THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY A Vagabond's Philosophy IN VARIOUS MOODS INCLUDING PART II Songs of the South Seas BY A. SAFRONI-MIDDLETON AUTHOR OF 'bush AND SEA RHYMES,' ETC. COMPOSER OF MUSIC FOR THE GOVERNMENT REGIMENTAL BANDS, MARCHES, INTERMEZZOS, entr'actes, ETC. ETC. LONDON CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LTD 1914 Pt 5 1^^ \^ DEDICATION Old comrades, by my fire in dreams Your hands I clasp to-night ; Heaven starlit o'er the forest gleams As 'neath the blood-wood's height You lie with folded hands asleep By shores of tumbling waves, As I creep up each silent steep To kiss forgotten graves. The soul of all the songs I sing, Whatever sounds most true, I dedicate each wild true ring, Inspired, old chums, by you. The world grieves not that you are dead — Brave, reckless men who died, Crept from their camp-fires back to bed Along the wild hillside. But, comrades, 'neath the hills or waves. Could one sad song of mine Reveal dead souls of far-off graves, 'Twould be a song divine. As pure and sweet as flowers that grow Where once with wild delight You sang, where bush-flowers, bursting, blow Thro' dead fire-ash to-night. vi DEDICATION And so in dreams I take your hands, In long-dead eyes I gaze, And half in tears from other lands Bring back the dear old days. In other lands 'neath greyer skies Wild rides again recall, Your songs, your laughing, manly eyes- The boy who loved you all. Lies in my sea-chest 'neath my bed The fiddle, stringless, still ; Old chums, since all of you are dead, 'Neath forest steep and hill, I cannot play the songs you loved ; But with tired eyes and pen I strive to tell the truth, who roved. And found you — God's best men. CONTENTS PART I A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY PAGE I PIONEERS . , . , II YEARS PARTED 13 BY THE SEA .... 16 IMPERIALISM i8 DRIFTING .... 19 MORTAL ASPIRATIONS 21 THE REFLECTIVE PASSENGER 32 YESTERDAY .... 34 MAN ..... 35 REINCARNATION 36 TO THE MEMORY OF A. H. C. M. . 41 PART II SONGS OF THE SOUTH SEAS PRELUDE— WHY DO I SING SHE-OAKS DESIRE OF THE HILLS THE HOMESTEAD . IN THE FOREST I? A7 48 SO 52 55 Vlll CONTENTS THE FRIENDLY ISLANDS MAFELETO'S PHILOSOPHY THE CHIEF MATE . A STUDY IN CONTRASTS ROMANCE REALITY ERE I AM OLD THE MISSING EARL IN THE BUSH THE GOLD COAST THAT HUT ! . SAMOA OUTWARD BOUND THE BRIDAL NIGHT A SAILOR'S GRAVE A VOICE FROM THE SOUTH AN exile's DREAM THE LAST soldier . AFTER MANY YEARS SOUTH SEA ISLANDS THE STORM . A MEMORY A WINDY NIGHT A BUSH GRAVE t SEAS PART I A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY IN VARIOUS MOODS How beautiful the world around here sleeps, As creep those clouds where midnight stars peep through, As waving trees, along each range of steeps. Hide Ocean-dark where waves oft foam to view Through those shore gaps ; as rise and fall grey-wings, Sea-birds, where through dark pines the night wind sings : And Fate-like, footed vast o'er far slope-bars. Mountains uprise their solemn moveless heads, From inland stare out t'wards the sea's fixed stars As forests, miles below — while moonrise spreads — Steal into view, as when from Time's dark sea Creation heaved these hills up silently. I could here half believe those tall gaunt trees Here o'er our campfire, singing in moonlight. Are wrecks, masts by old shores of unknown seas, And sailors — dead, climb, sing up in the night When wails that wind ! as like two old scarecrows In rags we sit here, why — Heaven only knows. A 2 A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY Hairless your head, those once warm kindly eyes Sinless as death, cold as a workhouse bed ; Our toothless mumbling mouths, grown old and wise, Half-hunger for the stars there overhead. Seems Time scythes down the Ages full of spite, To harvest up such sights as we to-night. Our sorrow, — 'tis that voice, hark ! that night wind Wails what forgotten griefs of lovers dead ? As stars — like angels hovering trees to find The dreams of Httle birds asleep in bed — Through branches flash — maybe they see blue day — Our heaven beyond, behind them far away. Maybe the past, sad dreams of all things fled. Like birds that speck the sunset's dim skyHne Fast flying down the dusk to ages dead, 'Twixt Heaven and Earth in dark Fate waters shine- As stars seen on the sea when night winds drift Do fade and shine again 'tween each dark rift. Dark-branched the moonlit forest of the Brain ! By dark thoughts haunted, noiselessly they leap From bough to bough — the Ages ! — winds complain. From what vast seas of passion do they sweep ? What skyHne of this boundless ocean — Night, Doth catch the straggling beams— infinite light ? A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY 3 Creation is a mighty mystery, But wondrous, too, man's mind — it is the sicy Bright with created worlds ! For, as the sea Reflects the stars by night, man's inward eye Doth image small, draws down the shining skies That do gaze back to God, glad — through His eyes ! Comrade — we '11 live again, my whole soul swears The inward dreaming sight fades, never dies ; Just as those unborn children, trembling fears, Small shadows, walk in front of lovers' eyes Down moonlit lanes ; Creation, all man loves, Behind the Mighty Dreamer — through space moves ! How have we grieved o'er grief, have thought sweet truth. Of this sad universe of murmurs deep Heard was when lovely hps breath'd faith through death. To listening ears — We heard the Angels weep — Comrade, we both believed that Woman's Voice ! Yet — better far to grieve — than ne'er rejoice ! That falling star doth emblem our lost faith. How else ? since shut from splendid wealth, such space ? We creep mean alleys, shadow'd by Old Death, Peep o'er Heav'n's boundless fence, such meanness trace. Such power o'er helplessness, till when all 's said, Man's faith is true — we 're better off when dead ! 4 A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY Why for, and whence these aspirations, dreams Of life made beautiful through monstrous test — The creeds, the blasphemies, the wretched schemes To get to Heaven ! Is life some monstrous jest ? Where is sweet virtue ? whose most secret wish To eat the rind — not bolt the tempting dish ! Who knows the other ? oft stern white-wigged might Condemns some helpless soul, all virtue dead, Yet through some dream of passion he by night Oft creeps, takes off his boots too by her bed ! So jogs the world along, through storm and wind And sunlight, beautiful through being blind ! How true 'tis. Virtue is its own reward — A castaway on isle of seas unknown ! Makes some old Negro King fall by the sword Imperial —dead by his bamboo throne, His big kind eyes, astonish'd, watching — puff ! The weaker to the wall — his head blown off ! Where 's our reward ? in rags we sit to-night, God's map of sorrow wrinkled to our eyes ; As winds uplift your shirt reveal to sight Those skinny ribs, the very forest sighs At glimpse of that grey straggling beard, as lingers Moonlight o'er your sad old face and thin fingers. A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY 5 Where are our best dear friends ? some strayed and sunk. Frail wayward souls, drown 'd, stumbled in the pool Of what big wish ? Maybe some died dead drunk. Poor devils ! trampled flowers once beautiful ; As soft- winged birds place confidence in men, Crept in some trap, and ne'er came out again ! And we have sinned, — but ne'er all virtue lost, Since side by side our campfires we have wept With keen remorse, as o'er the forest tossed, Half holy felt — 'tis true our passions slept — Alas ! men sin, yet what else can men do — Starve ? with such lovely eyes. Heaven in full view ! And, too, we 've hung our heads, hot blushed with shame As heavenward gazed that good man's goggling eyes. Till up we looked. Ah ! curse his wretch 'd name ! And our surprise, — duped by the vilest hes, We chased his flying feet, our eyes flamed wrath — Our cash-box gone ! our week's supplies — and faith ! 'Tis only sad men are man's faithful friends, Those hearts that blow like flowers by moonlight, Or, as yon wand'ring moon's pale sorrow lends Your dreaming eyes of yesterday's dead light. Ah, all men know 'tis only sorrow kneels By dying men, since only sorrow feels. 6 A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY Your eyes sad legends are, in one skull rolled, Time's mouth wails, 'tis your lips. Just as those gleams — Our campfire's blaze — once blossom 'd green and gold Of trees, we are surviving ghosts, strange dreams Of what blue days ? what dead wild girls and men Have crept through skyhnes to these scenes again ! Alas ! 'tis grief that makes man's soul aspire For harvest of Fate's grinding, silent mills. I know this — my dead self near this campfire To-night doth watch me — somewhere in these hills ; 'Twill haunt me through the night, asleep in dreams. Sad as moonUght o'er stealing forest streams. A wild bird's song steams in that old stew-pot ! Sad food for heirs of Heaven, while stars blaze heat, Infinities of waste ! seems, God knows not This sad philosophy of shivering feet ; Would He astonish'd lift the veil, aghast See His pale moons and sad men trooping past. O'er rubbish flung, dead worlds cast into space, One awestruck-hunt for Him ! sad droves of eyes. Vast regiments tramping Ages with sad pace. With telescopes that probe for Him through skies. Then, like winds sigh clouds 'neath the sea-moon high, Blow out the suns and moons of all the sky ! A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY 7 To see you wrinkled, old, with soul so brave, I 'd half believe the Mind Immense has died : Creation's boundless mystery, the grave, Of truth and beauty, all worlds through space wide In song, till God uplifts dark shroud of night, Stands, bathing His vast universe with light. Since men like shadows move about the skies, Pale mortal faces dreaming what we seem, Life seems that image of me in your eyes. As by your campfire you sit there and dream ! The ages stealing from God's slumbering mind, Like moonlit waters ruffled by a wind ! Where 's Beautiful ? is life, man's lovely aims. All arts, but mouldy fungus growth that sprouts On dreaming brains ? Are our ambitious claims Like to wild blasphemies, those frenzied shouts — Our sad Comrade, who through this whole night yell^. Swears that he 's God — in madhouse shut up dwells ! Ah I Atheist men may be reverse of wise, Grand fools, big eyebrows and stupendous head May hide Heaven, seen by those closed sacred eyes. The kneeling child beside its tiny bed. While they through darkness move like bhnd cold- moles. As blue skies shine one inch above their holes. 8 A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY Yet, comrade, do I love man's doubting heart. Those men whose grief is hfe's self-sacrifice. That ' True Behever ' hate who stands apart In virtue's robe that covers all his vice ; By Faith, I 'd shun all Heav'n, with him to dwell, I 'd pack my doubts and take my hopes to Hell ! Think you I 'm mad ? — well, madness is the breath Of life's big wish, turn your eyes to the past. You will find stern reality was death ; Loveliness held in our arms secure at last Dissolves to dust, our soul shapes all that seems. Life's golden age shines through our wildest dreams ! So fades Earth's splendour, dreams of fleeting bliss. The chemistry of life, in lovelit eyes. Creation's passion centr'd in one kiss, The ecstasy of dreams, the star-thrilled skies, Eternities of one Impassioned Night To this — two sad old men with blurred eyesight. But, we 've been happy ! think of all we 've done ! In seaports of the world, our wild careers, Nudged old Fate in the ribs, danced in the sun, Are known now as two brave old Pioneers ! Heavens ! Poets sang our Fame ! each song enshrines The beauty — Jove, not ours — of their own minds. A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY 9 We have seen men laid in their lone bush-graves, A swag beneath some head — then left behind With forest silence and the birds, the waves On shores hard by roll up, and still the wind Sings on, and still somewhere in distant lands Love waits to kiss those lips and buried hands. And children, yet unborn, the flowers will pull, Blooms fed by dust of that poor silent Earth. If flowers are dead men's eyes, then beautiful Will be sweet blossoms o'er past campfire mirth. And some Australian girl's warm lovelit eyes, Her lips that kiss love's gift, pluck'd — where he Hes ! So, comrade, sleep, our dust will live again. Here, by my side in friendship lay your head. And, ere the campfire dies, let 's welcome pain And thank our lucky stars we are not dead ! Had man been born in Heav'n he would, I '11 swear. Point to those stars and cry, ' 'Tis Heaven out there ! ' What boots it to bewail ? Doom's vast dark glass A mirror is for magic dream Immense, Where o'er the dancing stars do glittering pass, And, if we smudge with our distorted sense The radiance of Creation's lovely skies, 'Tis God's grief maketh beautiful man's eyes. 10 A VAGABOND'S PHILOSOPHY That campfire warms our bloodless feet, so cold, Where 'd be the slumbrous warmth that creeps them now. The splendour of youth's song — if never old Grew man, with Scripture grand writ o'er his brow ? These wrinkles, God's dreams are, sad thoughts — no worse. The Hidden Poet of the Universe. So, lay our heads down in deep leafy gloom ; Like children lost ; together sleeping lie. This universe around our sacred room — The pain-thrilled stars that climb that lovely sky Are special lamps hung o'er dark changeless doom, To watch our cherished dreams that must not die. PIONEERS II PIONEERS You men who live in city crowds, what know you of The silences of Earth, the starlit gloom, Where dreaming men 'neath lovely skies oft lonely rove Wild shores where seas for ever beat their doom, Where ships like mighty moths pass by the yellow moon. Their ghostly sails 'neath