She sees no barricaded roofs, no loop-holed station wall,No foaming steed with flying hoofs to bring the word "Ben Hall!"She sees no reckless robbers stoop behind their ambush stone,No coach-and-four, no escort troop; — but, very lorn and lone,Watches the sunsets redden along the mountain sideWhere round the spurs of Weddin the wraiths of Weddin ride.
Tho' fettered with her earthen bars and chained with bridge and weirShe goes her own way with the stars; she knows the course to steer!And when her thousand rocky rills foam, angry, to her feet,Rain-heavy from the Cowra hills she takes her vengeance sweet,And leaps with roar of thunder, and buries bridge and ford,That all the world may wonder when the Lachlan bares her sword!
Gray River! let me take your hand for all your memories old —Your cattle-kings, your outlaw-band, your wealth of virgin gold;For once you held, and hold it now, the sceptre of a queen,And still upon your furrowed brow the royal wreaths are green;Hold wide your arms, the waters! Lay bare your silver breastTo nurse the sons and daughters that spread your empire west!
Drought
My road is fenced with the bleached, white bonesAnd strewn with the blind, white sand,Beside me a suffering, dumb world moansOn the breast of a lonely land.
On the rim of the world the lightnings play,The heat-waves quiver and dance,And the breath of the wind is a sword to slayAnd the sunbeams each a lance.
I have withered the grass where my hot hoofs tread,I have whitened the sapless trees,I have driven the faint-heart rains aheadTo hide in their soft green seas.
I have bound the plains with an iron band,I have stricken the slow streams dumb!To the charge of my vanguards who shall stand?Who stay when my cohorts come?
The dust-storms follow and wrap me round;The hot winds ride as a guard;Before me the fret of the swamps is boundAnd the way of the wild-fowl barred.
I drop the whips on the loose-flanked steers;I burn their necks with the bow;And the green-hide rips and the iron searsWhere the staggering, lean beasts go.
I lure the swagman out of the roadTo the gleam of a phantom lake;I have laid him down, I have taken his load,And he sleeps till the dead men wake.
My hurrying hoofs in the night go by,And the great flocks bleat their fearAnd follow the curve of the creeks burnt dryAnd the plains scorched brown and sere.
The worn men start from their sleepless restWith faces haggard and drawn;They cursed the red Sun into the westAnd they curse him out of the dawn.
They have carried their outposts far, far out,But — blade of my sword for a sign! —I am the Master, the dread King Drought,And the great West Land is mine!
The Shadow on the Blind
Last night I walked among the lamps that gleamed,And saw a shadow on a window blind,A moving shadow; and the picture seemedTo call some scene to mind.
I looked again; a dark form to and froSwayed softly as to music full of rest,Bent low, bent lower: — Still I did not know.And then, at last, I guessed.
And through the night came all old memories flocking,White memories like the snowflakes round me whirled."All's well!" I said; "The mothers still sit rockingThe cradles of the world!"
Roderic Quinn.
The House of the Commonwealth
We sent a word across the seas that said,"The house is finished and the doors are wide,Come, enter in.A stately house it is, with tables spread,Where men in liberty and love abideWith hearts akin.
"Behold, how high our hands have lifted it!The soil it stands upon is pure and sweetAs are our skies.Our title deeds in holy sweat are writ,Not red accusing blood — and 'neath our feetNo foeman lies."
And England, Mother England, leans her faceUpon her hand and feels her blood burn youngAt what she sees:The image here of that fair strength and graceThat made her feared and loved and sought and sungThrough centuries.
What chorus shall we lift, what song of joy,What boom of seaward cannon, roll of drums?The majesty of nationhood demandsA burst of royal sounds, as when a victor comesFrom peril of a thousand foes;An empire's honour saved from deathBrought home again; an added roseOf victory upon its wreath.In this wise men have greeted kings,In name or fame,But such acclaimWere vain and emptiest of thingsIf love were silent, drawn apart,And mute the People's mighty heart.
The love that ivy-like an ancient land doth cherish,It grows not in a day, nor in a year doth perish.But, little leaf by leaf,It creeps along the walls and wreathes the ramparts hoary.The sun that gives it strength — it is a nation's glory;The dew, a people's grief.
The love that ivy-like around a home-land lingers,With soft embrace of breast and green, caressive fingers,We are too young to know.Not ours the glory-dome, the monuments and archesAt thought of which takes arms the blood, and proudly marchesExultant o'er the foe.
Green lands undesolatedFor no avengement cry;No feud of race unsatedLeaps out again to triumph,Leaps out again to triumph, or to die!
Attendant here to-day in heart and mindMust be all lovers of mankind,Attendant, too, the souls sublime —The Prophet-souls of every clime,Who, living, in a tyrant's time,Yet thought and wrought and sought to breakThe chains about mankind and makeA man where men had made a slave:Who all intent to lift and saveBeheld the flag of Freedom waveAnd scorned the prison or the grave;For whom the darkness failed to marThe vision of a world afar,The shining of the Morning Star.Attendant here, then, they must be,And gathering close with eyes elateBehold the vision of a StateWhere men are equal, just, and free:A State that hath no stain upon her,No taint to hurt her maiden honour;A Home where love and kindness centre;A People's House where all may enter.And, being entered, meet no dearthOf welcome round a common hearth;A People's House not built of stone,Nor wrought by hand and brain alone,But formed and founded on the heart;A People's House, A People's Home,En-isled in foam and far apart;A People's House, where all may roamThe many rooms and be at ease;A People's House, with tower and dome;And over all a People's Flag —A Flag upon the breeze.
The Lotus-Flower
All the heights of the high shores gleamRed and gold at the sunset hour:There comes the spell of a magic dream,And the Harbour seems a lotus-flower;
A blue flower tinted at dawn with gold,A broad flower blazing with light at noon,A flower forever with charms to holdHis heart, who sees it by sun or moon.
Its beauty burns like a ceaseless fire,And tower looks over the top of tower;For all mute things it would seem, aspireTo catch a glimpse of the lotus-flower.
Men meet its beauty with furrowed face,And straight the furrows are smoothed away;They buy and sell in the market-place,And languor leadens their blood all day.
At night they look on the flower, and lo!The City passes with all its cares:They dream no more in its azure glow,Of gold and silver and stocks and shares.
The Lotus dreams 'neath the dreaming skies,Its beauty touching with spell divineThe grey old town, till the old town liesLike one half-drunk with a magic wine.
Star-loved, it breathes at the midnight hourA sense of peace from its velvet mouth.Though flowers be fair — is there any flowerLike this blue flower of the radiant South?
Sun-loved and lit by the moon it yieldsA challenge-glory or glow serene,And men bethink them of jewelled shields,A turquoise lighting a ground of green.
