Part 2

Ah! I felt so sorely wounded, I should see her nevermore, For pale death had swiftly borne her To that misty, silent shore.

In her bridal robe we laid her Clasped her gems o’er filmy lace With her golden tresses streaming Round about her saintly face.

So my thoughts went ever trending To my darling’s lonely grave, While the firelight threw its shadows And the tears my cheeks did lave.

Sudden, came a thrill of terror-- As a long despairing moan Smote my ear, from out the casement, Where the elder tree had grown.

Fearful, oped I wide the window, Where, with lantern gleaming red, Stood my dearest Isodora Or her spirit from the dead.

Then she spoke in voice quite human, “’Tis your own, your Isodore;” Quickly I unbarred the portal As she prone sank to the floor.

’Twas no vision; she was mortal And her tale she slowly told; How the wicked sexton robbed her, As she lay in coffin cold.

He had hacked her slender fingers To secure the rings so rare; She, from cataleptic slumber Woke, and saw his lantern there.

Then the sexton ghastly gazing, Dropped his booty there and fled, Little thinking, he, in robbing, Gave me back my precious dead.

Happy years have we together Spent, my Isodore and I; And no more I pensive ponder, Lonely when the night winds sigh.

CLEVELAND, Q.

She hath no strands of coral, rimmed with gold, Or mermaids, in green dells of ancient story; But rippling, laughing waves her feet enfold, And land and seascape gleam with glittering glory.

Clad in her verdant raiment, in the crystal dawning While golden wings of beauty o’er her rest, Its passion, dimming the pale star of morning, The Sun god’s kiss upon her face is pressed.

And ’neath the ti-tree’s shade, and spreading fig trees, The meek kine, lowing, wander at their will; While, borne upon the fragrant evening breeze, The mopoke’s notes are heard from “copse” and hill.

And lo! When Luna’s orb in splendour lies O’er Stradbrooke’s purple hill, and gem-set isles, She gazes o’er the Point ’neath opal skies To Cotton’s mountain wreathed in vernal smiles.

The red land waits for man to till the sod With plough-share and with courage, heart and will-- To sow the seed where lies the barren clod, Turning the grist to gold, with Nature’s mill.

THE HAUNTED CHAIR.

One of a large house party, on a frosty Christmas Eve, The conversation led to ghosts in which some folks believe. “I wish this house were haunted,” cried a lady young and gay; “I’d shut myself within its gloom, and none should say me nay.” Our host informed us gravely that up the broad oak stair, Was a sealed and disused chamber, which owned a haunted chair. His grandfather long years before was missing from his bed; They searched and found him sitting within the arm-chair--dead. His wealth had been proverbial, but no one found a will; And though in manner sometimes strange, no one had wished him ill. “The secret never had been solved,” our host said, “nor a trace Of ought remained, except the land, and this ancestral place.” “’Tis done,” the lady said; “to-night I sleep in that arm-chair. “And if his ghost appears to me, I’ll never show my fear.” That night the lady went and sat within the chamber dim; She drew the curtain, chose a book, and read a Christmas hymn. And then a fear possessed her, she grasped the huge arm-chair, For in the shadows she could see a man with whitened hair. His hands were clasped above him in suppliant attitude. And tears were streaming down like rain, while words in torrent flowed: “I had a brother once, a boy. I loved him as my life, But he destroyed my happiness, he stole my promised wife. We parted, he to Austral’s land, I for long years to mourn, Until his widow sought me out to aid her infant son. We married, and I brought him up, but he my wealth desired; I hid it here, for of this youth with fear was I inspired. Who’er shall find this secret, as my will doth so declare, Shall take the half, and all the rest the poor shall have a share; And Christ reward the hand that finds, and does this Christian deed, For He hath said unto His flock, “See that my lambs ye feed.” She rose with awe, he beckoned her, the chair began to creak; He pressed two large brass nails which lay beneath the leather back. And there inside the haunted chair were heaps and heaps of gold. And papers tied with tapes, and strings, and dusty parchments old. Her dream she told that Christmas morn, the haunted chair was brought-- A fearful weight it was to move, ’twas well and truly wrought-- At length with pressure brought to bear the nails began to move. When there disclosed to light of day, lay the old man’s treasure-trove. The lady won’t believe in ghosts, but she believes in dreams, And also that this lovely world is better than it seems. To-day we are the owners of the ancient haunted chair-- And clasping Christmas presents my wife is seated there.