cloud-wracks gliding by As on the hills you stand and dreaming hear the tune Of humming stars across the silent sky ? Where tree-branched harps wail overhead. Night's solemn words As silvered waters toss, where Ocean roams Till white sails race the moon, winged messengers — Big- Birds, With cargoes of sweet dreams for Enghsh homes ! What know you of sweet virtue of the homeless plain ? — Those men, sad lovers of Earth's loveliest eyes — Ay — sleeping in their shanty dreaming — clasp again Some dead girl in her grave 'neath English skies. Where singing some old song your voice, of boyish glee. Stops as your comrade turns his face away, Then, silence by the campfire's red shine when you see His bright eyes wet with tears for some dead day. 12 PIONEERS Let all your vaunted pride of wealth and fashion 'd walls, Lamp-lit thronged streets, be your eternal Home. And mine — tall singing trees wherethrough the moonlight falls Across the forest floor my footsteps roam. And when I 'm dead, let my eyes feel the grey moss- flowers In dripping moon-light creep through dust that felt Warmth, musical with trees, sweet-throated bird- praised hours Where by my lone bush-bed with faith I 've knelt. YEARS PARTED 13 YEARS PARTED I 'VE loved and lost in this sad spirit- sense — My dreams have blossom'd as a field wildflower That breathes its fragrance to the Soul Immense, Drops sodden in the mud in one brief hour. God knows, my love once was as pure as this. And steadfast as a star's flame through the night : God knows, our hps met in one sacred kiss Ere my star falling curved swept out of sight. Love's mystery I 've known, fair secret charms : And as death steals the loveliest of Earth's eyes — Dissolving them to dust — from out my arms Winds scatter'd her as dust beneath the skies. I shall love her when o'er the twilight falls ; My soul will cling with trailing, beating wings Among the stars till that lost voice soft calls My spirit through the dark from mortal things. From men I 've sat apart : stared at her book — One verse marked off that praised love's length of j^ears — Whoe'er you are, may you, friend, never look Till words seemed blurred as gaze your eyes through tears. 14 YEARS PARTED Man shouts of Heav'n and what his soul is worth, As though God bargains o'er some merchandise — I pray eternal life is some sweet birth Where my awakening gaze sees Heav'n — her eyes. J I 've felt love's wildest passion stir my soul. As singing winds do bending moonht trees. Wailed — as dead sailors 'neath dark Ocean's roll Tossed white hands to the moons of southern seas ! And where are you ? fair image of lost Heaven, Your lovehness — 'twas my soul and these eyes That fashion'd Earth's wild-angel soft thing driven To my glad arms — out of dreamed Paradise. Can dreams forget, can you forget, 'twas I Gazed in those eyes, with rapture, saw strange light Steal like sunrise across a midnight sky ? Ah, God, the very stars abashed took flight. Then, climbed the moon, peeped through that window- pane, Saw your face fast asleep on love's strong arm. Thick hair unloosed o'er warm white bosom reign, As smiled your sleeping hps through moonlight's charm. Is sorrow one sad song of earthly things ? And trust in woman's love the dying day ? Are dreams sunsets soft-specked with curling wings — Birds o'er the skyline fading far away ? YEARS PARTED 15 Now — like to swallows lost far out at sea, I seek love's south, warm spirit eyes, true lips ; And, as lost trembling birds cling — woe is me ! With tiny feet to masts of passing ships, My thoughts roam o'er the universe in vain To find the splendour of some dream I knew, Out to the stars cling fluttering, till again My arms hold fast my loveliest dream — of you. I 've loved the stars — and all those things that shine With happiness of pure enduring light. Ere from your eyes across brief day of mine Clouds crept, hid starht Heaven out of sight. And, now — my very faith in God seems dead ; The music of my heart moans Hke the sea ; My Heaven — where slumbering lies my tired head As in a dream j^ou come back, dear, to me. i6 BY THE SEA BY THE SEA Hark ! 'tis the night-bird's singing sweet, Cloth'd warm in feathers, rich in song. From bough to bough it flits along. As man, dejected, warms his feet And mumbles with dry tuneless tongue. His dreams are fleeting as the wind, All that he loves doth fade, alas ! Brief as the imaged birds that pass O'er hill-quiet lakes ; — still, in his mind Stars sleep — 'tis God's sad mirror-glass. Oh, what this sorrow of the world, I 've heard it through the rigging blown As sailors, their legs round yards thrown. Out seaward gazed as grey wings curled In silence round the storm-moon lone. I 've heard tremendous ocean pain The universe wrapt in a shroud, Not dead — but struggling, cry aloud As each flash split the night in twain. Saw ghosts aloft, where men did crowd. BY THE SEA 17 As one who on a dark shore stands, Doth gaze upon a midnight sea — Dark-moving moon-bathed mystery — Yet sees blue waves of distant lands Glad-singing up far shores — to me Comes back the light of other days, As gazing on the ocean deep, Wherein a dead man lies asleep, I watch the fate-like moving ways, I who alone his memory keep. i8 IMPERIALISM IMPERIALISM Saved, say you ? Well, yes, in this sense, a citizen of the Immense Am I, the stars, my freighted ships, inspire song to my trembhng lips. A child of blacken'd city walls, I claim for my Ancestral Halls Some splendour o'er those plains of space, where-t'wards my beggar'd footsteps trace. Though penniless camped 'neath these trees, as gaze my exiled eyes o'er seas That I must cross, I '11 knock the door, not timidly, mind you, for more Hold out my hands, I '11 bravely lift — these eyes ! He knows the first fine gift. Though spent, alas ! was prized by me — not spent in wails and misery Of selfish song that in the end He 'd fail me, my rich grand one Friend. So go ! depart, wail me no tears — to-night I 'm hstening to the spheres To catch the Harmonies of Space, ere my ej^es look Him in the Face. DRIFTING 19 DRIFTING My soul, dear, as a star in Heaven burning, Sings doom as deep as that unquiet sea, And, as a star in darkest night is turning Out glad blue days, your eyes return to me. Blue shining depths of gladness to mine lifted — As hung impassion 'd souls 'twixt Earth and Heaven — Oh, could the tide return that our lives drifted — And bring me to your arms again — forgiven ! Leave faults asleep — remember wild vows only. The blue-gums, oh, the bush-bird, now years dead. As mirror'd in your eyes we kiss'd, it lonely Sang in the sunlit branches overhead. The river in the hills still wanders, singing, And, in those boughs by night the parrots sleep — Like my old thoughts, when moonbeams, to leaves chnging, Reveal their frightened eyes as 'possums leap. No day breaks o'er the hills of that sad dream-land. But from those boughs the birds awake and fly, No sunset falls, but on those hills I lone stand And watch them down the skyline fade and die. 20 DRIFTING Thick-overgrown, the shanty by the hillside Still stands ; when through its doorless, moonlit room The dead leaves fall, the creeping dingo's feet glide Till sunrise streaks each day of changeless gloom. And, on the walls old picture frames are clinging ; The fireside where we sang and dreamed for hours — Sat o'er by nights, watch'd ember-bright flames flinging — Moss-grown, now blossoms red and blue bush flowers. Where are those dreams, your eyes and all the laughter ? The comrades of dead gum-tree camp, hard by ? All faded into sunsets — silence after Of night and loneHness across the sky. In dreams I watch the unborn Ages breaking — As waves in moonlight toss white hands and climb For ever up dark shores — new eyes awaking Are romping round the skirts of aged Time ; Blue days, the stars behind for ever flying Bring music and strange voices with the years. And on the hills I stand with Autumn dying, Her lakes asleep are deep with huddled tears. Come to me, dear, in dreams of sleepless longing, As moonlight falls where few sad flowers remain. As southbound swallows 'neath the stars rush thronging All homeward fly, come back to me again. Old winds asleep, keep secrets of the hollows, The birds that sang — for years their songs have fled, Come back, ere, all too soon, the darkness follows. Come back, ere these few flowers, my dreams, are dead. MORTAL ASPIRATIONS 21 MORTAL ASPIRATIONS Scene : A mortal having escaped the penalty of death, appears outside the gates of Heaven, and there, on the sacred threshold of Immortality, stands trembling, thinking to deceive qob— though umvittingly — by pleading that the purity of his mortal aspirations, though still clothed in the garment of mortality, deserve to enter Paradise, so that he might gaze upon the woman whom he loves with earthly eyes. He strives through finite lips to convince god of the absolute spiritual nature of his love, that there is no need for him to die, so beautiful are the aspirations that have survived the shadows of the world. The Supreme Mind cannot help him in his material state, but sadly listens. MORTAL God, I am cold, let Thou me in. I love not Earth ; I hate, too, Sin. The flesh Thou gavest 'tis so weak, Yet I would find that which I seek, And still not die. GOD Who art thou there that knockest here ? What thy great sorrow, what thy fear ? 22 MORTAL ASPIRATIONS Hast thou uncoiled the toil Doom gave ? Who dared thee step across thy grave ? MORTAL Unhappy, God, on Earth was I ; Ambition probed thy lovely sky ; The birds sang something in mine ears That made me dream of Thee in tears, And she, too, whom I love, is here. So lovely — must be. Father, is she near ? GOD What seekest thou, child of that world, Those whitest limbs thou didst see curled In Death's strong arms, in dark vault place. I saw death let thee kiss her face ! And canst thou ask, plead there defiled For her in spirit, mortal child ? How knowest which didst love the best ? Her soul in mortal garment drest. Or light unseen of thought's sad skies, That beauteous spirit of her eyes. MORTAL I did love sweet thoughts of her mind, As dreaming mortals love the wind Of music — those sad beating wings Of crying angels on harp strings ; I loved her with all strength I have, My love 'tis stronger than the grave. MORTAL ASPIRATIONS 23 GOD Then why didst coilie across the sky With thy strong love — afraid to die ? MORTAL [strives to tell god that he loves both his mortality and His spirit, as god loves Himself and his Creation) Thou lovest Thy Celestial Night, Dear God, and lovely is Thy sky Where fast across your swallows fly — When from Thy bosom on each flight The wandering stars go by. Ne'er have I dreamed Thou didst forget Those souls that chng to each sunset — As sailors cling to masts at sea And sink, O God, with faith in Thee. GOD [answers sadly) Thou standest clad in flesh defiled, How can the spirit help thee, child ? MORTAL [wonders what god may mean) O God, doth that black angel, Death, E'er claim man's soul at his last breath ? That blind dumb thing that tramps the spheres This night hunts through Thy universe ; Men cringe to it with thousand fears, Forgive me, God, if it I curse ! Oh blessed is Thy unshadowed sky Wilt Thou, dear God, let me go by ? Why must I die ? 24 MORTAL ASPIRATIONS GOD Thy soul must be as bright and fair As star that flames in heavens of air, Ere thou go by, child, thou must die ! But she thou lovest lingereth near, Trembhng listens — now with fear ! MORTAL Father, is she standing there Those eyes I kissed ? I combed her hair, 1 threw my world's ambition by. By her to dream and sweetly lie Through sleepless nights ! God, my soul's ambitious birth Has hung 'twixt Heaven and my Earth, My soul a searchlight Thee to find ! And, as Thy kind sun in the sky 'Twixt Earth and Thee revolves, doth wind The stars to view, then soft blue days, My sad thoughts and my soul's warm praise, 1 have with trust complete Thee given, With feet on Earth, my head in Heaven. Have I moved o'er sad mortal ways. Thy voice I 've heard — when sailors died, As mothers old by firesides cried By night, when to the window-pane The wind came tired, wet with rain, MORTAL ASPIRATIONS 25 Did follow sunsets 'cross seas wide, Crept up the moonlit lonely shore, Brought dying thoughts — tapped on the door. I 've felt Thy presence in that room Where breathed a baby's face asleep. Thy moonbeams sad did quivering creep Those eyelids lovely, as through gloom Bright angels moved, did bending weep. What greater sorrow ere I prove Through these pale lips depths of my love ? May I, God, claim in Heaven still These mortal eyes ? If I must die. Sweet aspirations of our sky To bright halls of your Heaven bring ? In Thy Just Presence stand and sing, To tearless Angel-eyes and ears. Songs trembling o'er with human tears And bitterness ? Canst see the will That pleadeth for my soul within ? Is Mortal's grief his own wrought sin ? May I go by ? GOD Thou knowest not thyself, my child. MORTAL Immeasurable Thy own created space, Thou knowest where its endless bounds do end ! 26 MORTAL ASPIRATIONS Why didst create me, with pale mortal face And mind finite ? from wealth infinite lend Such shadow, such sad grief to soul enshrined In clay — that seekest Thee ! Thy boundless mind As moonhght falls on sea-dark waters. GOD Do poets dream, expect their much-loved book Of saddest verse will ope, inquire and look Them in the face ? demand with grief what brought Into their soul sincere its own sad thought ? MORTAL [bewildered) Father ! Beautiful is moonhght on the sea, It is as hght in Mortal's dreaming eyes — Reflected from Thy bright Infinity ; But, O God, in the end each poet dies ! May I step in ? ere dead, have one sweet look With mortal eyes, drink radiance of her face ? Thou hast verse writ in me ! — Thy pleading book ! It bids my hfe pass by Thy boundless grace ! Our poets of the world have writ such things. Not dead, have entered Heaven on wings ! And poets are Thy thoughts, O God, GOD My thoughts unchained afar may roam As winds the moonlit waves drift into foam, Man's brief thoughts sparkle. MORTAL ASPIRATIONS 27 MORTAL As lightning silently exalts the night Of cloud, and ocean's pain reveals to sight, When o'er the ragged edge of midnight blue The lovely wet-stars do flash through, I 've watched Thy thoughts flash, far outwind O'er dark Immensity — Thy mind ; Just as I feel Thou standest now, Hid in bright heavens of light. As ages wrinkle o'er Thy brow Creation's grief in your deep eyes, I 've seen Thee hid vast in the skies ! Thy shadow moved — it made the night And breathed the stars ! 