Fond lovers pacing beside it seeNot death and darkness, but life and light,And dream no dream of the witcheryThe Lotus sheds on the silent night.
Pale watchers weary of watching starsThat fall, and fall, and forever fall,Tear-worn and troubled with many scars,They seek the Lotus and end life's thrall.
The spirit spelled by the Lotus swoons,Its beauty summons the artist mood;And thus, perchance, in a thousand moonsIts spell shall work in our waiting blood.
Then souls shall shine with an old-time grace,And sense be wrapped in a golden trance,And art be crowned in the market-placeWith Love and Beauty and fair Romance.
David McKee Wright.
An Old Colonist's Reverie
Dustily over the highway pipes the loud nor'-wester at morn,Wind and the rising sun, and waving tussock and corn;It brings to me days gone by when first in my ears it rang,The wind is the voice of my home, and I think of the songs it sangWhen, fresh from the desk and ledger, I crossed the long leagues of sea —"The old worn world is gone and the new bright world is free."
The wide, wild pastures of old are fading and passing away,All over the plain are the homes of the men who have come to stay —I sigh for the good old days in the station whare again;But the good new days are better — I would not be heard to complain;It is only the wind that cries with tears in its voice to meOf the dead men low in the mould who came with me over the sea.
Some of them down in the city under the marble are laid,Some on the bare hillside in the mound by the lone tree shade,And some in the forest deeps of the west in their silence lie,With the dark pine curtain above shutting out the blue of the sky.
And many have passed from my sight, whither I never shall know,Swept away in the rushing river or caught in the mountain snow;All the old hands are gone who came with me over the sea,But the land that we made our own is the same bright land to me.
There are dreams in the gold of the kowhai, and when ratas are breakingin bloomI can hear the rich murmur of voices in the deeps of the fern-shadowed gloom.Old memory may bring me her treasures from the land of the blossoms of May,But to me the hill daisies are dearer and the gorse on the river bed grey;While the mists on the high hilltops curling, the dawn-hauntedhaze of the sea,To my fancy are bridal veils lifting from the face of the land of the free.
The speargrass and cabbage trees yonder, the honey-belled flax in its bloom,The dark of the bush on the sidings, the snow-crested mountains that loomGolden and grey in the sunlight, far up in the cloud-fringed blue,Are the threads with old memory weaving and the line of my liferunning through;And the wind of the morning calling has ever a song for meOf hope for the land of the dawning in the golden years to be.
Christopher John Brennan.
Romance
Of old, on her terrace at evening …not here…in some long-gone kingdom O, folded close to her breast!…
—our gaze dwelt wide on the blackness (was it trees? or a shadowy passion the pain of an old-world longing that it sobb'd, that it swell'd, that it shrank?) —the gloom of the forest blurr'd soft on the skirt of the night-skies that shut in our lonely world.
…not here…in some long-gone world…
close-lock'd in that passionate arm-clasp no word did we utter, we stirr'd not: the silence of Death, or of Love… only, round and over us that tearless infinite yearning and the Night with her spread wings rustling folding us with the stars.
…not here…in some long-gone kingdom of old, on her terrace at evening O, folded close to her heart!…
Poppies
Where the poppy-banners flowin and out amongst the corn,spotless mornever saw us come and go
hand in hand, as girl and boywarming fast to youth and maid,half afraidat the hint of passionate joy
still in Summer's rose unshown:yet we heard nor knew a fear;strong and clearsummer's eager clarion blown
from the sunrise to the set:now our feet are far away,night and day,do the old-known spots forget?
Sweet, I wonder if those hoursbreathe of us now parted thence,if a senseof our love-birth thrill their flowers.
Poppies flush all tremulous —has our love grown into them,root and stem;are the red blooms red with us?
Summer's standards are outroll'd,other lovers wander slow;I would knowif the morn is that of old.
Here our days bloom fuller yet,happiness is all our task;still I ask —do the vanish'd days forget?
John Le Gay Brereton.
The Sea Maid
In what pearl-paven mossy caveBy what green seaArt thou reclining, virgin of the wave,In realms more full of splendid mysteryThan that strong northern flood whence cameThe rise and fall of music in thy name —Thy waiting name, Oithona!
The magic of the sea's own changeIn depth and height,From where the eternal order'd billows rangeTo unknown regions of sleep-weary night,Fills, like a wonder-waking spellWhispered by lips of some lone-murmuring shell,Thy dreaming soul, Oithona.
In gladness of thy reverieWhat gracious formWill fly the errand of our love to thee,By ways with winged messengers aswarmThrough dawn of opalescent skies,To say the time is come and bid thee riseAnd be our child, Oithona?
Home
"Where shall we dwell?" say you.Wandering winds reply:"In a temple with roof of blue— Under the splendid sky."
Never a nobler homeWe'll find though an age we tryThan is arched by the azure domeOf the all-enfolding sky.
Here we are wed, and hereWe live under God's own eye."Where shall we dwell," my dear?Under the splendid sky.
Wilfred
What of these tender feetThat have never toddled yet?What dances shall they beat,With what red vintage wet?In what wild way will they march or stray, by what sly paynims met?
The toil of it none may share;By yourself must the way be wonThrough fervid or frozen airTill the overland journey's done;And I would not take, for your own dear sake, one thorn from your track,my son.
Go forth to your hill and dale,Yet take in your hand from meA staff when your footsteps fail,A weapon if need there be;'Twill hum in your ear when the foeman's near, athirst for the victory.
In the desert of dusty deathIt will point to the hidden spring;Should you weary and fail for breath,It will burgeon and branch and swingTill you sink to sleep in its shadow deep to the sound of its murmuring.
. . . . .
You must face the general foe —A phantom pale and grim.If you flinch at his glare, he'll growAnd gather your strength to him;But your power will rise if you laugh in his eyes and away in a misthe'll swim.
To your freeborn soul be true —Fling parchment in the fire;Men's laws are null for you,For a word of Love is higher,And can you do aught, when He rules your thought, but follow your own desire?
You will dread no pinching dearthIn the home where you love to lie,For your floor will be good brown earthAnd your roof the open sky.There'll be room for all at your festival when the heart-red wine runs high.
. . . . .
Joy to you, joy and strifeAnd a golden East before,And the sound of the sea of lifeIn your ears when you reach the shore,And a hope that still with as good a will you may fight as you fought of yore.
Arthur H. Adams.
Bayswater, W.
About me leagues of houses lie,Above me, grim and straight and high,They climb; the terraces lean upLike long grey reefs against the sky.
Packed tier on tier the people dwell;Each narrow, hollow wall is full;And in that hive of honeycomb,Remote and high, I have one cell.
And when I turn into my streetI hear in murmurous retreatA tide of noises flowing out —The city ebbing from my feet!
