim endeavour — you must make it now or never, Disregarding puny insects who arise at times and sneer ! Let your pale obituary in the pathless future tarry — Don't announce that you're a failure till you're quite completely dead ; Let some other person curse you — when you're riding in the hearse, you Can depend they'll speak your epitaph above your grassy bed. While there's life there's hope, remember — sedu- lously fan that ember — You may make a bigger blaze yet than the world has ever seen ; Dig your claws in, scratch grim gravel — ^make the chips and splinters travel — But prevent your mind from dwelling on the " Man You Might Have Been ! " Glue your thoughts upon the future — like the bull-ant, you must root your " THE MAN YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN " 29 Path toward the distant object where your heart's ambition lies ; Cut the cords of sloth that bind you ; throw the useless doubts behind you — Graft like all Gehenna's forces published in one human guise ! Are you hopeless, are you sodden, are you coinless and downtrodden ? — On the affluent tide of triumph you may roll exalted yet ; But you won't get there by wailing ; if you're beer-logged, get to baling — For success is only captured by the brain's em- phatic sweat ! That's the secret, that the gist o' 't — if you want to make a fist o' 't. You must march with steadfast purpose towards the final victory ; What you " Might Have Been " is nothing — heave despair away with loathing — Kee'p your eye fixed on the features of the Man Yotire Going to Be ! 30 THE NEED FOR MEN THE NEED FOR MEN The world needs Men — the world needs earnest fighters, Strong men endowed with granite wills ; The world needs scribes — needs grim, defiant writers Whose ink like boiling lava spills. Too long we bow to charlatans and pandars — Too long we commerce with buffoons ; C^SARS we need, and fiery Alexanders — A band of resolute dragoons To charge the ranks of sophistry and error, To lay all lies and liars low ; A cohort that shall strike eternal terror In each disciple of Yes-No. The world needs Men — the world needs mighty Preachers To draw mankind to surer goals ; The world needs Prophets — ^needs new Seers and Teachers. Men's bodies are incarnate souls. Grey catalogues of saints avail them little — Why j)roffer hands they cannot clutch ? THE NEED FOR MEN 31 The faiths of yore are clammy, cold and brittle — They crumble 'neath the eager touch. Give us a Faith — a faith in this Existence — Give us a Heaven here below ; We weary of the mirage in the distance, We sicken of the vain Yes-No ! The world needs Men — not Mountebanks and Jesters — Not Pimps and pliant-conscienced Knaves ; Wrong rankles still — malignantly it festers, And all the earth is full of graves ; The world needs Men — Oh, don't you hear it asking ? The world needs you — it needs you Now. The world needs Men to set them to their tasking, Behind the potent era-plough ; The world needs us — it calls us to our labour — The world needs US, and we must go ; And we must work — must draw the mighty sabre Against the Yes that is mostly No. 32 A VAGABOND HEART A VAGABOND HEART There are vagabond lovers a-wander Out there where the stars seem to ponder, As they shine in the sky's curving dome ; There are hearts that have strayed from their keepers, There are watchers, and waiters, and weepers, Who repeat in their breasts, " He will come ! " And there's joy, and lip-lifting, and gladness — O, there's ending of tearflow and sadness — When a Vagabond Heart cometh home ! When a heart cometh back from the far world There's a flush and a gleam in the star world, And the winds murmur soft in the gloam. And the fern-fronds and trees grow them greener — O, the creek babbles onward serener When an old face returns from the foam ! There's a shining of eyes and a glisten ; O, the flowers seem to sing if you listen When a Vagabond Heart cometh home ! GOING BLIND 33 GOING BLIND Is this the end of every hope, Of all the plans I made, To shut mine eyes and sadly grope Through life in gloom arrayed ? No more to see the shining stars, No more to see the sun ; My cry goes up to Heaven's bars : " What have I done ? " No more to see the holy flowers, The violet and the rose ; No more to see the Spring's glad showers- The joy of living goes ! No more to see the face of Love, Of my most-treasured one ! O ! hear my cry, thou God above : " What have I done ? " No more to see her shining eyes. No more to see her face ; No more with her to see the skies. The far blue realms of space. p 34 GOING BLIND I may not view these lovely things, Then all my race is run ; I cry to Thee, O King of Kings : "What have I done?" What sins are mine, that through the years I mournfully must creep. Nor see the blazing midnight spheres Reflected in the deep ? Nor see the birds, nor see the bees, Nor see sweet children run ; I cry amid my miseries : " What have I done ? " All blotted out from my poor sight, And mournful dirges roll ; I crawl o'er plains of endless Night, And blackness fills my soul. And tears of blood flow from mine eyes — Poor eyes sweet Sight doth shun ; I ask Thee, God, with bitter sighs : " What have I done ? " BACK TO THE BUSH 35 BACK TO THE BUSH It is good, now and then, to turn back from the city. Aye, to leave all its worry and travail and rush ; To speed forth where the gums in majestic com- mittee Hold lordly debate in the mid-forest hush. It is good to come back to the heart-treasured birth-place — To the spot whence one ventured for fortune or fame ; For though all the broad world prove a prosperous mirth-place, One's home is the goal where most arrow- thoughts aim ! It is good to come back, after trial and trouble, Though trial prove triumph, and trouble not crush ; For Fame after all is a transient bubble — It is good to come back to the Bush ! Dear Bushland — dear home of the simple child's boyhood — Dear cradle of hope and of ultimate strength ; To return to thy hills and thy regions of joyhood Were better than fortune or fame at long length. 36 BACK TO THE BUSH Far away one may toil and may follow ambition, But one's heart ever turns to the home in the hills : One's thoughts cross the miles in impassioned volition — One's being is stirred with strong soul-bidden thrills ! My Bushland, my Mother — I haste to your fastness, Where the old rivers wind and the rivulets gush ; Aye, I haste to the Altar I find in your vastness — It is good to come back to the Bush ! Man's work takes him forth on a Road that is lonely, For the heart may be lone in the mightiest throng ; But one gathers fresh courage and strength lying pronely 'Mid the trees where glad winds breathe their patriot song ! Far away the grim world fights its truceless, shrill battle — Lo ! the hills are a refuge of silence and peace ; Green swards and white tree-trunks — in place of Town's rattle — How precious and holy and healing are these ! BACK TO THE BUSH 37 Aye ! the Bush is a Mother who offers a chaHce To her sons when they weary of turmoil and rush ; Lo ! she giveth them comfort — not rancour or mahce — It is good to come back to the Bush ! Here I walk the old hills, and a great Resolution Settles down as from God in the core of my soul ; I shall march with the years in their quick evolution, And surely shall come at long last to my goal ! Thus the Bush gives fresh purpose and strength to each grim son — New strength and red courage she merges in me ; And I hear a low voice, when the sun sinketh crimson. Saying, " Courage, my Bush-child — success awaits thee ! " Can you hear it ? Then follow — drink strength from our mother — Her Altar lies hidden where grasses grow lush ; In Her name we shall conquer — aye, in Hers, and no other — It is good to come back to the Bush ! 38 "WHEN THE DOCTOR WILL NOT COME" " WHEN THE DOCTOR WILL NOT COME " In the dark I see him ride, Down the track two arms-lengths wide, Loping sadly, loping slowly thro' the constant- falling rain. Branches strike the hard grey face, Staring fixedly at space — Riding grimly from the township to the rough bush-home again ! Riding back ! ah, riding back ! Thro' the tree-trunks wet and black ; Riding home without the doctor, at the slip-rails standing dumb. P'raps there's Hell wherein hearts fry, But there's Torment in the sigh Of the horseman riding homeward when the Doctor will not Come ! Said he'd go for ten notes down, Said he would not leave the town 'Less the cash was in his pocket, 'less the pay was in advance. Said the night was too damn bad. In his gown and slippers clad — " WHEN THE DOCTOR WILL NOT COME " 39 Said he'd had enough of cases where the pay was left to chance. Said it business-like and cold, Stipulating for his gold, Ere he'd stir to save an empress he would have his total sum ! Maybe Cains for ever fry. But there's Murder in the eye Of the man who leaves the township when the Doctor will not Come ! Riding back to Her again, Passing sadly thro' the rain. Horse dead-beat and stumbling slowly down the inky forest-way. Riding home ! ah, riding home ! Like a living metronome Swing the horse and heart together thro' the branches dark and grey ! Riding leaden-limbed and drear, Filled with horror's misty fear Lest he find her cold and painless — lest he find her stark and numb ! Maybe God Himself is dead, Or He'd lift his ancient head, And He'd maybe show compassion when the Doctor will not Come ! 40 " WHEN THE DOCTOR WILL NOT COME " But He sits upon His throne Like a figure carved in stone, While His work is calling, calling, in the bushland far below ! But He sits there, stark and still, And His heart-chords never thrill. Or He'd leave his barrack Heaven, and He'd take His rusty hoe ! He would get to work again. Pacing thro' the pouring rain To the sick-beds in the gum-lands where the hearts in torment drum, Oh, He'd make a good old job Of straightening up His globe If the Lord looked in and tended when the Doctor will not Come ! THE PASSING OF CAPTAIN BANKS 41 THE PASSING OF CAPTAIN BANKS [Captain James Banks, the " Old Man " of the Austral- asian mercantile marine, died last year, after fifty years' service at sea.] There's an island north o' Scotland where the storms cease not their roaring — There's a misty, salty island by the name of Ronaldshay ; And to-night athwart the ocean goes a salty soul a-soaring To its far-off Orkney birth-place, 'midst the breakers and the spray ! There's a hill the North Sea hammers through the years with ceaseless thunder — There's a little Orkney cottage that looks out across the sea ; And a soul has slipped its moorings from a harbour 'way down under, And he drives a phantom steamer past the frowning Duncansby ! Jimmy Banks has got his papers, and has cleared the Heads for ever — He has gone to join the sailors who are driving round the spheres ; 42 THE PASSING OF CAPTAIN BANKS Jimmy Banks has closed his log-book, with its tally of endeavour — Ay, the tally of the service of his storm-swept fifty years ! The engine-bells are ringing from the bridge of the Pilbarra, But the man who used to jerk them steers another craft to-night ; He is crossing Pentland Firth now — he has left the turbid Yarra— He was straight and stern and loyal — he was Scotch and he was white ! Far Stroma's cliffs are dripping, and the mists hang o'er Pomona — There's a red light showing faintly nor'-nor'-east of John-o' -Groats ; There's a grey and misty mantle wrapped around the isle of Swona, And the fisher-folk steer homeward in their plunder-bearing boats. Lo ! a phantom craft swings past them, with her engines hushed and noiseless- All majestical she passes through the silent fisher- ranks ; For they gaze upon her dumbly, and are wonder- filled and voiceless — THE PASSING OF CAPTAIN BANKS 43 On the steamer's bridge all grimly stands the wraith of Jimmy Banks ! We knew him from the Leeuwin to the Gateway of Pandora, He left his smoking cinders from Red Rocks to Bustard's Head ; Boss skipper from the Cairncross to the sullen Cape Koamora — Punching all the storms that met him till they tumbled down half-dead ! We claim him as Australian, though a northern island bore him — We claim him as a pattern for Australian sailor- men ; For the stars were pals with Jimmy, and with steadfast eyes watched o'er him When he swung around the Gabo with the old A.U.S.N. ! The Swain Reefs and the Pelsarts — they saw him sweeping past them — Sphinx Island heard him thunder up through the tropic night ; Four Hummocks knew his smoke-wreaths — behind his heels he cast them — He took his ships out proudly, and brought them in all right. 44 THE PASSING OF CAPTAIN BANKS Our heroes shall not vanish without song-consecra- tion — One sea-king Death has taken from out the fighting ranks ; The sailors and ship-captains — they help to build the nation — Hats off along the wharf there ! Good-bye to Jimmy Banks ! HIS MONUMENT 45 HIS MONUMENT A paltry hundred pounds — £100,000 was expected — have been subscribed in M.L. for the Seddon Memorial. What need has he for carven stone — what need for granite pile ? True heroes live by Deeds alone, surviving greed and guile ! The Man who died on Calvary, how lowly was His tomb, And yet His name in history shall last till crack of doom ! Brave Martin Luther lies asleep, beneath the humble sod, But still his soul, with measured tread, goes march- ing on to God ! Can Ziska die, or Zwinglius ? — each name, a blazing star, Shall shine when all To-Day's vain fuss lies scat- tered very far. They hanged the bones of Cromwell high — they spurned the mighty dead ; Yet Cromwell's fame shall never die, tho' Charles' brief pomp is fled ! Can marble make a Nero great ? — can granite blot the shame 46 HIS MONUMENT Which drags far down from high estate full many a Ruler's name ? The Pyramids are useless heaps of Pharaoh- plundered stone ; But still the great Galileo keeps his place on Reason's throne ! While kings and princes, turned to clay, are feeding kine and sheep, Columbus holds eternal sway upon the western deep ! Then talk no more of mortared tiers to keep remembrance green — Across the stormy sea of years the Chief shall lead unseen ! His monument is Maoriland — he needs no sculp- tured gauds To mark the deeds of his strong hand. Leave marble to the frauds ! They need the sculptor's plastic skill to hide their public crimes ; Triumphant yet, tho' cold and chill, HE strikes the era-chimes ! Rings in the New Democracy ; proclaims the Rights of Man— Tho' puppets dance in office, He goes marching in the van, THRO' STORM AND GLOOM 47 THRO' STORM AND GLOOM 'Tis care and sorrow that try love, And declare it false or true ; Will the stars in the eyes of thy love Shine aye with a steadfast hue ? For 'tis only the purest passion That stands misfortune's test, When the ships of our heart's hopes crash on Strange rocks, and sink to rest. Some eyes are stars in splendour, When the league-long breakers boom ; Aye, their love shines true and tender Thro' storm and gloom ! Not a love of the sunshine only, W^hen the gladsome world is warm, But a love when a man lies pronely, With his face to the beating storm ! Not a love like a splendid bubble. That is slain by a passing breath, But a love that lives through trouble — Aye, a love that lasts till death ! Not a love that becomes poor ashes When we strike the shores of doom, But a love whose true light flashes Thro' storm and gloom \ 48 THRO' STORM AND GLOOM There are false, vain loves, my brothers — Vows blown with the winds away ; But huzza ! there are also others — There are loves that last for aye ! There are arms that stretch in yearning, There are lips all-faithful yet. There are loves like beacons burning When the winds are wild and wet ! And we steer for our Harbour slowly. When the nights are white with spume. By the light of that Beacon holy — Thro' storm and gloom ! 'Tis care and sorrow that try love, And declare it false or true, But the stars in the eyes of my love Shine aye with a steadfast hue ! For Hers is the purest passion — Aye, it stands misfortune's test. When the ships of my heart's hopes crash on Strange rocks, and sink to rest. For Her eyes are stars in splendour, When the league-long breakers boom ; Aye ! Her love shines true and tender Through storm and gloom ! AMONG THE THIEVES 49 AMONG THE THIEVES There's a section of the city which has barred its doors to pity — Which exists by rule of Chitty and by Act of Par- Hament ; There the lawyer and the agent hold their revel and their pageant, And conspire to rob the lay gent and to owe the office rent ! There the dens are all of plaster, and are cold as alabaster — There the walls foretell disaster with their atmo- sphere of fraud ; Aye, the air is sour with malice, and no flower lifts up its chalice In that region chill and callous, where the shark has his abode. Iron doors creak on their hinges ; clerks deplore their empty bingies, And the humble pauper cringes unregarded in the street ; E 50 AMONG THE THIEVES Men with sharp and hawk-like faces haste with swift and cat-like paces, Even as the vulture traces from afar its smellful meat ! One inhales the breath of doom there — evil deeds for ever loom there, Rotting down among the gloom there where the lawyers cogitate : Steps of stone lead up to lairs, where they heed no anguished prayers — Where the very stools and chairs seem instinct with greed and hate ! Harsh typewriters sharply clicking, with a grim persistent ticking, Indicate where crows are picking luscious bones of pleasant Law ; Scraps of ancient litigation rot in view of all the nation, And provoke the approbation of the yawning legal maw. Anxious clients state their cases, and anon with pallid faces Scan the bill of costs that chases every shilling to its lair ; AINIONG THE THIEVES 51 Friendless women seeking Justice — in the law their hope and trust is — Find the same as bitter dust is, and go home and tear their hair. Lo ! the night-wind howls about them, and the breezes spurn and flout them — Secrets talk within, without them ; Costs arise at dead of night ; And the ghosts of guilt and plunder perch upon the stools when thunder Splits the weeping skies asunder with a flash of scornful light. Every deed-box opens dimly, documents step from them grimly, And with tape-tied briefs they primly dance the Devil's dance of theft ; Wills and probates all dishevel — law-books leave their shelves and revel — O ! they prance around the Devil, romping gaily right and left ! Oft the souls of dead attorneys make their stealthy midnight journeys To their lair and hold wild tourneys round the i.eader of the Bar ; 52 AMONG THE THIEVES Lo, they clutch their hands together in a merry Devil's tether, And the law-books bound in leather think what jolly chaps they are ! While the weary world is sleeping, Coke and Littleton are leaping — Sober Chitty time is keeping for the jubilating Law ; Aye, the lawyer's soul makes merry in that hybrid cemetery — Most obsequious equerry clasping Satan's master claw ! When the dawn creeps greyly over — when the lass turns to her lover — Lo, the caveats cease to hover round the great K.C. in black ; Then the riot breaks asunder, and the souls go 'way down under, With a muflled sound like thunder, leaving sulphur in their track. LIPS AND STARS 53 LIPS AND STARS Stars on the beach a-gleanimg — Tears in her dark, sweet eyes ; Clouds in the sky fields dreaming ; Lips that are soft with sighs. Hearts that are nigh to breaking ; Breasts all a-cry for love. Souls all a-parch for slaking — Winds and the rain above. Two in the tide-way going, Waves that pursue their feet ; Surf and a star-breath blowing, Swords of the sea's sharp sleet. " Kiss," say the winds, " and kissing, Pass through the dark- way 'd night " " Kiss," say the waves far-hissing ; " Kiss ! " cries the spindrift white. Two in the tideway going Under the dreaming moon. Love in her dark eyes glowing, Love on the beach star-strewn ! 