'Twas when I prayed, a little child ; Father, was I then defiled ? GOD My son, I love thee as myself, I knew not, shut in hills of time, Thou would'st so near t'wards Heaven climb. MORTAL God, when the sailor climbs at sea Tall masts, his shadow in moonlight Upon the deck toils silently. Doth mimic him up in the night. So climbed I, toiled toward Thy mind — Would leave my shadow blind behind. 28 MORTAL ASPIRATIONS let me pass, have sweet new birth, My ghostly shadow o'er the Earth Will run through moonlit streets, wail grief: Seen by men 'twould inspire belief ! Or in this mortal garment drest. With Thy own sweet permission, God, 1 '11 steal to Earth, make sad men blest. Walk old ways that these feet have trod — Just as that pale-faced Christ that died — By each dark unbeliever's side I 'II walk — nor plead on Earth again, For Thy sake, as Thy Son — in vain ! Through crowded lamplit ways I '11 creep. Find sad men that on doorsteps sleep ; I '11 kiss them, bless them, ere quite dead. For Christ's sake will kiss each poor head. Relight their sleepless vacant eyes — Men that still breathe, but have met Death. And being dead, still grieve — lack faith ! God, may I now creep through Thy skies, Thy earnest child ? God, wert Thou me, and I, God, Thou, I 'd let Thee through. May I pass now ? [god remains silent as the mortal continues. Men have dreamed that Creation's lovely womb Was fathered by dark soulless cruel Death. MORTAL ASPIRATIONS 29 Thy universe some monstrous endless tomb, That Thy vast power of bright creating breath Breathes everlasting silence o'er the spheres, O'er heavens of thought, and lovely listening ears To murmurs of Thy universe of gloom ; That eyes may be the moons o'er tides of tears That drift across pain-thrilled infinities Of dark and changeless Doom ! GOD All thou dost say eternally I 've known. I cannot let thee by, child, thou must die. As she, that purest love of earth. That suffered for thy mortal birth — that other ! MAN {remembering Earth's purest love answers eagerly) 1 love her as I do those eyes That loveHt search for tiny sighs, Watch for small shadows of our skies That sweetly t'wards stars did uplift. And caught my soul adrift — my mother ! GOD 'Twas she with sorrow to Me came. Her eyes with grief of thee aflame. Thou knowest, Mortal, all the rest — Her soul clung weeping to My breast. Nor hast thou asked for her till now. 30 MORTAL ASPIRATIONS The MORTAL hangs his head with shame, and answers As swift instinct unerring flies 'Neath stars, those small bright gliding eyes Of south-bound swallows through the night, All twittering on far seaward flight. My thoughts through starlit space have flown — Dropped dead long ere they reached Thy throne — Their tiny souls, sad ghostly things, Came crying back with fluttering wings To drop again to deep space night. Once more flit round Earth's pale sunlight, And still from mortals ere they die Their trembling songs — thoughts to Thee fly, dear God. [god does not answer. In despair the mortal gazes up from the threshold of the sacred Halls of Exiled Humanity, and cries— Oh, must I die, God ? I who stand Here in despair, have brought This little bag, 'tis in my hand And holds my cherished thought — Thoughts of sweet Mother Earth. Oh, splendour of those boundless eyes Wherein the dark tides fall and rise That drift the stars ! Where art thou, God ? [Only the echo of his oivn voice answers, and the MORTAL ASPIRATIONS 31 shadows fall over him as once more he con- tinues, having faith that god, though silent, is still listening. Ne'er have I evil thought, dear God, of Thee, And, if e'er 'gainst Thy bright immortal face Flew dark night birds, and beat it, flapped their wings, They were dark cruel haunting thoughts of men, Bhnd nightmare things that whir from dark to light ; And, thoughts that on Thy shoulder trembling stood And sang songs full of tears — such thoughts were mine. [So spoke the mortal sad, and as once again through tremendous silence the echoes answered him. In lost despair his eyes gazed o'er space wide, Then noiselessly he dropped to Earth and died, And mortals gathering, on his pale face gazed To see those lips and dead eyes smile — amazed ! 32 THE REFLECTIVE PASSENGER THE REFLECTIVE PASSENGER Out o'er the sea the waves like sorrow beat ; Beneath the white-moon mystery oft toss, As thump the decks here throbbing 'neath my feet The engines urge the Hner leagues across. Hark ! — passengers ! their voices echoing float Where grey sea-birds glide by the deck-saloon, As in my heart rebounds the magic note Of night — the Ocean's everlasting tune. There are the stars, the dark seas wallowing shake The mirror'd moon ; as toils the wriggling screw. For miles behind winds one bright tumbling wake, A silver path 'neath dome of midnight blue. She plunges on, through boundless gloom doth glide. Her funnels snort red smoke, 'tis rolling by. Some stars arc glittering where, dissolving wide. Like monstrous wraiths, it fades across the sky. THE REFLECTIVE PASSENGER 33 My eyes intense watch, envying misty things ! There, on the bridge, move awful forms of Fate, As moonhght to each unshaved face soft cHngs ; They are on watch — the skipper and chief mate ! And who am I ? outbound for distant lands j A passenger who dreads the light of day, Here hiding, hush'd ! dirt grimed my face and hands ? I am, O God, the starving Stowaway ! 34 YESTERDAY YESTERDAY To you, my saddest song I sing, A song weaved from the breath Of all sweet birds that thrill the spring, And all the grey of death. The calm, clear beauty of your eyes Gleams far across the years, A tiny sparkhng bridge of sighs From now — to boyhood tears. Deep in my heart pale flowers grow, Spring up in dreaming light. And, shivering softly, burst, and blow In tears of mist to-night. For years have flown away, dear girl, Since on your lovely head Winds kissed each sunlit golden curl, And all our vows are dead. MAN 35 MAN Man's brain it is Creation, that vast sky, The stars, his thoughts, across forever flash ; Celestial are his eyes, they never die, They gleam in space — a thrown stone's sparkling splash In tropic waters — so do they rehearse Brief splendour of the Outer Boundless Mind ; And conscious doth become the universe Of night immense. His dreams, by dark outlined. Are lovely as his stars in splendour move Across skies framed by grand imagination — Which is Infinity in pangs, doth prove Man's eyes create this dream of vast Creation ! A power tremendous, thriUing worlds with light — God's eyelight mirror'd on brief mind finite. 36 REINCARNATION REINCARNATION Life's splendid poem, love, is this — ^ To blush your curved white bending throat With one smart of a clinging kiss ; My soul in dreams like stars that float On midnight seas 'neath summer skies Whene'er I gaze — in your clear eyes. Those far fixed mountains and those seas — Deep moonlit waters grandly moving — Hush'd songs of starlit waving trees Where 'neath we sit in silence loving, Is landscape of the Artist real Who paints the air the thoughts we feel ! The flowers of heaven — that vast space field Far scattered o'er those hollow ways — They are the blossoming buds to yield Opening eyes, love's boundless gaze From boundless worlds, till all rehearse The mind that moves the Universe ! REINCARNATION 37 We are strange spirit air of dreams, That are the currents of the sea Whereon stars shine — heaven's own moonbeams ! Its tide sweeps t'wards eternity, One ocean power, the whole doth move With setting suns to boundless love. All that we feel, all that we are. The wistful gleam, dear, of your eyes Is like to twihghts and one star. Ere myriads blaze the dark'ning skies — That shadow vast through hidden hght — God, moving in the Infinite ! And, love, each breathing fond caress, My whispering lips, your hstening ears, Your pale face — music's sweet distress — Winds out at sea, our exile fears — All is a shell's faint hollow cry Of mind — behind that great dumb sky 1 Your flower-like eyes set 'neath your brow Where Hfted hair, kissed by the wind. Half hides each ghmmering gaze as now They do express your hidden mind. Resemble those immortal eyes That do express forth all the skies ! 38 REINCARNATION So, grasp this gift of blood-thrilled love, With lip to lip, drink while we may Of life's sweet wine that eyes may prove Creation's grand pain toiled away, Nor toiled in vain, that we may see — Half feel — bliss that we are to Be ! Your pleading eyes, ah, love, may soon Express some doubt the lone heart feels. But, life it is that changeful moon That fades, yet ever full blown steals O'er these same scenes — so, dear, this know — I loved you ages long ago ! And love, at death, your dreams, sweet birds. From your mind to your eyes will swim. Will ghde away winged spirit herds To fade in sunset far and dim ; But eyes, like sunsets, only die To open in some morning sky. A thousand years ago that sea Beneath that same old moon did cry. And on these hills, our dead selves — we ! With lip to lip, moaned ' We must die.' The wind along the waste still sweeps, And to my arms the same love leaps ! REINCARNATION 39 Death will not hold us down in sleep, Dead, dumb lips pray, nor pray in vain, From out each dark age, love, you '11 leap To sunlight and my arms again — Your sweet voice trembling in my ears I '11 half remember these same years ! We 're very old, in my heart's gloom I 've, frighten'd, watch'd my dead self creep ; O'er magic landscape, changeless doom, I 've run, a ghost that cannot sleep ! My arms held you, by moonlit seas I laid you dead 'neath forest trees. I heard your voice call on the wind, As silvered seas did onward roll The midnight mystery of mind — Some Boundless Ocean of my Soul, As through the phantom glooms I crept From lonely shores where dead you slept. Dead, too, we 're, lying in these hills ! Curled in dark ages by my side Your dead form sleeps, this love that thrills My soul — 'tis kisses as you died ! Those ancient trees, where moonlight swims, Flower now, warmth of long dead white limbs. 40 REINCARNATION Place your small hand of dreams in mine. Just as a pledge to ne'er forget My passion is that blood-gold shine That clings around your soul's sunset — That howe'er far your grave may be From mine — you will remember me ! And, love, when moonlight falls across Flowers blowing o'er your buried head. As those far sea waves silvered toss, These hills will be our bridal bed, Each sweet birth from each buried mind. Dead, clinging dreams that seek the wind ! And all sweet birds, at sunset singing, Our dead vows pour'd from moving throats. Adrift in boughs around us clinging Old echoes of each heart's dead notes, Wild music that the woods still keep As in the hills we lie asleep. TO THE MEMORY OF A. H. C. M. 41 TO THE MEMORY OF A. H. C. M. Here in the heart of death, life and sweet songs Of woods drenched with fair joy of live green leaves, Brief flowers, bright plumaged birds, soft twittering throngs As tired sea-winds with branchy music grieves And seems to grieve for all my sad heart longs. The sun, out in the big kind sky, warmth breathes. Where are old guests ? Through silent halls I plead, 'Tis my own echo roams this sacred place. And answers mortal ears. My sad eyes read Life's riddle — 'tis my own pale mortal face, And far worlds whereon men, the voiceless dead. Once cried ' Infinity ! ' — through forlorn space. Tremendous power man dreams, from night he rose, With trembhng hands t'wards stars he did arise. The sad Priest of the Universe ! The throes Of what dead worlds — sad shining in his eyes ? His voice the scream of anguish silence knows Has echoed 'neath the vault of stricken skies. 