And lo! two long straight walls between,There dwells a little park serene,Where blackened trees and railings hemA little handkerchief of green!
Yet I can see across the roofThe sun, the stars and . . . God! For proof —Between the twisting chimney-potsA pointing finger, old, aloof!
The traffic that the city rendsWithin my quiet haven endsIn a deep murmur, or acrossMy pool a gentle ripple sends.
A chime upon the silence drabPaints music; hooting motors stabThe pleasant peace; and, far and faint,The jangling lyric of the cab!
And when I wander, proud and free,Through my domain, unceasinglyThe endless pageant of the shopsMarches along the street with me.
About me ever blossomingLike rich parterres the hoardings flingAn opulence of hue, and makeWithin my garden endless Spring.
The droning tram-cars spitting light:And like great bees in drunken flightBurly and laden deep with bloom,The 'busses lumbering home at night!
Sometimes an afternoon will flingNew meaning on each sombre thing,And low upon the level roofsThe sultry sun lies smouldering.
Sometimes the fog — that faery girl —Her veil of wonder will unfurl,And crescent gaunt and looming flatAre sudden mysteries of pearl!
New miracles the wet streets show;On stems of flame the gas-lamps glow.I walk upon the wave and seeAnother London drowned below!
And when night comes strange jewels strewThe winding streets I wander through:Like pearls upon a woman's throatThe street-lamps' swerving avenue!
In every face that passes mineUnfathomed epics I divine:Each figure on the pavement isA vial of untasted wine!
Through lands enchanted wandering,To all a splendour seems to cling.Lo! from a window-beacon highHope still the Night is questioning!
And so, ere sleep, I lie and markRomance's stealthy footsteps. Hark!The rhythm of the horse's hoofBears some new drama through the dark!
So in this tall and narrow streetI lie as in Death's lone retreatAnd hear, loud in the pulse of Life,Eternity upon me beat!
Bond Street
Its glittering emptiness it brings —This little lane of useless things.Here peering envy arm in armWith ennui takes her saunterings.
Here fretful boredom, to appeaseThe nagging of her long disease,Comes day by day to dabble inThis foamy sea of fripperies.
The languid women driven throughTheir wearied lives, and in their view,Patient about the bakers' shops,The languid children, two and two!
The champing horses standing still,Whose veins with life's impatience thrill;And — dead beside the carriage door —The footman, masked and immobile!
And bloated pugs — those epicuresOf darkened boudoirs . . . and of sewers —Lolling high on their cushioned thronesBlink feebly on their dainty wooers!
And in the blossoming window-showsEach month another summer glows;They pay the price of human soulsTo rear one rich and sickly rose.
And a suave carven god of jade,By some enthralled old Asian made,With that thin scorn still on his lips,Waits, in a window-front displayed:
The hurrying, streaming crowds he sees.With the same smile he watches theseAs from his temple-dusk he sawThe passing of the centuries!
Ethel Turner.
A Trembling Star
"There is my little trembling star," she said.I looked; once moreThe tender sea had put the sun to bed,And heaven's floorWas grey.
And nowhere yet in all that young night skyWas any star,But one that hung above the sea. Not high,Nor very farAway.
"I watch it every night," she said, and creptWithin my arm."Soft little star, I wish the angels keptIt safe from harmAlway.
"I know it is afraid," she said; her eyesHeld a sweet tear."They send it all alone into the skies,No big stars near,To stay.
"They push it out before the sweet, kind moonLights up the sea.They laugh because it fears the dark. `Soon, soon,You'll braver be,'They say.
"One night I climbed far up that high white treeBeside the beach,And tried to stretch my hand across the seaAnd tried to reachThe grey.
"For something made me feel my heart would breakUnless that nightI in my hand my trembling star could takeAnd kiss its frightAway.
"There only blew a strange wind chillily,And clouds were swept.The angels would not let my own star seeThat someone wept.I pray
"To Christ, who hears my little prayers each night,That He will seekThrough all His skies for that sweet, frightened light,And stoop His cheekAnd say
"`My angels must not send so frail a thingTo light the West.Lift up the little trembling star to clingAbout my breastAlway.'"
`Oh, if that Rainbow up there!'
Oh, if that rainbow up there,Spanning the sky past the hill,Slenderly, tenderly fairShining with colours that thrill,Oh, if that rainbow up there,Just for a moment could reachThrough the wet slope of the airHere where I stand on the beach!
Here where the waves wash the strand,Swing itself lovingly low,Let me catch fast with one hand,Climb its frail rigging and go.Climb its frail rigging and go?Where is its haven of rest?Out in the gleam and the glowOf the blood-red waves of the West?
Or where the isles of the dawnLie on an amethyst sea,Does it drift, pale and forlorn,Ghost of the glory I see?Is there, ah, is there a landSuch as the Icelanders say,Or past the West's ruddy strandOr on the edge of the day,
Some undiscovered climeSeen through a cloud's sudden rift,Where all the rainbows of TimeSlowly and silently drift?Some happy port of a seaNever a world's sail has made,Where till the earth shadows fleeNever a rainbow may fade.
Oh, if that rainbow up there,Just for a moment would reach,Through the wet slope of the airHere where I stand on the beach.Here where the waves wash the strandSwing itself lovingly low,Let me catch fast with one hand,Climb its frail rigging and go!
Johannes Carl Andersen.
Soft, Low and Sweet
Soft, low and sweet, the blackbird wakes the day,And clearer pipes, as rosier grows the grayOf the wide sky, far, far into whose deepThe rath lark soars, and scatters down the steepHis runnel song, that skyey roundelay.
Earth with a sigh awakes; and tremors play,Coy in her leafy trees, and falt'ring creepAcross the daisy lawn and whisper, "Well-a-day,"Soft, low and sweet.
From violet-banks the scent-clouds float awayAnd spread around their fragrance, as of sleep:From ev'ry mossy nook the blossoms peep;From ev'ry blossom comes one little rayThat makes the world-wealth one with Spring, alwaySoft, low and sweet.
Maui Victor
Unhewn in quarry lay the Parian stone,Ere hands, god-guided, of PraxitelesMight shape the Cnidian Venus. Long ungrownThe ivory was which, chiselled, robbed of easePygmalion, sculptor-lover. Now are these,The stone and ivory, immortal made.The golden apples of HesperidesShall never, scattered, in blown dust be laid,Till Time, the dragon-guard, has lived his last decade.
The Cnidian Venus, Galatea's shape,A wondering world beheld, as we behold, —Here, in blest isles beyond the stormy Cape,Where man the new land dowers with the old,Are neither marble shapes nor fruits of gold,Nor white-limbed maidens, queened enchantress-wise;Here, Nature's beauties no vast ruins enfold,No glamour fills her such as 'wildering liesWhere Mediterranean waters laugh to Grecian skies.