54 THE DRIVER THE DRIVER Whene'er I see a chariot go speeding near or far, I yearn to grasp life's lariat — to stand upon a star ! To yoke the thews and brains of things : to make a team of them ; To ride o'er suzerains and kings — o'er throne and diadem ! I long to be the Driving One, to hold the guiding reins — Careering on and striving on across the hills and plains ! To stand upon the decks of things : to pass the crawlers wan ; I'd sway the heads — the necks of things, and lead Creation's van ! A fig to loll at ease upon the cushions of the car — I want to feel the breeze upon the highroad, rushing far! With mighty hoofs a-thundering ; with shining wheels a-whirr, I'd make the idlers wonder in earth's amphitheatre ! No crawling like a jaded hearse on gradient and hill— THE DRIVER 55 The day I drive the Universe, I'll drive it with a Will! My Team would sup right loyally when daily work was done ; But when I drove ! — Ho ! loyally they'd gal'op, every one ! With jaw set hard as granite is, I'd gather up the reins — Across the ruts of vanities I'd roll with swinging chains ! My Team would know it's Master's voice — would answer when I called ; It's music sweet as Castor's voice to parent Leda- thralled. I'd love my Team and cherish it, if hard the hearts I drove — Did e'er a striver perish, it would sear the One above ! The harness would be burnished right — to match the flashing car — With wheels a-hum and furnished right I'd drive Australia ! They only fail who quaver at the thought of meeting death — Man's heart should grow more brave thereat, my Marching-Gospel saith : 56 THE DRIVER I long to mount this Chariot and thunder over kings — To trample each Iscariot, and slay all Judas things ! To overturn Autocracy — to break it with my wheels — To steer thy ships, Democracy, 'mid battle's thunder-peals ! To stand upon the Decks of Things — to boss a bolting star — To sway the heads — the necks of things : Such My Ambitions ARE ! MY CREED 57 MY CREED My hat comes off when 'mid the aisles of stately gums I slowly walk ; Grand colonnades and peristyles, with green entablatures that talk ! The whispering leaves that croon above sing anthems grand and grey to me ; And swelling strains that murmur Love come from the far-off Organ Sea ! The tenets of my faith are breathed by each divine, slow-trailing breeze ; The strands of my strong Creed are wreathed among the tops of singing trees. My Alma Mater of the Bush, I worship in your cloisters wide — I am in church when 'mid the hush of stately gums I slowly stride ! My Creed is short — its articles are stern as they are good and few — No clangour of disturbing bells calls me, my God, to worship you ! " Be firm, be strong," my Bible saith — the Scrip- ture of the Pastor-Gums — 58 MY CREED " Be kind and good, and smile at Death when at long last Earth's summons comes. Work hard, work well — use hand and heart and brain, my son "—Australia says ; I hear Commandments in the rain, and in the waves along the bays. My grey Cathedral of old trees — my well-beloved Eternal Land — I am in church when on my knees I stoop beneath your gums so grand ! They call me pagan, those who pray to mould' ring spook on mould' ring throne. But I— I smile when tall gums say " My son, worship your Land alone ! " And I do so. My heart and soul I pledge unto Australia mine ; Where lifts a tall, sweet, white gum-bole there is my refuge and my shrine. The thoughts too strange for mortal ears I speak in this confessional, Where winds from far star-hemispheres their priest-responses softly call. My hat comes off when 'neath the nave of two arched gums I mutely bow — It is my Church ; dig there my grave, that gum- leaf tears may touch my brow ! THE COAL-SHIPS 59 THE COAL-SHIPS With freeboards low do the coal-ships go — Black tanks with a freight of death ; They are crazed and old, and have gasped and rolled Long years with a scanty breath. They are dead, damned ships, that the grimy skips Load down in a dark delight — Ere they stumble forth, east, south, and north, To sink in the roaring night ! They are black with doom, and the ghostly spume Licks them like famished snakes ; And the lean waves creep and the grey seas leap Like panthers in their wakes ! See the P. and O. as they outward go, And the grand Norddeutscher-Lloyd ; The stately craft where the bands play aft On the safe seas broad and void ! But along the coast plies a grim black host Of ships that are Wallsend-crammed ; Aye, they have no bands to refresh all hands On the ships that are doomed and damned ! From the coaly town, lo, they stagger down, And they grope for the Sydney Heads ; 60 THE COAL-SHIPS And some go back on the dismal track Like strange sea-quadrupeds. But as many more come to no shore, But sink in the gloomy night ; And their owners fume as the surging spume Blots out the tall mast-light ! Yea, their owners fret and fume and sweat While the A.B.'s fight for life ; While the A.B.'s drown, bright diamonds crown The rich shipowner's wife ! While a traged}^ is played at sea. It is comedy on shore ; And drowning hands mock the sweet string bands, Ere they sink for evermore ! Dark Nemesis, with a fatal kiss, Touches each seaman's lips ; And a blind, fool Fate repents too late And sighs for the collier ships. Deep, deep they lie, where there is no sky, And the green sea hides the dead ; While the war of Trade, in its greed arrayed, Goes on and on o'erhead ! Wlien this cursed war is raged no more, No coffin ships there'll be ; And the battered planks of the dead old tanks Will litter no more the sea. THE COAL-SHIPS 61 Then no grim, black craft, straining fore and aft, Shall founder in the night ; And amid the coals no drowning souls Shall gasp in a hopeless fight ! But to-night the old ships plunge and roll, And the bulkheads strain and cry ; And the stark masts stab with a reeling jab At the wind-swept, starless sky. And to-night our coast sees a grimy host Of black sea-phantoms pass ; While safe on shore their owners pour Bright wine in the ruby glass ! With freeboards low do the coal-ships go — Black tanks with a freight of death ; They are crazed and old, and have gasped and rolled Long years with a scanty breath. They are dead, danmed ships — that the grimy skips Load down in a dark delight — Ere they stumble forth, east, south, and north, To sink in the roaring night ! They are black with doom, and the ghastly spume Licks them like famished snakes ; And the lean waves creep, and the grey seas leap Like panthers in their wakes ! 62 THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME A BALLADE of the whirligig, built up with bricks of verse ! Sing hey the gladsome whirligig, the bassinet, the hearse ! The rhymesters once knocked flat with scorn be- come the foremost bards. While those who topped Fame's Matterhorn are broken pots and shards. We who to-day go first saloon last year were stowaways ; Next year they'll rise and " shoot the moon," who lead the social blaze. We sit to-day in Parliament who last year were in gaol ; We hear the heathen's far lament — the local poor may wail. No matter what our fortune is, a million or a dime, We gamble with the same old foe — that grinning thing called Time. Our schedules vast to-day we file for half-pence in the pound ; New debts to-morrow will we pile — when credit fresh we've found. We moderns dread maternity, that once all women loved ; THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME 63 We monkey with Eternity with fingers neatly gloved ; We hire us fools to preach to us, behind whose backs we laugh ; We gag all those who'd teach to us no gospel half- and-half. We pat our vices lovingly, and call them virtues grand — Should e'er man speak reprovingly, we yell " Go on the land ! " We are a most amusing lot — we're mostly daubed with slime, And down the stream we speed between the muddy banks of Time. On thrones and such we keep a lot of puppet gods and kings ; Then lo ! there comes a reaper-lot — and O ! their reaping stings ! With flashing scythes they hew them down, the kings and gods we made ; Forgetting we once threw them down, we curse the mowing blade ! A paltry thing's our memory, a paltry thing's our mind — The grinding of life's emery has shorn the precious rind 1 64 THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME What's crowned to-day to-morrow dies, per scaffold or the block ; We gasp and then our sorrow dies — fresh play- things are in stock ! We're pleased and then we tire of them, we mourn them in a rhyme, And set the verse to music ground out by the wheels of Time. We give and take in marriages (we strive to make it " take ") ; In costly cabs and carriages rides virtue with the rake. We prate about our holiness when both hands reek of sin — No vestige of a soul in us automatons a-grin. We leer and lie right cheerfully when, on the cush- ioned seats, We eye those hanging fearfully behind on straps and cleats ; We drive in style perhaps to-day, to-morrow we may be Where are the beggar chaps to-day clinging un- easily ! But all of us, both great and small — clean-billed or dark with crime — Must go and moulder eerily among the bones of Time. LEAVING THE TOWN! 65 LEAVING THE TOWN ! So we've come to the end of our tether, and our cheque is expended at last ; Who have lolled for the last months together in the bars where we sit now aghast ! We have spent what we earned in the saddle, what we made with the pick and the shears ; Now it's time for the bush-ward skedaddle, it's farewell to the bars and the beers ! We have taken our fill of their pleasure, now we sit with our foreheads a-frowTi ; For we've come to the end of our leisure — it is time we were leaving the Town ! One trip — just one more — down the harbour ; just one noon on the sands with the girl ; Ere we give up the beach and the barber, ere our beards once more tangle and curl ! Just one night at the show to remember ; ah ! one cab-ride, dear girl, ere we go Where the sun burns the plains to an ember and the teams travel dusty and slow ! Just one night, just one night for a guerdon, when the sweat from our brow runnels down. Just one night to recall, when we've spurred on the track after leaving the To^vn ! 66 STAR-SET STAR-SET All night the stars have sped across The paddock-lands of sky ; With shining eyes and manes a-toss They swung in squadrons by. Within the thicket of the winds They rested at mid-day — The spears of morn gleam faint, and, lo, The star-bands ride away. Along the plains of dreamy night The white battalions go ; Down glens of misty, drifting light The young stars ride a-row. Beyond the scarping wall of dawn They ride and disappear ; Their clinking bridles far away Sound cymbal-like and clear. The ford of flowing song they pass ; I see their stirrups gleam Athwart the world like gems a-mass Upon a velvet dream. STAR-SET 67 Down dark ravines they swiftly ride, Pursued by trooper Day. My star-friends wave Good-night and hide Beyond their mountains grey. The whistUng stars grow silenter, The earth is dark with Kght ; The star-troops mount and softly spur Across the plains of Night. 68 TWO STARS TWO STARS Two stars that burn when the rest do fade — two beacons blazing ever ; When the skies grow dark and the heart's afraid their twin fires darken never ! Across the seas do they ghnt and gleam— sing hey for the sweet, safe steering, When the Light of Love on the starboard beam shines red with lips' warm cheering ; When the rebels drive to port a-glee and the blood- hued flags are wavin', Sing ho for the Light of Liberty that leads them to their haven ! All stars save two burn dim and wane, all Lights save two lead tomb-ward ; No soul that heads thro' storm and rain for them goes ever doom-ward ! For the Light of Love gleams all night long, no burning low, no quenching ; Its fires stream out, clear, blazing, strong, when the cheeks and hearts are blenching. O, no craft that keeps to the flame-marked way and steers for Libertados Need fear, tho' the mists be dark and grey ahea,(i like grim rock-shadows. TWO STARS 69 And by basalt rock and ironstone ramp that ill- steered soul-ships dash on, Is the star of Love a Lighthouse Lamp, bright-lit with Flame of Passion ! By the gloomy depths of bondage dark where sunk rocks wait the free man, There's a Light that guides to doom no bark, and drowns no stout-souled seaman ! There are two stars, red when the rest sink low, that turn thro' mist and hazing ! And sage are the ships that heed the glow of those twin beacons blazing ! 70 KISSES AND SIN KISSES AND SIN Kiss now ! while the girl is handy — You can't when she's far away ; Sin now ! lest your life be sandy, Oasisless and grey. Kiss now ! while the chance is waiting- While it lingers at your side ; For the man who stands debating Will gain no gladsome bride ! Sin now ! ere gloom and fatness And their greasy kith and kin Have filled your years with flatness, And you know not how to sin. Kiss now I while the girl's complacent- Kiss now ! ere love grows cold ; Kiss now ! while her mouth's adjacent- Feast now ! while her hair is gold ! Sin NOW ! you are growing older — Away with your doubts and fears ; For the greyest ghosts that moulder In the vale of our latter years KISSES AND SIN 71 Are the haunting apparitions Of the sins we contrived to miss, The uncommitted transgressions — The girls that we didn't kiss ! 72 HOME-SICK HOME-SICK I STEERED me north by the Milky Way, and I kept the throne in sight, Till I came to the Gate with the jasper posts, And the heavenly hosts in the Holy Realms of Light. Lo ! I sat me down by Peter's ghost, and it spake weird words to me ; It said : " There's a stranger here with wings, And he won't play harps and he never sings. And he does — well, really — the strangest things, and he spits in the Glassy Sea ! " I says to the ghost : " I'd like to see this chap that you speak about. For perhaps it's a cove I used to know In an earthly hamlet down below, and who never was known to shout." So Peter's wraith it took my arm, and we strolled along the track ; And it talked in a friendly, affable way About some hymns they had tried that day, When all of a sudden I yelled " Hooray ! — I'm hanged if it isn't our Jack ! " HOME-SICK 73 Then Peter's ghost it turned quite pale, and it looked suspicious at me ; It said — and its voice was cold and sharp — " So you know this person who hates the harp and who won't be nice and agree ? " I stares at the ghost as hard as you like, and I claps it quick on the back ; " Know him ? " I said ; " I should think I did— Why, many's the time he's lent me a quid That he's rose on his watch from the pawnshop Yid — why, there's no one on earth like Jack ! " Why, we lived together for years," I said, " and we wrote for the self-same rag ; He's the best old pal that ever I had — He was always cheerful, straight and glad, and a most reliable snag. Excuse me, ghost," I says just here, " but I want to shake Jack's hand ; " So I knocks a choir right out of the way — They were making a most untuneful bray — And I yells to Jack : " Hoo-blessed-ray ! — so you're here on the Silver Strand ! " Then Jack jumps up and he stares at me, then grabs my earnest fin ; And the tears ran out of his bad old eyes, 74 HOME-SICK As he says : " Great Scott ! " — what a great sur- prise — it's my cobber in earthly sin ! " Then I takes Jack's arm, and I drags him back to where the ghost stood still And I said : " Jack's simply homesick, ghost — He yearns for a fresh terrestrial post — Not out on Saturn or Jupiter's coast, but down in the earthly mill ! " Then Jack speaks up and he says : " That's true — it's exactly what I desire ; Send me back to Australia once again — For I'd rather live there in trouble and pain than sing in the white-robed choir. No disrespect to you," says Jack, " but a man's own land's the best ; For there ain't no wattles or gums up here, And your ways are strange and your manners are queer — So, if it's the same, I'd rather clear than remain a heavenly guest ! " Then the ghost thinks hard, and he says to Jack : " Er— what is Australia like ? " And Jack replies, " It's a paradise — If you'll just subtract the heat and the flies it's the best that a man could strike ! But I don't mind flies and I like the heat, so send me back again ; HOME-SICK 75 Send me home again on some excuse, For I'm not the least dashed heavenly use " — Here Jack's orbs trickled with pearly juice, and his face grew pale with pain. Then the ghost says : " Well, it seems to me that your life is a vain thing here ; We gave you a golden harp to play, But your mind don't seem to run that way, so perhaps you'd better clear ! " Then he turns to me, and he says : " Young man, I think you're about the same ; For I notice your halo is not on straight. So you'd better make tracks for the Heavenly Gate — Yes, you and your mate must absquatulate for the sake of our Heavenly fame ! " So we steered us south by the Milky Way, and we left the throne behind. Aye, we left the Gate with the jasper posts. And the heavenly hosts in the town with the pearly rind. We tramped through space for an age-and-a-half, till we reached Australia's shores ; Then Jack yelled out : " Hoo-blessed-ray ! For this is a land where a man should stay — It's better for me than the Milky Way, and the harps, and the Golden Doors I " 76 WHEN SHIPS AND HARBOURS PART WHEN SHIPS AND HARBOURS PART It's slack away the shore-lines — O, hear the whistle blow ! " Good-bye," the lovers murmur — " Good-bye ! " the ship breathes low. " Farewell, dear Love," the wharf says — ■ " Farewell, beloved heart ; " And all the world grows mournful When ships and harbours part ! 'Tis hard to take the last kiss — The ship leans on the pier ; 'Tis hard to leave the loved one, When Passion's star shines clear ! 'Tis easy for the loveless. For whom no hot tears start ; But all true lovers mourn, though. When ships and harbours part ! How hard to walk the gang-way ? — But hear the whistle blow I ''All friends ashore / " " Good-bye, Love "— I am the last to go ! I am the last to leave her, With two hot eyes a-smart ; WHEN SHIPS AND HARBOURS PART 77 O ! all the winds blow kisses When ships and harbours part ! The engines strain the hawsers — Her bows are pointing West ; But ah ! the straining cordage Which fastens breast to breast ! With broadsides of sad glances She rakes the loving heart ; The strands of joy are broken When ships and harbours part ! " Kia Or a ! " from the wharf side — The faces distant grow ; But ah, the pier is mourning, And ah, the ship swims slow : 'Tis hard to leave the Harbour And follow Fortune's chart ; For all the seas are sighing When ships and harbours part ! The liner takes the high-way — She leaves her wake a-strow ; Love's kerchief flutters my way — Her face the last to go ! Two lives are slain, are sundered — Two souls know Sorrow's dart ; The world's great heart yearns sadly. When ships and ha,rbours part ! 78 THE JOY OF LIFE THE JOY OF LIFE I HAVE starved my day, and have known bad luck ; I have drudged as the meanest drudge ; But I set my face to the Forward Path, and from it I did not budge ! I have spilt my sweat in the rolling-mill ; I have toiled at the flaming forge ; And my axe has made the great gums thrill ere they crashed in the mountain-gorge. In the red-screened shade of the fever- ward I have fought my fights with Death, But I cried, " Good luck to the rolling world ! " with my faintest, dearest breath. I knew that the man with a steadfast heart need not go down in the race, So I fought my fight with a constant smile and never a sullen face. Aye, I did not whine in my poverty, and I did not quit the strife ; For my heart vibrated with the chords of the Song of the Joy of Life ! In the toil and sweat of my younger days I knew that a time would come THE JOY OF LIFE 79 When I'd press the throat of the thing called Fate with a master's despot thumb. And to-day I say, in a ringing line of proud, exultant truth. That success is sure for the heart that throbs with the spirit of living youth ! Ha ! the Joy of Life is a splendid thing, and blest is the heart that beats With the rolling lilt of its melody in the bush or the city's streets. I have hewn my way as a man must hew, and my gaze goes forward still. And I want all the world to march with me and to work with a rigid will ! Aye, I want to march with a standard fresh, and the music of drum and fife, And to lead a legion whose battle-hymn is the Song of the Joy of Life ! For the girls are good to a man, I find, if a genuine Man he be. And I kiss now the hands of womankind as a pledge of my fealty. For no man lives but a woman's love may better his talents yet — Aye, may help him on to the distant star where his heart's desire is set. 80 THE JOY OF LIFE They may sneer at Love in the smoking-rooms where the sapless cynics dwell, But the man who knows not the sweets ot Love is a monk in a dead man's cell. The weft of dreams is the golden hair that shines on a woman's head, And I know no joy like a girl's glad kiss when the sun is sinking red. By that mother of mine who gave me birth, by my sister and some one's wife, I say that a woman's far-reaching love makes much of the Joy of Life ! And this is the message I bring to you — you may heed it or leave it alone — Lo, the man with a steadfast goal in view, that man is a king on a throne ! If the gods have given him health and strength — let the sails of Ambition fill ! — He is bound to drive to success at last by the force of his own strong will ! If he does not sink in the ditch of Drink — if he scorns to complain at Fate, He will win his way to the top, I say — and will earn each failure's hate. They will sneer and jeer as he passes by — as I trust they will sneer at me — THE JOY OF LIFE 81 There was never a sneer I cared for yet, and contempt is gratis and free. So disdain the tribe, young painter or scribe, and push on while your brain is rife ; You will reach success in the end, I guess — so have faith in the Joy of Life ! 82 THE NEW SONG AND THE NEW SINGER THE NEW SONG AND THE NEW SINGER They have sung their Songs of the darkest side — All their hymnals drab and gloomy ; Now I come with a chant of the world's joy-tide ! By a sweet star-muse blown to me ! They have sung of death and of tears and woe — All their verse is brewed in sadness ; I come with a song holds the lilt and flow Of all the earth's green gladness ! Out and away with their runes all set In keys of plaintive wailing ! For I sing a song of the Spring blood's fret And of Spring souls free from ailing ! Out and away ! for the gods are good, And the lips are red and many ; O, the wine is sweet in the bowl and wood — O, of fears man needs not any ! For the breasts are white and the nights are long, While the days are glad and gleaming — O, the tide comes in, piling shells of song On the sands where my soul lies dreaming Or walks down the lanes of a star-hedged life And feasts on^the sweets of living THE NEW SONG AND THE NEW SINGER 83 Where Spring winds pass unstained with strife Or a doubt or dark misgiving ! All the mournful songs of the sour-souled bards Die out and are lost in distance, O, the New Song teems with the scent of swards Where woes have no existence ! The New Song thrills with the joys of earth, And not with the care and aching ; O, it breathes of Love and of lips and mirth, And not of the sad hearts breaking, For a broken soul mends ill when a song Sets all its wounds re-bleeding ; O, a song bites deep — like a stained whip-thong — When the singer gives no heeding ! For " there's no song true that wounds no heart," Cry the bards of yester-even, " And the psalm rings false that fails impart To some glad soul Hell's leaven ! " But out and away from their sour- veined school ! Out ! for the song-bells ringing ! Let's write by the Spring's green-golden i-ule ; Attuned to the star-winds winging ! For they've sung their songs of the darkmost side — All their gloom-stained psalms are psalters — Now I come with a song of the new joy-tide, And I lay't on my love's lip-altars ! 