42 TO THE MEMORY OF A. H. C. M. If Earth our mother is, I pray for sleep Below green trees, my eyes just covered o'er With scented mould, that living flowers may leap To laughter where the sun bright-winged doth soar. My fingers dead will feel each twining creep As flowers spring softly through the wood's dark floor. My dead blood's passion, grass, births of wild flower. My thoughts on winds that roam the Universe ! My soul some infinite lost travelling power That once dreamed God ! and no surviving curse Alive of mine for men must bless the hour On life's strange hill, since we the All, rehearse. Moonlight my sorrow is, Sunset my soul, Stars, my bright thoughts, my brief flesh, pain — O Earth. The Ocean's boundless round, doth blindly roll, And exiles me — Creation's saddest birth. The wandering winds my death through ages toll. May sleep be sorrow in God's eyes of truth ! For then, dead souls dwell in that first grand sight Of all that is, just as suns sunk in space Shine in dark depths, the Infinite, and light Of Hcav'n one boundless song, one thrilling race For life through death ! And God doth all the night Enfold — and all the stars reflect His face. TO THE MEMORY OF A. H. C. M. 43 Oh, what we were, again we soon shall be, The wayside flower knows grief — its wistful eyes Peep through deep grass, and strains small face to see Its hills 'neath heaven — contented, drops and dies — And such our weakness is. God grant that we Alive, know death, and dead, know life's surprise. PART II SONGS OF THE SOUTH SEAS PRELUDE WHY DO I SING Why do I sing of sunsets far, where the dying skyline ends, And why, oh, why, are the world's worst men my very dear, best friends ? Deep in my heart I somehow know 'tis the sad hps say those things, That fluttering cry and steal away to God on angel- wings. Why do I sing of homeless men and happy, singing birds, Of sunsets on the boundless seas with tender, poet words ? Because I know men, birds, and flowers on lands 'neath all the skies Are beautiful, are sorrow-tears of God's creating eyes. 47 48 SHE-OAKS SHE-OAKS (AUSTRALIA) The breeze-wail of myalls and she-oaks I can hear ; on the steep Faint echoes the wood-cutter's axe-strokes From forest glooms deep ; And sweet sounds, — oh, a girl's bright laughter Comes back like a song That brings tears to our eyes years after As memories throng. I know that time's hand has rung changes. That only in dreams Moonlight falls asleep on the ranges. The voices of streams To my ears in moonlight arc singing Beneath the gum-trees. Yet only one voice is still ringing — The voice of the seas. Old comrades, with ships down the skylines. Have faded away With sunsets, and only one star shines — My soul's mystic ray. SHE-OAKS 49 In the mist and rain of the long nights My dreaming remains ; But I 'm happy in dreams of those old fights O'er seas and the plains. And I greet you all of the old times — Brave sea-chums afar. Here 's a toast ! The soul of my rough rhymes Wherever you are ! I gaze in your eyes, dead or living, In alien lands. If in Heaven you '11 cherish this giving, This clasp of the hands. D 50 DESIRE OF THE HILLS DESIRE OF THE HILLS (QUEENSLAND) I LOVE the hills, the wilds, the hollows ; I somehow know a sweet dead swallow's Fluttering soul imprisoned in mine cries ; I never see the dying flowers and mists of sunset autumn hours, Out o'er the hills, but southward turn my eyes. I hear the reckless drover singing, the scatter'd stock all homeward bringing, Across the plains where bushmen racing go ! I see the tall red woods stand sleeping, their moon-bright branches 'possums leaping. As men move by their small tents just below. Where life is one unpolished song of rhythms as you jog along, Old trees your friends, night and the starry skies ; A sweet bird singing in the trees to serenade your memories, As in the campfire stare your dreaming eyes. Oh for the sea-slopes curved and slanting, the tree-frogs round mc weirdly chanting, And in the moonlit, marsh-flowered scented swamp ; DESIRE OF THE HILLS 51 And far off, on the dim skyline, the swagman's tiny bush-fire shine. Where, homeless on the plains, he 's pitched his camp. Oh for the cattle o'er plains crawhng, the chuckling cockatoos soft-calling, Big, bright-winged blossoms breathing on a branch. As creeping ragged from the gums, the swagman safe at sunset comes, To sleep inside the friendly squatter's ranch. And o'er the slopes the fiame-tree blooms, all fiery in soft twihght glooms ; As westward o'er the skyhne's scant gum-trees The parrots all fade far away, ring-specks dim down the dying day. In tiny fleets, o'er sunset's golden seas, As o'er the hills tired sea-winds drifting creep down deep hollows, leaves uplifting, And whiffs from bush flowers and sweet-scented musk. The day's death-blood far westward flushing. The woods asleep, the birds all hushing. As God sighs all the stars across the dusk. There in my hut on some lone steep I long to lay my head and sleep. Half dream the night-bird's clandestine refrain Is some dead girl's voice outside singing, as moonlit flowers the walls soft cUnging, Scent dreams that drift me o'er the seas again ! 52 THE HOMESTEAD THE HOMESTEAD I CAN still see the forest trees All waving in the dusk, Smell from damp glooms, sweet whiffs of breeze, Dead wattle blooms and musk. Where sunset floods the dying day — Ring-specked, where parrots flock — Roams o'er the plateau far away The drover with his stock. The small bush homestead by the sea Still stands, the front door swings As on the tall, gaunt, dead gum-tree The magpie sits and sings. There, by the door, the stockman sits And smokes. On her red rug His pale wife sits just by and knits — His beard three children tug ! And as I stand and, dreaming, gaze, The trees have taken wing, And from my heart out of old days Comes this sad song I sing. THE HOMESTEAD 53 That garden where those children ran, Raced me, laughed, screamed with joy, Is overgrown — and I, a man. Have overgrown the boy. I know the redwood forest height — Big branches thrilled with words. Rich-laden with God's golden light, Songs of soft, bright-winged birds — Has blazed to ash in homestead fires Of cities o'er the plains ; Of all those woods and sweet desires This poem now remains. Sweet Ellen, curled hair and brown eyes, I loved her pretty ways ; And as I dream sad heart-mists rise From those wild boyhood days. My love was half a passion then. That pure love God earth gave. That comes in after-years to men For some one in a grave. Their shanty where I sweetly slept And heard the night-bird screams — As thro' the scrub the dingo crept — Has rotted into dreams : 54 THE HOMESTEAD Now thro' those hills the echoes fly Of hearts o'er shining rails, The night express fast thundering by That brings the English mails. Yet often I go back again To where the homestead stands, Gaze in old eyes thro' mists of pain And clasp old shadow hands ; Kiss Ellen, Bertha, and Lurline : Those pretty children three May some day read these lines of mine And all remember me. IN THE FOREST 55 IN THE FOREST Thro' dark-branched glooms oft do I creep, smell old campfires, and know Some strange delight deep in my heart, dead ages long ago; Lost in the forest far, I creep 'neath thick-mossed ancient trees, My Hstening ears seem echoing shells of immemorial seas ; Old winds drift damp scents o'er a lake, whiffs by my nostrils stray. The wild men in canoes afar in sunset steal away ! Blue flowers, blood-fringed, peep wistfully 'tween crags where damp-drip curls. Gaze up — are half-remembered eyes of lovely wild dead girls. Then in the stillness sadly cries a lone-bird's song above And thrills my heart to tears for some forgotten voice of love. 56 THE FRIENDLY ISLANDS THE FRIENDLY ISLANDS The seas I 've roamed, hypocrisy I hate ; God grafted in my soul sweet fire of song ; On life's dark hills I 've wrestled, fought with fate. Stuck in South Seas, still young I jog along. 'Neath strange stars sit, o'er me the banyan bends These heathens round about their huts my friends. We call them heathens — well, 'tis habit most ; King Mafeleto is my royal friend ; His ancestors, 'tis true, did eat on toast Their mortal enemies, but Heaven defend That I should judge men by their long past crimes — We Christians too have had some fine old times. They 're shouting heathen songs by their hut fires ! At each brown breast clings one sweet little mouth, Like diamonds peep, small satisfied desires — Eyes bright with starlight of the sea-nursed south ! 'Neath moon-bright branches roam tall wild men bare. As maidens sing and comb dishevelled hair. THE FRIENDLY ISLANDS 57 Writhes that grand pain — where dark Pacific Seas Lash tiny isles 'neath midnight's crystal skies, Like tumbling silver ghmmering thro' dark trees ; O'er wild shore reefs sea-dark waves, curling, rise ; Through bamboo branches shine wild eyes, those sins, Savages clothed in loin strip and their own skins. Some nights I creep down, visit my brown brothers In hive-shaped den, each on a small mat squats. Wild jabbering men and rough-haired squatting mothers, All eating fish stuff steaming in earth pots. They turn, smile, show white teeth as I creep in. Such pleased dark eyes, as knees support each chin. Deep-bosomed men, brown statues, thrilled with life, They roam these forests old. Lithe curved-limbed girls. In modest loin strip dressed, laugh, race with strife, My prize to win as fade their sun-flashed curls. Gleam o'er the slopes as long legs, racing, run. Their bright eyes flying back — my brass ring won ! Sweet eyes of innocence, so clear, wherein Surprised you see Creation's virgin light ; Real colour shades of life, and still the sin Bright bubbhng with sweet laughter in God's sight — Our sins unborn, those diamond-sparkling eggs That hatched are spiders creeping on black legs. 58 THE FRIENDLY ISLANDS I 've seen wild orgies 'neath these moonlit palms, Like skeletons wild men dance moonbeams white ; The midnight tribal drum beats loud alarms ! A ghmpse of whirling legs glide thro' moonlight. All come and vanish with the tom-tom's tune As clouds passed one by one across the moon. And silently swayed shadows to and fro In sheets of glass that mirror'd curved dark limbs — All imaged in lagoons ! — where now below Night's one small imaged cloud across soft-swims — When Bingo took to wife Melango fair, Hot-blushing in soft bridal robe — her hair ! I 've seen their King in solemn state enthroned, And fire-majestic gleam in his big eyes, As maidens swayed their bodies, chanting, moaned Fierce tribal songs of deathless histories In dead of night as tom-toms loud did beat And grim Court jester tickled his big feet. Like cherubims by each small hive-hut door Peeped small wild faces with sweet wondering eyes As that old King, to hear such ancient lore, Did lift long arms and chin towards the skies, To call down spirits of the mighty dead. To bless liis isle and fat anointed head ! THE FRIENDLY ISLANDS 59 Then have I, dreaming, safe here up a tree, Thought of my England's splendour and royal Courts, Gazed sadly at stars out across the sea, And wondered why creation changed first thoughts. Made cities with crimes shuffling round in boots. When men so happy seemed in their skin suits ! Men say mosquitoes' fever. South Sea damp On velvet skins, and such like living Hes ! By Heaven ! here 's half the truth, it is the tramp Of white men that the brown ones die like flies. Nor could I sleep last night for traders' rows, And Germans with wild women for their frows ! You could run out a regiment of wild men. Parade them up and down for fifty years, Peer in their eyes, and bury them, and then Swear from your soul those fearless pioneers, That build a nation's glory, pomp and pride, Had less of virtue than the helpless side ! I 've sailed the seas, the lost brigade, those wrecks, I 've chummed with them on their wild flight of haste, They 'd killed some one, may be passed those bad cheques. Rough diamonds ? well, yes, some just bits of paste ! There 's two here now, clean-shaved, dyed ! bless your hearts, I 've seen some funny beggars round these parts ! 6o THE FRIENDLY ISLANDS They '11 build a church ! a prison's gloomy walls Where wild men by their huts now squat and sing. Erect a gallows ! when the trap-door falls, Civihsation will be in full swing ! Nor is this satire, but my modest pun On justice and grim truth beneath the sun ! Where are the unknown seas where they '11 ne'er come ? Wild, hurrying souls, the poet's pioneers ! Sing me a song of silent tribal drum, Dead camp-fires and bush griefs of other years. God, where 's the wave that runs up singing, soars And breaks to spray on undiscovered shores ? Old world, good-bye ! my dreams have ceased to borrow, Strange gleam of stars across this mystic isle. Heaven's calm face brightens like an eye from sorrow, As dawn swamps skyline dark where drift clouds smile. And tumbhng down the slopes, rush, plump and brown, The wild man's children from the small hut town ! MAFELETO'S PHILOSOPHY 6i MAFELETO'S PHILOSOPHY (south sea islands) An old South Sea Islander's real opinion of the white man's trek with his creed into his primaeval provinces, and interesting, inasmuch as it gives one an insight into his view of thinking and seeing things as they are. Come round me, kinsmen, let the white man go, What knows he of our soul, to heathen us. Who drink the virgin forest sap ? We know This much — enough, he is a knowing cuss. Are there no shadows 'neath his native sky, No children starving by his forest tent As from the Royal King's come the roystering cry Of festive song, no souls, no heart's grief rent ? Let him shout on, pass me the full nut-bowl, I 'm old, would I trust to his wretched creed ? I, with my fifty gods, that soothe my soul. Must fail them all — trust to one god — indeed ! Look you — I 'm wise, a dead white man is dead Should he offend his Heav'n while 'neath the sun — And we ? — well, at the worst, when our soul 's fled, If fifty fail, we 've still his Mighty One ! 62 MAFELETO'S PHILOSOPHY He 'd steal our souls, curse him, his lying race Claimed my blue seas and this my ancient isle ! Remember well do I that first white face That blessed my head, with hand t'wards heaven did smile. Pah ! I believed that grin ! — had I known then Those eyes gazed from the spirit heart of hell I 'd slain him ! — faith, 'tis true these strange white men One virtue have when cooked — yes, do eat well ! Pass me the bowl, time 'tis to grieve, at most, When in sick dying eyes the last stars sleep. We 've won our battles too, enjoyed the roast Of what sweet foes ! 