Acropolis with figure group and frieze,Parthenon, Temple, concepts born divine,Where in these Isles are wonders great as these?Unquarried lies the stone in teeming mine,Bare is the land of sanctuary and shrine;But though frail hands no god-like record setGreat Nature's powers are lavish, and combineIn mountain dome, ice-glancing minaret,Deep fiord, fiery fountain and lake with tree-wove carcanet.
And though the dusky race that to and fro,Like their own shades, pass by and leave no trace,No age-contemning works from quick brain throw,They still have left what Time shall not efface, —The legends of an isolated race.Not vainly Maui strove; no, not in vainHe dared the old Mother of Death and her embrace:That mankind might go free, he suffered pain —And death he boldly dared, eternal life to gain.
Not death but dormancy the old womb has known,New love shall quicken it, new life attain:These legends old in ivory and stoneShall live their recreated life again, —Shall wake, like Galatea, to joy and pain.Legends and myths and wonders; what are theseBut glittering mines that long unworked have lain?A Homer shall unlock with magic keysTreasure for some antipodean Praxiteles!
Dora Wilcox.
In London
When I look out on London's teeming streets,On grim grey houses, and on leaden skies,My courage fails me, and my heart grows sick,And I remember that fair heritageBarter'd by me for what your London gives.This is not Nature's city: I am kinTo whatsoever is of free and wild,And here I pine between these narrow walls,And London's smoke hides all the stars from me,Light from mine eyes, and Heaven from my heart.
For in an island of those Southern seasThat lie behind me, guarded by the CrossThat looks all night from out our splendid skies,I know a valley opening to the East.There, hour by hour, the lazy tide creeps inUpon the sands I shall not pace again —Save in a dream, — and, hour by hour, the tideCreeps lazily out, and I behold it not,Nor the young moon slow sinking to her restBehind the hills; nor yet the dead white treesGlimmering in the starlight: they are ghostsOf what has been, and shall be never more.No, never more!
Nor shall I hear againThe wind that rises at the dead of nightSuddenly, and sweeps inward from the sea,Rustling the tussock, nor the wekas' wailEchoing at evening from the tawny hills.In that deserted garden that I lov'dDay after day, my flowers drop unseen;And as your Summer slips away in tears,Spring wakes our lovely Lady of the Bush,The Kowhai, and she hastes to wrap herselfAll in a mantle wrought of living gold;Then come the birds, who are her worshippers,To hover round her; tuis swift of wing,And bell-birds flashing sudden in the sun,Carolling: Ah! what English nightingale,Heard in the stillness of a summer eve,From out the shadow of historic elms,Sings sweeter than our Bell-bird of the Bush?And Spring is here: now the Veronica,Our Koromiko, whitens on the cliff,The honey-sweet Manuka buds, and burstsIn bloom, and the divine Convolvulus,Most fair and frail of all our forest flowers,Stars every covert, running riotous.O quiet valley, opening to the East,How far from this thy peacefulness am I!Ah me, how far! and far this stream of LifeFrom thy clear creek fast falling to the sea!
Yet let me not lament that these things areIn that lov'd country I shall see no more;All that has been is mine inviolate,Lock'd in the secret book of memory.And though I change, my valley knows no change.And when I look on London's teeming streets,On grim grey houses, and on leaden skies,When speech seems but the babble of a crowd,And music fails me, and my lamp of lifeBurns low, and Art, my mistress, turns from me, —Then do I pass beyond the Gate of DreamsInto my kingdom, walking unconstrainedBy ways familiar under Southern skies;Nor unaccompanied; the dear dumb thingsI lov'd once, have their immortality.There too is all fulfilment of desire:In this the valley of my ParadiseI find again lost ideals, dreams too fairFor lasting; there I meet once more mine ownWhom Death has stolen, or Life estranged from me, —And thither, with the coming of the dark,Thou comest, and the night is full of stars.
Ernest Currie.
Laudabunt Alii
There are some that long for a limpid lake by a blue Italian shore,Or a palm-grove out where the rollers break and the coral beaches roar;There are some for the land of the Japanee, and the tea-girls' twinkling feet;And some for the isles of the summer sea, afloat in the dancing heat;And others are exiles all their days, midst black or white or brown,Who yearn for the clashing of crowded ways, and the lights of London town.
But always I would wish to be where the seasons gently fallOn the Further Isle of the Outer Sea, the last little isle of all,A fair green land of hill and plain, of rivers and water-springs,Where the sun still follows after the rain, and ever the hours have wings,With its bosomed valleys where men may find retreat fromthe rough world's way . . .Where the sea-wind kisses the mountain-wind between the dark and the day.
The combers swing from the China Sea to the California Coast,The North Atlantic takes toll and fee of the best of the Old World's boast,And the waves run high with the tearing crash that the Cape-boundsteamers fear —But they're not so free as the waves that lash the rocks by Sumner pier,And wheresoever my body be, my heart remembers stillThe purple shadows upon the sea, low down from Sumner hill.
The warm winds blow through Kuringai; the cool winds from the SouthDrive little clouds across the sky by Sydney harbour-mouth;But Sydney Heads feel no such breeze as comes from nor'-west rainAnd takes the pines and the blue-gum trees by hill and gorge and plain,And whistles down from Porter's Pass, over the fields of wheat,And brings a breath of tussock grass into a Christchurch street.
Or the East wind dropping its sea-born rain, or the South wind wild and loudComes up and over the waiting plain, with a banner of driving cloud;And if dark clouds bend to the teeming earth, and the hills are dimmedwith rain,There is only to wait for a new day's birth and the hills stand out again.For no less sure than the rising sun, and no less glad to seeIs the lifting sky when the rain is done and the wet grass rustles free.
Some day we may drop the Farewell Light, and lose the winds of home —But where shall we win to a land so bright, however far we roam?We shall long for the fields of Maoriland, to pass as we used to passKnee-deep in the seeding tussock, and the long lush English-grass.And we may travel a weary way ere we come to a sight as grandAs the lingering flush of the sun's last ray on the peaks of Maoriland.
George Charles Whitney.
Sunset
Behind the golden western hillsThe sun goes down, a founder'd bark,Only a mighty sadness fillsThe silence of the dark.
O twilight sad with wistful eyes,Restore in ruth again to meThe shadow of the peace that liesBeyond the purple sea.
The sun of my great joy goes down,Against the paling heights afar,Gleams out like some glad angel's crown,A yellow evening star;
The glory from the western hillsFalls fading, spark on spark,Only a mighty sadness fillsThe spaces of the dark.
James Lister Cuthbertson. [reprise]
Ode to Apollo
"Tandem venias precamurNube candentes humeros amictusAugur Apollo."