84 HOMER IS MY FRIEND HOMER IS MY FRIEND I HAVE a friend called Homer — an old Greek bard is he ; The most poetic roamer this world did ever see ! I stride the promontories with Homer by my side, And feast upon the glories of sky and cliff and tide ! I love the roaring ocean — old Homer loved it, too ; The fretted white commotion his soul unto it drew. It set his song a-rolling — it strung his lyre with joy- It set old Homer trolling in the restless pubs, of Troy! I love the good old Homer — the ghost who walks with me. What time, the long, grey comber rolls inward from the sea. The salt spray stings our faces, big winds chant in the West, When lordly Homer paces with me on mountain crest ! We talk of young Ulysses and Nestor brave and bold— HOMER IS MY FRIEND 85 Of Helen's honeyed kisses in the gay days of old ! We talk of old King Priam — a good old king was he— The sort of king that I am in hours of reverie ! We talk of sacks and battles — of Ajax' rolling car ; Methinks his chariot rattles where storms and thunders are ! Methinks the Trojan forces still wrestle with the Greeks — Above the foaming horses the dust of combat reeks. The Greek ships float in fancy upon the sunset tide — could but modern man see those ancient days of pride ! They were the days of daring, as Menelaus observed, When sea-port towns were flaring and any reason served ! Pallas Athene slumbers, and Hector's head lies low, But when I read those numbers my friend penned long ago 1 seem to see fair women stand on the walls of Troy, With tears the eyes are dim, for in mingled fear and joy I 86 HOMER IS MY FRIEND I seem to hear them weeping, I feel their hot, salt tears — Their agony comes sweeping across the wrack of years ! The sack of Troy sends shivers adown my modern spine, And Hector's head still quivers in mingled blood and wine ! I have a friend called Homer — he tells these things to me, What time the long, grey comber rolls inward from the sea. We walk upon the headlands that face the salty south, And in those misty, dead lands I still see Helen's mouth ! Good luck to every Paris who strips another's field ; Alas, the day afar is of sword and spear and shield ! I like those pagan roamers — they fill my heart with joy — Those drinky men of Homer's who stormed the pubs, of Troy. THE MASTERS OF THE SEA 87 THE MASTERS OF THE SEA There are nations born for Power, There are nations born to cower — And, like slaves, to fetch and carry for the peoples strong and free ; From the dim dead throats of Time Rolls a fierce and ringing rhyme — Hear the launching-chant loud pealing from the Masters of the Sea ! Through the misty wrack of years, See the lean Phoenician steers Forth from ports of Spain and Carthage long before the Christ was born ; Thrusts his prow thro' Biscay's seas Towards the Cassiterides — And his oars go thrashing bravely through Atlantic mists of morn ! Westward sweeps a Roman fleet. Driving thro' the storm and sleet — Circumsailing ancient Britain in those chartless days of yore ; 'Gainst some gloom-grey marge of sky Fabled Thule they descry — 88 THE MASTERS OF THE SEA Loud they hear the stern sea stamping all along its frozen shore ! All their hearts beset with fear, Lo ! they creep past Foula sheer — Stormy Shetlands, dost remember those intrepid sailor-men ? Stars alone had they for guide, O the seas were grim and wide — There were Heroes walking westward o'er the trackless ocean then ! O ye waves that murmur peace On the western shores of Greece ! Dost recall the crash of galleys on the Day of Actium ? How the lords of East and West Gathered for the last great test — Dost recall the battle-music of the fierce hortator's drum ; How they came to deadly grips : Cleopatra's sixty ships — How they brought most fell disaster to the doomed Antony ; How Oct AVIAN us' head Lifted proudly Avhen they fled — How the sea with blood grew crimson in those hours of victory ? THE MASTERS OF THE SEA 89 O, the clanging of the shields ! O, the sword each Norseman wields ! Forth the stalwart sons of Odin troop to ply their trade of war ! Hear the cry of Vortigern, Whom they succour ere they spurn — Whom they smite, and whom they shatter, with the iron fist of Thor ! South and west across the sea Come the Vikings, fierce and free. Hear the shout of Hexgist's heroes ! hear old RoLLo's soldiers sing ! From the far Norwegian fiords Stream the blue-eyed battle-lords — There were thrones to win in Britain — he who dared might be a king ! Lo ! the ocean-brood of Danes — Charged with passion all their veins — Baltic Berserks seeking vengeance for Gunhilda, dead and fair ; Came the beaked ships of Sven, Filled with mighty fighting men — Ho ! the flashing of their axes and their sword- blades bright and bare ! They were Masters of the Sea, And they saw the Saxons flee — 90 THE MASTERS OF THE SEA Yea, their camp-fires circled London as they ravaged England o'er ; While they held the sea with ships, Lo ! they plied their earnest whips — Flogging England, Saxon England, with the reek- ing thongs of war ! Lo ! the hardy Genoese, Sweeping past the Cyclades — How they churn the blue Propontis with their rhythmic beat of oars ; From Gibraltar's narrow straits To the Tanais' iron gates, Ho ! they ride upon their galleys and patrol the Seven Shores ! Seeking John Cantacuzene, Lo ! They search the broad Tyrrhene — And the Greeks are fed or famished as the grim sea-captains please ; And Doria's ships of war Drive the Pisans fast and far, As with sturdy, earnest hands they grip the sceptre of the seas ! Venice moulders in the slime — Does the world recall the time THE MASTERS OF THE SEA 91 When the Lion of St. Marco held the nations all in fee ; When the Adriatic's coasts Saw the onset of its hosts, And the blind Dandolo staring out across the trackless sea ? Half a thousand years ago There was wailing, there was woe, When the Doge's fleets were sighted from the old Byzantine walls. By the fair Euboean isle, See the swift Venetians file — Hear the arbalests a-twanging while the throne of C^SAR falls. Dost remember Sulieman, And his conquests African — Dost remember Barbarossa — dost recall his Tunis lair ? How the Pope and Emperor And the Doge were beaten sore All along the Gulf of Arta by the Sultan's great corsair ! How that Master of the Seas Brought the Christians to their knees — How Dragut and his brethren fought the proudest fleets of Spain ; 92 THE MASTERS OF THE SEA He of Mohacs — he was great, And the nations felt his weight When the galleys of Mahomet dared the world upon the main ! Fallen from his high estate Like a beggar at the gate, Next the combat off Lepanto told the Porte another tale ; Yea, that Selim, called the Sot, Most emphatic beating got When the Spaniards and Venetians blasted forth their iron gale ; The Crescent went below, Where the old lost banners go, When puissant Father Pius organized the squad- rons three ! 'Twas a great and famous day When the Pope's ships blazed away. And broke Mahomet's prestige most completely on the sea ! It was Philip, King of Spain, Brake the Sultan's ships in twain, Yet soon his great Armada reeled beneath an English bloAv, And in 1588 Fell the heavy fist of Fate, THE MASTERS OF THE SEA 93 And the greedy master-monarch in the dust was scattered low. Gone his galhasses tall — Gone his galleys, one and all — When Howard smote the yellow flag along the southern shore ; Past the Start and Portland Bill Did he drive them with a will — And his captains swept the Channel from the Needles to the Nore ! Read, Australians, read the page Of that dim, forgotten age — Lo ! the beacons, they are blazing down the vistas of the past ; When the new Armadas come, Ye must beat your battle-drum — Ye must hold the seas or perish 'neath the weight of navies vast ! Are ye born for strength and power, Or to meanly skulk and cower — Are ye bom to fetch and carry, or to stand erect and free ? If the latter ye desire, Ships and sailors ye require — For the weak must bow submissive to the Masters of the Sea ! 94 STANDARDS HIGH HAVE YOU SET YOUR STANDARDS HIGH ? Do you cringe and creep when your heart should leap — do you crawl when a king goes by ? Do you bow to Rank and its jesters dank — have you set your standards high ? Are your idols cheap — are you sure you keep your eyes on the goal ahead ? Do you march elate with a swinging gait — are your hopes diseased or dead ? Do you falter now, when you once made vow that you'd come to the front at last — Are the blazing fires of your young desires but things of the frozen past ? Yea, I want to know if your hopes still glow, or when did you let them die ? Come, tell me straight, how your josses rate — have you set your standards high ? For some make shift with standards reft of all that is strong and true — Aye, they slouch along in a downcast throng — and how are the facts with you ? Are you marking time in a pool of slime — have you dropped to the rear of life ? — STANDARDS HIGH 95 Stand up like a man in the fighting van — wade into the red-hot strife ! Are you pent in the lair of a long despair — has your heart ceased pumping Blood ? It shall beat again with a stern refrain — it shall throb with a steadfast thud ! It shall pump fresh strength, and you'll rise at length — you will pass all barriers by ; Aye, you'll reach your goal ere the long years roll if you set your standards high ! Set them up as far as the furthest star, and fight for your heart's belief ; Come up to the scratch — and nail the latch of the useless door of grief ! There's room for the man who will sternly ban all fear and doubt and dread ; Will you make a stand for our o^^^l dear land — are you moribund or dead ? Does a single spark still light the arc of your gloomy, faded hopes ? — You may yet be boss, though you hump your cross — you may heave Fate limp on the ropes ! I ask you here to abandon fear, and to cease to moan and sigh — Come along with Me to the victory, for I've set my standards high ! 1* 'I* 1* T* f* 96 STANDARDS HIGH Do you cringe and creep when your heart should leap — do you crawl when a king goes past ? Do you how to Rank and its jesters dank ? — then wake to this trumpet-hlast ! Are your idols cheap — are you sure you keep your eyes on the goal ahead ; Do you march elate ivith a swinging gait — are your hopes diseased or dead ? Do you jailer now, when you once made vow that youd come to the jront in time — Are the blazing fires oj your young desires hanked up with ash and slime ? Yea, I want to know ij your hopes still glow, or when did you let them die ? — Come, tell me straight, how your josses rate — Have you set your standards high ? MY LADY IS WAITING FOR ME 97 MY LADY IS WAITING FOR ME Away with the red wine and thyrsus — O ! a truce to the writing of verses — My lady is waiting for Me ! Take the books and the magas and poems, Their ends and their middles and proems — Must gird on my raiment and gee. Can't tarry a single half-minute, Or I shall be properly " in " it — My Sweetheart's a-waiting for Me ! Take the bottles and corkscrews and glasses Pile the corks on the mantel in masses ; My best girl is waiting for Me ! Away with the hazard and poker — O tear up the deuce and the joker — It's time for yours truly to flee ! His coat and his hat and malacca — Farewell to the booze and the 'bacca : His heart's love's a-waiting for He ! She's waiting around at her gate, Sir — Must walk at a rapid old rate. Sir : My darling is waiting for Me ! ^ 98 MY LADY IS WAITING FOR ME Can't stop to take cash or pay bills, man- I'm after a cargo of frills, man ; Get out o' my daylight quicklee ! Must haste to a creature Elysian, The sweetest and neatest she-vision : My best Girl is waiting FOR ME ! BALLAD OF THE MAN FAR INLAND 99 BALLAD OF THE MAN FAR INLAND " Ship me somewhere east of Suez," where some old flat-floored canoe is ; Scoop me out a giant pumpkin ; give me two dry sticks for oars ; Where the blessed bullfrog bubbles — where the tor- toise tells his troubles — Let me wander by the moisture where the savage tomtit roars ! Where the welkin welks with gladness — where there isn't any badness ; Where the world is wet and cheerful, and the wag- tail wags encore ; For I'm sick of music-vampers, and I hate the stunning stampers — Aye, I want to bite the ocean, and I want the sea once more ! I desire a month of leisure spent in clean aquatic pleasure — I request a little dingy or a battleship or raft. Let me sit astride a barrel, clad in Adam's scant apparel, With the dampness round my ankles and a buckram zephyr aft I 100 BALLAD OF THE MAN FAR INLAND Let me swim, and let me swelter, where the seas comie helter-skelter — Hand me out a tiny creeklet or a river or lagoon ; I desire to dip my body in a bath that isn't shoddy — I insist on the Pacific being carted to me soon. In the desert I am wailing, where the brown dust- clouds are sailing, And I warn the Lord instanter that it's wrong to keep me here ; If He fails to send me seaward — if He falls away to leeward — I w^ill bust the apparatus of this blessed hemisphere ! For I'm angry and disdainful, and I find the desert painful, And I'll spoil this blooming planet if the Lord neg- lecteth me. I am sulky with creation — my ideal occupation Were to sit astride an iceberg in a gold-and-purple sea ! " Ship me somewhere east of Suez,'' where some water- logged canoe is — Scoop me out a giant pumpkin ; lei me use my hands for oars ; Where the porpoise porpeth gaily — where the turtle turteth daily — BALLAD OF THE MAN FAR INLAND 101 Let me wander by the moisture where the savage tomtit roars ! Where the welkin welks likes blazes — where the peace- ful moo-cow grazes — Where the world is wet and winsome, and the wagtail wags encore ; For Fm sick of slaving here, Lord ! and it's like to cost you dear. Lord ! If I fail to bite the ocean and observe the sea once more ! 102 A SONG OF WORK A SONG OF WORK We sing too much of sports and such — too little of toil and deeds ; Too much of love and stars above, and winds in the whispering reeds. Let's sing new songs of the toiling throngs — let's chant of hammer and saw ; Let's chant of life and steam and strife and the foundry's blazing maw ! Sing ho for work — for the smoke-stack's murk — for the crash of iron and steel ; Huzza for the M'ar where the pistons soar and crank- shafts thrust and reel ! For the world's great heart is beating here, 'midst clamour of steel and steam ; Man rules the earth with his strength and skill — aye, man is a god supreme ! Aha for the crash where the forges flash, and the anvils clank and clang ; Huzza for the beat of the iron feet where the Nasmyths bounce and bang ! For the whirring drills and the roaring mills — for the shafting's rolling song — A SONG OF WORK 103 Huzza for the gods and the piston-rods and the workers stern and strong ! For I love the night where the Titans fight, and the gloom is blotched with flame ; Aye, I feel a king when the crossheads swing and growl in their iron game ; Fit kingdom this, where the forges hiss, and the red slag drops like blood ; O, I love grim Graft, and I love each shaft, and I love Work's mighty thud ! Let's whine no more — Let us smelt black ore — let's grapple at last with Fate ; Let's march like men in the ranks again — let's tramp with a swinging gait ! Let's take our stand with the nations grand — ^let us show that we're not played out ; Let's live, let's act — let us deal with fact — have done with drivel and doubt ! Have done with dreams and the misty themes — have done with the dread of death ; Let's work like Hell for an age-long spell — ^let's laugh with our parting breath ! Nor prate nor preach, but rise and reach for the nearest task at hand ; Let's toil, let's sweat — let's fight on yet for the sake of our own dear land 1 104 A SONG OF WORK For we sing too much of sport and such — too little of toil and deeds ; Too much of love and stars above, and winds in the whispering reeds. Let's sing new songs of the toiling throngs — let's chant of hammer and saw ; Aye, chant of life with its steam and strife and the foundry's blazing maw ! Sing ho for Work — for the smoke-stack'' s murk — for the crash of iron and steel ; Huzza for the war where the pistons soar and crank- shafts thrust and reel ! Set the world's great heart a-beating here, ^midst clamour of steel and steam ; Let's shake the hills with our iron wills — for Man is a god supreme ! AUSTRALIA 105 AUSTRALIA Land immense, in far extent and power — In latent strength, that yet shall perfect be ; O Thou, who hendest low thy Freedom- flower ^ Thy chaliced mouth, whose kiss is liberty : The story tell ! — what is thy gift and dower, Commonweal, for him who serveth Thee ? I am the Land of hope, of gracious mornings — He welcome is, whoever cleanly comes ; I stand erect — I hear the epoch's warnings Strike through the years, like swinging pendu- lums. I know no hates, no ancient fears and scornings Arouse my States with fratricidal drums ! I am the Land that yet in peerless splendour By nations all shall equal hailed be, When I with ships walk on the seas, and render My true account to human destiny ; My gift of sons, my daughters sweet and tender. My children all ! — the heart's warm gift of me ! 106 AUSTRALIA I am the Land whereof the written story Shall incense breathe far down the distant years ; Shall say of me : ' Her's was the lustrous glory, Undimmed with blood and death's hate-potent tears ! The surf that beats upon each promontory Shall croon : ' Here dwell no futile lusts nor fears ! ' I am the Land of peace and righteous labour, The home of skill and patient industry ; Where equal man shall join with equal neighbour His strong right hand in perfect amity. Ye older lands, that power and ancient sway bore, Behold a People fearless, brave, and free ! Mine Outlook shines with light serene and splen- did— My forward Path, O faithful sons, I see ; Ye are my strength — from fathers strong de- scended. And ye shall march far down the years with me ! Shall give me fame, with genius starlike blended, My glory-crown for all eternity ! AUSTRALIA 107 " My brow I lift with faith undimmed and peer- less — A constant faith, that will not be denied ; I face the world with eyes all clear and tearless — Why should I quail, when ye are at my side ? My children all — my Titans strong and fearless, Australia's hope, Australia's joy and pride ! " Know ye my heart ? — its secret tides of passion. The midmost Thoughts that dwell, O sons, in me? A Nation fair I bid ye nobly fashion That with my love all permeate shall be ! I am Desire ! And I am sweet Compassion, And I am Truth and Joy and Liberty ! " All these have thrilled within my heart and being — All these abide within my central soul ; Mine eyes are true, clear eyes all Task-ward see- ing. And I shall see a Nation brave and whole ! From sordidness — from strife and rancour fleeing, A People clean with one fair-shining goal ! " No jarring chords of bitter feud and schism — No discontent, no falsehood and no greed ; 108 AUSTRALIA All-consecrate with Freedom's priceless chrism, A People true in thought and word and deed : Whereof each soul, like some reflecting prism. Shall flash the rays of Time's divinest Creed ! To Nations new — to lands unshaped, uncharted, A pattern I, O Kinsmen all, would be ; Who worketh well ? Who labours steadfast- hearted ? — He is the truest, noblest son of me ! And from my fields, whose wealth shall yet be marted, Shall win the fruits of forthright Industry ! Where shining rails, beneath their mighty burden Of Commerce new, their song exultant sing ; There see my gifts — Australia's proffered guerdon To all whose arms the gleaming axe shall swing When Europe's heart at last my Call hath stin-ed in, Shall millions haste to share the harvesting ! " Know ye my prayer ? 'Tis that the Elder Nations Their quarrels vain may compass and forget ; Yea, that their sons, in nobler consecrations. Might come to me — and I will have them yet 1 AUSTRALIA 109 Shall draw them hence. These are the con- summations Whereon mine heart of hearts is ever set ! " I am the Promise of a braver, fairer Morrow, The White Man's Hope — a priceless heritage ; When shall the Elder Lands have done with sorrow — With needless woe, and turn a clearer page ? Why will they strife and fruitless discord borrow, When I am here — here, too, a nobler Age ? " Within my gates might Europe's sons be reaping The produce of mine harvest-bearing fields. This is mine Outlook ! — let the time of weeping. With all the tawdry fame that Carnage yields, Be done with now. And let the world's heart, leaping, Know that the warring Powers have joined their shields ! " This is my hope — to see the sons of Britain, With German kith, whence their forefathers sprung. Turn southward yet : for lo ! my star is litten. And I am waiting — I, elate and young ! When will that lasting bond, O Powers, be written And jubilating Peace's censers swung ? 110 AUSTRALIA " When will mankind know that the Day is break- ing— The Night of war and needless conflict done ? When shall the hearts of men have done with aching, And Arbitration's writ triumphant run ? . . . These are the thoughts that in my breast are waking, And in the breast of each Australian son ! " Here are the Lands that all too long have waited New Commonweals, engirt by land and sea ; A thousand years has ancient Europe hated, And ground her sons in mills of agony : Here are the lands with boundless treasure freighted — O that our kin the better path might see ! " I for myself, my sea-girt self, am speaking. And Canada — my Sister, is she dumb ? On Europe's back the load of War is creaking. And ever rolls the note of warning drum ! South Africa and Maoriland are seeking Strong Pioneers — will Europe bid them come ? " This is mine Outlook ! — clear and law-adjusted, Embracing lands, O Europe, far from me ; AUSTRALIA 111 Know ye what Foes have world-dominion lusted — What dangers loom in mists of tragedy ? When Europe's sword at last has sheath- ward thrusted, Then shall her grip on Empire safer be ! " I am the Land — the Land above all others Where men's ambitions, in their nobler flight, Bid White Men All be linked as mates and brothers — In God's high Name, why should the kinsmen fight ? Why should the grief of myriad wives and mothers Go up to God from Europe's battle-night ? " An end I call to all death-grips and slaughter — Ye Elder Lands, shall Reason call in vain ? Shall blood still flow as flows the mountain-water, When Nations walk the reeking paths of Pain ? Hear ye my Call — for I am Europe's Daughter, And I would be priestess in Reason's fane ! " This land immense, in sheer extent and power — In sleeping strength, that yet shall valiant he ; This is her Song ! I know her Freedom-flower — Her chaliced mouth, whose kiss spells liberty : This is her spirit, this her faith and dower — Shall Europe hear, beyond the circling sea? 112 MY MORNING ROSE MY MORNING ROSE In the morning, when I waken, When the night is grave ward taken. And the dawn hangs on the hill-tops with its pomp of bannered gold ; In the dew-time Comes a true time When my garden sings Hosannah as its perfumed choirs unfold ! In the morning — ah, the splendour Of the sun-rise, flashing slender Bars of light that swing triumphant as the new- born planet glows ; 'Tis no sad time — Ah, the glad time When the dawn comes with the glory of my fragrant morning rose ! From my window, vine-leaf clustered. When the world is newly lustred. And the birds among the tree-tops sing their glad epiphany ; From my place there I can trace there Singing flowers that lift their anthem to a God no man may see ! MY MORNING ROSE 113 And the flower that singeth sweetest Is the rose — ah, bud that greetest God and Life with hymns seraphic whilst the dawn-hft's rapture shows, Thou art splendid ! — Doubt is ended When I hear the song exultant of my peerless morning rose ! Woven sunlight, flower of glory — Red thou art as when the lory Flashes tree-ward to the Bushland where the wild things cageless are ; Passion's flower — Ah, the hour When the buds are lightward breaking, and their fragrant hearts imbar ! Bringest thou one thought regretful To the soul that, once forgetful. Lost the key that opens Heaven — key of joy that ebbs and flows ? Nay, no grieving — Faith is cleaving In the hour that brings the splendour of my radiant morning rose ! Yet and yet, when comes November There's a flower I still remember — 114 MY MORNING ROSE Flower of love that opened gladly in the fragrant years that were ; Time brings sadness — Yet with gladness Still I keep the thoughts unspoken — ah, the heart's own thoughts of her ! Who has loved has lived full measure — Some there are who waste life's treasure, Some who leave life's best behind them — ah, the saddened heart that knows ! Just a woman. Warm and human — And I would dawn brought her kisses with my mouth-red morning rose ! Wasted years of careless rapture Come no more for man to capture — " Come no more ! " My Morning Flower lifteth now no lip to me ; Life is over When the lover Hears the heart that beats within him ring the knell of Days to Be ! Yet and yet . . . the rose's splendour Comes again with fragrance tender, And the earth new-weaves the glories that lay dead at summer's close : MY MORNING ROSE 115 Sin earns sorrow — Shall To-morrow Bring me back my one true woman, bring me back my Morning Rose ? In the morning, shall I waken — For the years have vengeance taken — Shall the dawn upon Life's hilltops hang with pomp of bannered gold ? God, I care not — For I dare not — When my garden breathes Hosannah, and its fragrant choirs unfold ! Truest Heart — she knew the splendour Of the dawn-lift : and I send her Just a song to go before her as a faithful lictor goes ; Let it take her From the Maker Just a breath of morning's glory caught from thee, my Morning Rose ! 