A LONELY GRAVE.

Somewhere it lies near the gleaming bay, On the Redland road with its winding way Through the bush--where a fence in a lonely spot Surrounds a grave in its hallowed plot.

List in nights so lonely Zephyrs sigh only A requiem.

Through the scorching heat of the bush fire’s breath, Which hath spent its rage near this place of death, Unscathed it remains--with the tree which grows At the foot of this grave, which nobody knows-- Where in night so lonely The winds breathe only A requiem.

Somebody knew; but now nobody knows Of the poor lone corse which in deep repose Lies in earth’s embrace--till the sleeper awakes In the glorious dawn, when God’s morning breaks, And no more so lonely The winds sigh only A requiem.

Is it the grave of a father old Who had toiled too hard for the red, red gold? Or a brother, a sister, a mother, or son Or a lover adored by a trusting one, Who, through long years, Shed bitter tears-- Her requiem?

Then peace to this grave, of whom nobody knows, Right close to the track, where the sunset glows Through the network and woof of the whispering leaves-- One spirit at least for thy loneliness grieves-- Where in nights so lonely, The winds chant only Thy requiem.

THE SEVEN AGES OF WOMAN.

A baby softly nestling ’Mid clouds of fluffy white, In nurse’s arms, with pinken charms Quite hidden out of sight. Or next, displayed on cushion fine, For visitors to see, This precious mite is brought to light For compliments--at tea.

A lovely girl, with angel face, And hair like molten gold, Whose violet eyes, in sweet surprise, ’Neath ivory lids unfold Their meeting charm, with eyebrows arched And forehead broad and low; And scarlet lips, where Cupid sips The honey from its bow.

Behold, her schooldays almost o’er, Slight, pretty and precise, A favourite at all the sports-- And voted “very nice,” At tennis, and at golfing, or at swimming Quite _au fait_; And all the rage upon the stage Of amateurs at play.

At length the happy day arrives; She at the altar stands, Declaring that she will obey Her dear liege lord’s commands. The vows are said, and she is wed, Queen of his heart she’ll reign, And never, never make him wish To be unwed again.

A few years flown, a little dent Appears between her eyes; When vexed, she murmurs, “I’m not sure That I was very wise To marry young, with nerves unstrung; For me there is no mirth; Of course, I would not change my “hub” For anyone on earth.”

At forty, she is young again, The children growing up, And, what with theatres, and trips To see the Melbourne Cup, Pandora-like, she clings to hope As long as it will last-- If only Time will stay his hand, Nor sow crow’s feet so fast.

At fifty-five, too tired to walk, And only taking drives, The doctor says she is too plump, Still, to look young she strives. And well she may; why should she not? She’s just the age she looks; And man is just the age he feels, Least, so it says in books.

THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC.

T The wild winds moan a requiem for the dead H Hard by Newfoundland. In an icy bed E England’s, America’s, illustrous men

L Lie side by side, vanished from mortal ken. O Oh! Earth is plunged in grief: brothers are we; S Souls cry to souls across that cold grey sea. S So late she sped along that gleaming track,

O Oh! could unnumbered tears but call her back. F Forth to her doom with twice seven hundred breasts

T Throbbing with pulsing life, that floating palace rests. H Howl loud ye winds! Ye cruel ice-floes weep! E E’en though thy victims, yet they calmly sleep,