'tis even so we reap Sweet vengeance ! They, those prating white men skunks, Our wives defiled, our land made one vile hell ; Cursed missionaries, and traders on night-drunks — Ah ! I 've a tale, when dead, their God to tell ! THE CHIEF MATE 63 THE CHIEF MATE My ship 's at sea, the sails outspread, the moon flies backward overhead. The bow heaves up, the swell is strong, she broadside Hes and skims along ! The figure-head with lifted hands prays on, the skipper staring stands In full view on the poop, beard white — I know the old man 's sad to-night. The ' off ' watch, restless, cannot sleep, as roam their bunks across the deep. Some, whispering by the foremast, smoke, where wind- ward booms each wild sea-stroke ! Here, on the endless waters hurled, we are half-way across the world ! My mate, yoimg Wells, he 's on watch too, my nose and ears sting, with cold blue. This is no Spanish Main, the breeze comes straight from icy Arctic seas ! We are both nervous, Wells and I ; there on the main- hatch it doth lie. In canvas wrapt, the chief mate's length, devoid of light his eyes, his strength 64 THE CHIEF MATE Of limb and soul, and hand-grip warm, all vanished from that silent form ! He jumped at sunset in wild seas to save a sailor ! grasped his knees ! I saw it all : two struggling men together fighting wild seas, when They went beneath the hissing waves. By God ! the seas to-day did rave. The skipper waved his arms and roared, the thundering seas leapt up on board Like hissing fiends to stop the chase of comradeship with flinchless face ! We sat, a lump in every throat, out there, tossed in the small lifeboat. We brought that dead form back alone, the other one he had clean gone ! The crew his orders had obeyed, but like a sleeping child they laid His wet head down ; his brave blue eyes looked through their arms straight at the skies. At sunset stood round pale with sorrow, they '11 drop him over there to-morrow ! And now the lone ship flies along, as swaying 'neath the stars in song The sails are singing overhead, above the hatch where he lies dead. No wonder winds and sails fast flying sound something like dead sailors crying. A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 65 A STUDY IN CONTRASTS Some day I shall command respect, With earnest eyes men will aclaim Some virtue mine, which to my shame Is hidden by their sad neglect. I shall be dead then, fast asleep ! They will shout my old published songs, Make wild romance of all my wrongs. My creditors will hear — and weep. The friend who gave the loyal trust. That in some weakness I forgot, Will hear, and say, ' I hate him not ! ' Why hate a little bit of dust ? They '11 say, when stone-deaf I 'm in bed, Though of their name I am the worst — ' He 's dead, alas ! the best go first ! ' True 'tis, the best men are men dead. My shabbiest friend will knock the door. Be ushered in, in tears stand mute ; Gaze round my room, spot my best suit- Depart, and will return no more ! E 66 A STUDY IN CONTRASTS That night, around the festive board, With glee they 11 stuff, then one will cough, And say, * Poor chap, he 's better off Than we.' But shall I be, O Lord ? Kind words they '11 publish o'er my bones — Alas ! that I, who so much need Such praise, shall not stand there and read ! I wish for births there were tombstones ! To think, they who looked in my face With calm contempt, will gaze with awe. All hushed, on me, who ne'er once saw Such looks in life for a scapegrace ! Oh to sit there with pride and share The pomp and state imperial That will attend my funeral. They 'd blush tmth shame to see me there ! 'Tis not on Earth, but underneath. We 're beautiful to eyes o'erhead. Have all the virtues when we 're dead. In life walk arm-in-arm with death. So do I dream, philosophise. Here in my attic-room to-night. That mirror-cracked my pinched face white Reveals, and hungry restless eyes. A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 67 This crust of bread my wealth, a lent Felt-hat unpawned my hope in gloom, As ticks the clock t'wards changeless doom, When that door 's thumped and thumped for rent ! 68 ROMANCE ROMANCE I SAILED away across the seas, I heard the sails soft-singing, And chmbing sailors, to the breeze Their wild sea chanties — flinging. I climbed aloft, gazed o'er the sea, I saw dark shore-lines rise Where up, all ramping wild with glee. Waves tossed before my eyes ! I travelled strange lands far and wide, I dived 'mong mirror'd moons In waters where the catamarans glide By palms and reef lagoons. I gazed in a dusky maiden's eyes By a wild man's tiny tent. Then packed my swag as the black crow flies, To another land I went. I lay all niglit on the Iiomeless plain, To the stars I prayed in bed For life's wild Romance, but prayed in vain, As the stars crept overhead. ROMANCE 69 But often in the lone bush-night Bright eyes came, leaned o'er me, Then glimmering in the pale moonlight. Ran back into the sea. And in those waters o'er and o'er I 've dived in vain, then cried For misery on some lone shore With no one by my side. And so for years I wandered, friend, Sought love and wealth, alack ! Roamed distant lands, and in the end Brought this one sad song back. 70 REALITY REALITY (sequel to romance) The seas I 've travell'd, made my pile Of wealth — 'tis comradeship — ^of one, Voltaire-like on this windy isle — This Universe, snug in the sun Secure I sit, and all men trace With sidelooks on sad cynic me On this grave saturnine old face Experience grim, they stare and see. Not one e'er dare approach my throne ! They know I 've found the whole race out. Severely with myself alone I reign, nor have one earthly doubt But my best friend, staunch, true will be, As there he sits, his old back bent, Doth jealous watch, with love, o'er me And my welfare, though not one cent Have I, as in this mirror glass At him I gaze, and searching trace Truth in man's eyes, for there, alas ! I recognise my own sad face. ERE I AM OLD 71 ERE I AM OLD Dear God, while flowers and fields are lovely, And all my dreams have wings. While in my soul to you far-soaring A skylark sings, My eyelids close in slumber gently, About my limbs enfold The silence of the buried ages — Ere I am old. Bring sleep — ere stars sing hopeless sorrow, While on the hedgerow spray The blackbird is an angel singing To me all day. Death — hold me tight, leave no escaping, Fast to my dead limbs cling. When swallows o'er my grave, returning. Fly back to spring. 72 THE MISSING EARL I THE MISSING EARL (FIJI) Here, 'neath strange skies, the South Sea moon Doth ghostly fire the hehnet fringe — The regiment line of seas in tune That charge the shore, where monsters cringe — Those huge dark rocks — while round me whirls, In moonhght, wild men and wild girls ! Hark ! how they jump and joyous shriek 'Neath palms, as falls the moonbeam rain ! As with brown legs my white legs weak Strive, likewise toss and jerk in vain, As spitefully I throw them higher. Think of old England and perspire. I 'm happy being dead ; I stand An exile in dark ages grim. This other world, this magic land. This unknown isle of Oceans dim, As like grey souls that 'scape the grave, Outriggcd canoes come o'er the wave. THE MISSING EARL 73 There sits the royal queen, and black king With chin on knees, dressed in no clothes. As round the dusky-maiden ring Whirls in moonlight, his fat broad nose A bone ring shakes ; what sadder sight For me whose king once made a knight ! I, who have watch' d white bodies shine Thro' gauzy veils in splendid halls, And eyes that sparkled rich with wine. And now, ye gods, hear that applause. As white-teethed maidens clap and praise Each effort, as my knees I raise ! I have discarded evil dress, What care I now for life's sweet chance. As naked in my fig-leaf dress Beneath the South Sea moon I dance ! Gaze in these dusky lovelit eyes — This thing I '11 love thro' changeless doom, For she, my wife, 'neath English skies, Alas ! did vanish — with my groom ! 74 IN THE BUSH IN THE BUSH I 'm back in the bush with a trustful chum, With our drawing-room spread 'neath a gum ! I was sick of myself and evil ways And the splendid scheme that never pays ! And life that is made up, O my brother. Of one curs'd thing and then another ! 'Tis night and the forests sleep so still : If I climb up there on that little hill, And stand beneath those tall red trees, I can spot the far-off moonlit seas ! And the waves all tossing splash the sky, Where the full-rigged home-bound pitches by ! There sits my chum, old sober-side, We 've travelled, we two, the whole world wide. He 's thick-necked, low, but he has no fears, And his mouth as he gapes ends near his ears ! As we sit by this camp-fire blazing bright — Here where we need not be poHte, And sit in a little chair upright To a guest that will call every night ! Where no one bangs at your shanty door. And growls, ' I 'vc been here twice before, IN THE BUSH 75 And I don't care a damn 'bout your good intent ; All I want is my overdue rent ! ' If he did — these hills are silent, deep, The gullies dark by the moonlit steep, And here you could kill a man outright, And no one know that he died that night ! Though he stood by your door a month upright — Till he shrank and his clothes flapped in moonlight. Oh ! 'tis sweet to sit on this dead gum-log As he waggeth his tail, my chum — my dog ! 76 THE GOLD COAST THE GOLD COAST (homesick) Here, sweltering 'neath blue tropic skies, For miles and miles deep jungle lies. Like big brown peg-tops upside down, Just out there stands the black man's town. And men call this the Golden South — No wonder I 'm down in the mouth ! About five thousand hissing flies Swarm round my sun-blazed, blinded eyes ! And though the gold-mines are round here, I 'd sell my soul for English beer ! I 've sweated all night in these pants. You dare not take them off ; the ants. The fleas, and awful crawling things, Creep 'tween the sheets and flap their wings — My body smarts now with their stings ! Hot fevers own this cursed place. Grip tight your throat, stare in your face. And through your frenzied brain all night Black devils leap with wild delight ! THE GOLD COAST 77 Until you sleep, then from far lands, Stretched o'er the seas come shadow hands, And lips that kiss your fevered brow — Ah, God ! to feel such kisses now ! On that small steep, the red trees by. The dead white men all homesick lie ! They cannot hear the tom-tom's tune By night, when 'neath the Afric moon The black's blood-curdling shriek, as run From jungles dark things one by one. In moonlight jump that silent steep : Thank God, dead men lie deep in sleep ! There 's something shouting in my head — ' Clear out, old man, before you 're dead ! ' And if when you all read these hnes. No letter comes, and no old signs, To tell I 'm back in London Town, You '11 know they too have got me down ! 78 THAT HUT ! THAT HUT ! (north QUEENSLAND) In the saddle I swayed as helplessly I clutched the loosened reins Out under the bending blue gum-trees of the misty moonlit plains, Not a sound but the drought wind's sweeping as I sat there still astride By a little moonlit shanty hut on the edge of the slope's steep side. As I knocked again and listened — tap, tap on the moon- lit door, O'er the silent gullies faintly died the echoes as before, As with mocking, echoing laughter across the moonlit dream, Down in the dead swamp oaks pealed out the laughing jackass scream, And over the red woods 'ncath the moon off noiselessly it flapped As once again on that shanty door with my stockwhip loud I tapped. My heart thumped, leapt in the stillness, as my horse her ears up-pricked, For a woman's voice within replied ' Hallo ! ' as the bolt-bar clicked, THAT HUT ! 79 As down o'er the moonlit marsh swamp oaks my shadow slipped and leapt, With mimic stride as I swung aside, from the stirrup softly stept. There in the gloom of that small room we sat, we two alone. As all around came soft the sound of the night wind's wailing moan ; She by the bench, a comely wench, sat with pale outHned face As little slips of bright flame tips crept from the small fireplace. And o'er the floor thro' open door from far moon-silvered trees The bright moonbeams in silver streams crept o'er her face and knees ! As to my ears came sad as tears her wailing tale of gloom, Her husband dead, laid out in bed in that next silent room ! Alas ! my brain's old fire again raged my sad soul to bliss ; I gazed in skies of soft dark eyes, felt heaven in one warm kiss ! . . . I held my breath, that thing of death my blood made chilly creep. When I that night held up a light, in that room crept to sleep. 8o THAT HUT ! Outstretched there on my small couch grim I sideways fixed my eyes on him ! He must have been quite six feet tall, his shape took up the length of wall, My candle spluttered in the gloom, left moonshine only in that room. Outside passed on a little cloud, sent dark slips creeping o'er his shroud ! I moved my eyes sideways about ; it seemed those dead feet there stuck out To fix my eyes and make me creep ; unshut they stared, I could not sleep ! The shadows of gum boughs wind-swept, with moon- beams o'er those fingers crept, Across the thick clay walls did go and o'er his shroud crept to and fro. I heard the night-bird as the trees all bending moaned like far-off seas As ghastly pale like sculptured stone I lay in that dim room alone ; Bulged out my eyes, like glass both stared, his fingers moved, did scratch his beard ! I cursed that hut, I cursed grim fate, my hair did stiffen, bristle straight ! I could not move, I thought ' I dream,' fate gripped my tongue, I could not scream ! Dear God, I blessed each bubbling note as outside ope'd a rich red throat. THAT HUT ! 