Lord of the golden lyreFraught with the Dorian fire,Oh! fair-haired child of Leto, come again;And if no longer smileDelphi or Delos' isle,Come from the depth of thine Aetnean glen,Where in the black ravineThunders the foaming greenOf waters writhing far from mortals' ken;Come o'er the sparkling brine,And bring thy train divine —The sweet-voiced and immortal violet-crowned Nine.
For here are richer meads,And here are goodlier steedsThan ever graced the glorious land of Greece;Here waves the yellow corn,Here is the olive born —The gray-green gracious harbinger of peace;Here too hath taken rootA tree with golden fruit,In purple clusters hangs the vine's increase,And all the earth doth wearThe dry clear Attic airThat lifts the soul to liberty, and frees the heart from care.
Or if thy wilder moodIncline to solitude,Eternal verdure girds the lonely hills,Through the green gloom of fernsSoftly the sunset burns,Cold from the granite flow the mountain rills;And there are inner shrinesMade by the slumberous pines,Where the rapt heart with contemplation fills,And from wave-stricken shoresDeep wistful music poursAnd floods the tempest-shaken forest corridors.
Oh, give the gift of goldThe human heart to holdWith liquid glamour of the Lesbian line;With Pindar's lava glow,With Sophocles' calm flow,Or Aeschylean rapture airy fine;Or with thy music's closeThy last autumnal roseTheocritus of Sicily, divine;O Pythian Archer strong,Time cannot do thee wrong,With thee they live for ever, thy nightingales of song.
We too are island-born;Oh, leave us not in scorn —A songless people never yet was great.We, suppliants at thy feet,Await thy muses sweetAmid the laurels at thy temple gate,Crownless and voiceless yet,But on our brows is setThe dim unwritten prophecy of fate,To mould from out of mudAn empire with our blood,To wage eternal warfare with the fire and flood.
Lord of the minstrel choir,Oh, grant our hearts' desire,To sing of truth invincible in might,Of love surpassing deathThat fears no fiery breath,Of ancient inborn reverence for right,Of that sea-woven spellThat from Trafalgar fellAnd keeps the star of duty in our sight:Oh, give the sacred fire,And our weak lips inspireWith laurels of thy song and lightnings of thy lyre.
————
Notes on the Poems
Wentworth, "Australasia": `Warragamba' — a tributary of the Nepean,the upper part of the Hawkesbury River, New South Wales.
Rowe, "Soul Ferry": "Founded on a note by Tzetzes upon Lycophron,quoted in Keightley's `Mythology of Greece and Rome'." — Author's Note.
Parkes, "The Buried Chief": Sir James Martin, born 1820,Premier and subsequently Chief Justice of New South Wales,died 4th November, 1886.
Gordon, "A Dedication": The first six stanzas of The Dedication of"Bush Ballads and Galloping Rhymes" to the author of "Holmby House"(Whyte Melville).
Gordon, "Thora's Song": First printed in `The Australasian'under the title of "Frustra".
Gordon, "The Sick Stock-rider": First appeared in `The Colonial Monthly' without the final stanza here printed, which was preserved by Mr. J. J. Shillinglaw.
Kendall, "Prefatory Sonnets": The phrase — "tormented and awry with passion" — also appears in Walter Pater's essay on "Aesthetic Poetry", which, according to Mr. Ferris Greenslet's monograph on Pater, was written in 1868, but first published in `Appreciations', 1889. "Leaves from Australian Forests", in which these sonnets were first printed, was published in Melbourne in 1869.
Kendall, "To a Mountain": Dedicatory verses of "Songs from the Mountains".
Kendall, "Araluen": The author's daughter, named after a townin the Shoalhaven District, New South Wales.
Kendall, "Hy-Brasil": Hy-Brasil, or Tir-Nan-Oge, is the fabledIsland of the Blessed, the paradise of ancient Ireland.
Kendall, "Outre Mer": From a poem left unfinished at the author's death.First printed in "Poems" (1886).
Clarke, "The Song of Tigilau": "Tigilau, the son of Tui Viti"; an attempt to paraphrase a legend of Samoa, is remarkable as evidence of direct intercourse between Samoa and Fiji, and as showing by the use of the term "Tui Viti" that a king once reigned over ALL Fiji. The singularly poetic and rhythmical original will be found in a paper contributed by Mr. Pritchard, F.A.S.I., etc., to the Anthropological Society of London." — Author's Note.
Moloney, "Melbourne": First printed in `The Australasian'over the signature "Australis".
Domett, "An Invitation": First printed in "Flotsam and Jetsam": reprinted,with alterations, as Proem to "Ranolf and Amohia", Second Edition, 1883.
Domett, "A Maori Girl's Song": "A very free paraphrase of a song in Sir George Grey's collection. `Ropa' is a declaration of love by pinching the fingers." — Author's Note.
Stephens, "Day" & "Night": Stanzas from "Convict Once" [pp. 336-7, 297-9 respectively of "Poetical Works" (1902)].
Foott, "Where the Pelican Builds": "The unexplored parts of Australia are sometimes spoken of by the bushmen of Western Queensland as the home of the Pelican, a bird whose nesting-place, so far as the writer knows, is seldom, if ever, found." — Author's Note.
Foott, "New Country": `Gidya' — a Queensland and N.S.W. aboriginal wordfor a tree of the acacia species (A. homalophylla).
`Clay-Pan' — a shallow depression of the ground on Australian plains,whose thin clayey surface retains water for a considerable time.
Wilson, "Fairyland": `Parson Bird' — The Tui, or New Zealand mocking bird.The male has tufts of curled white feathers under the neck,like a clergyman's bands.
Farrell, "Australia to England": First printed, under the title of"Ave Imperatrix", in `The Daily Telegraph' (Sydney), on June 22, 1897,the day of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee.
F. Adams, "Gordon's Grave": Adam Lindsay Gordon is buriedin Brighton (Victoria) Cemetery. Above the grave is erecteda shattered column crowned with a laurel wreath.
Evans, "A Pastoral": `Apple-tree' — an indigenous Australian tree,so called from a supposed resemblance to the English apple-tree,but bearing no edible fruit.
O'Hara, "Flinders": `Flinders' — Matthew Flinders first came to Australiawith Bass and Hunter in 1795, and made several heroic voyagesaround Australian coasts.
Jephcott, "A Ballad of the last King of Thule": `Mannan' — the ancientbardic name of the Isle of Man.
`Eire' — the ancient name of Ireland.
`The Isle of Apple-trees' — "Emhain Ablach", the Isle of Arran.This was the land of faery to the Northern and Western Gaels.
Mackay, "The Burial of Sir John Mackenzie": `Sir John Mackenzie' —Born 1838; for many years Minister for Lands in New Zealand. Died 1891.