116 BALLAD OF JOCK McPHUN BALLAD OF JOCK McPHUN There's a bearded Scot that I know, God wot, and a forthright man is he ; And I think of him when the Hghts grow dim in the lair of Smiff, M.P. For we shipped lang syne where the winches whine on the black Newcastle dyke ; And we met last year by a Hobart pier, and I've got the flaming spike ! By the Ganges stream goes his steel trireme to Shem's old pagan land. While I earn my crust as a Pressman must by the toil of my inky hand. A letter is here, and my heart draws near to the Clyde's warm-fisted son ; And a glass shall clink, though the Smiffs should sink, to the letter of Jock McPhun ! 'Tis a line or two from a Scotchman true — there's a swift-scrawled word to say : " We are carting jute for our monthly loot 'twixt Bristol and Bombay ! Are ye still a scribe for the feckless tribe that wrestle with sport and beer ? BALLAD OF JOCK McPHUN 117 Will ye not come back to the ocean-track — ye were meant for an engineer ! Are ye toiling still in the longshore mill with your slaveling's ink and pen, When ye might be free from the fool M.P., and along with the Glasgie men ? Will ye ne'er return to the sea, and earn your bread as ye should have done ; There's a job that waits — will ye leave your mates, and yakker with Jock McPhun ? " We are steaming south from the Hoogly's mouth when we're done with the flaming jute ; Will ye sit ye down in the j awful town, or toil for a greaser's loot ? Do ye mind lang syne when ye spilt red wine in the cursing Dago's face ; When ye broke the back o' the Dago pack, and littered the bawdy place ? Do ye keep yon curl of the black-eyed girl ye knew by the Plata shore ; Is her ribbon lost that ye used to toast when we drank in the nights of yore ? Do ye not regret ye have left the sweat and the steam where the engines run ? Will ye not admit ye would rather sit Avith the pagan Jock McPhun ? 118 BALLAD OF JOCK McPHUN " Do ye mind the night o' the Cardiff fight — ye were wild and sinful then ; Now ye waste your fist and your iron wrist with traffic of paste and pen ! Ye were born to toil with spanner and oil — to tend to the whirling screws ; Now ye sit and write like a clerkling wight, and dicker with cabled news ! Ye're a hireling slave, and ye're staid and grave as ye toil in your inky den ; Will ye not rise up from your longshore cup, and turn to the trade of men ? Will ye not come back to your heathen Mac — will ye not return, my son ; Ye were born to graft by the gland and shaft — come back to your Jock McPhun ! " And I know, God wot, that the bearded Scot is the man I wish to see ; And I think of him when the light grow dim o'er the blare of Smiff, M.P. ! For we met last year by the Hobart pier — and I wish my fist might strike In the palm of Jock where the winches rock on the black Newcastle dyke ! Shall his tramp-ship steam by the Derwent stream, or lie by the Sydney Quay ? BALLAD OF JOCK McPHUN 119 (Now the Speaker nods) and the piston-rods sing deep in the soul of me ! His letter is here — let him soon draw near ! To the shaggy Glasgie son Lo, a glass shall clink, for I rise and drink to the Comine of Jock INIcPhun ! 120 WHEN THE SHODDY IDOLS GO WHEN THE SHODDY IDOLS GO Truer faith this nation needeth — we shall build the Commonweal When the larger Creed succeedeth and the ancient idols reel ! Man who marches through the ages leaves behind him changing creeds ; From his day's swift-turning pages finer truth and wisdom reads ! For the Past with galling shackle binds the prisoned soul of man, And its priests with cunning tackle, strangle Pro- gress for a span ! But new hymns of adoration in our hearts are breathing low ; And this Land shall be a Nation when the Shoddy Idols go ! We have bowed to idols olden, mumbled creeds of dumb despair ; Swinging censers rich and golden we have climbed the altar stair ! But the Truth that will not slumber, woke our hearts with sudden pain, WHEN THE SHODDY IDOLS GO 121 And our father's joss is lumber that we pass in new disdain ! Man who drags his old gods slowly through the everlasting years, Spurns at last each image holy, and his prayers are changed to jeers ! So our fathers dragged Tradition over seas, and bended low — Fails the last, lone superstition when their Shoddy Idols go ! Thought and Will — these make the Nation, for the courage of the soul Stirs the flesh with jubilation when its faith is strong and whole ! Wherefore we shall doubt no longer — doubt is handmaid unto Death ; Find ye creeds of Truth and stronger, thus the law eternal saith ! And this land is Truthward turning in these new, aspiring days — When the hearts of men are burning, clear the path, unbar the ways ! And they see the newer dawning — signs are these that plainly show That the sepulchre is yawning where the Shoddy Idols go. 122 WHEN THE SHODDY IDOLS GO Stronger faith this land requireth — with the soul as well as steel, With the Trulh that man desireth we shall build the Commonweal ! Man who marches through the ages leaves dead creeds and faiths behind ; And To-morrow's priests and sages will not crucify the ^lind ! For the Past with fetters galling strangled Thought upon her bier, But the sound of idols falling echoes loudly in mine ear ! Hail ! New hymns of jubilation in our hearts now swing and glow ; And this land shall be a Nation when the Shoddy Idols go ! A SONG OF MEN AND WOMEN 123 A SONG OF MEN AND WOMEN Just a song of men and women, very mixed and very human : Some are good and some are wicked, some are drunk and on the spree ; Some are rich and some are beggars, some are cripples — wooden-leggers — But the state of their finances doesn't matter much to me ! 'Tis a motley crowd that passes ; some are wise and some are asses. Some are thieves and some are bishops ; some abhor the name of Beer ; Some are proud and some are humble, some were born to whine and grumble — All the same, they're Men and Women, and I lift their anthem here ! What is sin, and who are sinners ? Give us all six-shilling dinners, Give us motors and we're moral — yea, the bishops will not frown ; It is righteous to be wealthy, but 'tis sinful to be healthy. 124 A SONG OF MEN AND WOMEN And the saddest kind of sinner is the man without a " brown." As for woman, sister woman, she, alas ! is all too human, And her sins are coloured scarlet, and are dreadful as can be ; Yet the harridan that curses and the dames with golden purses Have a likeness, now and always, which indeed impresses me. And the longer I am living finds me more and more forgiving — I forgive mine ov>'n offences with the sins of other men ; Why be nasty, sour and snappy ? Even kings are sometimes happy, And I'm pleased when shovelling language with a large, persistent pen ! Sin infests the empty pocket ; life's a kind of whizzing rocket — Some may slump and some may fizzle, others soar across the sky ; Why be cross with one for failing, when the other's star-ward sailing ? Blame the erring Powder-mixer ; do not ask the rocket Why ? A SONG OF MEN AND WOMEN 125 God, who loads each human rocket, fits the stick unto the soclcet — Skilled is He in pyrotechnics, so the worthy bishops say; And the statesman, proudly soaring, whilst the drunk is loudly snoring, Thinks himself no common fire-work, as he whizzes on his way ; Yet the drunk who's damped his powder might have been a rocket prouder — Might have whizzed yards nearer Heaven, knocking fragments off the stars ; As it is, he claws the pewter — God, the Master Rocket-shooter, Hath appointed him to fizzle, so he slumps through many bars ! Hence it is that man must suffer, while we spurn him as a duffer ; We would all be sucking Caesars, were we shaped that special way ; And each wrangling sect or schism simply loads its precious 'ism With the tons of perished figments in Creation's rubbish-dray ! Critics snarl and parsons wrangle, Kate is pleased with brooch or bangle, 126 A SONG OF MEN AND WOMEN Beer for Bill and port for baron, so the world of humans goes ; Groan no more, O frail repenter — God's the Chief Experimenter, And the Hand that paints the sunset also paints the drunkard's nose ! Here's a song of men and women — very mixed, this song, and human, But in moments philoso})hic this is how things seem to me ; God, who makes the rich and beggars, also shapes the wooden-leggers. And the Hand that builds the bishop sets the dnmk upon the spree ! So this motley crowd that passes, with its tangled creeds and classes, Seems to me a thing of wonder, as I lift my vesper Beer ; You are proud and I am humble, motors hoot and hearses rumble — All the same, weWe Men and Women, and Fm mighty glad weWe Here ! KIDS 127 KIDS Hi, there, Tommy, get your rifle ! Yes, we know you're small a trifle, But you've got to leave your marbles, and must learn to hump a gun. Whilst your Dad is at the races, backing " stiff- ened " mokes for places. You must learn to be a soldier — Shoulder arms ! Step lively ! 'Shun ! Brother Bill is playing cricket ; whilst he's busy at the wicket, Whilst he's fooling round in flannels, you must learn to be a Man ; You're Australia's sole defender, though you're weak and mighty tender. You must hump Australia's burden — that's this nation's splendid plan ! Uncle Jim is pigeon-shooting, brother Jack is football-rooting — Hear the cheering and the jeering, whilst you learn your bit of drill. There's a row that calls for hoeing ; whilst the " half-time " beers are flowing. 128 KIDS You are " forming fours " and marching — hear the umpire's whistle shrill ! Brother Bill is bravely batting, making runs along the matting ; Dad is cursing mokes and bookies, tearing tickets as he goes ; Whilst the slaughtered pigeons flutter o'er the jerking trap and shutter — You alone are getting ready for To-morrow's certain foes ! Bill the mighty. Bill the hero, seems to me to slump to zero — You're the only Man Who Matters, though you're very small and young ; In these days when peace grows brittle, march the soldiers extra-little — And I reckon brother William might as well be drow^ned or hung ! Uncle Jim the pigeon-shooter, brother Jack the football-rooter — They're a pair of service-dodgers, ne'er a drill prescribed for them ; Also, Dad, the pony-backer, he's a useless sort of slacker. You're the only White Australian on the nation's job 'pro tern. ! KIDS 129 All the rest are dodging service ; very strong to me their nerve is — " Sports " are they, whose frenzied worship hath no sacramental frill ; Horse and football, dog and cricket — yea, their altar is the wicket. And a special sort of halo floats above the sainted Bill! Whilst the manhood of the nation yells its wrath or approbation. Whilst the umpire streaks for shelter, only Tommy humps his gun ; Bill and Jack have got no rifles, can't be bothered with such trifles — So the school-kid serves Australia whilst the sands eternal run ! Yea, the cheerful kid goes tramping whilst the football herds are stamping — He is marching back and forwards whilst his elder brethren play ; Whilst the kid is marching slicker. Uncle James, the pigeon-sticker, Murders poultry like a Christian every blessed Saturday ! Dad likewise pursues the ponies — very sad his vesper groan is, ISO KIDS " Never backed a blasted winner," and his cash supports the Yids ; Whilst the football fools are braying, seems to me Australia's saying : " Since my manliood's cheap and worthless, I tnust put my trust in kids ! " THE BUCCANEERS 131 THE BUCCANEERS The hansoms slur through the London mud, and the Bank of England leers Like a fat old thief where their hoof-beats thud — all hail to the Buccaneers ! A thunder of waves goes swirling aft, and the punkah swings at noon ; For a man shall live by his fighting-craft — not feed from a nurse's spoon ! And the world cries out for the fighting-men, for the pirates stout and lean ; Lo, the w^eaklings toil with a clerkly pen, dumb cogs in the great machine ! But the pirates sail for the distant lands, and the liner swings and veers ; Yea, a man shall win with his brains and hands — all hail to the Buccaneers ! I heard the chime of the temple-bells, and a cable came at noon, And I heard the distant broker's yells in London from old Rangoon. The " wireless " splutters from ship to ship, with a message of stocks and shares. And the pirate fights with a tightened lip in the battle of bulls and bears ! 132 THE BUCCANEERS His orders flash for a thousand miles, and a war- shout fierce and strange Goes forth o' nights through the star-filled aisles to the lords of the Stock Exchange ! For woman may call but men must dare, so the forthright viking steers ; And the cable croons in its ocean-lair, " All hail to the Buccaneers ! " There are code-books thumbed in old Bombay, and the price of copper and tin Is conned with care where the punkahs sway and the grey shark shows his fin. Slim cables slipping from sea to sea, long ships with their lights aglow ; And the Morse must chatter with rattling key when the pirates whisper low ! For wealth means women— and woman and wine are part of a man's desire ; So the pirate stands to the firing-line with the earth in his fighting-hire ! The patient drones in the London hive loaf through the dull brown years, But they loudly sing who plot and strive — All hail to the Buccaneers ! The bells may summon to evening prayer, but there's death in the priest's refrain ; THE BUCCANEERS 133 And we bow in desert and city square to the ancient Gods of Gain ! The clamouring wheels that claw the track breathe an anthem fierce and new ; And the pirate's bags are swift to pack when the call comes whistling through ! Yea, Solomon's ships from olden Tyre bore spoils for the kingly feast ; And a man still thrills with the same desire, and he ravages West and East ! 'Tis a thieving world, where a Man must live no matter who doubts or fears ; And this is the song that the ages give — All hail to the Buccaneers ! 134 BUTTON'S GRAVE DUTTON'S GRAVE A whaling-station was established at Portland, Vic- toria, by Captain William Button, in 1828, years before either the Hentys or John Pascoe Fawkner crossed over from Tasmania. Button was the first native-born Australian to navigate a vessel from this country to the Thames, His grave lies neglected at Narrawong, on the shores of Portland Bay. Who sings of Brake and Bevon, of battle-drums of Spain ; Of ships they sank in warfare upon the Spanish Main ? Well-woven are their ballads of Captains Gone Below — The strong corsairs of England, who sailed from Plymouth Hoe ! Proud-chanted songs of Raleigh, whose cloak the Virgin Queen Trod underfoot in ancient days when swords had edge and sheen ! In songs right-brave and royal Brake's blades and banners wave ; Where is Our Hero's anthems — the Psalm of But- ton's Grave ? BUTTON'S GRAVE 135 For Drake wreathe bays and laurel — yea, all the pirate crew Who followed Drake For England's sake Through all the storms that blew ! Give unto all his Captains their meed of singers' praise, Who chased the Don In years agone By all the western cays ! Be proud of these O Britain, if still thy strength remain — Thou owest them Thy diadem Upon the Spanish Main ! Here also rings an anthem — one storm-song of the brave ; Caught from the surge On ocean's verge, It booms o'er Dutton's Grave ! We have our Captains, England — sails of the native-born Topped rolling seas when towards the Thames they cleared the frozen Horn. We have our Sons Courageous — thy last sea buccaneer 136 BUTTON'S GRAVE Perchance may come from 'neath the Cross when ships for action clear ! When drums of Drake no longer have power to stir thy heart, Perchance this Land's armadas shall guard thy ocean-mart ! Drake sank with flashing sword-edge, last pillowed 'neath the wave ; I hear the croon of cordage o'er this storm-hallowed grave ! He sleeps beside the Harbour — our Sea-Gate of the South ; This pioneer Who was a seer. And spake with bearded mouth ! He said : " Let men come after — my whaling days are done ; Yet shall this Bay Hold seaward sway, And hear the nooning gun ! Then shall its ships go bravely " — Alas ! few think of thee. Who found this gate In '28— Thou sleeper by the Sea ! BUTTON'S GRAVE 137 From far Antarctic spaces, winds raking cliff and cave, By ocean's hem Sing requiem O'er Captain Button's Grave ! These are the years, O England, when prudent Commerce steers ; Thine Empire's given over to fat land-buccaneers ! The Brave Man rules no longer — the Brakes and Buttons all Must yield their dreams of glory when sceptred traders call ! Strange are thine Empire's masters — in Britain and the South, Greed's talons long and hungry have stopped the statesman's mouth ! Thou hadst thy Sons Courageous — behold ! in last conclave Thine hucksters sit triumphant, and mock the hero's grave ! Yet . . . Songs of Drake and Devon, of battle drums of Spain ; Of ships that sank. In battle-rank May stir thy soul again ! 138 BUTTON'S GRAVE So weave thrice- splendid ballads of Captains Gone Below — The old corsairs Whose ocean-lairs Lie far from Plymouth Hoe ! Then chant good songs of Raleigh, and of the Virgin Queen ; Brave men long mute — They won the loot. Their swords were long and keen ! In songs thrice brave and royal, let Drake^s red banners wave ; Here in this Land Some understand, The tale of Button's Grave ! THE TOWN OF GOD-FORGOTTEN 139 THE TOWN OF GOD-FORGOTTEN There's a town I know that slumbers in a sort of dumb despair, Where the Chow who grows cucumbers cries " Whaffor ? " within his lair ! For the Christian and the heathen hear the Door of Progress slam, Whilst in cities large and seethin' no one cares a single damn ! In that hamlet things are lifeless, and no mills and foundries roar In that village calm and strifeless, which in sleep exclaims " Whaffor ? " 'Tis the town of God-forgotten, Where all things are slumber-sotten. And the jackass on the gable seems to groan the word " Whaffor ? " There's a town out west where farmers curse the uselessness of farms ; Where the mortgage leaps and clamours and the interest-bill alarms ; There the people, tired and scopeless, seem to wait the Judgment Day — 140 THE TOWN OF GOD-FORGOTTEN They are jaded, sad and hopeless, so they drift the time away ! There they do not drain the flagon, for the pub is tired as well ; And the wheat rots on the wagon, and all things resemble Hell ! 'Tis the town of No-One-Knows-It, Where no hearty voice says " Prosit ! " Where the landscape quakes in mirage, and all things resemble Hell ! There's a town out there where Sunday seems the ghost of Saturday, And where Thursday looks like Monday, and all earthly things decay ! 'Tis a place where weary Woman cooks the meals for shabby Man — Yea, a place accurst, inhuman, and it lives beneath a ban. There the children sit reflective, tired, and vimless on the floor ; And the earth with voice collective seems to ask the stars " Whaffor ? " That's the town of God-forgotten, Where the heart of things is rotten. And the universal spirit seems to shout aloud " Whaffor ? " THE TOWN OF GOD-FORGOTTEN 141 There's a town where nothing alters, where the world looks dull and mean — Where the Younger Manhood falters as it dreams of Might-Have-Been ! There the girls each year grow older, but the mar- riage-trade is done ; And the church roofs sag and moulder, and there is not any fun ! One by one the young men, drifting, leave that broken town behind — 'Tis the Younger Manhood shifting with a vexed, uneasy mind ! From the town of Given-Over Drifts the hopeless, jobless lover. And the devil Disappointment stokes Gehenna in his mind ! There's a town that groans and ponders as it leans beside the plough — " Jones and Smith both promised wonders, but will Smith Do Something now ? " Thus the elders sadly question, but no answer echoes there ; or the Party of Congestion holds its member by the hair ! Jones and Smith in dull succession walk the legisla,- tive floor — r. 142 THE TOWN OF GOD FORGOTTEN Yea, they maunder through each session whilst electors groan " Whaffor ? " In the town of God-forgotten, Jones and Smith seem sloth-besotten. And the man behind the wheat stack asks his perished grain " Whaffor ? " There's a town where Death is weary, where the tombstones seldom rise — And the undertakers query, " Tell to us why no one dies ? " There the hearse begins to crumble, and the plumes droop in despair ; Whilst the coffin-makers grumble and accuse the healthy air ! *' Somethin's wrong," they groan together — which, indeed, is very true ; But the blame is tied a-tether with the Great Con- gestion Crew ! 