Alice Werner.

Bannerman of the Dandenong

I rode through the Bush in the burning noon, Over the hills to my bride, -- The track was rough and the way was long, And Bannerman of the Dandenong, He rode along by my side.

A day's march off my Beautiful dwelt, By the Murray streams in the West; -- Lightly lilting a gay love-song Rode Bannerman of the Dandenong, With a blood-red rose on his breast.

"Red, red rose of the Western streams"

Was the song he sang that day -- Truest comrade in hour of need, -- Bay Mathinna his peerless steed -- I had my own good grey.

There fell a spark on the upland gra.s.s -- The dry Bush leapt into flame; -- And I felt my heart go cold as death, And Bannerman smiled and caught his breath, -- But I heard him name Her name.

Down the hill-side the fire-floods rushed, On the roaring eastern wind; -- Neck and neck was the reckless race, -- Ever the bay mare kept her pace, But the grey horse dropped behind.

He turned in the saddle -- "Let's change, I say!"

And his bridle rein he drew.

He sprang to the ground, -- "Look sharp!" he said With a backward toss of his curly head -- "I ride lighter than you!"

Down and up -- it was quickly done -- No words to waste that day! -- Swift as a swallow she sped along, The good bay mare from Dandenong, -- And Bannerman rode the grey.

The hot air scorched like a furnace blast From the very mouth of h.e.l.l: -- The blue gums caught and blazed on high Like flaming pillars into the sky; ...

The grey horse staggered and fell.

"Ride, ride, lad, -- ride for her sake!" he cried; -- Into the gulf of flame Were swept, in less than a breathing s.p.a.ce The laughing eyes, and the comely face, And the lips that named HER name.

She bore me bravely, the good bay mare; -- Stunned, and dizzy and blind, I heard the sound of a mingling roar -- 'Twas the Lachlan River that rushed before, And the flames that rolled behind.

Safe -- safe, at Nammoora gate, I fell, and lay like a stone.

O love! thine arms were about me then, Thy warm tears called me to life again, -- But -- O G.o.d! that I came alone! --

We dwell in peace, my beautiful one And I, by the streams in the West, -- But oft through the mist of my dreams along Rides Bannerman of the Dandenong, With the blood-red rose on his breast.

Ethel Castilla.

An Australian Girl

"She's pretty to walk with, And witty to talk with, And pleasant, too, to think on."

Sir John Suckling.

She has a beauty of her own, A beauty of a paler tone Than English belles; Yet southern sun and southern air Have kissed her cheeks, until they wear The dainty tints that oft appear On rosy sh.e.l.ls.

Her frank, clear eyes bespeak a mind Old-world traditions fail to bind.

She is not shy Or bold, but simply self-possessed; Her independence adds a zest Unto her speech, her piquant jest, Her quaint reply.

O'er cla.s.sic volumes she will pore With joy; and true scholastic lore Will often gain.

In sports she bears away the bell, Nor, under music's siren spell, To dance divinely, flirt as well, Does she disdain.

A Song of Sydney

(1894)

High headlands all jealously hide thee, O fairest of sea-girdled towns!

Thine Ocean-spouse smileth beside thee, While each headland threatens and frowns.

Like Venice, upheld on sea-pinion, And fated to reign o'er the free, Thou wearest, in sign of dominion, The zone of the sea.

No winter thy fertile slope hardens, O new Florence, set in the South!

All lands give their flowers to thy gardens, That glow to thy bright harbour's mouth; The waratah and England's red roses With stately magnolias entwine, Gay sunflowers fill sea-scented closes, All sweet with woodbine.

Thy harbour's fair flower-crowned islands See flags of all countries unfurled, Thou smilest from green, sunlit highlands To open thine arms to the world!

Dark East's and fair West's emulations Resound from each hill-shadowed quay, And over the songs of all nations, The voice of the sea.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams.

Something

It is something in this darker dream demented to have wrestled with its pleasure and its pain: it is something to have sinned, and have repented: it is something to have failed, and tried again!

It is something to have loved the brightest Beauty with no hope of aught but silence for your vow: it is something to have tried to do your duty: it is something to be trying, trying now!

And, in the silent solemn hours, when your soul floats down the far faint flood of time -- to think of Earth's lovers who are ours, of her saviours saving, suffering, sublime:

And that you with THESE may be her lover, with THESE may save and suffer for her sake -- IT IS JOY TO HAVE LIVED, SO TO DISCOVER YOU'VE A LIFE YOU CAN GIVE AND SHE CAN TAKE!

Gordon's Grave

All the heat and the glow and the hush of the summer afternoon; the scent of the sweet-briar bush over bowing gra.s.s-blades and broom;

the birds that flit and pa.s.s; singing the song he knows, the gra.s.s-hopper in the gra.s.s; the voice of the she-oak boughs.