T Thou canst not harm them more. The human tears I In memory’s casket down the future years T Their grief will take; recount the awful fate. A Alas! Those calls for aid which came too late N Nought could avail. The mammoth vessel dashed I In sudden thundering, while her timbers crashed. C Caught in the vortex ’neath the deafening boom;

I Instant the shock which hurled her to her doom. N No fond adieu; gone beyond time and sense,

M Mourn for the sudden call of those departed hence. E E’en though their burial place, the lonely deep, M Mutely we plead with Him their souls to keep. O On their dear forms no more, or their sweet eyes R Resting on beauty’s lines n’er may they rise. I In their dark home they lie while billows surge A Around that sunken ship, and chant a dirge M Mournful for they who sleep beneath the surge.

A SONG OF AUSTRALIA.

Sing, sing of Australia whose golden clime Hath the Eucalyptus and odorous Lime, The emblem of freedom for chaplet fair, And pearls and opals to bind her hair, Lo! softly Aurora her beams hath shed In crimson shafts o’er her ocean bed. Daughter of Helios, whose azure eyes Reflect the rays of the Southern skies.

Sing the feathery Palm, her fan so gay, While jewell’d isles with her fingers play; Sing her flocks and herds of the glowing West, And the olives and vines of her hills’ green crest, Sing her silver rivers and yellow gold, And the glorious Wattle whose buds unfold A wealth of beauty ’neath sun and shower, Fit for a queen in royal bower.

Sing her flashing falls, and her rillets flow, As in the ages long, long ago, When in embryo she stately lay Waiting the dawn of her natal day. Sing of her morn which hath come at last Though perchance she will shiver before the blast; But the storm must come and the clarion call Will resound from her Eastern to Western wall.

Sing of her peerless youth so free As she beareth the lamp of Liberty With a proud high look, and a sensitive ear Fill’d with expectant hope and fear. Sing of her prestige exalted and pure In the hearts of her patriots ever secure, The Midas of Empires, resplendent and brave In magnificence reigns, the queen of the wave.

TO A CHILD.

I will paint thee as thou art; Summers two have left their trace On thy features, and thy heart Hath its reflex in thy face.

Hair of gold thy brow doth crown; Eyes like sparkling jewels two, For no evil yet hath thrown Shadows o’er those wells of blue.

Little hands our face caress, Tiny pinken earshells two, Sweetest smiling lips that press Drops of limpid fairy dew.

When in slumber thou dost lie, Even in thy baby dreams, Angels weave a lullaby To the murmur of the streams.

I will paint thee as I muse On thy journey up Life’s hill; Courage for thy guerdon choose; Work with heart, and brain, and will.

I would paint thee, if I might, Tender, patient, doing good, In thy coming years so bright-- Patriot, Statesman, if I could.

THE GLASSHOUSE MOUNTAINS, QUEENSLAND.

T Thou mighty Monoliths of Nature’s mould, H Horologes of time and seasons which have rolled E Ere mortals’ drama on life’s stage begun.

G Gray ocean hid thee in oblivion. L Lo! in the archaic rocks thy feet were laid, A And Saurian monsters once around thee played, S Sun, moon and stars alone thy forms had viewed, S Standing in weird mysterious solitude. H Heaving and shuddering with internal wrath O Out from thy vitals Jovian bolts came forth: U Unchained thy fury and malignant ire, S Spirits of Vulcan poured their liquid fire, E Epochs rolled on. The waves retreating fled.

M Moribund thou, thy craters cold and dead, O O’er thy scarred summits lurid flames no more U Unsheathed their molten tongues--thy life was o’er. N Now, man upon thy rugged shoulders stands T Turning expectant eyes o’er dunes and strands; A Amethyst islands in enchanting beauty lie I In Moreton’s waters ’neath the sapphire sky. N Nature hath carved thy frames inscrutable:-- S Stupendous mounds of God immutable.