'Tis the distant Traffic-Fakir Who destroys the coffin-maker — All are tied in dreary bondage to the Great Conges- tion Crew ! There's a town — ah, well, it slumbers by its wheat stacks in despair ; And the Chow who vends cucumbers yells " Whaf- for ? " each summer there ! THE TOWN OF GOD-FORGOTTEN 143 Nothing moves and nothing matters — Sydney's deaf and far away ; So the population scatters, and the pleasant girls grow grey ! In that village Love seems worthless, and each woman at her door Hears the landscape's echo mirthless to her heart's refrain : " Whaffor ? " Joyless town of God-forgotten — What a crime is here begotten. When the women's hearts are broken, and their dead hopes cry " Wha^or ? " 144 PORTLAND BAY (VICTORIA) PORTLAND BAY (VICTORIA) " Has any man beheld, by cliff or coast, The Ships of My Desire — their pennons streaming ? Here at mine Open Gate I dwell alone, and wait — Where is Prosperity ? — long dead and lost — In vain I pray for statesmen and redeeming ! " I hear the Harbour sighing for the Ships That Never Come — The ships that pass her by with smoke-wreaths traihng ; Sings the Seaport so to me, And the protest of the sea Thunders loudly, but none heareth — all the hearts of men are numb, And . . . Portland Bay is shipless and her yearn- ings unavailing ! Her waters wait for Commerce in the South — Her mile-long piers, that call in vain for Argos ; The people dream and die. For sail and steam go by — Greed, alas ! and ancient Cunning — they have stopped the Statesman's mouth. And a SingleSeaport swallows ships and cargoes ! PORTLAND BAY (VICTORIA) 145 ONE over-crowded City, where Too Many People dwell — One octopus that battens on its plunder ; Crowded piers and water-way — Silent, shipless Portland Bay, O Lord, will ne'er a Statesman ring the Vampire City's knell, And wake the Nation's soul ere All Goes Under ? The Lighthouse flashes lonely o'er the sea — Strange rays, that gleam in vain and surely wasted ; The passing of the years. And the rotting of the piers — Lord, are men crazed, and under ban of Thee ? — What does this Sea-Lamp here — what madman's jest has placed it ? For the shipless Harbour slumbers, and its piers exist in vain — Thrice-damned is Portland Bay by " states- men's " orders ; Who will avenge the crime ? — Swift comes the Voting-Time, Pass, " statesmen " all, with scurvy gods of Gain — This Land, in place of ye, needs more Asylum- Warders ! 146 PORTLAND BAY (VICTORIA) " lias any man beheld a madder host — Are These the Land's Desire, their jawbones wav- ing ? A crazed Asylum-Team, So ... I slumber here, and dream — My Ocean Gate is Empty, and the ancient ghost Of Vanished Trade is stalking 'midst their Rav- ing ! " Who hears the Sea-Gate's Question ? — for the Ships of Her Desire Still pass far-off, with smoke-wreaths trailing ; From the howling M.L.A. This is certain — Portland Bay Calls for Justice, but that brain-disordered choir Still continues wrecking seaports — Prayers Like Hers Are Naught Availing ! THE WESTERN ROAD 147 THE WESTERN ROAD There's a Road goes west o' Sydney, o'er the rugged mountain-tiers ; But the Nation is not marching — Progress stands by Sydney's piers ! For Her feet are chained and shackled, and She looks with yearning eyes Towards the Road that stretches westward, where Australia's future lies ! Progress waits in ancient shackles — They have tied Her there with tackles, While the Western Road is calling, Progress beats Her breast and sighs ! There's another Road that stretches from a City by the sea ; But I hear that Nation marching — Progress there is fair and free ! Though Her eager feet were fettered for a hundred galling years, Progress gained at last Her freedom, and She crossed the mountain-tiers ! Progress passed the Hudson River — Now the steel-mills clang and quiver, While that Western Road is roaring with the freight that seeks the piers ! 148 THE WESTERN ROAD When that Road led west of Harlem, west o' Broad- way and the quays, Lo, the thund'ring mills of Pittsburg flung their challenge over-seas ! Progress, freed from olden bondage, towards the future led the way ; And the Men Who Followed After built the mighty U.S.A. They were Makers, Nation-Makers — They were strong tradition-breakers, And the Road they built from Harlem ends at San Francisco Bay I There's a Road goes west o' Sydney, but our by- gone, shameless seers Bade this Nation cease from marching, chaining Progress by the piers ! So . . . it's time we broke Her fetters — ancient fetters that corrode It is time we paid the gaolers the blood-debt we long have owed. For Her eyes are westward yearning — It is time for fetich-spurning. And the Nation's freights should thunder on Aus- tralia's Western Road ! BALLAD OF EXILE 149 BALLAD OF EXILE God's flag's unfurled ! His banner of the stars Hangs down the shining, wind-swept vault of ever- lasting Heaven ; And here, shut in as by a prison's bars, My heart becomes a singing loom for thoughts of thee to weave in ! O little one, whose rose-red trembling mouth Breathes kisses sweet across the leagues that lie so grim between us ; It weaves for thee — far in the distant south — Thoughts like the thoughts of lonely Mars when reft of his dear Venus ! That goddess fair, born of the silver foam, Had eyes like thine — lit with the rays of love's star- blazing splendour ; And, like a ceaseless, swinging metronome. My heart athwart the measured miles throbs forth its homage tender ! My far-off love ! from some Cythera's isle Thou art in these new Pagan days like young Astarte risen ; And all the gods, to win thy blessed smile, Would leave their proud Olympic home to make thine arms their prison ! 150 BALLAD OF EXILE To know thine amorous arms and close-pressed lips — To know thy deep, fire-pulsing love and all its nameless glory ; Were cause enough to launch the fighting ships, And light a blood-red battle-flame on each sea promontory ! Some call them fools — who fought for ancient Troy- But I, who know thine honeyed kiss — I know far better ; To spend with thee one hour of fervent joy Were worth all else — worth death's eclipse and pain's Promethean fetter ! We who have swooned with love's most sweet excess — Whose hearts have heard the singing stars lift up their chant elysian ; We know why Troy was sacked — yea, I confess I'd fight the leaguered world for thee, my goddess neo-Grecian ! My life I'd give — a thing of little worth — To win you back, O star-eyed love, were you from me thief-taken ; Red war I'd wage against the blazing earth — For hearts run o'er with bitterness when lips are lip-forsaken ! BALLAD OF EXILE 151 Remember, love, the dear undying days — The days when heart cried out to heart and soul on soul lay beating ; These are the things that set the Troys ablaze — That lift on high the gleaming blades and set the steel flesh-eating ! Oh, woman's love ! Oh, strange and mystic spell, What fighting thoughts thou stirrest up — red flame each brain-cell flashes ; O bond electric, Time's strong manacle — When thou art broken, hope decays and life's but grief and ashes ! In exile here and far, O love, from thee — Far from the breast whereon my head in days of yore found haven ; I breathe a prayer, a strong man's litany — No moan of pale, ascetic priest with cowled fore- head shaven ; It is the song of fierce, tempestuous love — Of hope and fear that shake my soul as with the storm's dread thunder ; Hear it, ye stars that shine like eyes above — Are all her heart's dear thoughts of me ? Ah, gods of mine, I wonder ! 152 BALLAD OF EXILE For we were born to fare forth hand in hand — Were born, O love, to walk through life and on to death together ; Unlike that long-dead Venus — fickle, bland — Thou art not swayed as sways the wind the light, inconstant feather ! Safe in thy soul I know I have my place — I know that for thine exile's kiss thy heart, dear one, is lonely ; Oh, but to see thy lovely, tear-wet face, Ak here beneath the stars I stand and swear I love You Only ! WALKERS ! 153 WALKERS ! Walkers Limited, of Maryborough, completed one desirable century, the other day, when it turned out its hundredth locomotive made for the Bananaland (Jovernment. This is a ballad of Walkers, fashioned with much applause — While the land was burdened with Talkers, work- ing their facile jaws ; Weeping at loss of their nigger ; crying to south and north, Walkers, with skill and vigour, were sending their engines forth ! While Kidston and Philp were sounding tocsins of wrath and war, Walkers were busy pounding the steel by the furnace door. Smiting with strong steam-hammers, toiling with lathe and drill — Walkers, amidst the clamours, stuck to their busi- ness still Boring the cylinders truly, forging the throws and shafts — Hail, says the Creed raised newly — hail to the hand that grafts ! 154 WALKERS ! Shaping the drawbars squarely, turning the pistons true ; Seating the shde-valves fairly — labour of brain and tlicw ! Engine and linked tender, taking the tracks with ease ; Hail to the hands that render services such as these ! Hail to the smith and draftsman, raising the engines tall ; Cheers for the faithful craftsman — cheers for the workers all ! Rivet and chuck and spanner — iron and brass and ' steel ; These are the White Man's banner, flag of the Commonweal ! Planer and vice and hammer, anvil and flaming forge — These with their strength a-clamour have levelled the mountain-gorge ! Binding the lands together, fastening North to South ; Dragging with steel-strong tether food for the workers' mouth ! Helping Australia forward — yea, in the blood-red day, Aiding the Nation w^ar-ward, paving the Nation's way ! WALKERS ! 155 This, then, a ballad of Walkers, I for Australia sing; Not of the countless Talkers flapping a ceaseless wing A psalm for the craftsmen loyal, launching the engines true — A chant for the breed right-royal, for the name- less foundry crew ! Simply an anthem votive, merely a Mateship's call ; Hail to the Locomotive — Hail to the Builders All! Riveters, hammerers, caulkers — workers of each degree — I sing you this ballad of Walkers — a song in a major key. 156 HOME I HOME ! There's a New Land — 'tis a true Land, Home we raise with axe and harrow, Fields we ])lough witli sliining coulters and with mold-boards thrusting free : Reaping harvests, rich and golden, by the strength of spinal marrow — Few the eyes that turn regretful towards the Old Lands over-sea ! Dread dominions, whence our fathers fled in years of bitter sorrow — Now we labour for tiie Future, and by forge and furnace-glow Men shall know that We are striving for the Har- vests of To-morrow — Home is here, and wisdom bids us let the old Delusions go ! There's a Lone Land — 'tis our own Land, hear it calling for our service. While the clang of mill and dockyard thunders loud from over-sea ; Are ye working ? Are ye helping ? — Combat- thrilled each vibrant nerve is : Are ye fighting for Australia with the axe-blade swinging free ? HOME ! 157 'Tis a Land that calls for Builders — ye may serve in Toil's apparel, And the Man Behind the Anvil beats as well the Nation's drum ; Yea, the Hand that Drives the Furrow also grips the rifle-barrel, And prepares a Home Worth Having for the Children Yet to Come ! There's a White Land — 'tis a bright Land, filled with light and glowing shadow — Land of gladness. Land of glory, turning ship- wise to the sea ; Home of all that lifts and lightens — 'tis the White Man's El Dorado, Where the withes of vain tradition break and leave a people free ! Morn and noon and gleaming sunset — times are these, methinks, for prayer — Prayers all-thankful for the guerdon of our price- less Commonweal ; Work is worship, life means labour — turning backs upon Despair, Swing the axe and drive the furrow, gripping hard the stubborn steel ! There's a Vast Land — hold it fast, Land, hold it firm for Those who Follow, 158 HOME ! For the Children — aye, Our Children and the Better Days to Come ; In the days when belts are tightened, when the cheeks of men grow hollow, Every heart shall throb an echo to the Nation's battle-drum ! Every axe-stroke helps to hold it, every anvil, every hammer — For the Home-Land of the Children, give the best of brain and thew ; Lord^ I hear the clearest anthem where Australia's forges clamour. And the anvils preach zvith vigour Creeds of Work for Me and You ! THE VOICE OF GOD 159 THE VOICE OF GOD There is a Master- Voice I hear Upon the everlasting hills ; A thunder-cry which rocks the sphere, And shakes the stars on Heaven's sills ! It is the voice of mighty God, Commanding Space and ruling Time ; Reverberating from the sod In stellar tones and chords sublime. Whene'er I falter in my tread, I hear a mighty battle-hymn ; God's guiding Voice rings overhead Like some war-trumpet rolling grim ! It is His Voice which strengthens me, As with the strength of rampart-hills ; And I march on to victory With twice ten thousand Caesar-wills. God's Master- Voice commands my soul — It bids me lift the standard high. That men may seek a nobler goal, And spurn the pleasures of the sty. It bids me grip Australia's sword. And be Her champion for aye ; That she perchance may call me Lord — And lift Her mouth to mine One Day ! 160 THE VOICE OF GOD As when the circling, satrap stars Revolve about their central sun, So I would be a blazing Mars, Round whom the lesser souls should run. Not from the source of vain desire I draw that ever-burning thought ; But that my flood of quenchless fire Should bid them blaze as planets ought ! The Master- Voice proceeds from One Who is the solar archetype ; From those strong Hands the worlds are spun — He sears the gloom with lightning-stripe ! And round that Spirit meteors roll — The matchless stars of History ; The vassals of the Over-Soul Which rules for all Eternity ! The central soul of God illumes The mysteries of life and death ; The process of the marching dooms Is but the deep, throne-stirring breath Of that unguessed Infinitude Which stretches through unchartered space, Toward that sphere-set latitude Where God reveals His shining face ! THE VOICE OF GOD 161 And I proclaim the Over-God, Who bids the world march bravely on ; Who notes the way the Christs have trod Beyond the priests' vain horizon ! I hear His Voice — I know 'tis He Who grips the universe, and steers This cargo of humanity Across the trackless sea of years ! I am His Prophet — sent before To bid mankind replace their trust In Him who wages endless war Against the ranks of the Unjust ! It is His Master- Voice I hear Upon these everlasting hills ; Hear ye God's cry of faith and cheer — And March Ye On with steadfast Wills ! M 162 THE OLD COLONIAL DAYS THE OLD COLONIAL DAYS The greatest change which Federation is bringing about in the character of AustraUan poHtics is that, while in the old colonial days the people of each State lived almost wholly in the present, and rarely looked beyond their borders except to negotiate a loan, re- presentatives and voters alike are now becoming conscious of the fact that the country is responsible for its actions before the world. — London Times, on " AustraUan Ideals,'" November 20, 1908. They are dead, those days of drifting — Proud this Nation's eyes are lifting, They are fixed upon the future, on a goal that shines afar. Gone the days of spendthrift madness, Dead the days of sloth and badness — We have hitched Australia's wagon to a new, bright-blazing star ! With an everlasting tether Lo ! we've tied these States together — We have turned our backs on Cohen and the old, loan-cadging ways ; For a People white and leal We have found a New Ideal — Hear Australia's great heart singing : " Damn the Old Colonial Days ! " THE OLD COLONIAL DAYS 168 Days for us of bitter sorrow — Days when " Statesman " meant " I borrow " — But we've raised a New Religion on this land's loan-blasted shore ; From Cape York unto the Leeuwin We have shed the creed of ruin — We have sworn to save Australia, and our days of doubt are o'er ; We, the Younger Generation, Fling our curse and execration At the breed that pawned our birthright — 'tis a breed that fast decays ; We, the Younger Set, are grafting, Hear the roar of forge and shafting — 'Tis the requiem of dead Folly — of the Old Colonial Days ! Gracious land, wax strong and stronger ! See ! thy children slouch no longer, Hear their anvils, how they clamour — hammering hymns of destiny ; Hearts of gold, all done with shirking — For this land's dear sake all working — Soon our ships in line of battle shall patrol the southern sea ! Conscious now, we toil all eager — Thus the Ape shall lift his leaguer 164 THE OLD COLONIAL DAYS When Australia's roaring cannon thunder past our capes and bays ; As the Greeks rolled back Hydarnes, Lo, this breed in fighting harness Shall blot out at last the badness of the Old Colonial Days ! We, the scribes who cursed the shirkers, Long have called for strong Berserkers — Lo, at last ye stir, O workers, and our hearts beat high with glee ; Long the years of fierce beseeching — Harsh our voices, battle-preaching — But at last Australia hearkens, mills a-chant with industry ! Blot them out, the old State borders — Fast they die, the fool-disorders — Aye, the old tradition passes ; hopelessly each Wade now brays ; We, One People, stand together — We, who tied these States a-tether. Rattle clods upon the coffin of the Old Colonial Days I They have passed — their Credo scorning, Lo, we face towards the morning — Face the work that lies before us, slogging on with giant wills ; We have slain the gods of shoddy — Pledging soul and pledging body. THE OLD COLONIAL DAYS 165 Now we graft to shift the wreckage of their I O U's and bills ! Living only in the present, Life for them was very pleasant — We, their offspring, load our dollars in King Cohen's shekel drays ; But the task is worth the trouble — Up ! Australians, at the double : Let us settle all the loan-bills of the Old Colonial Days ! For they're dead, those Days of Drifting, Bid their old P.N.'s need shifting — Let us toil then for the future, for the goal that shines afar. Past the days of sweat and sadness Lie the years of lasting gladness — Let us haul Australia's wagon towards the new bright- blazing star ; With a will that knows no breaking, We have started Nation-making — We have turned our backs on folly and the bad old drunken ways ; For a people white and leal We have raised a new ideal — And we sing a newer chorus : " Hail the New Australian Days ! " 166 A VISIT FROM THE ZOO A VISIT FROM THE ZOO The Parliamentary visit to the Zoological Gardens has been postponed. — News item. The elephant said gloomily, " What are we coming to? A plague of coves in Parliament is threatening the Zoo! For years we've been respectable — I think we're falling low When disrespected Fusionists invade our decent show ! Why should these noisy animals come here to look at me ? I think we're all superior to Wilks and Smith, M.P. ! I vote that we investigate. Let's plainly see who's who " The tiger roared : "I advocate a visit from the Zoo ! " " I think your scheme is excellent," the Polar bear replied ; We're all agreed — unanimous," the lion promptly cried ; Let's go and look at Parliament before it looks at us" •i TX7„' A VISIT FROM THE ZOO 167 " That's right ! " observed the apteryx and solemn platypus. The leopard yawned, and lazily he said : "I think we'll go. My dear," he purred to Mrs. L., " let's see this talk- ing show ! " " I'll lead the way," said cheerfully the cynic kangaroo. " Line up, you blokes — we're starting on a visit from the Zoo ! " And so the gloomy elephant lined up beside the bear ; And all the apes and monkey folk likewise assem- bled there ! The tall giraffe disdainfully stepped out beside the gnu— The lynx lamenting tearfully, " He'll spoil the blessed view ! " *' Shut up ! " replied the antelope. " I'm sure you'll see it all ; It ain't his fault he's angular and very lean and tall ! " " Keep quiet there, you blatherskites ! " exclaimed the angry 'roo, " Or else the cops will spiflicate this visit from the Zoo ! " 168 A VISIT FROM THE ZOO 'Twas thus the folks zoological stepped softly side by side, Until the doors of Parliament they saw before them wide ! The bobby at the orifice fell down and took a fit. The elephant said gloomily, " He isn't hurt a bit. We're here, young man, as visitors, to see the talking-show ; We're peaceful and respectable — direct us where to go!" " Amen ! Just stir and shift yourself," observed the kangaroo ; *' This way," the pale attendant said, " Er — Per- sons from the Zoo ! " Within the House a hurricane of jaw was raging loud ; So, unobserved, the visitors sat down — a peaceful crowd ! The elephant, astonished, said, " There is a pal of mine ! " " Shut up," the 'roo said, solemnly ; " that's only old Bill Lyne ! " " What is that substance circular ? " the tiger whispered low ; " That's Reid," replied the platypus ; " I know him —old Yes-No ! " A VISIT FROM THE ZOO 169 " Ah, yes," the lynx said, plaintively, " he had a Tiger, too." " That Tiger's burst," the leopard said ; " he's left this blooming Zoo ! " The elephant said, wearily : " Who's that who snarls so loud ? " " It's Joseph Cook," replied the 'roo ; " he runs the Fusion crowd ! " " And who's the noble orator who talks so large and fine ? " " That's Deakin," said the kangaroo, " the man without a spine ! " " Gee- whiz ! " exclaimed the blue-tailed ape, " a miracle is he ; I guess it's out along with us that fellow ought to be!" " Remember ! We're respectable," protested then the gnu ; " We want no Deakins raising dust around our decent Zoo." " There's something here," the tiger said, " that rather puzzles me ; It's like a monstrous icicle that looms porten- tously," " That's Iceberg Irvine, don't you know ? " the kangaroo replied ; 170 A VISIT FROM THE ZOO " Observe that sad catastrophe upon the other side ! 'Tis Mister Johnson — fearsomely his tongue is prone to wag ; A most perfervid waver of the blessed Hempire flag ! " " I've heard of him," the tiger said. " Now, bhmey, tell us w'ho Has captured all these quadrupeds that rage within this Zoo ? " The elephant said gloomily, " I think we've had enough : Our Zoo contains no quadrupeds with hides one half as tough " ; " The noise they make is horrible," the lion sadly moaned ; The Polar bear said, dismally, " I vote they be dis- owned ; We cannot have such animals out there disturbing us." " However do they catch such things ? " inquired the platypus. " They snare them with the ballot box," replied the kangaroo. " Look out ! " exclaimed the pelican, " let's leave this turbid Zoo ! " A VISIT FROM THE ZOO 171 The elephant rose hastily and hustled for the door ; For lo ! the anguished Hansard man had fainted on the floor ! " He's overworked," the tiger said. " Hi ! let's get out of this ; I do not like these biped folk who howl and jump and hiss ! " " The fat man makes me weary," so the humped- up camel cried ; And then the thoughtful visitors arose and cleared outside ! " What is your verdict, gentlemen ? " inquired the kangaroo. " Get home,^^ all hands said fearfully — " get home and lock the Zoo ! " 172 SHELL SHELL ! Broome, the centre of the Westralian pearhng in- dustry, is booming. Shell is higher than for years past, and the market is steady. Pearls are in good demand. . . . There are now over a couple of hun- dred whites in the business, either as full or part owners of vessels, and as many more are engaged as shell-openers. Japs and Malays still do the mono- tonous work of pumping air to the men on the ocean bed. Nor'ward the pearlers are faring, white man and Monkey, Malay ; Who in Australia is caring ? Shell's quoted higher to-day ! Shell from the sea-depths for beauty, gems for the breast of a queen ; Shell that shall call us to duty — gun-muzzles savage and lean ! Japs and Malays for the diving, doing monotony's chores — Who for the toiling and striving ? Bolting and barring of doors ? Who for the Nation Australian ? Answer ye, Sydney and Broome ; White man or patient-eyed alien ? — These are the questions of Doom ! SHELL ! 