Swiftly it sped across that bitter lake Whose waters numb all life; around him now The darkness warms to crimson, or sweeps back Into its grim recesses, and the sullen flow Of the drear sea in an unwonted glow Discovers far and wide; a skiff draws nigh Bearing a torch fixed on its golden prow, Steered by the power and the all-seeing eye Of Him who points the track of doom and destiny. The boat was all with rich-woofed purple lined, Fit for repose, and wreaths of wild flowers sweet The rainbow-tinctured hull with life did bind, And the worn pilgrim's sense with joy did greet, Like the young breath of Spring, when round our feet She pours the earliest treasures of the year, Answering the loving touch of Titan's heat, And bringing joy to hearts made sad with care, Or 'mured in mental toil, which gifted souls must bear. Agenor sprang within the boat, which sped In its return across the silent sea; And gentle sleep embraced his weary head, Of that deep rest which God bestows on whom He will. The singing of a multitude of birds, Among its reeds, a melody of words Rich with heart-healing happiness, now made Him shake the spell of sleep, and half afraid Pansies and violets made fair the sod, With purple hyacinth and asphodel Rising still lovelier where the foot had trod ; The daisy mantled, and in every dell The woodbine sweet embraced her friend the rose; Of life whose effort calm nor stay nor impulse knows. The river's banks, and every green hill-side And in its arms of life embraced a bright-winged host With eyes no tears could dim, and brows with rapture crowned. OLD PHIL. Now gently wrap his old blue blanket round him, Won't it be very quiet here around him, You know when Spring Creek diggings first were opened, I was a new chum just a few weeks landed, And there I first knew Phil. Beside his tent door he was sitting smoking, "Good evening, youngster, dirty travelling lately; "Hard up, and weary, lad, a bit down-hearted? Don't fret, and wish that thou hadst not been born; For when we think that luck and we have parted, There comes a sudden turn." And then we talked about the dear old land, And those I loved across the wide, wide sea; Upon our talk, between the gum-tree branches, Then Phil went in and brought a tin slush lamp, "And, youngster, now after this long inspection, So let's be mates, and if you 've no objection. He drew a large black bottle filled with rum; In the tough wrestle of the last Sikh War. When the big rush broke out on Snowy River, But poor old Phil watched o'er me day and night, When all the diggers near us took a fright, It's just three days ago since he took bad, I brought him all the help that could be got; Just before death his eyes grew very large, And looking round he said "It's almost night! We'll bury him here beside this clump of wattle, EARLY POEMS. TWO PIECES OF A BALLAD HISTORY OF ENGLAND. ADVERTISEMENT. THESE two ballads were written when I first met with the 'Voyages' of Richard Hakluyt in my boyhood, twelve years ago. Kingsley had already interested me in Sir Richard Grenville, but from Hakluyt I learned the story of his valour, his stern and simple constancy, and death. In the solitude of the primeval forest the power of such deeds comes home to the soul more strongly than when one is moving among the littlenesses and conventionalities of ordinary life. The Titanic aspect of our nature looks in upon us through the silence, and mingles with the influence of " the ancient mountains, and the everlasting hills." Swayed by the lion-hearted spirit of the past I wrote the two ballads with feelings which I would not have exchanged for all the gold of Australia. R |