Q Quelled is thy passion! In the glowing dawn U Under a misty veil thy mitred heads forlorn, E Ever in solemn beauty mid the silence stand, E Eternal sentinels of Time’s stern hand. N ’Neath thy vast shadows browse the goat and steer, S Sphinx-like thy gaze thou canst not see or hear, L Lovely in death, though slow be thy decay, A All things created change and pass away. N Nor, though man would thy secret learn in vain, D Doth thou confess: Ye watch towers of the plain.

AUSTRALIA’S DESTINY.

I see Australia’s footprints marking out her destiny, No castles proud or battlements proclaim her ancestry: But the Empire Mother’s children are strong and lithe and free, And they bravely bear their starry flag; true knights of chivalry. Beneath the glittering Southern Cross where the red hibiscus’ flame, Where set in a sea of silver lie the thousand isles of fame, Is the Barrier Reef--the rampart--whence with hundred eyes of hate The shrapnel shell may sound the knell of the foe at the Eastern Gate. And the lineal sons of Norsemen with the lightning of their glance Will ready be for the enemy with rapier and with lance. Her ships may scour the ocean but the nation holds the key Of future power, who, with aerial fleet, can claim supremacy. The shadow of the hand is there which presages a power When, with alliance severed in some unguarded hour, Heedless of signs portentous we see no clouds of war, With pomp and pride through portals wide the alien hordes may pour. Then let us fill Australia with our kin, there’s room for all, For see the fingers writing still the message on the wall; And listen with our pride of race we children of the dawn, To the warning voice of nations while yet it is the morn. And like true soldier citizens, who armed, may keep the peace, ’Twill lead the way unto the day when the demon war shall cease.

EVOLUTION.

A child of the Sun I am ages old, I live on the past, and its wisdom unfold; A handmaid of nature my dwelling unseen, I’m integrally part of whatever has been. Like a meteor I sprang from the womb of the sky, For of sun dust and star dust an atom am I; Whatever my place in cosmogonic laws, I belong to the great and invisible cause. Incorporate yet with the corporate mind I resolve myself, evolve, and govern mankind. I was nursed in oblivion, with silence was reared, Controlling man’s destiny, ever unheard; I press through the centuries slowly, but sure, And I never may rest until time be no more. An atom of mighty centrifugal force, No power can destroy or can alter my course: Though earth and her satellite fall like a star, I still will rejoice on some planet afar. A mentor I am if man will but read, For cause and effect are God’s agents indeed. Though I ever despoil, yet I ever renew, And I silently work where no mortal may view: I move on the mountains, I move in the deep, I never am still, yet eternally sleep; Like the dew of the morning refreshing the ground I bless and am blended with all things around. From the steps of the past to the future I climb, For from Heaven I am sent with a message sublime: On the rocks--nature’s book--my traces I leave, That in me--Evolution--you all may believe.

LOVE’S REVERIE.

I sang a song one glorious eve Meant for your ears alone, I may not sing that song again For years since then have flown; But I remember that the dew Lay glistening in your eyes so blue.

I sang to you one summer day All through the golden hours As down a mossy dell we strayed And plucked the scented flowers; And as I sang love’s sweet refrain Your eyes were dim with tears again.

I sang when night in splendour fell Where southern stars look down And they and you alone could tell How deep my love had grown, And when I saw your eyes ashine It seemed to make my love divine.

Dear heart, I sang to you alone My song with trembling voice, Which told how love could make our lives A holy sacrifice. Then tenderly, with quivering breath You gave yourself to me till death.

TO THE ROSE.

Goddess of beauty: at thy magic breath My spirit turneth from the gate of death, And in thy deep red heart would find repose And dreams of Arcady: thou queenly rose.

This morn I deemed that happiness had flown, For all the world to me had colder grown. But lo! The angel of the flowers hath kissed Thy petals with the dew of morning mist.

The fragrant violet, in its mossy shrine, Hath not the blushing loveliness of thine; And though within thy silky stem a dart Doth lurk, pray do not pierce my heart.

In all my garden, in its beauty set, With waxen lilies and with mignonette, And pansies purple with sweet amber eyes-- The charm of Flora’s glory with thee lies.