8i The night-bird's music sweet did steal into my ears so cahn and real ! It stopped ! I heard a whiz, a scratch, a slip of flame — fizz ! — 'twas a match ! A shadow by the window slipped, across the room it ghost-like whipped ! I heard my hostess outside whisper, a clip of lips — Jove, some one kissed her ! Then in moonlight from left to right it moved, that shroud, O ghastly sight ; Great God, were my two eyes bewitched ? those dead protruding feet both twitched ! My eyes did jump, my heart did thump, I fancied I could hear it bump ! As through that awful hush did pour cold sweat-drops, drip, drip, on the floor. I made to spring, leap off that couch, my tense nerves centred in one crouch To bolt, to spring across that floor clean out of that hut's small front door. I gave one look with sheer fright steady, I slipped both feet down floorwards — ready ! Oh, terror ! God ! I shut my eyes ; those dead feet moved in mimic wise ! To stay my flight out in the night distinctly both moved in moonhght. My tongue went dry as cobble-stone, my heart gave forth one soundless moan. F 82 THAT HUT ! His shroud did uplift with his knees, in moonshine big with shadow'd trees Upon the mud clay wall it rose, his image — monstrous head, then nose ! And beard as slowly he did steal from off his bier white- faced and real ! Uncurled my tongue my lips to Uck — Jove, 'twas so dry I heard it click ! When he sat up with eyes aflush, with finger to his lip said ' Hush ! ' He was not dead, yet there in bed, with jaw-rag wrapped about his head ! With hatred in my eyes I gazed, my whole soul terror- blazed, amazed To think he was not dead, but shammed ; I moved my mouth, sighed * Weh, I 'm damned ! ' As idiot-like from that first fright at him I chuckled with dehght ; His pale old mouth hissed, ' Do not stir ; I died, I shammed death to catch her ! ' I gazed around, gave one wild bound, all noiselessly for night winds drowned The horror noise of what befell, and left for me no dread of hell ! As he from off his trestle slipped, cold lingers fierce my throat tight gripped ! I stared (O God ! were this all lies), gazed my bulged eyes in those dead eyes ! THAT HUT ! 83 I swayed, and fell with deadened thud, rushed to my mouth hot foam and blood ! I felt his fingers cold relax, as rolled my eyes, he seized an axe ! I staggered to my feet as he sprang through the door, imprisoned me ! The door shut tight, I heard a scream : ' O Heaven,' I cried, ' pray that I dream ! ' I seized a bar, and blow on blow, o'er that iron-bark door swift did go ! By faith, the sphnters sparkling flew, as every stroke fate-like struck true. Till through the chinks I saw moonlight, and that old fiend dance in shroud white. The door down crashed as through I dashed, stood breathless, blood my face warm splashed ! I stumbled as I rushed the door, o'er something huddled on the floor ; I made for him ! Outside I stood, gazed o'er the moonlit solitude, I rubbed my eyes, thought * Do I dream ? are things really what they seem ? ' Winds stirred tall trees that moaned the breeze, a night- bird sweetly burst to song ; Across the sky, 'neath the moon high, a small cloud hurried fast along. It was no dream ; real stars did gleam. Outside the plains stretched wide and real, 84 THAT HUT ! As standing there in shirt near bare, the cool winds sweetly by did steal, As with eyes wide with grim surprise I stood there petrified, and saw His shroud outflying at his heels, his jaw-rag flapping round his jaw, His bare legs racing as he ran, and flew in front a little man ! Just hke a rabbit scurrying raced the secret lover that he chased ! I saw a face uphfted gleam, heard silence — followed by a scream ! Across the silent gullies wide the echoes flying — flying died! With one wild bound to horse I sprang ! swung round ! I was astride ! For in the saddle up the slopes that swiper off did ride ! As after him I galloped fast, far off he disappeared, TiU round the curved pale moonlit slopes, sideways swung out his beard ! Away down thro' deep gullies' gloom with eyes pushed out with fright, With outstretched neck she followed fast his shadow in moonlight ! As o'er the sombre, sheer steeps' walls, with swift, stupendous stride, Silently it bobbed ahead ! across each steep, one side ! Till 'neath the moon, far off, away I saw him racing go ! THAT HUT ! 85 Up winding slopes, dodged 'tween the trees, I chased a mile below That ghostly rider fleeing fast ; I saw oft, fluttering white, His torn shroud 'neath the distant trees, a ghmpse out o'er the night. As 'neath the curved pale midnight moon, right over- head, passed by Migrating cranes, like skeletons on wings, across the sky. Jove ! my old horse with fearful fright across the slopes did fly. Did seem trees, hills, all breathless, watched that race o'er those night slopes — That Fate somehow on me had staked brief man's eternal hopes ! Dead men climbed up the moonlit trees, all waved their shadow-hands, Wailed hollow murmurs of applause across those silent lands ! I chased Perversity in human shape, all shades of crime in him : All shades of love, that tragic hut's true love and old love grim. I chased my hideous passions — God ! hot fires raged in my head ! That fleeing man seemed my own self, that old hut corpse not dead I 86 THAT HUT ! To haunt my dreams, and as one sees his image by him pass In moonlit water, silently down some vast mirror- glass I chased my dead self. I 'd grown old ; distinctly I could trace — As turned that flying rider oft and grinned — my own white face ! I yearned to clutch him by the throat and see his still corpse lay Out on the plains, and from myself exulting ride away ! I chased life's nightmare, onward flew ; I knew his flight would send Him t'wards the stars, that silent peak, the world's extreme dim end. As o'er a chasm wide and deep the old man flying went ! I loosed the reins, thumped, heaved her sides, my brave horse nearly spent. I held my breath : up, up she reared, with aeroplane-like glide. Arose in space, her nostrils steamed in moonlight — oh, my pride, As sailed her heels, tlien noiselessly dropped, safe, the other side ! I thought of comrades half in spite, to think they were not there To see the way I rode that night on that horse, with back bare ! THAT HUT ! 87 As up the winding mountain slope he raced, I after him ! In deep, dark glooms, bright on the winds, all ghostly outlined dim, Dead women with dishevelled hair uplifting in moonlight. Wailed sad applause to see me ride for love's sake 'cross the night. As at his heels I rode and gasped, I breathless held my breath ; I knew one false step meant for me and all men certain death ! My horse pawed up the last sheer cliff, there on the mountain top. Face to face we stood, so still, I heard my own sweat drop. As in each other's eyes we stared, I heard the far sea sounds. I clutched his throat, blew off his head, his beard blazed brightly — zounds ! He vanished on the moonUt wind ! The mountain swayed as I Fell over, over, tumbling through space so silently I heard the waves a mile below all faintly sphsh and splash. As my old horse and I, both dead, down on the rocks came crash ! The room was dark, there was no sound, the night winds softly swept Leaves on the window pane, as oped my eyes and nearly wept, 88 THAT HUT ! To find death was so hushed and still, and that men still, when dead. Could think, and have such dry, parched mouth and heavy, swollen head. I heard outside the night bird's song up in the blue gum- tree. Its melody crept to my ears in fellowship with me. The blankets moved ! my chum's white face — oh, joy ! I 'd kicked his shins In that wild night ride, chasing hard a dead man for his sins ! And that 's why never on wild sprees, no, not my one best chum, Nor any living man now can entice me to drink rum ! Such was my dream, that most men dream, when con- science smites the brain, When old dead passions will arise and haunt our lives again! SAMOA 89 SAMOA In the west the sunsets seaward sink, Few sails fade over that ocean's brink As catamarans ghde with ghostly wings In moonlight, as each cargo sings ! Swarms of wild faces sailing along O'er the South Sea Bay chanting wild song ; We anchored down by the still lagoons, By the dark-branched palms and mirrored moons By the shore-bamboos, where moved wild eyes, Peeping through leaves, bright with surprise. Wild women ran from each secret den. Admired, gazed at white sailor-men. As we crept up shores of mystic-lands, Our sea-boots tossing silver sands, As in the vault of lovely night. The South Sea moon was hanging bright ; Our shadows in still water glassed Like crowds of ghosts, crept as we passed There in a space sat the old king. And women bare their legs did fling. Danced silently in pale moonlight As Mile- End cheered with wild delight ! 90 SAMOA That old king's nose with grin immense Did spread, revealed real innocence ! His white teeth gleamed as all the crew Laughed louder, still — Heavens, 'tis most true. Up went her legs, the South Sea Queen ! Hysterical, the crew did lean One on the other as supports. They nudged each other, the old salts. The cook forgot his place, did smack Our stern Scotch skipper on the back ! I 'm glad they laughed and did not weep, They 're now all in their graves asleep. OUTWARD BOUND 91 OUTWARD BOUND I 'm off ! outbound o'er wide blue seas. Farewell, ye unpaid bills ! Great heaven, I 've swallowed seas of stuff, ship-loads of oil and pills ! For mist and rain crept in my bones 'neath English skies, but I Wish you good luck, old country, and brave Englishmen, good-bye ! Farewell, old fenced-in woods, dead dreams, primroses, and bluebells ; Farewell, ye city alley-ways with your suspicious smells ; Farewell, old shivering Fleet Street moths, by London's splendid bars ! I 'm bound for boundless plains lit by the everlasting stars. Respectability, farewell ! Oh, God be thanked, tweed suits Hide skeletons in top hats, starved, that shuffle round in boots. Ring out my soul one real wild cry to touch a nation's ears, Sing me to wealth — my dear old rhymes awake a nation's cheers ! 92 OUTWARD BOUND I would reflesh old skeletons, I 'd stand them all upright, Stick new eyes in, in rows they 'd stand ; God, laughing at the sight, Would be my critic, and I '11 swear review my songs — all right. Old Fleet Street relics, think of me when your sad eyes you raise As down you swallow beer and wail o'er those old better days. Maybe I too shall dream of you, and miss your tales of woe ; Will find my golden age, as now, in dreams of long ago. For while I rhyme these lines — who knows ? — some rhymer o'er the seas Looks Englandwards, is cursing scenes the same as I curse these ! A nation's curse, that built the world, my England's noble pride — Where 'd be the brave old pioneers if home smells satisfied ? They 've broken up the wooden ships and blazed them in hearth fires To warm the dreams of English boys who cherish sea desires, Ye figure-heads that roamed 'neath stars to-night a city roars, Where curled the singing waves to spray on undiscovered shores. OUTWARD BOUND 93 And now your sad old faces stare o'er streets where traffic streams ; When o'er the Thames the ancient moon pours down its wistful beams, I 've watch'd your upraised hands pray on across the moonlit ridge, Voyaging seas in dreams across Westminster — by the Bridge ! ^ Your sailor-men, who sang aloft they 're dead, or may, alas ! Now old, be cursing on some tramp, all cleaning paint and brass. Brave Bill, the boatswain, bossed us all across the seven seas wide, He 's selling matches, shivering. Heavens ! on kerb- stones near Cheapside. Farewell, we 've still the ships that roam, the decks cleared clean for sea ; A swarm of hands wave on the wharf, but not one hand for me. I 'm bound away for southern seas, where the flying clippers go. To fight the breath of the ramping winds where the eastern slashers blow, Till the moonless summer nights stare down as the lightning swells the skies, ^ The figure-heads of the old ships can be seen at the ship- breakers, Westminster Bridge. 94 OUTWARD BOUND As silently as love-light flashed from a woman's warm dark eyes, As I climb aloft o'er seas of dreams and clasp creation bright In my arms and kiss the stars, my soul one with the Infinite, Oh, I '11 see the Leeuin light afar, in the long dog-watch I '11 creep Below to my bunk with praying lips, thank God as I fall asleep. I '11 not care a d n for anything ! with a shirt wrapt up my wealth ! And photos of my few dead friends I '11 steal ashore by stealth When I smell the scented sweet shore winds come blowing out to me As the big grey loafing tramp sea birds wheel round and put to sea. I '11 creep up the slopes a happy man who has found life's one true worth, My best friend all the world, I will imparadise the earth. 1 '11 build a tiny wooden house, it must be 'neath some trees, Where I can watch the silvered waves of tumbling moon- lit seas ! And if ever I dream of cities far, and 1 cannot close my eyes, As out in the silent forest depth the wild dog, wailing, cries, OUTWARD BOUND 95 Till the laughing voices of dead men sad haunt my sleep- less brain, With stern deliberation I will rise and heal my pain. I '11 lean o'er my bed and take strong pulls at the bottle that there I '11 keep, And find the golden age again in draughts of vintage deep ! Oh, I know that only one wind blows the dead man's soul to sea. And wherever it blows, oh, what care I, since God's hand fashioned me ? On the last foothold that earth man gives, where the day to night doth change. As stars come creeping silently over the last dark range. I '11 stand on that last grand silent peak, brave, into the sunset dive. For I Ve loved God's gift of life as much as any man alive ! 96 THE BRIDAL NIGHT THE BRIDAL NIGHT HER CONFESSION For ever warm and lovely are my limbs For him each secret white, caressing curve. Within my chamber glass my image swims, As love bewitched my eyes soft sway and swerve To sweeter show my body's bare outline, As thro' my tumbhng hair my pleased eyes shine. For ever young I '11 be, with warm desires. To be imprisoned in love's sweet, strong arms. I shall for him create from my soul's fires His image, or mine own, that his soul charms ! I will curve these fond arms o'er him by night, As thro' sweet dreams repose my warm limbs white For him my rich red blood, my eyes, this hair, Unloosed, dark tumbling o'er my maiden breast, Made lovelier for this thought — he '11 clasp mc there, Whene'er at dawn our farewell lips are pressed. His bearded face I '11 kiss when moonlight creeps His eyelids quivering as still on he sleeps ! THE BRIDAL NIGHT 97 O Heaven ! I thank thee that I live, that I The thrill have felt thou hadst who sighed the skies ! midnight stars ! unloved, big dumb-struck sky ! Since he so praised light of my violet eyes, Where thro' my soul's love pleased, blushed as the rain Kissed to a rainbow by the sun again. Heaven made me as I am, with rounded form. The splendid strength and frailness of the world ! The universe I feel, of bright suns warm, Flashed out and sang ! bright thoughts thro' darkness whirled Thro' love supreme, that found, that came to bless God, brooding in eternal loneliness. 