Holy Hill — Puketapu, a hill sacred to the Maoris on the Otago coast.
Lawson, "Andy's gone with Cattle": `Riders' — timber used to hold downthe bark roofs of primitive bush houses.
Lawson, "Out Back": `Mulga' — an aboriginal name given to various treesof the acacia family (A. aneura).
Lawson, "The Star of Australasia": `Jackeroo' — a "new chum", or person recently arrived in Australia, who goes to work on a station to gain experience.
`Push' — a gang of larrikins, or city roughs.
Lawson, "Middleton's Rouseabout": `Rouseabout' — a man who doesgeneral work on a station.
Lawson, "The Vagabond": `Flax' — a native New Zealand plantyielding a strong fibre (Phormium tenax, N. O. Liliaceae).
`Tussock' — a native grass, common in New Zealand (Lomandra longifolia).
R. Quinn, "The Lotus-Flower": `Harbour' — Sydney Harbour.
Wright, "An Old Colonist's Reverie": `Whare' — Maori namefor a hut or house.
`Kowhai' — the Locust tree (yellow Kowhai), and the Parrot-bill(scarlet Kowhai) — N.Z. flowering trees.
`Rata' — a remarkable New Zealand tree with crimson flowers(Metrosideros robusta), which often starts from a seeddropped in the fork of a tree, grows downward to the earth,and, taking root there, winds itself closely round the supporting treeand eventually destroys it.
Andersen, "Maui Victor": `Maui' — In Polynesian mythology, the great hero who attempted to overcome Death, which could only be done by passing through Hine-nui-te-po (Great Woman of Night). This Maui attempted to do while she slept. Awakened, however, by the cry of a black fantail, she nipped Maui in two.
Wilcox, "In London": `Weka' — Maori name for the wood-hen, so called from its note "Weeka" (Ocydromus Australis).
`Bell-bird' — the korimako (Anthornis Melanura).
`Koromiko' — Veronica salicifolia.
`Manuka' — the tea-tree (Leptospermum scoparium and L. ericoides).
Biographical Notes
The bibliographies include books of verse only.[This information was compiled in or before 1907. — A. L.]
Adams, Arthur H.Born at Lawrence, Central Otago, New Zealand, 6th June, 1872.Both parents colonial born; father of English, mother of Irish family.Educated, High School, Christchurch, Wellington College and High School,Dunedin; thence with Scholarship to Otago University: graduated B.A.Studied law; Journalist for three years; literary secretaryto Mr. J. C. Williamson for two years. Went as war-correspondent to Chinathrough Boxer campaign. Visited London, 1902. Returned to Australia, 1905.`Maoriland, and other Verses' (Sydney, 1899).`The Nazarene' (London, 1902).
Adams, Francis William Lauderdale.Born at Malta, 27th September, 1862; son of Prof. Leith Adams.Educated at Shrewsbury School, England. In Australia, 1884-89.Died at Margate, England, by his own hand, 4th September, 1893.`Henry, and other Tales' (London, 1884).`Poetical Works' (Brisbane and London, 1887).`Songs of the Army of the Night' (Sydney, 1888; London, 1890, 1893, 1894).`The Mass of Christ' (London, 1893).`Tiberius, a Drama' (London, 1894).
Andersen, Johannes Carl.Born at Jutland, Denmark, 14th March, 1873; came to New Zealandwith his parents, October, 1874. Educated, New Zealand public schools.Now in Government service, Christchurch.`Songs Unsung' [Christchurch, n.d. (1903)].
Bathgate, Alexander.Born at Peebles, Scotland, 1845. Educated, local schools andEdinburgh University. Came to New Zealand, 1863. Banking for six years;Barrister and Solicitor in Dunedin, 1872 to present date.`Far South Fancies' [London, n.d. (1889)].`The Legend of the Wandering Lake' [Dunedin, n.d. (1905)].
Bayldon, Arthur Albert Dawson.Born at Leeds, England, 20th March, 1865, of an old North of England family.Educated at Leeds and travelled extensively in Europe.Arrived in Queensland, 1889, and since then has travelled overa good deal of Eastern Australia. Now in Sydney, writing stories,essays, etc.`Lays and Lyrics' (London, 1887).`The Sphinx, and other Poems' (Hull, 1889).`Poems' (Brisbane, 1897).`Poems', enlarged edition [Brisbane, n.d. (1898)].`The Western Track, and other Verses' (Sydney, 1905).
Bracken, Thomas.Born in Ireland, 1843. Came to Victoria, 1855. Settled in New Zealand,1869. Engaged as storekeeper, miner and journalist.Represented Dunedin in Parliament, 1881-4. Died, 16th February, 1898.`The Haunted Vale, and other Poems' (Sandhurst, 1867).`Behind the Tomb, and other Poems' (Melbourne, 1871).`Flowers of the Freelands' (Melbourne, 1877).`Lays of the Land of the Maori and The Moa' (London, 1884).`Paddy Murphy's Annual' (Dunedin, 1886).`A Sheaf from the Sanctum' (Dunedin, 1887).`Musings in Maoriland' (Dunedin and Sydney, 1890).`Lays and Lyrics' (Wellington, 1893).`Tom Bracken's Annual' (Wellington, 1896).`Tom Bracken's Annual', No. 2 (Dunedin, 1897).`Not Understood, and other Poems' (Wellington, 1905, Sydney, 1906).
Brady, Edwin James.Born at Carcoar, N.S.W., 7th August, 1869, of Irish parents.Educated, public schools (N.S.W.) and Washington (D.C.), America.Engaged in farming and various other occupations in N.S.W.Editor `Australian Workman', 1891; Editor and proprietor of `The Grip',Grafton, N.S.W.; Editor of `The Worker' (Sydney), 1905;now a free-lance Journalist in Sydney.`The Ways of Many Waters' (Sydney, 1899).`The Earthen Floor' (Grafton, 1902).
Brennan, Christopher John.Born at Sydney, 1st November, 1870, of Irish parents.Educated, St. Aloysius and St. Ignatius Coll., Sydney.Graduated M.A., Sydney University, won James King Travelling Scholarship,and spent some years in Europe. Now Assistant Librarian,Sydney Public Library.`XXI Poems: Towards the Source' (Sydney, 1897).
Brereton, John Le Gay.Born at Sydney, 2nd September, 1871; son of the late Dr. J. Le Gay Brereton.Educated, Sydney Grammar School; graduated B.A., Sydney University.Now Assistant Librarian at the same University.`The Song of Brotherhood, and other Verses' (London, 1896).`Perdita' (Sydney, 1896).`Sweetheart Mine' (Sydney, 1897).`Sea and Sky' (Sydney, 1901).`Oithona' (Sydney, 1902).