IN MEMORIAM.

CAPTAIN SCOTT AND COMRADES WHO PERISHED IN ANTARCTICA.

Not in mausoleum built of carven stone Sleep Britain’s heroes, but they lie alone In temple grand as human heart could crave Scott and his comrades in their mighty grave. The ice their couch, with pure white snow for shroud. Oh! Avalanche of woe: earth weeps aloud: The star-fringed sky their pall. No mournful bell, Or loving voice to breathe farewell: farewell. No muffled drum, nor flag to drape their bier; No shot was heard, nor fell one human tear. But where dark Erebus her vigil lone doth keep, Our heroes sleep serene their long last sleep. Their names are written in the Terrene sod: Their spirits are immortal with their God.

AUSTRAL’S HEROES.

We praise the deeds of ancient heroes bred Beneath Olympus’ venerable head, Or proud Parnassus’ patriarchal crown And victors’ wreaths which sons of Hellas won. Of Solon, whose impassioned lips once poured From the great Pynx his eloquence of word; And mighty Hector, and Astyanax, his boy, At once the idol and the pride of Troy. These vanished heroes, and the temples of the plain Though voiceless, ever deathless will remain; For though her brilliant Sun has long since set The spell of Hellas lingers o’er us yet. But we, as thus we sing of Greece and Rome, Have heroes such as they, and nearer home; The sons of sires who through the ages fought Like Trojans, fired with all the deeds they wrought; Our pioneers who delved the virgin soil In this new land with patient endless toil; In the primeval forest with companions few The more they toiled, their minds the greater grew. For they through long and dreary, lonely hours Wrestled with all the dim remorseless powers Of doubt, distress, and solitude and fear, While grim despair stood ever hovering near. Yet they with ever glowing fierce desire Of a consuming, and a never dying fire, Which latent in the human breast doth ever lie, Potent in hidden power and vast immensity Pressed bravely onward while they hewed the track, From death and danger never turning back; But through the bush bizarre and gorge they strode Their watchword ringing “On and clear the road.” And lo! Upon the pathless waste of desert plain Stood hunger, thirst, disease, and all their train, Marshalled like hosts of old to smite and slay The unhappy victims as they fainting lay:

But like the Greeks they fought, and would not yield Until their bones lay stretched upon the field. While Drought the King, as Agamemnon great, Stretched forth his Sceptre o’er his mighty State. Then Oh! Forget not, we who live in ease to-day, That great Australian heroes paved the way To present greatness; noble souls as these Of this reincarnated Greece of Southern seas: And Austral’s Sons, should swords they ever wield, Must die like heroes, or return with shield Emblazoned with the motto, “Macte Animo,” With ideals high, and breasts with love aglow For God and duty: thus each name a gem Shall gleam in Austral’s peerless diadem.

LIFE’S DUTY.

Go thou, when sorrow’s night thy soul hath torn, And turn thine eyes expectant to the dawn, And view the sunlight o’er the distant hills Until its rays with peace thy spirit fills; Then brave thyself unto the daily strife-- The world demands thou make the best of life. Go forth to duty, girt with golden chain Of courage, born of weakness, not in vain. Tho’ weak, thou’lt find thy greatest strength will lie In steadfast purpose with unfaltering eye Fixed on thy goal. Oh! Be thou valiant men, And point the higher path, for little do we ken Of they who labour in Life’s noonday sun. Go thou, when heat of toil hath left thy brow, Commune with Nature, and thy soul shall know The why and wherefore of the chastening rod Imposed on thy sad spirit by thy God, Hear how the breakers of the ocean moan, The thousand voices of the forest lone. The trees and flowers, the sigh of whispering winds-- All speak of beauty, and the power that binds Man to his Maker. Then take heart of grace, And meet the world with ever-smiling face. It hath enough of grief; go hide thy care, And scatter joy, tho’ blent with tears thy share.

THE TEMPLE OF THE YEARS.