173 Pearls at the opera flashing, shell that the diver hath won ; Shell from the cannon's mouth smashing — which shall ye value anon ? Luggers that steer in the morning, seeking the treasures below ; Ships that shall vomit their scorning — which shall ye sigh for in woe ? Wyndham, Carnarvon and Hedland — they reek of the Chow and the Jap ; Ye who shall mourn for a dead land, what of the treasures of " scrap " ? Iron's more precious than shell is, steel than the wonders of Broome ; Sounded already your knell is — Hark to the pre- sage of Doom ! White men nor'-westerly pearling, luggers a-rock on the swell ; Missiles in battle-wrath hurling — hail to the Finders of Shell ! Gates of a Continent nor'ward, all of them free and unbarred ; Powers veering rapidly war-ward — who shall be saviour and guard ? Pearls for the mistress and siren, Delilahs that render us weak ; Jewels of steel and of iron — these let us hastily seek ! 174 SHELL 1 Battleships, armies and rifles — answer ye, Mel- bourne and Broome, Why are ye busied -with trifles ? — Hark to the hammers of Doom ! Broome in the Nor'land is booming, shell they are raising in tons ; Nor'ward the cloud-wreaths are looming — what of the booming of guns ? Pearls (and their price mounting higher) won by the Jap and Malay ; Baubles of woman's desire — 'ware lest ye heavily pay! Shell that shall blindingly shatter, ships that shall fling from the seas Gems of the arsenal's matter — precious, how precious are these ? Patient, how patient the Alien, toiling at Derby and Broome ! Hail to the jewels Australian ! — Jewels of Folly and Doom ! I HEAR AUSTRALIA SINGING 175 I HEAR AUSTRALIA SINGING I HEAR Australia singing — hear her voice at night and morning ; Have ye heard it, O my brothers, sounding clear and glad and free ? 'Tis her singing soul that beckons to her children — hark ! in warning, Lo, she bids us up and labour for this white land's liberty ! Hear her song, O far-off toilers, hear her cry for stalwart fighters — Men whose arms shall guard Australia when the Asian cohorts come ; Are ye laggards, are ye careless — up ! to arms, ye stern-eyed smiters, For Australia's Voice is calling and she beats her battle-drum ! In the cane-brake, by the mine top — where the stampers crash and thunder, Where the anvils roar, O hear it — hear our proud Australia's song : " Are ye marching with me, children ; shall the White Man's cause go under ? 176 I HEAR AUSTRALIA SINGING Up and guard me from the danger ; ye have tar- ried overlong ! I have bred you in my Bushland. I have strained you to my bosom — Now I need your strength to save me from the foreign legions brown ; Launch your ships, O White Austrahans ! What ! — on fields of carnage gruesome Shall my Flag at last be lowered, and the White Man's cause go down ? " Children all, I call you homeward from the lands beyond the Leeuwin — Call you back to fight my battles and to man my ships at sea ; Shall the land that bred and bore you drift all help- lessly to ruin ? — Home ! Australians ; Home ! I need you — shall ye turn your backs on Me ? Sons and daughters I have nurtured, children dear whom I have cherished, Shall I call in vain for fighters — men to serve my smoking guns ? Nay, I know your hearts are loyal. Other lands have passed and perished. But your bones shall be my bulwark 'gainst the grim, flotilla'd Huns I I HEAR AUSTRALIA SINGING 177 " Far my sons have wandered forth ward — round the world's wide rim they're scattered, They are driving ships and engines from Cape York to Ecuador ; But their hearts will steer them homeward, lest they see the Home-land shattered — Lest they see their bleeding mother reel beneath the storms of war. At my knee they learnt to love me, and I know they're not forgotten — Nay, they'll heed the tender Mother who is calling from the South ; And when Asia sends her legions — when the roaring guns are shotten, Lo, my sons shall come and kiss me — kiss me bravely on the mouth ! " Nay, my children, ye are faithful ; ye shall save your 'leaguered Mother — Ye shall march as marched the Grecians in the noble days of yore ; Ye, my sons, shall gather round me, owning service to none other, And in vain the Ape may batter at my strong, fast-bolted door ! Children dear, your arms around me ! Let me feel your lips upon me — V 178 I HEAR AUSTRALIA SINGING Let me see my sons all bearded standing at their mother's side ; When the Monkey's fleets are roaring — when his blows are beating on me, Ye shall bear my shining standard — ye shall be my living pride ! " / hear Australia singing — hear Her voice at night and morning ; Have ye heard it, too, my brothers, ringing far o'er land and sea ? ^Tis Australia's soul that beckons — hark ! again in solemn warning Rolls her song athwart our country — sacred Song of Liberty ! Heed her song, strong-thewed toilers ; heed her cry for stalwart fighters — Ye must guard her, ye must save her when the Monkey cohorts come ; Are ye listening, are ye moving ? Up ! to arms, ye stern-eyed smiters. For Australians Heart is singing and she beats her Battle-Drum ! A SONG OF SHIPS 179 A SONG OF SHIPS Where the Arctic fulmar flies — Where the berg-heads beat the skies, And the sealer, steering nor' ward past the ice-pack and the floe. Sees the mystic Northern Lights Streaming down the Polar nights — There the ships of Man the Master on his errands come and go ! Where the deep Sargasso drifts. Where the tide head sinks and lifts — There his steamers fling their smoke-wreaths to the scintillating stars ; Slip their cables from the piers, Driving down the salty years — Driving forth around the planet under steam or towering spars ! Dragging nations at their heel, Floating wagons built of steel — Hauling men and manufactures round the palpi- tating earth ; See ! They shuttle to and fro — For the Master wills it so. And his orders feed the Peoples in their day of bitter dearth ! 180 A SONG OF SHIPS Tramp-ships and battleships, Wheat-tanks and cattleships — Craft from all the Uarhour-mouths Hwicct Trondjh'em and the Horn ; These the Master ordereth — Cliff and cape he bordereth, And he hangs his steam and cinders on the altars of the Morn ! Timber-ships from Puget Sound, Stately mailers Plymouth-bound — Ships with wool and merchandise, and all that Man hath made ; Steaming south and west and north, From the Bluff to Firth of Forth— Bow down, ye silly draper-folk, and hail the gods of Trade ! Yea, hail the engineers. And the Master-hand that steers — Hosanna to the Captains and the Builders and the Crews ; All hail unto the steel ! To the kelson and the keel, And hail, ye mighty cylinders that drive the roaring screws ! For the cross-head and the crank, They are greater than the Bank — A SONG OF SHIPS 181 Yea, greater far than emperor and king and crown and queen, And the man who shovels coal — He is better, on the whole, Than the pessimistic balladists who sing What- Might-Have-Been ! Stevedores and sailor men. Greaser-folk and whaler-men — These, good Lord, go heftily, nor fret about their souls ! These with steam and sturdiness. Whilst parsons rage in wordiness, Go back and forth incessantly betwixt their ocean- goals ! Whilst the legislators pose, Swing the piston-rods and throws — The screws in subtle harmony commune beneath the sea ; Yea, an under-song they sing Of the goods they take and bring — Of Men complete and masterful whose servants strong they be ! Of the far Hoboken piers, Of the swearing engineers — Of all the careless sailor-men who take them out and in ; Lo, of these a song they chant — Of the gull and cormorant. 182 A SONG OF SHIPS And all the time exultantly they beat the seas and spni From the jungled Sundarbans To the bridge that Brooklyn spans — All round the world from 'Video to Hull or Hel- singfors ; Singing deep beneath the sea, Can't you hear them — singing free, While the firemen swing their shovels at the blazing furnace-doors I Merchant-sJiips and fighting-ships, Cable-ships and smiting ships — German craft and Britishers, and all the world's besides ; These they sing, propelling them — The song the screws are telling them. Round the world and back again upon the crooning tides ! Have the Crozets seen them go, Marching swiftly to and fro ? Have the Cocos heard them beating through the star-splashed tropic night ? Have the seven Elder Seas Nursed them fondly on their knees — Nursed the ships that Man hath fashioned — featly planned and fashioned right ? Lo, the Harbours know them all, Know the cargo-tanks that call — A SONG OF SHIPS 183 Each hath gripped them long and lustily beside its tarry piers ; Had the world but singing lips, It would chant of steam and ships — It would sing of craft and captains, stoker-folk and engineers ! Were the seas articulate, Would they chaunt old songs of hate ? Nay, their songs were of the INIaster and his ships of hammered steel ; Had the universe a voice, Would it sing a dirge for choice ? Nay, its song were of the Builders who had mated shaft and keel ! Timber-ships and cattle-ships, Old wheat-ships and battleships — These the singing Universe would celebrate at morn ! And, I, who love them lustily. Would weave an anthem trustily For all the Ships and Sailor-folk Hwixt Trondjh'em and the Horn ! 184 A BALLAD OF THE ROAD A BALLAD OF THE ROAD I CELEBRATE the Companies — the managers and " pros." Who drag around this continent their unsuccessful shows ! The Princess and Her Majesty's — they matter not to me ; I cheer the plucky managers who chase prosperity ! The men who haul their scenery around the blessed " smalls " ; Whose " props " are hustled endlessly in cheap, bush-whacking halls ! A song for all the actor-men — to ease the blessed load, I sing in good companionship a Ballad of the Road ! The Philistines complacently go back and forth from toil — The sleek suburban citizens whose peaceful kettles boil. The shop-man and the Personage whose warehouse in " the Lane " Is stuffed with rags and fripperies for Maud and Emma Jane ! A BALLAD OF THE ROAD 185 These harmless blokes diurnally go back and forth from town, And carry vesper crayfish in receptacles of brown ! But up and down this continent, wherever shows are showed, I lift for toiling actor-folk this Ballad of the Road. The footlights gleam at Bendigo — at Bourke and Broken Hill Perspiring actor-managers hang out the earnest bill! From Charters Towers to Hamilton, from York to Nymagee, The patient actor laboureth to earn his £ s. d. The ghost that walketh fitfully for him hath fearful charms, Whose red, false whiskers circulate in " Robbery Under Arms " ! For him and Lady Isabel — " East Lynne " be dashed and blowed — I sing this boon companion's song, this Ballad of the Road ! The flickergraph accursedly pervadeth all the land, And soured and cursing companies are left upon the strand ! The landlord fiercely clamoureth ; the hall-man wants his rent ; 186 A BALLAD OF THE ROAD The goings of the actor-man are hke the Arab's tent ! When cash for fares (no salaries !) is falHng steep and low, A psalm of hope and cheerfulness is needed for the pro I The uncomplaining actor-man deserves this special Ode, A rhyme full of good comradeship — a Ballad of the Road ! By coach and rail the companies go north and south and west ; From Maoriland to Hughenden, to Zeehan and the rest ! They earn their humble salaries, the actors and their wives, Who toil to please this continent and live grease- painted lives ! There's Rupert Clarke and Williamson, Hugh Ward and Oscar Asche ; And each and all most certainly deserve to gather cash ! But when ye sit 'midst Phillistines, where Rupert's shows are showed, Pray for the toiling companies — the Pros, upon the Road ! AN IDYLL OF THE RAIL 187 AN IDYLL OF THE RAIL The train slows down at Siding-Town, and fat " commercials " swear — The soft goods kings breathe nameless things, they tilt their hats and glare ! They cut and deal and curse with zeal — " why don't the wheels go round ? Stuck here all day ! " — The C.T.A. begins to leap and bound ! Go softly, hoys ! A fireman's joys shall not for soft goods quail ; Spare yet a glance at true romance — Bill's Idyll of the Rail ! Let soft goods wait, for God is great and Bill in dungarees Steps down awhile for Mary's smile — she holds the station-keys ! Let big cigars and furnace-bars their incense lift and blend ; Pipes ! kindly draw — this is the Law, and shall be to the end ! A woman's eyes, soft speech and sighs — black hair that curls and gleams 188 AN IDYLL OF THE RAIL Calls unto Bill, and love may thrill a " blue "-clad fireman's dreams ! Begrudge him not one tiny jot — no bounds to pleasure's tale ; This is Bill's hour of primal power — his Idyll of the Rail ! . The wheels shall sing when Bill, the king, goes rolling down the grade ; The C.T.A. shall shout " Hooray ! "—the hustling lords of Trade ! But Mary waits — the station-gates are closed once more till Bill With pennoned steam and eyes a-gleam comes up the evening hill ! Just twice a day he comes her way — two trips with steel and steam ; In oil-stained " blues " he comes and woos — God knows sweet Mary's dream ! He is her king — the rails shall ring, the whole glad earth shall hail That final day Bill takes away his Idyll of the Rail ! A SONG OF THE jMILLENNIUM 189 A SONG OF THE MILLENNIUM When the flunkeys cease from flunking, and the crawlers crawl no more — When the lackeys' spines grow stiffer, the millen- nium will roar ; It will clatter in the distance — it will thunder up the stairs When the fools cease genuflecting, and the snobs leave off their airs ; When we're free of small, cheap titles, and the gauds are swept away, The millennium will rattle o'er the pavement in a dray ! When we sell our dukes and dukelings, when we hail the Men who Work, The INIillennium will happen with an instantaneous jerk. But till then we wait it vainly, stretching ear and straining eye — The millennium still shuns us, and the Mean Things cringe and cry ! When the wasters quit their wasting, and the boun- ders bound no more, The millennium will clamour like Jehannum at the door. 190 A SONG OF THE MILLENNIUM When the cad becomes good-mannered, and the " gent " becomes extinct, Lo ! the bright millennial garlands to the planets shall be linked. Then the " bookie " boors are banished, and the usurers are dead. We shall see the pink auroras dancing polkas over- head. When the waiter is transmuted into something like a Man, The millennium will caper like a show-horse in a van. To the sound of gladsome music we shall gambol down the years ; But just now Utopia's hidden, and beyond the stars it jeers. Aye, when brains are more than boodle our Atlantis will arrive ; It will ride the great sea-serpent through the city's teeming hive ; When the man of genius prospers, and the poet's rent is paid, The millennium will come prancing with a splendid cavalcade ! When the virtuous may remain so, and exist in com- fort still, Prester John shall show his banners on the crest of vonder hill ! A SONG OF THE MILLENNIUM 191 When a bird may preen its plumage, undisturbed by stone or gun, Lo ! the gods will straightway volley gifts and blessings by the ton ! When a flower may bloom ungathered — human blossoms with the rest — Then the glow of unknown glories shall light up the spacious West ! When a woman's fame is sacred in the eyes of every man. The Chimera will confront us, striped with blue and black and tan ! When the wanton world remembers that sweet Love should rule supreme, We shall get the final bearings of Alnaschar's precious dream ! When we help a sister upward, and prevent her sinking down, Nick will slam the gates of Tophet with a melan- choly frown. When our love of Right is real, and we're bogus saints no more. We shall see the Flying Dutchman as we stand upon the shore ! When the things I've named have happened, the millennium will whizz : But it's not in sight at present, and I don't know where it is ! 192 THE OLD "BLUES" THE OLD " BLUES " There's an Army unhymned and unheeded — no trumpets its glories proclaim ; It has conquered, has fought and succeeded, but it knows not the garlands of fame ! 'Tis an Army that marches undaunted with a courage thrice-splendid and true : And its banners defiant are flaunted — smoke-pen- nons from boiler and flue ! 'Tis an Army of stokers and drivers, of toilers with resolute hands ; For the Foot-plate Brigade are the strivers who fashion new nations and lands ! They are heroes unbailed and uncared for — since none lifteth anthem for these, Lo, a psalm of good cheer is prepared for the Army in Blue Dungarees ! Old " blues " ! with the slide-valve and spanner, with the rhythmical thunder of wheels ; With the smoke- jet and steam for your banner, ye are treading on Destiny's heels ! Ye have marched in your grease and your glory — ye are marching in splendour to-day THE OLD "BLUES" 193 Where the steam-startled scream of the lory trails Bushward proclaiming your sway ! Ye are Captains and Leaders reliant — by the thunder of wheels on the grade ; By the blast of shrill warnings defiant, hear the tramp of the Foot-plate Brigade ! 'Tis the tramp of an Army titanic — attention I ye peoples at ease ; Hats off to the sweat-stained Mechanic, to the Army in Blue Dungarees ! There are armies of carnage and plunder — all honour and glory is theirs ; When the guns spit their venom and thunder, then the bards grip their pens in their lairs ! There are legions unleashed like a terror — for these are the laurels and praise ; Will this world from its madness and error never win in these ultimate days ? Shall the earth never wake to the splendour of Armies unspattered with gore ; To the worth of these legions who render loyal ser- vice where steam-pennons soar ? Lift a cheer for the ranks of the loyal, for our sol- diers and ships on the seas ; But remember this legion right-royal — 'Tis the Army in Blue Dungarees ! 194 THE OLD "BLUES" They are serving Australia with iron, they are fighting with weapons of steel ; But each blast of the steam- jetting syren is a psalm for this land's common weal ! They are stretching Australia's dominion, winning empire with coal-smoke and steam ; Yea, no vulture with death-flapping pinion seeks the fields where their fires flash and gleam ! They are binding the nation together, joining shore unto far-distant shore ; They are tying this land with a tether inter-traced with no blood-stains of war ! They are fighting a conflict unending — hail the Kings on their thrones if ye please — But I'd fashion One Psalm tribute-blending for our Army in Blue Dungarees ! BATTLE HYMN OF NEW AUSTRALIA 195 BATTLE HYMN OF THE NEW AUSTRALIA Sail on, O mighty Land — ship of Democracy, All-precious is thy freight, 'tis not the Present only; Mankind is marching on — its best shall march with thee When hoary lands and old at last have fallen pronely ! Strange seas thou hast to keel, beneath the gleaming stars Thy sons shall bravely steer o'er stormy deeps uncharted ; Across the pathless years, with skyward reaching spars, Thy children strong shall thrust — thy sons all Titan-hearted ! The dark typhoon shall rage, the lurid clouds of war Up from the glooming East shall drive, O land, o'erwhelming ; But we shall bring thee through, shall bring thee to the shore, We are thy faithful sons — our hands shall do the helmning ! Come stormy days or fine, come raging iron hail, 196 BATTLE HYMN OF NEW AUSTRALIA Thy sons shall man the yards — shall swing thee thro' the surges ; All ocean's winds may blow, and wild may come the gale — Thy Flag serene shall fly whilst our red blood swift urges ! Not for thyself alone — for victories to come, For liberty of law, for truth, O land, and justice ; Thy guns for these shall boom — we'll beat Aus- tralia's drum When piled on Europe's head the ages' silent dust is ! Thine is the White Man's Cause, for him thy battle- flag— O standard splashed with stars, I-see it floating bravely ; The shot may pierce its folds, may tear that flaunt- ing rag — Our song shall thunder still, our anthem pealing gravely ! Song of the noble land — Australia shining new. Voice of the flashing sea, of mountain-head and valley ; O land of toilers stern, of children brave and true, When its majestic chords sweep forth our hearts shall rally ! BATTLE HYMN OF NEW AUSTRALIA 197 When with our smoking guns we face Austraha's foe, Thy voice our hearts shall stir — O voice all pure and tender ; We'll hail our sacred land the day we doomward go— Our own Australian Home, our land of death- less splendour ! Thy sacerdotal bards, thy cannoneers of song, Their hymns shall raise of thee, O continent of glories ; Thy message they shall breathe — thy message brave and strong, I hear thy spirit's voice where each sea-ham- mered shore is ! Thy psalm of destiny, glad chant of coming days — I hear it in each wave on thy cliff-bases falling ; It thunders in the storm — yea, round thy capes and bays, Australia's battle-hymn — thy voice, O mother, calling ! O lustrous land and dear, land of the larger creed — Land of the vision new, hear'st thou thy children hailing ? They stand erect and strong, they are thy stalwart breed — 198 BATTLE HYMN OF NEW AUSTRALIA With thee they bravely go, O ship-soul proudly sailing ! We are thy lovers all — be guarded with our steel, Our blood we proffer thee, our strength and heart's devotion ; This is our common prayer : God save the Common- weal — From each true heart it swings like some star- surging ocean ! THE NIGHT THE LINER DIED 190 THE NIGHT THE LINER DIED " The White Star liner Republic, 15,378 tons, \vith 761 persons on board, and carrying a cargo of supplies for the United States battleship fleet, in the Mediter- ranean on its wa)^ home from Australia, collided in a dense fog, off Nantucket Island, with the Italian steamer Florida, carrying 800 immigrants to tlic United States. In response to cthcrgrams from the Republic, the White Star liner Baltic, 23,876 tons, arrived on the scene and attempted to tow the Re- public to port. The Republic foundered, howe\cr, after all hands had been removed to the Baltic. A striking feature of the disaster was the bravery of John I3inns, Marconi operator on the Republic, who stuck to his post and translated messages soliciting help from other steamers. His position was one of great danger, as the roof and sides of the deck-house, in which the ethergrapher was installed, threatened to fall at any moment. The Marconi operator on the Baltic also stuck to his post continuously for forty- eight hours, sending cheering messages to those on 1 he Republic and communicating with the shore for assist- ance." The White Fleet homeward steaming — the Fleet we welcomed here ; Wet-bowed, the White Armada plugged round the salty sphere. The Suez Ditch behind them, they took their west- ward way. What time the swift Republic nosed eastward through the spray. 