Browne, Thomas Alexander ("Rolf Boldrewood").Born in London, 6th August, 1826. Son of Captain Sylvester Browne,who came to Australia with his family in 1830. Educated,W. T. Cape's School, Sydney. Became a Squatter in Port Fairy district,Victoria, at seventeen. Police Magistrate and Gold Fields Commissioner,1870-1895. Wrote serials for `Town and Country Journal';"Ups and Downs" (subsequently re-named "The Squatter's Dream",London, 1879); "Robbery under Arms" (appeared in `Sydney Mail', 1882,published in London, 1888); since then has issued seventeen other novels.Now residing in Melbourne.`Old Melbourne Memories' (Melbourne, 1884, prose and verse).
Cambridge, Ada (Mrs. Cross).Born at St. Germains, Norfolk, England, 21st November, 1844;eldest daughter of Henry Cambridge and Thomasine,daughter of Dr. C. Emerson. Married Rev. George F. Cross, of Ely,25th April, 1870. Arrived in Melbourne, 19th August, 1870.Commenced writing serial stories for `Australasian', 1875; has sincepublished a number of novels in London and given an account of her life herein "Thirty Years in Australia" (1901).`Hymns on the Holy Communion' (London, 1866).`The Manor House and other Poems' (London, 1875).`Unspoken Thoughts' (London, 1887).
Carmichael, Grace Jennings (Mrs. Mullis).Born in Gippsland, Victoria, about 1867. Spent most of her early lifein the bush. Went to Melbourne, entered Children's Hospital Training Schooland obtained certificate, 1890. Married Mr. Francis Mullis.Died, 9th February, 1904, at Leyton, near London.`Poems' (London and Melbourne, 1895).
Castilla, Ethel.Born at Kyneton, Victoria, 19th June, 1861; daughter ofFrederic Ramos de Castilla, an Englishman of Spanish descent,and May Robertson, daughter of an Edinburgh Writer to the Signet.Has lived mostly in Melbourne and contributed frequently to `Australasian',`Sydney Mail', etc.`The Australian Girl, and other Verses' (Melbourne, 1900).
Clarke, Marcus Andrew Hislop.Born at Kensington, London, 24th April, 1846; son of William Hislop Clarke,Barrister. Educated, Dr. Dyne's School, Highgate. Came to Victoria, 1864.Employed as a Bank clerk for a few months, then on a station for a year.Journalist in Melbourne, 1867-71. Appointed Secretary to Trustees,Melbourne Public Library, 1871; Assistant Librarian, 1875.Married, 1869, Marian Dunn, daughter of John Dunn, Comedian.Wrote "For the Term of His Natural Life" for `The Australian Journal', 1870,which, partly re-written, was published in London, 1874.Died, 2nd August, 1881.Verse collected and published in `The Marcus Clarke Memorial Volume',1884, and `The Austral Edition of Selected Works of Marcus Clarke',1890 (Melbourne).
Colborne-Veel, Mary Caroline (Miss).Born at Christchurch, N.Z.; daughter of Joseph Veel Colborne-Veel,M.A., Oxon., who came to New Zealand in 1857. Educated at home.Contributed frequently to Australian, English and other periodicals.`The Fairest of the Angels, and other Verse' (London, 1894).
Currie, Archibald Ernest.Born at Christchurch, New Zealand, 1884, of British stock.Educated, Christchurch High School and Canterbury College.Graduated M.A., University of New Zealand.
Cuthbertson, James Lister.Born in Scotland, 1851. Educated, Glenalmond, and Merton College, Oxford.Graduated B.A. Arrived in Melbourne, 1874. Senior Classical Master,Geelong Grammar School, 1875-96.`Barwon Ballads' (Melbourne, 1893).
Daley, Victor James.Born at Navan, Armagh, Ireland, 5th September, 1858;father Irish, mother of Scottish descent. Went to Plymouth, England,at fourteen, and left there in 1876 for Australia; landed in Sydneyand shortly after went to Adelaide, where he worked as a clerk.Went to Melbourne and joined the Staff of `The Carlton Advertiser'.Tramped to Queanbeyan, N.S.W., and edited a paper there for five months.Came to Sydney and wrote for Australian papers, principally `The Bulletin'.Lived in Melbourne for a few years; then again in Sydneyuntil his death from phthisis, 29th December, 1905.`At Dawn and Dusk' (Sydney, 1898).
Deniehy, Daniel Henry.Born at Sydney, 18th August, 1828, of Irish parentage. Educated,M. Jonson's and W. T. Cape's schools. At fifteen wrote a novelette,"Love at First Sight", printed in `Colonial Literary Journal', 1844.Went to England with his parents, studied in London and visitedthe Continent. Returned to Sydney, was articled to Nicol D. Stenhouseand eventually admitted — the first native-born solicitor on the rolls.Married Adelaide Elizabeth Hoalls, 1855. Elected to N.S.W. Parliament,1856-9. Edited `Southern Cross' (Sydney) 1859-60,`Victorian' (Melbourne) 1862-4. Died at Bathurst, N.S.W.,22nd October, 1865.Some of his writings were collected and published in`The Life and Speeches of Daniel Henry Deniehy', by Miss E. A. Martin,Melbourne (1884).
Domett, Alfred.Born at Camberwell, England, 20th May, 1811. Matriculated at Cambridge,1829, called to the Bar, 1841, left England, 1842, for New Zealand.Was a friend of Robert Browning and inspired the latter's poem, `Waring',which first appeared in `Bells and Pomegranates', No. III., 1842.Became Colonial Secretary for Province of Munster, N.Z., 1848,and Premier of the Colony in 1862. Wrote "Ranolf and Amohia"in New Zealand. Returned to England, 1871. Died at Kensington,November, 1887.`Poems' (London, 1833).`Venice, a Poem' (London, 1839).`Ranolf and Amohia, A South Sea Day Dream' (London, 1872,second edition, 2 vols., 1883).`Flotsam and Jetsam' (London, 1877).
Dyson, Edward George.Born near Ballarat, Victoria, 5th March, 1865, of English parentage.Educated, public schools. Worked for some time as a minerin Victoria and Tasmania. Now a Journalist in Melbourne.`Rhymes from the Mines, and other Lines' (Sydney, 1896).
Evans, George Essex.Born in London, 18th June, 1863; son of John Evans, Q.C., M.P.,of Welsh descent. Educated at Haverford West (Wales) and St. Heliers(Channel Islands). Came to Queensland, 1881. Farming for some time.Entered Queensland Government service, 1888, and is now District Registrarat Toowoomba. Joint Editor of `The Antipodean', 1893, 1894, and 1897.Won prize for best Ode on the Inauguration of the Commonwealth.`The Repentance of Magdalene Despar, and other Poems' (London, 1891).`Won by a Skirt' (Brisbane, n.d.).`Loraine, and other Verses' (Melbourne, 1898).`The Sword of Pain' (Toowoomba, 1905).