1 do not fear the winds of heaven or sea, Those breakers tumbling shoreward, far away ; Or Him whose pale moon sheds beams silently O'er hills where dark, tall trees oft silvered sway. But those old ogres in the hills asleep, 'Twere death if from their beds they did upleap ! My silken robe falls as I lean, o'erpeep My window open wide, thro' lattice bars Cool airs breathe o'er sweet-scented flowers asleep ; The cedars far beyond sway 'neath pale stars. The thick leaves stir. Hush ! in cold moonlight dim A shadow slips — O joy ! my love, ' tis him ! 98 A SAILOR'S GRAVE A SAILOR'S GRAVE Oh, sink me down deep under the sea, And the wild waves will beat over me ; The foam of my shroud toss under the sky When over my head the ships go by. As the south-bound swallows screaming go From the mists where the wild lone shore looms low I will live in the beat of storms, though dead ! As the tides sway o'er my moving bed, I '11 hear collide the wild green waves As they clash and meet the dark sea-caves ; When sunset flames the low skyline far. Till the waters deep around me are A mirror wide for every star, My dead eyes will stare up and be With shadows pale in eternity. When the shadow keels of the homebound ships Glide over me soft as the moonlight slips Thro' dark-depths to kiss my pale dead Hps, I '11 hear the sailors over mc singing, In the moonlit flying rigging — clinging, Till their voices fading leave the sound Of deep moving waters lapping round A SAILOR'S GRAVE 99 Oh, my soul and the sea have been as one, And the depth of my passion bright as the sun. So in other years — oh, eyes to be — Oh, unborn women, stare out to sea — When the spring flowers blow dream then of me, For I have loved the soul of your eyes, And am lying where round the cold wave cries As my dead limbs lift with each deep tide rise. Oh, maidens to grieve, unloved, come, creep To the shore where the waters around me sweep. And there dip your lovely warm, white hmbs, For dead eyes ghde where the moonUght swims, And your prayers — will they all be dreamed in vain If a dead man is love-thrilled again ? 100 A VOICE FROM THE SOUTH SEAS A VOICE FROM THE SOUTH SEAS Cool under the gums a river runs down Murrumbidgee way, And every night in the redwood height the star-eyed 'possums play Till over the slopes the stockwhip rings and the echoing hoofs faint beat As up in the hills the lyre-bird fills the bush with music sweet ; And far away by the eyes of day the big black swans in lines Of curling wings like paddling things ghde where the sunrise shines. Out over the mountain ridge tlicy pass, while far o'er the velvet steep The stockmen ride the scrub slope side chasing the flying sheep ! And miles away the dim sea waves like white moss rise and fall As the dcei) sea ships where the skyhnc dips across the wi(l(! world crawl, A VOICE FROM THE SOUTH SEAS loi As the sea winds roam from their wild storm home to kiss the rich bush-flowers, And threading the slopes the green vine gropes where the karri-karri towers, While over the western slopes away on the winds I dreaming go ! Away with my comrades of the hills where the scented wattles blow. As the galloping hoofs beat to the tune of the landscape flitting by ! And the screaming cockatoos above as we crash 'neath the blue gums high, Till scrambling from the dead scrubwood to their roosts they flapping scream, As far away the deep sea waves toss in the moon's white dream, As racing the mossy open slopes we hear their fading cries. And bending my head I kiss my mare, gaze down in her beautiful eyes Till the wild star-flowers seem dancing through the lakes of all the skies, Till down in the hollow gully's gloom, around the bright bush-fire. The winds from seaward creeping come to sweep each leafy lyre, With spirit fingers wail the trees and the she-oaks o'er the plains, And we are the souls of the melodies of the all-night-long refrains. . . . 102 A VOICE FROM THE SOUTH SEAS Ah, those were the days when hfe was sweet, when we galloped side by side, And where was the stockman who could race me over the reaches wide When I was a boy and all the world gazed in my eyes with pride ? Days follow days, nights follow nights, and the traders come and go As I watch the lonely schooner pass where the deep, wide waters flow, Fading away o'er ocean dark as the dying simooms blow. Till the stars pale fall in the mirroring deep of each wild shore lone lagoon As the smoke-like sails all silver fired glide by the low sea-moon. And who am I that sings this song ? as the sunset wind soft grieves With the wild birds' bubbling music blown thro' scented wild fruit leaves, As I sit and dream of the old dead days here on these South Sea isles. With undressed blacks, shut in alone by the skyline's wide sca-milcs. As toiling in for ever creep up ocean's breast of sands The little South Sea wailing waves to toss their snow- white hands — Time's homeless waifs, they crying kiss wild red-lipped coral lands. A VOICE FROM THE SOUTH SEAS 103 Hark ! chanting on the steep slope-side the big brown wild men squat By beehive dens, while sadly I half envy their wild lot ; A white man I who sadder am to hear those old-world tunes, That seem the sad survival of dead sunsets and dead moons, And I, a moral white-bleached thing, who left here long ago. And have returned to find, alas ! I am no better so ! As seaward stare my weary eyes, for Fate has willed that I Should wake the httle conscious things that watch the stars go by. For oh ! I love their small plump backs and httle demon eyes — Six of them romping on the slopes as lolling fat she lies. My half-caste wife, the blacker for the blue of tropic skies, — And me also ! — disgraced, exiled from all the family ties. As the swallows swift are flying by the shores of English seas. And the swaying rooks hoarse calling from the inland tall elm-trees, As the scented hedgerow flowers' warm pulse are musical with bees, As I watch the dipping sunsets sink from skyline to skyhne, O'er the whole wide world that lies between this isle and dreams of mine. 104 AN EXILE'S DREAMS AN EXILE'S DREAMS Old dreams are dead, and blown life's magic rose. As light of all dead women's eyes The winter sunset gleams, the starving crows Are flapping home, where slow it dies. The deep-sea ships far off in twilight pass Like shadows down some mighty mirror-glass. Heaven send me dreams again of other lands, Where women fair and brave men roam ; Where love and hate clasped are fast by the hands ; And sleeping lies my boyhood home, As by my bed the old torn novel lies. Its wild romance behind my sleeping eyes Oh, let me hear the robin sing again, Where sunset streaks the winter sky ; And hear the old piano's strummed refrain. Oh, ne'er on earth, not till I die. My soul will music touch and turn to tears, Like songs remembered sweet of other years 1 AN EXILE'S DREAMS 105 Heaven send me love such as I 've known in dreams. When winds and flowers with me did dance, As sails at sea died down the sunset streams, Bound for far shores of wild romance ! Till slept my childish eyes, in bed upstairs. Loved by old heroes, dead a thousand years ! Oh, maidens beautiful, in bed asleep, Curl 'tween soft sheets, close your bright eyes. Oh, wayward boys, dream on, in slumber deep, Your wildest dreams there realise. Let angels whisper ere unto your ears — The sweetest singer's song is full of tears. Let God's south wind kiss every wild-flower dream That bloweth in sweet fields of youth ; And swallow-birds far down the valley gleam Ere wails the winter wind of truth ; Ere woods lie hushed, and o'er the sunset plain The birds have flown that ne'er return again. io6 THE LAST SOLDIER THE LAST SOLDIER (on the fall of the BRITISH EMPIRE) Here in this old inn by the sea, While slow the English sunset dies, I sit and watch poor Old Manzi Lean o'er his fire. Within his eyes — Bloodshot, alas ! relentless stares old age As Time turns slowly o'er his last grand page. All weight of care lies on one back ; All sorrow gleams in Manzi's eyes ; All tears course down each furrowed track Of that sad, wrinkled face that lies Half slumbering as all sighs — the winds — soft toss His scanty white forelock his brow across. And we have travelled all the seas Till that old face is like the map, Deep-wrinkled, as with head on knees He broods before his last long nap : So imbecile and wan now his old face is. You'd never dream he once judged all the races. THE LAST SOLDIER 107 And his worn suit, too, not one thread But stolen 'twas from distant lands, Ay, to his shirt ! What thousands dead Weaved that old suit ? Jove ! those dead hands For poor old Manzi wait — dead regiments grim — To get their own back at the death — of him ! He '11 die — where is the man e'er born Who never in the end did die ? Rome, Carthage — all to-day forlorn, Point their dark ruins to the sky ; And thousands will brave Manzi's history read When weeds and flowers blow o'er that slumbeiing head. From China — ay, Peru — they '11 come ! Stand on the dust-heap where he died, And say, ' Here was grand Manzi's home. And now he 's dead, with all his side ! ' And round bright fires strange races sad will sit, Will read and weep, some day, to think of it. Not dead — the passion of those Hmbs, Not dead — light of those tragic eyes. He '11 Hve again, ay — as still swims Dead sunset where waves splash those skies, Brave Manzi's blood thrills life's strange sea with light Till all the races fade away in night ! io8 THE LAST SOLDIER I also grieve — I am his child, With all his faults I love him still ; And yet from all those battles wild. By kopje, stronghold stormed, or hill, The old man took the cash and waived the rest ; I 'm reckless though ; maybe 'twas for the best. His staunch friend I thro' all his trials, I '11 swear he never found a bolder ; I 've crawled the blood-splashed tropic miles, A fly-blown, festered, near dead soldier. I 've routed rebels, saved him in the Pass, Slept, starved outside his tent beside his ass ! We 've done the darkest deeds — we 've won ! And so, like some sweet wild wood bird That sings the sweeter for the sun. That bursts thro' cloud on leaves soft stirred By dead storm-winds — the whole world has burst forth In praise of our dark sins — and such is truth ! 'Tis true that strange old men have seen Great virtue in each little song. But to see red where some see green Is colour-blindness ; all are wrong ! Howe'er it be, by faith, to lose the day, Song birds would croak — disguised old birds of prey. 109 THE LAST SOLDIER Where 's my reward for my brave deeds ? There 's not a flower but thro' dead lips It blows — lips that sang sweet wild creeds. To think 'neath tides our famous ships Lie crumbling at the bottom of the ocean — By Chinese junks sunk — fills me with emotion. And Manzi there, with long, thin feet. In rags, still fights, raves in his sleep. Dreams of some wild past battle heat. His old mouth moans, his limbs half leap, Sway on his chair. To see this forlorn sight I could cry like a little child to-night. Yet, faith, we 've had some splendid times On plain and veldt, of lands o'er seas. The lust, the drink, the glorious crimes, And now, oh, evil times like these — Old age, this dim-lit room, and on that table — Great heavens, who would have dreamed — old Manzi's Bible ! Could I that withered flesh renew. Firm prop him on his feet again. That old mouth ope to shout as true. Ay, as of old o'er hill and plain. Those flinchless warrior eyes blaze up with light ; That old hand hft to strike one blow for right — 110 THE LAST SOLDIER With me behind ! — fierce, stern, and grim, Armed to the teeth with spikes and knives, His comrade staunch, protecting him. His island race, his kids and wives. For this — I 'd take the blame off his old shoulders That heaven has measured for all murdered soldiers I, too, must sleep. Our sun has set ; Like stars in mist we '11 fade away. Oh, men unborn, ne'er this forget, I for old Manzi's sins did pay ; And sleep till that sunrise sweeps death's dark plain. When all dead regiments, scrambling, wake again ! White faces from the grave they '11 rise ! Old warrior-eyes still — full of sleep. Nor know 'twas death did close their eyes ; They '11 stare for stronghold stormed or steep — To strike again ! Then — flooded in doom's light All stand hushed, vanquished, when God looms in sight. Farewell — we 've sinned, yet what sweet field Of summer, sown with sweetest seed, In all its glory did but yield Sweet scented flowers and ne'er one weed ? And never now a sunset seaward dies Ijut from the world's wild liills stare English eyes. AFTER MANY YEARS in AFTER MANY YEARS (the son) Oh, give me green hills and cottages, the mill-wheel whirhng round, And the bright birds warbling soft on shower-wet trees, By the South Coast sunlit scented pines and the rumbling breakers sound, As the deep-sea ships creep home from distant seas, Where I may dream my dreams of home by the wash of the Channel waves. When sunset floats with the Sabbath tolling bell, Go over the hills to where they sleep in their long- neglected graves. And feel what a boy — grown old — now cannot tell. Far from the sound of the stockwhip's ring and the lyre-bird's sunset strain As the tropic sun sinks down the world-wide sea. That takes me round with its stealing light to my Eng- lish land again As the bright Australian stars creep over me. 112 AFTER MANY YEARS For my eyes are wet with tears for things I never can recall, For the hopes set on my young life's strength of limb, And the wild will ways of other days that made them — after all — Sit by their fire and dream with eyes aswim. And so, I will steal back again to where the high cliffs white Are kissed by the Enghsh Channel singing waves. I '11 creep up the hills, then go to God — my soul to the stars some night, And lie asleep — where men have made their graves. SOUTH SEA ISLANDS 113 SOUTH SEA ISLANDS (ashore) We watched, bewilder'd, 'neath the pale moonshine ; The Bay's clear water mirror'd mighty trees. Out o'er the shore's wild rampart curled the hne — The white-ridged line of long Pacific seas ! Bright fireflies danced ; across the still lagoons Canoes dark floated o'er pale mirrored moons. A noiseless world, till with weird singing crew Across the Bay a ghostly craft did steal — Wild, paddling men in strange outrigged canoe, The moon their savage faces did reveal. A fish did somersault with joy ! soft-splashed Where once the Bay's still water sparkling flashed. Out on the pale sea rode our full-rigged barque, Fast anchor'd, rocking to the swinging tide ; The hanging topsails silvered in the dark As swung the poop-lamp o'er the wooden side. We sniffed, hke wine, as up the shore we crept. Cool whiffs of flowers from leafy damp glooms swept. H 114 SOUTH SEA ISLANDS Far-off, beneath the big round South Sea moon, The boundless ocean wrinkled. Little waves Crept up the silent shore — where each lagoon Shone like a mirror by the dark sea-caves — Like frighten'd children o'er the rocks did peep, Their image curUng in still water's deep. As though vast space, in miniature outspread — Young Universes sparkhng all their stars ! — In deep shore glooms soft-twinkled where o'erhead Waved tropic palms by leagues of coral bars, Swarms of fireflies danced by calm Southern Seas, As like an Angel's flute blown in the trees, A midnight bird burst forth its lovely song, And on we crept ; the boatswain brave, ahead ; His old bald pate in moonlight bobbed along. The whole crew followed close with noiseless tread. My shipmate Wells and I with trem'lous mind — Both young — together bravely crept behind ! Deep in the forest hid, big savage men By camp-fires rose ; fierce gleamed their startled eyes ! Wild women crept from out each bee-hive den, Gazed on our faces white with glad surprise ! Proud sat the old King on his bamboo throne ; A sailor's shirt about his bare limbs blown. SOUTH SEA ISLANDS 115 Three old barbarians grim sat like wise sages, Like mummy things ; in wrinkles deep their eyes Did sadly gleam — as though the dead dark ages On watch sat by that moonlit Paradise — Sat by a little fire 'neath three giant trees, Their old heads touch'd their huddled thin bone knees. One strange old man on that dim, far-off world — Where round the waves in moonlight soft were sing- ing- Danced wildly, his thin legs oft skyward hurled. As chanting, wild girls' bodies bare were wringing. His shadow in moonlight did jump about, Oft thro' the forest height its head stuck out ! Our old cook, by some strange drink maudlin drunk. Stamped with delight the leafy forest floor ; Wild girls their curved bare limbs arose and sunk ; His big eyes stared, he shouted out ' Encore ! ' In royal nude state the old King fiercely sat. His big fat feet spread on a little mat. Like dead men on some unknown world we stood ; Brown girls danced moonlight, glimmering soft, bright eyes. Whirled ghostly round the leafy solitude. Soft-touched our shirted bodies ; with wild cries All joyous circling, clapped and danced again To find us real, warm-blooded sailor-men ! ii6 SOUTH SEA ISLANDS Out flopp'd the sails. In shoals just o'er the side Glad swimming eyes in sunset upturned gleamed ; Safe on those wave-washed backs their babes did ride ; By night did seem as though it had been dreamed, Wild campfire and weird song of those far isles, As wailed the swaying sails o'er lone sea-miles. THE STORM 117 THE STORM Crash ! over the waters wild and dark, the thundering seas wild leapt, And the swaying sails cried overhead where the homeless night-wind swept ; Like monsters hungry from the deep, heaved up each giant-back'd sea, 'Neath sailors chnging on the yards who swore most fearfully ; And the lightning whipp'd the wind-blown black, each vivid sapphire flash, Up-raising night's roof, beautiful, that fell with thunder- ous crash ! That boomed and roU'd 'way southward faint, as shouting on the wind. The boatswain's yelling trumpet-voice died phantom- like behind. The old boat dived, crouched, shivering swerved, a moment broadside laid ; A flash revealed her figure-head, upHfted hands that prayed ! The bearded skipper tramp 'd the poop as lightning streaked the clouds. Breathed night's wild briUiance o'er the sea, and on the tattered shrouds. ii8 THE STORM And all the fierce wild hunting seas, like troops by night turned out, Wild regiments, charged and charged the ship ; the baffled winds did shout ; Then lovely o'er wild ocean dark, swept moon- white mystery, And up the brave boat wounded sprang, o'er hollows of the sea, Like some wild-hunted, frighten'd stag, from chasing winds did flee ! And we shouted a wild sea chanty, ' Blow ! blow ! blow ! the man down ! ' All English sailors flying along home bound for London Town. Till breathless stopp'd each shouting mouth. Death screamed across the sky ; It chilled our blood to creeping ice, a comrade's far lost cry ! To windward rose sheer breaking walls, the brave ship swerved and stopped, Like thundering icebergs, seas arose, crash over deckward dropped ! Wild, wrecking clouds the storm-moon smashed, left not one little spark. To light the travelling mountain seas' fierce charging — • ebon dark ! We hove her to, the lightning swept a bright dream o'er the wave, THE STORM 119 Revealed a crew of faces white, all huddled by a grave ! Head over all the skipper stood, with hand arched, sea- ward stared, Each flash revealed his grand old face as winds swung out his beard : All ready stood, real brotherhood, staunch by the starboard boat ; Triumphant ran the seas, but we, gripp'd death hard by the throat, And the skipper roared away like hell, mad cursed the whole night wild ; Alone at sea, our father he, and every man his child. There by the bulwarks all hands stood, as came the thriUing cry — ' Right ! lower away ! ' Up like a cork the lifeboat bobbed, seas high. As hairy- chested sailormen, strong shouldered, broad arms bared, Pulled from their hearts ! thro' one small chink the moon from heaven stared ! There, on the ramping wild dark seas, the tiny craft did rise. Like phantom voices on the wind swept by their ' Halloo ' cries. As white-faced on the hove-to ship, like sculptured stone men stood, A comrade's dying cry, faint heard, that froze their very blood. 120 THE STORM With Fate wild wrestling in his grave, his tossed hands clutching air. They saved him ! caught him by the ear and grabbed him by the hair ! We warmed him up, the skipper cried to see we 'd saved our chum, And every man with joy that night drank up one pint of rum ! And why keep back the sterhng truth? We danced, we fought, we sang ! Forgot the ship, and for the storm — well, did not care a hang ! The wheelsman hung tight to the wheel, the skipper to his bunk We lifted up with due respect, and dropped him in — dead drunk ! And only God knows, I don't, why the old ship wasn't sunk. And if my old chums of the sea b}' some strange chance should look And see these lines of mine rhymed out, the old days in my book, Although I 'm now a country squire, whoever they may he, If they be comrades of those days, come inland down to me. We '11 drink and shout with wild delight here round this friendly blaze. And wake the silent village night witli songs of other days ! A MEMORY 121 A MEMORY The grey old skipper on the poop Sways on from left to right Out on the moonlit, shining sea — He 's in his grave to-night ! I see his bearded, sea-worn face, Sea-boots rise to his knees, His oilskin cap bashed o'er his eyes. That gaze o'er unknown seas. A travelling, windy, wooden world, The scented sails o'erspread, As like some pale, beseeching Christ, The praying figure-head Roams, voyaging fast o'er Southern Seas. The swaying masts and spars With rhythmic chime swing heaven's vast dome And silently the stars ! As dreaming o'er the decks I move, Thro' fo'c's'le gloom I creep ; The oil lamp showers its dingy gleam O'er sailors fast asleep. 122 A MEMORY Their slumbering faces glide along Each in small tossed bunk-bed ; I hear the muffled tramp, tramp, tramp — The night watch overhead. Out o'er the Ocean's brink clouds rise, Like phantom mountains driven ; As though a door ope's silently And shuts, stars steal in Heaven. Hark ! on the winds the cry — ' 'Bout ship ! ' The watch creep from below. Like ghosts in oilskins, in moonhght Aloft they climbing go ! Their figures chnging to the yards Move as the grey sails flop. Their toiling shadows to the decks Through moonlight softly drop. But in their bunks for years, I know. The old ' Hands ' are asleep. The thund'ring seas above, and God The long night-watch doth keep ! A WINDY NIGHT 123 A WINDY NIGHT The wild-night seas are thundering in my Httle moonHt room, All tossing, tossing by my lone bedside. Across the silent dreaming night, deep moving waters boom, As o'er my head the waihng torn-sails glide. Death's hungering hounds are moaning on dark shores of starlit doom For tired sailors on the ocean wide. The sailor-men are clinging to the broken floating mast, Along Fate's phantom shore the hounds still cry. As one by one the overboards, into the ocean cast. In moonlight toss up white hands once — and die. The old ship trembling wails her lonely sinking cry at last. The blind seas onward roll beneath the sky. Dawn creeps along the sea skyline, the waves are all asleep ; The stars steal frighten'd home, all creep indoors. A magic shore is looming up across the eastern deep. Where on the emerald waves bright sunrise pours. The sinful old ' Hands ' from the sea together huddled creep — Half-frighten'd — up God's silent, unknown shores. 124 A BUSH GRAVE A BUSH GRAVE I KNOW a grave down Murrumbidgee way, Alone within the hills where no one goes, Where years blow sad to sleep their leafy day ; While overhead the bush-flower wakes and blows, For spirit fingers visit there with flowers — Where o'er one faithful friend a blue-gum towers. And thro' thick, leafy clumps by sea-winds blown Bright music of the woods with sunset dies. Till every wild musician home has flown. And o'er the darken'd wave the sea-gull cries, Where, like a tunnel way for realms divine, Upon the wave the big moonrise doth shine. Oft o'er the slopes the night winds wailing blow. While parrots in the gum-clumps roost asleep, And dark things in the redwoods flitting go — Where 'possums thro' the moonlit branches leap ; While in the lonely hollow by the sea Toils on the sweet night-bird in melody. A BUSH GRAVE 125 Where marsh-flowers' breathing scents the swamp's cool damp, And o'er the winter white mists creeping he, Stands pitched my old chum's silent last sad camp ; And far away the deep-sea ships go by. Tired winds from seaward o'er the hollows creep When on his grave the moonlight lies asleep. I know a hut, strong-fashioned by our hands, Upon a hill, half hid in thick bush grass. Below an old dead gum alone it stands. Where overhead the moonht curlews pass, I hear them piping low on westward flight, 'Way out across the dead years — far to-night. And oft the moonlight creeps those old log walls ; Sad steals across each empty small bunk- bed, Where only now within, the dead leaf falls Thro' chinks from clinging wild vines overhead. Lake flowers breathe earth's sweet poetry and die O'er huddled tears — that fell from out the sky. Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at thfc Kdinburgh University Press Press Opinions, etc., of ' Castle by the Sea and Other Poems,' including 'Bush and Sea Rhymes' ' A large amount of spirit, impulse, and forcible expression, many striking verses and passages, and generally a tone much superior to the commonplace of ordinary verse- writing.' — Wni. M. Rossetti. ' The art of this book is very direct and the feeling unmistakably sincere. . . . "Gabriel" is an extremely forcible expression of the unfailing strength of a true passion . . . much to admire and many tine expressions. ' — Robert Bridges. ' Good honest poetry is the verdict one passes on " The Castle by the Sea." . . . The author strikes his best note when he deals with Australian scenes and episodes, also in his pictures of life at sea, etc' — Irish Times. ' This is a charming little book, and marks out the author as a delineator of seafaring types and characters of the first eminence.' — A'elso Chronicle. "'The Castle by the Sea." The figures and phrases of this poem are very striking.' — A. H. Miles. *A. Safroni-Middleton's Bush and Sea Rhymes stands apart by virtue of the genuine, forceful feeling, striking vividness of the images and description. . . . Virile poems by a vigorous poet.' — The Athenceum, Sept. 7th, 1912. ^ Bush and Sea Rhy/nes. — Many in their direct appeal to the heart and with their vivid representation of nature and of human passion and yearning, offering us poetic work of really high quality.' — Contem- porary Review, May 1913. ' Mr. A. Safroni-Middleton writes of the bush and sea with a breezy vigour, picturesque descriptive power, simplicity, and directness . . . a voice from the sea and vastness of the world . . . charming love- songs . . . outpourings of a man's natural gift.' — The Bookman, 'Dtc. 1912. ^ Bush and Sea Rhymes. — A really original Australian poet . . reveals that rarest of combinations — a true poet and humorist — breezy, vigorous, spirited ... an unaffected poet ... a mind tha can sing and think.' — New York World. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L0-40wi-7,'56(C790s4)444 BhARr FACIllTr 000 558 378 PR 6037 S128v v. H. WlLLUMli Station R«a», ^BBHILbt