200 THE NIGHT THE LINER DIED With food and stores deep-laden, the White Star Hner drave — She took her way that Saturday to her deep ocean- grave ! The Nantuck hght saw dimly the men who'd heard the Drum — The great White Land that hailed them, the Drum that thundered " Come ! " The Florida from Naples, fair Naples by the sea — She bore her living cargo to Port Prosperity ! With steerage overflowing, with decks and berths a- jam ; From Naples Bay she took her way with Men for Uncle Sam ! With engine-rooms a-thunder, the Feeders east and west, Their deep sea-ways steamed earnestly upon their Nation's quest. Up from the broad Atlantic the fog came drifting low — / Dread fogs the whaling-skippers from Martha's Vineyard know ! Long Island's lights were hidden. New York fog- shrouded lay The night they struck — the night of pluck outside Manhattan Bay ! z' THE NIGHT THE LINER DIED 201 The Florida came crashing — the hner in her pride Sent up her groan to heaven that night she bravely died : She reeled — the great Republic, beneath the bitter blow ; With plates a-burst, the liner went sobbing in her woe. The White Armada waiting for needed food and stores — She staggered slow beneath the blow by dim Man- hattan's shores ! She died — the brave Republic, but ere she went below The swift Marconi message sped from the dynamo ! With dot-and-dash vibrating, with shoreward- racing " waves " She brought the mighty Baltic to save them from their graves ! The patient hand of Science — it plays for keeps and wins ; We hail him most who kept his post — the hero, Wireman Binns ! From ship to ship they whispered, thro' fog and sleet and rain — The man upon the Baltic and Binns, the hero plain ! 202 THE NIGHT THE LINER DIED Induction coils swift-flashing, " coherers " talking low — They spoke the words of courage that night of sud- den woe. The armatures vibrating, the Morse tick-tacking through, Each message met — from mast-head-net they caught each whisper true ! Now round the world their story goes flashing 'neath the sea — How Science fought and conquered — aye, saved humanity ! The White Fleet homeward steaming, it learnt how in the gale The great Republic foundered, with food and stores and mail ! It cheered John Binns, the hero — the White Star blazed in pride — Against the sky it flamed on high the Night the liner Died ! BUENOS AYRES 203 BUENOS AYRES I WANT to talk of Biinniz — Its girls with jewelled arms, Fairer than star or sun is ; — Ah, dusky Creole charms ! The girls 'longside the Plata Are girls of shinin' gold : I've kept one scented garter These ten years, so's the mould O' their fair limbs shan't ever Fade out of my old eyes. O, Bunniz girls, I'd never Swap you for Paradise ! With stoker-men a-graftin' I went yon southward way ; Our cross-heads an' the shaftin' Forever seemed to say : " O Bunniz ! wait for Bunniz, Its bosoms and its wine — There is no land where fun is To lick the Argentine ! " I waited for you, city, Beneath the spear-marked stars — O Bunniz girls, the pity I left your sweet guitars ! 204 BUENOS AYRES 'Twas wool we went a-seekin', From Boston-town that year ; Our souls hung dry and creakin* For woman's lips and beer ! The inner " roads " lapped quiet Against our plates o' brown — loves of Hell ! — the riot We made in Bunniz-town ! 1 hear the soft mandolines Still twangin' in my brain, Across the sea's red bowlines I see them girls again ! Wool — wool we struck in plenty, In Constitucion mart — With rich aguardiente To warm each seaman's heart. And Bunniz opera dancers, I seem to see you still ; Like squads of Joyous lancers You charge my breast at will ! O Colon maids a-toein' — Somehow, I see you yet. Your bosoms round and glowin' Like fields of violet ! O Bunniz breasts, I'm dreamin' Of you this blessed day ; BUENOS AYRES 205 lips of fire, I'm schemin' To wing me back your way. 1 see your bright eyes flashin' — The old cabildo where They fined me stiff for mashin' Some Dagoes with a chair ! O, broadly-flowin' Plata, Perhaps I'll come ere long To steal one more round garter. And hear one more sweet song ! O, Bunniz girls, I'm dreamin' Of you right here and now ; Oh, Dark Eyes, watch the seamen, I'll join them yet, I vow ! And swingin' by 'Donado Some day or night I'll go — I'll drive the screws of Trade-0 Past Montevideo ! With triple screws a-batter, Around the headlands brown, With engines all a-clatter, I'll hew the tall leagues down 1 206 TRIBUTE TRIBUTE One greater than a king Hath from the world been taken. A mighty soul takes wing, A country lies forsaken, A voice is heard in weeping And bitter lamentation. The Isles a vigil keeping For their grief-stricken nation. A mighty voice is still, We hear no more in thunder That resolute " I will " Which cleaved the foes asunder. A stalwart prince of men, High planets may he tread on ; A noble citizen — We loved thee, Richard Seddon. No struggle and no pain — Thy very death was royal ; Unto the people plain Thou wert for ever loyal. A ^vreath of laurel leaves Thy brow doth deck with glory. Each heart's a loom that weaves Thee in thy country's story ; TRIBUTE 207 It showeth clear and far In blaze of triple splendour, Thy great and steadfast star- The nation's strong defender. ' The people's chosen chief. Strong-purposed and reliant, Australia bows in grief Beside the Fallen Giant. 208 THE SWEATER'S DREAM THE SWEATER'S DREAM The Sweater slept, and — in the hours when all the world lies calm and still — He dreamed high Heaven's vasty powers were trained to do his sweaty will. He saw a famished, seething horde beat at his sweat- shop's bolted gates — The walls were beetling cliffs that shored a stormy sea of griefs and hates ; The daughter cursed the mother there — the father fought the starving son — Their eyes flashed forth the savage glare of beasts whose food has long been done. The Sweater smiled and laughed aloud — his fingers grasped the counterpane As tho' it were pale Abel's shroud gripped by a glad, exultant Cain ! " At last," he laughed ; "at last I see the cringing helots brought to heel ; Tamed by the lash of misery, they prate no more of commonweal. I am their Master, and their lives are mine to shat- ter as I will ; Sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, wives — all mine to grind in Hunger's mill, THE SWEATER'S DREAM 209 I hold the Reins of Government — Aha, I'll hold them evermore — Behold my hapless paupers pent like brutes within the abattoir. How just is God. He gives to me dominion o'er the human kine, And dooms their pale posterity to work for Me and Mine." The Sweater's laugh rang out again, for lo, within his happy dream He saw an oozing yellow stain — he saw the hosts of Asia teem. They pressed behind the pauper tide in ochre- tinted, swollen seas — " Now praise the Lord," the Sweater cried, " For heavenly boons so great as these. His gifts are good, tho' sinners scoff — His ways are ever kind to Me ; In these fresh forms behold the profits of my Chris- tian piety. The Lord repays with his complex, safe system of Divine Finance — Right handsomely He draws His cheques upon the Bank of Circumstance." Across the Sweater's dreaming brain Greed's plun- derous pageant swiftly ran ; 210 THE SWEATER'S DREAM lie saw himself in proud disdain perched on a pyra- mid of Man. Around its base the paupers heaved, and strove to raise the ghastly pile Whose bulk with human bones was weaved, and mortared well with priestly guile. '' Toil on ye slaves,'' the Sweater cried, " and lift the white skull-courses high, That I at last may sit in pride — enthroned with God above the sky. Ye arc your own materials — lay ye your hapless hones right zveU, That God, within His heavenly halls, may never guess I rise from Hell.''' THE GIRL WHO CAME BETWEEN 211 THE GIRL WHO CAME BETWEEN I HATE her with a blood-red, endless hate — My curse pursues her o'er the stretching years ; Were I the lord of Heaven's Jasper Gate, I'd hurl her down among the shattered spheres ! I'd thrust her back into the Pit of Space, For all her breast of snow and hair's golden sheen ; Harsh-eyed, I'd spurn her lovely, shining face. And mock her prayers and all her witching grace. Her grey despair would touch no tender chord Within my grim and hard, vindictive heart ; Came she to Hell, and I were Tophet's lord. No gate would ope for her — no doors would part ! " Go back and rot amid the ash of stars," I'd cry to her, with unrelenting mien ; I'd drive her back from Hell's own savage bars, To grope through space with pains and wounds and scars. What is the secret of my bitter hate ? — A hate that lives for all Eternity ; Why may I not forgive ? I had a Mate Long years ago this siren stole from me ! 212 THE GIRL WHO CAME BETWEEN There were no other Mates on earth like him — No other man Hke him had ever been. 'Gainst her my wrath I treasure, fierce and grim, Because she made my hfe all lone and dim. We wandered forth through all the world, we two We toiled on many seas and in far lands ; The mountain crest and gleaming axe we knew — We ventured side by side through desert sands. He nursed me when the mangrove's sickly breath Left me all helpless, weak and grey and lean ; We swore to stand together unto death, Until she came, with Love's damned shibboleth. O Viking-faced companion, brave and stern — thief with shining eyes and passion's mouth ; She took my Mate, and now no planets burn — The world's a dreary waste from north to south ! Hate her ? When through the lonely years I tread — Aye, her, who caught him in Love's cursed skein ; Hate her ? who tore the stars from overhead — Aye, hate and curse her when she's stark and dead. 1 hate all women — star-eyed thieves, they come To steal our mates and leave us desolate ; To leave men lonely, silent, sad and numb. Until their hearts fill up with savage hate. THE GIRL WHO CAME BETWEEN 213 I hate Her most, because with Hps and eyes She made Him hail her his eternal queen ; Because she came in passion's fair disguise To capture him with looks and tender lies. I hate her with a blood-red, endless hate — My curse pursues her o'er the stretching years ; Were I the lord of Heaven's Jasper Gate, I'd hurl her down among the shattered spheres ! I'd thrust her back — forth from this dwelling-place, For all her breast of snow and hair's gold sheen ; Harsh-eyed, I'd spurn her lovely shining face — Aye, fling her backward into ghastly Space! 214 TRANSCONTINENTAL RAILWAYS TRANSCONTINENTAL RAILWAYS He may be a simple moujik, quite inferior to Us, He may be a hairy Cossack, with a beard to stuff a 'bus — But, when carefully considered, there are points about the Russ, And we haven't any reason to expand our chests with pride ; For he took the spade and hammer, and theodolite and drill. And he punched the steppes of Asia — punched his Road along until Vladivostock heard his engines rolling Gatewards, whistling shrill, And Port Arthur saw his locos. — where the Bear went down and died ! Where the Irtish hastens seaward, where the Tobol nor' ward flows — Where the ice lies white on Baikal, 'neath Siberia's winter snows, There the Builders pushed their Roadway, and the White Man fought his foes — Are ye building as he builded ? Nay, your Gates are open wide ! TRANSCONTINENTAL RAILWAYS 215 Hear the songs the White Man chanted — battle hymns his soldiers sang, As his armies hastened forward — hear the cannon roar and clang, Lo, the blood of shattered heroes soaks the fields of Liao-Yang, And the dead to-day are sleeping on the Road from Tsitsihar ; There are bones that bleach and whiten where the Bear put up his fight — There are Russian children crying for their fathers in the night. There's a Flag that's torn and humbled — do ye understand it right ? Are ye Building, are ye toiling, driving on with spade and bar ? For the Russ, he did his darnedest in the few Pre- paring Years — Yea, he bridged the foaming Shilka with his steel and engineers. But to-day the Bear is Gate-less, and the Monkey grins and leers — Have ye barred Australia's Gateway ? See ! the portal stands ajar ! Far away the Bear is toiling — he is slowly " mak- ing good," 216 TRANSCONTINENTAL RAILWAYS He is grafting, he is marching as the White Man surely should — He is tramping towards the ocean 'neath his distant engine-hood, Making ready, sure and ready for the conflict yet to be ; He's a plodder, he's a sticker — stuck until Port Arthur fell. Beaten down with fists of iron, beaten down with shot and shell — He is working, he is waiting, then he'll ring his engine-bell — Then he'll roll his armies eastward to his Gate- way by the sea ! Eighty millions spent a-building — still the Russ is spending more. " Shall the Monkey hold my portal ? I will win me back my Door " — Says the Russian as he labours, as he plods by Dolo- Nor, Are ye plodding also seaward ? Bah ! your Gate is wide and free ! Lo, the Bear was White and willing, but the foemen got him down — 'Twas St. Petersburg that beat him, not the Monkey legions brown, TRANSCONTINENTAL RAILWAYS 217 'Twas the crowd of slothful bosses far away in Peter's Town — Fighting Peter, he who laboured where the Deutscher's shipyards are ; He whose fist propelled the hammer and the axe and plane and saw — He who left the pomps of Moscow, so that he with earnest paw Might instruct his Russian people, building ships and framing law, He whose days were days of vigour — cheers for Russia's Fighting Czar ! But the bones of Pete the Builder lie beside the Neva's stream. And the man who holds his billet wanders sadly in a dream — So to-day the Monkey's locos, lift their warning toot and scream. On the Bear-constructed Railway up in old Manchuria ! There's a Road that waits unfinished — well ye know the Road I mean, 'Tis the Road from Port Augusta — there's a con- tinent to glean, Time that ye were pushing nor' ward towards the Gateway's ooean-sheen — 218 TRANSCONTINENTAL RAILWAYS Time that steel and steam were urging towards the Arafura side ; There's a Track that needs preparing — One that leads by Alice Springs. Are ye bossed and chained and shackled that no hammer skyward swings ? That the Track is but a pathway where the " wire " vibrates and sings — Shall they write upon your tombstone : " Here a White Australia died ? " Lest the plain and simple moujik prove superior to Us, Let us Build our Road and yakker — let us push Australia's bus. For the question rises bluntly : Though we scorn the distant Russ, Have we tuppence worth of reason to inflate our chests with pride ! BLACK MARIA 219 BLACK MARIA I SAT in Black Maria, and four men sat with me ; They bore upon their features the brand of misery ! Their eyes were dull and hopeless — that strange, sad air they had Of creatures who acknowledge the fact that they are bad. What time we trotted forward, the State's unwilling guests. The chins of all were sunken upon their flattened breasts. And there was brooding sorrow within that shut- tered car Which bore us forth to Justice at Law's spike garnished bar ! " Good brothers, why be cheerless ? " the present writer said ; " Be not bowed down with trouble — a better day's ahead ! " Their hopeless eyes were lifted, they mutely stared at me While I expounded to them my rough philosophy. 220 BLACK MARIA " What though in Black Maria we chance tliis day to sit ? Let us have strength and courage — let's show the proper grit ! The deeds we did were trifles — why should we snivel now ? " One brother answered, sadly : " Dunno — I stole a cow ! " Again his chin sank forward upon his joyless breast ; Poor putty-hearted mortal, found base by trouble's test ! But lo ! In accents bitter another rider spoke ; Said he : " Are you a parson, or some Salvarmy bloke ? " " Nor one nor yet the other," I answered unto him ; " A plain, unvarnished sinner am I in every limb. But though in Black Maria, my spirits still keep up"— " Rye-buck ! " said he ; and mentioned his fancy for the Cup. 'Twas strange how sport affected the other gloomy pair ; One joined the cheerful faction, one wept in sheer despair, BLACK MARIA 221 I spake unto the weepist. " Why should you mourn ? " I said ; He sobbed in bitter sorrow, " I wish that I were dead ! " " Why so ? " I asked in pity — the tears ran down his face ; " Because," he answered sadly, " because of this disgrace." " What have you done ? " I queried ; his woe was evident. He sobbed and clutched his whiskers " Church- funds embezzlement ! " " Bear up, then, like a Christian," I strongly counselled him ; But still his chest kept heaving, and still his eyes were dim. The cow-thief, too, was sobbing, clutched by the same remorse ; The other pair were talking of Cricket and of Horse. " 'Twas ever thus," I muttered, " the optimists prevail ; For here be five who travel within a four-wheeled gaol. Yet three withal are cheerful, and only two are sad — There is a world in little in this go-cart of the Bad ! " 222 BLACK MARIA I sat in " Black Maria," and four men sat with me ; Two bore yet on their faces the brand of misery ! Their eyes were dull and hopeless — that strange, sad air they had Of creatures who acknowledge the fact that they are bad. What time we trotted forward, the State's un- willing guests. The chins of three were lifted from off their hope- ful breasts. And there were mingled feelings within that shut- tered car. Which bore us five to Justice at Law's spike- garnished bar ! THE STRENGTH TO BE 228 THE STRENGTH TO BE I HEARD the march of a Nation's feet as AustraHa's pride went by, And my heart was thrilled with a stronger beat, and a glad tear dimmed each eye ; For this was the dream of my younger days, my vision of strength to be, And my soul-chords sang like a harp of praise, with an anthem brave and free ! As the Young Guard passed with a martial tread, that challenged the base and mean, I cried " All Hail ! " and I bared my head to Australia's war machine. And it seemed to me that the Nation's soul rang forth in a major key — " We have turned our face to a nobler goal ; we are marching, God, with Thee ! " Then planet and star and the farthest sun blazed out in an echoing hymn — " Ye have turned your backs on the creeds fore- done, and the crutch-faithed gospels dim ! Ye have raised the flag of a nation just — ye have spurned with a strong man's heel This niddering crew with its feckless trust ! Ye have girded tempered sted ! 224 THE STRENGTH TO BE Now this is the law of the ages all, that life for a land begins When it grasps the steel at the danger call and turns from its faithless sins ! And this is the law of our Captain, God, that only the strong shall thrive — In the days when the bolts are lightning-shod, ye shall save your land alive ! " Then the Nation's voice, in a stronger key, pealed forth to the farthest star — " We have turned our face to our destiny from the racecourse revel far ! We have gripped our Steel with a Strong Man's trust in the work that is ours to do — We have grasped our Task as a nation must, for the girding years be few. We have wasted years of our grasping-time — with fingers slackened and slow, We have toyed with life and its tasks sublime — hark now how the bugles blow ! For this is the proof of our stronger zeal, and trebled the proof shall be When our shipyards clamour with turret and keel, and the rail joins sea with sea ! " From planet and star and the farthest sun came echoing forth " All hail ! THE STRENGTH TO BE 225 And ye are the kith of the breed once spun from each English shire and dale ! Yea, ye are the kin of the pauper breed that whines at the name of steel. Whilst our kinsmen cringe in the hour of need, ye are arming the Commonweal ! Lo, this is the law of the ages all, that the seed such Empires sow Is reaped in tears when the bugles call and the brazen trumpets blow ! Yea, that is the law of our Captain, God — that only the Strong Lands thrive. And only the weak shall kiss the rod and bow 'neath fetter and gyve ! " I heard the drums of Australia beat. As they echo around this sphere ; I would weave a psalm of my faith complete that our crutch-faithed kin may hear ! I would hail my dream of the Younger Days, ere the Prodigal's course was run, Ere this land had turned from its husk-strewn ways (I, too, was a Prodigal Son !) Shall the Young Guard pass with its martial tread, that challenges all things mean ? — Shall England hearken ? — her faith is dead, and vain is her war-machine ! Q 226 THE STRENGTH TO BE Has she turned her back on the noblest goal ? Is she marching, God, with Thee ? I only know that my Nation's Soul is endowed with Thy Strength to Be ! THE GIRLS OF THE MORNING 227 THE GIRLS OF THE MORNING We have sung our songs of the Girls of Night — The belles of the blazing bar ; Let us sing how bright, how pure and white The Girls of the Morning are ! Let the hansom swirl with its midnight girl — Leave the dude with his wine-flushed dove For the girls of noon are a gracious boon, And they are the best to love ! Aye, the Girls of the Morning shine like stars Hung out in a cloudless sky ; Leave the scented bars and the stale cigars — For the Girls of the Morn go by ! Lo, the full red lip, like a carmine strip Laid light on a field of cream ; The eyes that flash, and the skirts that plash Like the waves of a wanton stream ! They are lithe and tall, and are straight withal. Like the stems of the soaring trees ; 'Tis a splendid fate that would haply mate All men with girls like these ! 