Farrell, John.Born at Buenos Aires (S. America), 18th December, 1851, of Irish parents.Came to Australia, 1852; spent his childhood and youthin the Victorian bush. Worked as a farmer, afterwards became a brewerin Victoria and New South Wales. Journalist from 1887,principally on the staff of `The Daily Telegraph', Sydney,till his death in Sydney, 9th January, 1904.`Ephemera: An Iliad of Albury' (Albury, 1878).`Two Stories' (Melbourne, 1882).`How He Died, and other Poems' (Sydney, 1887).`Australia to England' (Sydney, 1897).`My Sundowner, and other Poems' (Sydney, 1904).`How He Died, and other Poems' (Sydney, 1905).
Foott, Mary Hannay (Mrs.).Born at Glasgow, 26th September, 1846; daughter of James Black,mother descended from literary family of Hannay. Arrived in Australia,1853. Educated in Melbourne. Married Thomas Wade Foott, 1874,and went to live at Dundoo, Queensland. After death of her husband, 1884,was Literary Editor of `The Queenslander' for ten years.Now a teacher at Rocklea, Queensland.`Where the Pelican Builds, and other Poems' (Brisbane, 1885).`Morna Lee, and other Poems' (London, 1890).
Forster, William.Born at Madras, 1818. Came to Australia, 1829.Educated, W. T. Cape's School, Sydney. Became a Squatter.Entered New South Wales Parliament, was Premier, 1860,and afterwards held portfolios in various ministries.Appointed Agent-General and went to London, 1876.Returned to New South Wales and died there, 30th October, 1882.`The Weirwolf: a Tragedy' (London, 1876).`The Brothers: a Drama' (London, 1877).`Midas' (London, 1884).
Gay, William.Born at Bridge of Weir, Renfrewshire, Scotland, 1865.Arrived in New Zealand, April, 1885. Went to Melbourne, 1888.Appointed Assistant Master, Scotch College, which position he helduntil his health broke down. Travelled about the colony until 1892,when he became much worse and was removed to Bendigo.Bedridden for the last two years of his life. Died at Bendigo,22nd December, 1897.`Sonnets, and other Verses' (Melbourne, 1894).`Sonnets' (Bendigo, 1896).`Christ on Olympus, and other Poems' (Bendigo, 1896).
Gilmore, Mary J. (Mrs.).Born near Goulburn, New South Wales, 16th August, 1865;father — Donal Cameron — a Highlander, mother a Hawkesbury native.Educated at public schools; became a school teacher, 1881.Joined the New Australia movement and went to Paraguay, 1895.Married William Gilmore, 1897. Returned to Australia, 1902.Now resident in Casterton (Victoria).
Gordon, Adam Lindsay.Born at Fayal, Azores Islands, 1833; son of Captain Adam Durnford Gordonof Worcester (England), descendant of an old Scottish family.Went to England, 1840; entered Cheltenham College about 1844,Woolwich Military Academy 1850, and afterwards Merton College, Oxford.Arrived at Adelaide, South Australia, November, 1853,and became a mounted trooper, afterwards a horse-breaker.Married Maggie Park, October, 1862, and lived at Mt. Gambier,South Australia, for two years. Elected to South Australian Parliament,1865; resigned November, 1866. Moved to Ballarat (Victoria),November, 1867, where he purchased a livery stable. Became celebratedas a steeplechase rider. His only child, Annie Lindsay, died in 1868,his business failed, and he had several falls while racing;his claim to the Barony of Esslemont (Scotland) was defeated;shot himself, 24th June, 1870.`The Feud' (Mt. Gambier, 1864).`Sea Spray and Smoke Drift' (Melbourne, 1867 and 1876).`Ashtaroth: a Dramatic Lyric' (Melbourne, 1867 and 1877).`Bush Ballads and Galloping Rhymes' (Melbourne, 23rd June 1870).`Poems' (Melbourne, 1877, 1880, 1882, 1884, 1888).
Harpur, Charles.Born at Windsor, New South Wales, 1817; son of a schoolmaster.Followed various occupations, principally farming.Gold Commissioner at Araluen for eight years. Married Mary Doyle, 1850.Died 10th June, 1868, at Eurobodalla, N.S.W.`Thoughts: A Series of Sonnets' (Sydney, 1845).`The Bushrangers, and other Poems' (Sydney, 1853).`A Poet's Home' (Sydney, 1862).`The Tower of the Dream' (Sydney, 1865).`Poems' (Melbourne, 1883).
Heney, Thomas William.Born at Sydney, November, 1862; eldest son of Thomas W. Heney,Editor and part proprietor of `Monaro Mercury'. Educated at Cooma.Entered `Sydney Morning Herald' office, 1878; `Daily Telegraph',Sydney, 1884; `Western Grazier', Wilcannia, 1886; `Echo', 1889;`S. M. Herald', 1891, and is now Editor of the last-named Journal.`Fortunate Days' (Sydney, 1886).`In Middle Harbour, and other Verse' (London, 1890).
Holdsworth, Philip Joseph.Born at Balmain, near Sydney, 12th January, 1849; father English,mother Irish. Editor Sydney `Athenaeum', `Illustrated Sydney News'.For many years Cashier in the Treasury, Sydney; afterwards Secretary,Forest Department, till 1892. Died 19th January, 1902.`Station Hunting on the Warrego, and other Poems' (Sydney, 1885).
Hyland, Inez K. (Miss).Born at Portland (Victoria), 1863; daughter of T. F. Hylandand grand-daughter of Dr. Penfold, Magill (S.A.).Educated at Miss Kentish's School, Castlemaine, and by Madame Marvel.Died at Magill (S.A.), 1892.`In Sunshine and in Shadow' (Melbourne, 1893).
Jephcott, Sydney Wheeler.Born at Colac-Colac (Victoria), 30th November, 1864,parents having lately immigrated from Warwickshire (England).Grew up in the bush and educated himself. Engaged in farmingon the Upper Murray (Victoria).`The Secrets of the South' (London, 1892).
Kelly, John Liddell.Born near Airdrie, Scotland, 19th February, 1850. Left school at eleven,self-educated afterwards. Married, 1870. Emigrated to New Zealand, 1880.Has since worked as a Journalist. Sub-editor `Auckland Star';Editor `Auckland Observer'; Assistant Editor `Lyttelton Times';now Editor `New Zealand Times', Wellington.`Tahiti, the Land of Love and Beauty' (Auckland, 1885).`Tarawera, or the Curse of Tuhoto' (Auckland, 1887).`Zealandia's Jubilee' (Auckland, 1890).`Heather and Fern' (Wellington, 1902).