228 THE GIRLS OF THE MORNING And a warm, rich life — if each man's wife Had the grace of the waving corn — If each, Hke wheat, curved soft and sweet, Like the Blessed Girls of Morn ! Lo, their voices thrill with a deep, rich trill, IMost gentle and debonnair ; Each breast is a throne for a King to OAvn — And bronze are their wastes of hair. We have sung too much of the Girls of Night- The belles of the blazing bar ; Let us sing how bright — ^how pure and white— The Girls of the Morning are ! ANOTHER FALL OF EARTH" 229 "ANOTHER FALL OF EARTH" " Another heavy fall of earth occurred yesterday in the western cross-cut of the Golden Cat Proprietary Mine, killing three men who were stopping there." — Mining fatality item from any issue of the daily paper. Just another fall of earth — Nothing to disturb the mirth Of cheerful speculators lolling in their spacious chairs ; Just a ton or two of dirt, Just another few men hurt — Just another corpse-battalion rolling down Gehen- na's stairs ! Naught to cause the least alarm, No directors came to harm, They possess a special charm — They are never standing under when the rock falls unawares ! Just another accident — Merely two or three souls sent Down the track that leads past chaos to the tailing- dumps of Hell — Where the mighty roaring stamps, As they thunder on their ramps, 230 *' ANOTHER FALL OF EARTH" Pound the hearts of fat shareholders and director- men as well ! Just another fall of earth — Caused by cursed timber-dearth, Really nothing that 'tis worth While to mention unto Div^s as he dines at his hotel ! SILK CRACKER DAYS 231 SILK CRACKER DAYS I dreamt last night they were back again — those silk-lashed days of yore, Ere the rush and clang of the steaming train had drowned the ox-whips' roar. I dreamt that the year was '79, and I heard the silk-tailed goads Make the necks bend low and the great wheels whine as they drove the old bush roads ! Aye, I heard the curses ringing loud, and the gleam- ing days were back — Ere the olden teamsmen's heads had bowed or the whips had ceased to crack ! " Whoa-way-back, Star ! " I heard afar ring out with a red refrain. And I yelled with joy, for I was a boy. And the days were back again ! The teams were back on the roads once more, and the hours were gay and glad — When the days were warm and splashed with gore, and the nights were bright and bad ! For the teams were camped in a 'paulined row, and the red gin cases showed *' J.D.K.Z." in the fire's warm glow by the side of the oath-worn road ' 232 SILK CRACKER DAYS For the loads were on, but the yokes laid by, while the oxen chewed their cud. Ho the world was high and the world was dry, if its speech was starred with blood ! Blink-blank ! Blank ! Blank ! How the swears did clank ! How the curses sounded shrill, As they soared from the lips, 'twixt the cracks of whips, of the frenzied James and Bill ! And at early dawn by the ringing track, lo ! the bows and pole-pins clanged. When up from bed of rug and sack rose the old man and slang-whanged ! They are yoking up ! a score of teams, and of men with shirt-backs torn, That blow like pennons in my dreams wherein the past's re-born ! Red-shirted men, with hairy throats, and their lungs of tempered steel, Oh, their blazing, fierce, blaspheming notes made the " polers " reach and reel ! Damn ! Damn ! ! Damn ! ! ! Damn ! ! ! ! Oh, I saw them ram the leaders' quiv'ring necks. In the silk-bound days when bullock drays bore the world upon their decks \ SILK CRACKER DAYS 233 From Portland Town, ho, I saw them steer, ere a railway Hne was built, When men sinned sins with a wanton cheer and the wayside rum was spilt ! Oh, for the days when to North and West the waggon-ships sailed free. And tacked and veered at the shrill behest of the whip-lash musketry ! Sing hey for the " wire " by the thousand coil, as they bore it out to fence, The sea-like plains and mark the soil with a proud, new insolence ! Silk Cracker Days ! — through the steaming haze do I see them drive the teams — The men whose lips and roaring whips make thunder in my dreams ! Silk Cracker Days ? — they are dead and gone ! — long crumbled into dust Are waggon-wheels and hearts that won the present breed its crust ! Silk Cracker Days ! ! — the roaring whips are silent now, and dumb The scarlet, stinging, goading strips and cattle have become ! The Days are Gone ! — the coaly train has seized on all the land, 234 SILK CRACKER DAYS Whereon the teams in cracking days went cursing through the sand ! Yet still afar : " Whoa- way-back, Star ! " I hear ring out a-main ; And, like a boy, I jump with joy — The Days are Back Again ! "ROLLING HER HOME" 235 *' ROLLING HER HOME " Clawing the miles with her space-spurning pistons, Shaking the earth with tyrannical tread ; Sinking her fangs in the heart of the distance — Sleepers a- jump in the " permanent " bed ! Stars glowing red in the zenith above her, Towns lying dim in the distance behind ; Heeding the voice of the captains who love her — Thinking herself with a logical mind ! Urging her, surging her, making her rattle, Punching the gradients straight in the eye ; Cohorts of cars rushing forward to battle — Trail of our smoke hanging over the sky! Grabbing her, jabbing her, making her hustle. Roaring through cuttings with steep sides of chrome ; Steam hurtling strength through each shining muscle, Lo ! we go thundering — Boiling Her Home ! Firebars half-molten and coal swinging doorward. Fishplates complaining to quivering rails ; Rushing her, pushing her, hurling her forward — Flogging the earth with her merciless flails ! 236 ''ROLLING HER HOME" Freight at the back of us — every man Jack of us Gripping her close with a lover's regard ; Lo ! the mechanic now thunders Titanic now, And all the high heavens wax wondrously starred ! Aiming her, flaming her : while the stars gleam at us. Bringing her up to the crest of each hill ; Slinging her down with a roaring, red impetus — Bamming her, jamming her, cramming her still ! Goading her, loading her, making her shiver. Notching her up till she shakes her steam- dome ; Flying grey bridges o'er valley and river, Lo ! xve go clamouring — Rolling Her Home ! Back to the hives again — home to our wives again — Ho ! the blue shirts in the railway-man's yard ; Back to the coast again, proving our boast again — Running our trip by the literal card ! On time to the second, and bearings all rhythmical. Chanting a rune in their rolling delight ; Spectres may beckon, and Satan's o^vn kith may call- Triumphant we flash through the thicket of night ! ROLLING HER HOME" 237 Lashing her, crashing her ; footplates a- clatter — Cranks swinging forward in maniac haste ; Leaving the darkness and silence a-shatter — The former in tivain and the latter effaced ! Gigantic and frantic, she sways in her agony. Her cars all a-beat like a vast metronome : Driving her on in her mighty protagony, Lo ! we go gallantly — Boiling Her Home ! Greasy old " blues " hanging limply upon us, Faces embellished with coal-dust and sweat ; With lip-curls and sneerings the swell-folk may con us, But we hold dominion o'er all the world yet ! Majestic we march on the footplates in glory, Our sceptre the age-gripping Westinghouse brake ; And where is the song, the romance, and the story To better the song that we leave in our wake ? Flinging her, swinging her — hark ! how she thunders ! — Tearing exultantly down the long grade ; Machine-god incarnate, and chiefest of won- ders That man with his brain and his muscle hath made ! 238 "ROLLING HER HOME" Lifting her, shifting her — lo ! we go roaring — Embankment a-quiver through gravel and loam ; Controlling her, rolling her, sending her soaring. Spurning space, churning space — Rolling Her Home ! A FELLOW DOES HIS DAMNEDEST 239 WHEN A FELLOW DOES HIS DAMNEDEST I HEARD a Voice all-potent, singing deep within my soul — " Be a Strong Man, be a Smiter — keep thy Man- hood sure and whole ! I have gathered up the splendour of the earth and sea and sky, And to thee I give the glory when the proud storm pennons fly I Be thou worthy of the kingdom — thou who sittest on this throne. Be a Fighter strong and valiant, not a weakling slack and prone ! Be a Captain, be a Leader — lo, when Wisdom's door unbars. Thou shalt climb with Me triumphant up the stair- case of the stars ! " I heard Jehovah singing in a proud, exultant key— " When a Fellow Does His Damnedest, it is homage unto Me ! For I am a God of Battle, not a Lord of humble tears ; 240 A FELLOW DOES HIS DAMNEDEST Dear to Me the scabbard's rattle and the thrust of stubborn spears ! Who are these that vainly murmur, with a sad and strengthless moan ? Who are these that weep and falter, while the Strong Man Goes Alone ? For My heart is towards the Smiters, towards the Leaders in the van — Be a King, Oh ! be a IMaster, be a Soldier and a Man ! " I heard the Voice puissant rolling like a trumpet- call — " Beat the steel and bend the iron — be a Captain over all ! Be a Builder, be a Maker — where the savage lolls Oft CSSCj Hidden strength beneath the breaker lifts the isle 'midst tropic seas ! 'Tis the Insect Climbing Upward from the bed of ocean slime — Climbing Lightward, climbing starward, through the years of Silent Time ! When a Creature Does Its Damnedest anthems peal beyond the stars, For the strength that Lifts and Labours breaks the spirit's prison-bars ! " A FELLOW DOES HIS DAMNEDEST 241 I heard the God-Head singing, and the Message from the Throne Stirred my soul with strength puissant when the Seed of Faith was sown ! " Be a Soldier of the Legion, be a Captain if you can " — Rang the anthem trumpet-pealing : " Be a Smiter, be a Man ! Be a Climber, groping upwards from the gulfs and from the slime — Do thy Damnedest, do it ever and thy soul shall conquer Time ! For the atoll is an altar raised from far depths of the sea — I am God, I love the Fighters and the Strong Souls Serving Me ! " Who has heard the Voice Triicmphant, ringing bell- like in his soul ? — Chanting proudly, " Be a Lifter, be a Strong Man sure and whole ! " He has gathered up the splendour of the sky and earth and sea. Who has heard Jehovah singing as the God-Head sings to me ! He is worthy of the glory, of the Kingdom and the Throne, 8 242 A FELLOW DOES HIS DAMNEDEST Who is strong, and hattle-visaged — not a weakling slack and prone ! He is Captain, he is Leader — do your Damnedest ere you go ; God who hails the Fighting Insect Hails the Strong Mans Hammer-Blow ! Printed by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London. A little Catalogue of some more good Australian Poetry PUBLISHED BY THOMAS C. LOTHIAN MELBOURNE: loo, FLINDERS ST. SYDNEY: 228, PITT ST. Fehruary, 191 3. R* DAINTY BOOKS BY GREAT AUSTRALIAN AUTHORS. A SERIES FOR GOOD AUSTRALIANS TO BUY. Bound in the best limp ooze leather. Price is. id. ; postage^ id, SEA SPRAY AND SMOKE DRIFT. By Adam Lindsay Gordon. A Dainty Miniature Edition of Gordon's Classic. A delightful volume to handle, and one that makes a present which will please. POEMS OF HENRY C. KENDALL. A Selection of this favourite Australian Poet's best work. BUSHLAND BALLADS. By Edwin J. Brady, Author of " Ways of Many Waters." A neat edition containing a number of new, unpublished poems of great attractiveness. POEMS. By Bernard O'Dowd. A neat volume of selections from Mr. O'Dowd's books : — ^The Silent Land — Dawnward ? — Dominions of the Boundary — Poetry Militant — The Seven Deadly Sins. This Volume makes a good introduction to a poet who is now being quietly recognized as our greatest Australian poet. POEMS OF WILLIAM GAY. A carefully made selection from the work of this little known but attractive Bendigo poet. Prof. Dowden. — " Noble in feeling and dignified in expression, each sonnet moving with a grave music towards its close. They are admirable both for thought and workmanship." POEMS BY JENNINGS CARMICHAEL (Mrs. Francis Mullis). A selection of this author's poems. THE STRANGERS' FRIEND. By Henry Lawson, MATESHIP. By Henry Lawson. These two little books make a good introduction to the work of this most popular of Australian writers. "These discursive yarns are told with a natural and sympathetic touch which shows Henry Lawson at his best." — Adelaide Register, POEMS. By Jessie Mackay. "The whole volume maintains the high standard one always looks for iu this writer's productions." — Southland Times. POETRY BY BERNARD O'DOWD. THE BUSH. By Bernard O'Dowd. This new volume is just out and can be strongly recommeaded to all readers. Paper cover. Price 2s. 6d. ; posted, 2s. yd. DAWNWARD ? By Bernard O'Dowd. Price zs. 6d. ; postage, zd. A few copies of the original limited First Edition, published by the Bulletin Company, are still available. Price on application. " The best book of verses yet produced in Australia." — T. G. Tucker, Litt.D., Professor of Classical Literature, University of Melbourne. THE SILENT LAND AND OTHER VERSES. By Bernard O'Dowd. Bound in half-cloth boards, gilt tops. Price 2s. 6d. ; postage, 2d. A few copies of an Edition-de-Luxe (limited to twenty-fivej, signed by the Author, are still available. Price 7s. 6d. " The most arresting work of the younger generation is that of Mr. Bernard O'Dowd." — The Times (London). DOMINIONS OF THE BOUNDARY. By Bernard O'Dowd. 64 pages, art cover. Price is. ; postage, id " Mr. Bernard O'Dowd stands out alone among modern Aus- trahan poets." — The Spectator (London). POETRY MILITANT. By Bernard O'Dowd. An Australian plea for the Poetry of Purpose. An exceedingly fine, sincere, Uterary essay. Paper cover, is. ; postage, id. " This booklet is an important contribution to Australian Literature." — N.S.W. Educational Gazette. THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS. A Sonnet Series. By Bernard O'Dowd. Small quarto, 56 pp., deckle edged, antique paper. Price 3s. 6d. ; postage, ^d. This is Mr. O'Dowd's latest volume, and one which can be con- fidently recommended as containing some of the most remarkable poetical work yet done in Australia. "... It is full of thought and vision ... it embodies such a bold and luminous re-valuation of the universe, as we have every right to expect from the true poet." — The Herald. SATYRS AND SUNLIGHT. By HUGH McCRAE. 2nd Edition, Cloth bound, Crown Svo. Price jf. 6d. ; posted, 35. id, " The republication of ' Satyrs and Sunlight ' at a popular price puts one of the best books of recent Australian verse within the reach of the general public." — Herald (Melboiarne). " There is spirit ... in his lines which has made them popular." — Bristol Times. "... We have discerned that Mr. McCrae is in possession of a distinct poetic endowment." — Publishers' Circular, " McCrae is the one poet in Australia who does not need illustration. He is his own illustrator ; he writes only in pictures. He has an artist's mind and paints in metre." — The Lone Hand. " To a delicate and original fancy he has wedded a technical skill quite out of the common, and he handles a variety of metres with ease." — Victorian Education Gazelle. " As full of teaching, of philosophy, and of sweetness as the pages of Euripides himself." — Stock and Station Journal (Sydney). THE LAND OF THE STARRY CROSS. By " GILROONEY " (R, J. Cassidy). Cloth Bound, Crown %vo. Price 35. 6d. ; post free, 3^. 8d. " We have found Mr. Cassidy's poems in the best sense vivid tran- scriptions of Australian life and scenery. . . . He has a strikingly picturesque manner of writing, and some of his verses have much dramatic power." — Publishers' Circular. " Mr. Cassidy's lyre has many strings, and he plays on them all with equal faciUty." — Sydney Morning Herald. ". . . FamiHar themes are touched off with fluency, and that feeling for the real stuff of life, hardly won and deeply enjoyed, which seldom comes." — Standard of Empire (London). " Gilrooney's is not the poetry of the academies, but honest, manly verse, made with a quick eye, a flash of imagination, and a heart full of human sympathy." — Sunday Stm. " Here's a book by ' Gilrooney,' and all the old readers of the ' Stock Journal ' will hail it with delight. It is a book of Austraha, %\Titten by an Australian, for Australians. It is a joyous, manly, roystering, patriotic, human, and intensely interesting book. As a stead}' thing I am a bit shy of ' minor poets,' for they haven't much to say that is worth listening to, and life is too short for the stringing of crystal words on silver strings. But ' Gilrooney ' isn't a bit pretty, he's emphatic, and you always feel as if he had something to say, when he says a thing." — Stock and Station Journal (Sydney), HORSES OF THE HILLS. By MARIE E. J. PITT. Bound in full cloth, gold blocked. Price t,s, 6d. ; post free, t^s. Sd. " Mrs. Pitt is broad and Catholic in her outlook and her themes. It is safe to say that ' Horses of the Hills ' will find a hearty welcome from lovers of Australian poetry." — N.Z. Canterbury Times. " From cover to cover the work beairs the impress of sincerity and of deep and keen feeling." — Westralian. " Mrs. Pitt's poetry possesses qualities of finish and melody which are only too rare in our national verse." — Melbourne Herald. " She . . . has not refined the life out of her lines." — Melbourne Age, THE WAYS OF MANY WATERS. By E. J. BRADY. Second Edition. Illustrated by Alex. Sass. Cloth bound, Croicn %vo, 156 pp. Price 1$. 6d. ; posted, p. gd. " Brady's songs have realism and truth stamped on every one of them." — New Zealand Mail. " He writes with a swinging lilt, The poems seem often to have %vritten themselves. There is no Uterary finicky in these axe-hewn chants of work and worry and wastrel carouse. Brady spells vigour ; he is thrice welcome in the decadent daj's of the once-refined poet of the minor school." — The Bulletin, Sydney. " I have read it with very great enjoyment, and hope that it will have the large success it merits." — W, W. Jacobs on ist Edition. " The ' Passing of Parker ' is perhaps the best nautical ballad in dialect that we have." — London Academy of Literature on ist Edition. " . . . . They have a grip, a humour, and an intensity all their own. Mr. Brady's is a new and most desirable note in our literature." — The Spectator (London). LYRICS IN LEISURE, fiy Dorothy Frances McCrae (Mrs. C. E. Perry). Antique paper, 84 pages, white art cover. Price IS. ; posted, is. id. "... Worthy addition to the growing stores of Australian Poetry." — The Age. "... Vivid and human." — Chrisichurch Press. ALPHA CENTAURI. By M. Forrest. Full cloth, antique paper. Price 3s. 6d. ; or post free, 3s. 8d. " Gives her a high place among Australian poets . . . unusually keen and clear-sighted . . . brilliant local colouring . . . full of verbal felicities, of picturesque expressions. . . . Every word tells." — The Australasian. " Mrs. Forrest is not only an exceedingly graceful writer, but an earnest thinker and student of human nature." — Sydney Mail. LYRIC MOODS. By Robert Crawford. Cloth bound, 35. 6i. ; posted, 3s. Sd. " Full of fine thought and feeling, and there is daintiness and finish in the expression and versification." — The Argus. SEA SPRAY AND SMOKE DRIFT. By Adam Lindsay Gordon. A reprint of this early Australian Classic. Cover in two colours by Alex. Sass. 160 pages, is.; posted, is. id. THE LABORATORY AND OTHER VERSES. By W. A. Osborne. Small Quarto, Antique paper, printed in two colours. Price 2s. 6i. ; postage, id. A small collection of fugitive verses by one who is occupied in scientific pursuits. " Technique almost perfect, a command of varied styles, grace, restraint." — The Register. HEARTS OF THE PURE. By D. M. Ross. Dedicated to Madame Melba. Full cloth, gold blocked. Price 3s. 6d. ; posted, 3s. 8d. " Mr. Ross . . . alike in his verse and his prose makes his appeal to those for whom Kenneth Grahame wrote ' The Golden Age,' and Stevenson ' A Child's Garden of Verses.' " BELLS AND BEES. By Louis Esson, Price 2^. 6i. ; posted, 2S. 8d. " All who read Mr. Esson's book will be forced to recognize the singular quality and charm of his ' native wood-notes wild.' " — Publishers' Circular. " ' Bells and Bees ' is a tremendous surprise. Here is a real poet, of no little distinction." — Morning Leader (London). 6 PENETRALIA, By Sydney Jkphcott. In Cloth Covers, 35, 6d. ; posted, 3s. M. " ' Penetralia ' will be welcomed by lovers of poetry." — The Advertiser. " He has real capacity for visualizing scenes and incidents of outdoor life." — Athenceum. POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM GAY. With Biographical Sketch by J . Glen Oliphant. Bound in Full Cloth, Gold Blocked, Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. ; postage, 2d. " This excellent edition of a most interesting poet's work should introduce Gay's poetry to a large circle of readers, who will be the better for knowing it." — The Standard of Empire (London). " They contain abundant evidence of vigorous thought ex- pressed in happiest manner." — British Times, " Purity of form and a clean and chaste simplicity of thought and melody." — Herald (Melbourne). POEMS. By Hubert Church. 208 pages in full Cloth, Gilt Top. Printed with clear type on a white paper specially made. Price 3s. 6d.; posted, 3s. 8d. " Mr. Church's work will well repay serious study," — South- land Times. " Here we find a collection of Mr. Church's agreeable verses, marked by that delicacy of touch, refinement of treatment, and depth of poetic insight which we have before admired in his work." — Otago Daily Times. " Poems which display a high standard of culture, a reflective mind, a graceful fancy, and much skill in dealing with verse- forms melodiously and with distinct charm," — Sydney Telegraph, PURPLE AND GOLD. Poems and Lyrics by F. S. Williamson. Tastefully bound in purple cloth, gold blocked. 3s. 6d.; posted, 35. 8d. " It is delightfully refreshing to peruse these verses with their gum trees and wattle blossom and the spring wind blowing in September." — Dundee Advertiser. " It is no exaggeration to say that this volume contains two or three of the finest lyrics that have yet been published in Aus- tralia." — A. T. Strong in The Melbourne Herald. 1 SEA AND SKY. By J. Le Gay Brereton. Small Quarto. Edition limited to 500 copies. Price 3s. Od.; posted, 3s, 7d, " One of the most purely poetical volumes yet produced in Australia." — The Worker, " Such careful work, so delicately done, is a rare portent in our vague Australian sky." — The Bulletin. "There is nothing whatever in it about horses . . . reflects no little credit upon the condition of poetical culture in Melbourne, and should be read with a hearty interest by lovers of poetry anywhere." — The Scotsman. PETALS IN THE WIND. By Helen Jerome. Bound in dainty paper cover. Price is. ; posted, is. id. " Its airy graceful IjTical pieces give a pleasant expression not always so light as the title of the collection suggests." — The Scotsman. THE HEART OF THE ROSE. An illustrated Quarterly for those who love inspn-ation and imagination in literature. Four issues appeared of this suggestive and imaginative maga- zine and were entitled The Heart of the Rose, The Book of the Opal, The Shadow of the Hill, and Fire o' the Flame. There are still a few complete sets left, and lovers of beauty should not hesitate to forward five shillings for the four parts. J Charming Book of Prose Poems for Nature Lovers. FROM RANGE TO SEA : A Bird Lover's Ways. By Charles Barrett. With a special preface by Donald Macdonald. A beautiful booklet, dealing in a sympathetic manner with Nature as seen and felt by the author on his rambles. Printed on art paper, and illustrated by 40 original photographs taken by Mr. A. H. E. Mattingley. Price is. ; postage, id. "A harmonious soliloquy among the birds . . . contains a good deal of valuable material," — Museum Journal (London). a UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-Series 4939 » a « Gt B a u n a a a a a 6 ft & £ 6 ft ft ft ft K H 8 X 1 -JB THIS BOOK CARD ] 5 1 ir^^ %0d'ITVDJO^ University Research Library 1 Library 145a fe rt ^X: 349 4 1 ':.T! -:" ,i-n i i > c H X O X T;- 1.72 1 J "■"; 1 i~,- — 1 1 . J X: 0-7 __I — r _.