an anthology of australian verse-第16章
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And so intensely it doth illume；
That it shuts by times to gloom；
In the open spaces thrilling；
From the dead leaves distilling
A hot and harsh perfume。
Evening。
Give over！ All the valleys in sight
Fill； fill with the rising tide of night；
While the sunset with gold…dust bridges
The black…ravined ridges；
Whose mighty muscles curve in its light。
In our weary climb； while night dyes deep；
Down the broken and stony steep；
How our jaded bodies are shaken
By each step in half…blindness taken
One's thoughts lie heaped like brutes asleep。
Open the door of the dismal hut；
Silence and darkness lone were shut
In it； as a tidal pool； until returning
Night drowns the land； no ember's burning；
One is too weary the food to cut。
Body and soul with every blow；
Wasted for ever； and who will know；
Where； past this mountained night of toiling；
Red life in its thousand veins is boiling；
Of chips scattered on the mountain's brow？
Home…woe
The wreckage of some name…forgotten barque；
Half…buried by the dolorous shore；
Whereto the living waters never more
Their urgent billows pour；
But the salt spray can reach and cark
So lies my spirit； lonely and forlorn；
On Being's strange and perilous strand。
And rusted sword and fleshless hand
Point from the smothering sand；
And anchor chainless and out…worn。
But o'er what Deep； unconquered and uncharted；
And steering by what vanished star；
And where my dim…imagined consorts are；
Or hidden harbour far；
From whence my sails； unblessed； departed；
Can memory； nor still intuition teach。
And so I watch with alien eyes
This World's remote and unremembered skies；
While around me weary rise
The babblings of a foreign speech。
A Ballad of the last King of Thule
There was a King of Thule
Whom a Witch…wife stole at birth；
In a country known but newly；
All under the dumb； huge Earth。
That King's in a Forest toiling；
And he never the green sward delves
But he sees all his green waves boiling
Over his sands and shelves；
In these sunsets vast and fiery；
In these dawns divine he sees
Hy…Brasil； Mannan and Eire；
And the Isle of Appletrees；
He watches； heart…still and breathless；
The clouds through the deep day trailing；
As the white…winged vessels gathered；
Into his harbours sailing；
Ranked Ibis and lazy Eagles
In the great blue flame may rise；
But ne'er Sea…mew or Solan beating
Up through their grey low skies；
When the storm…led fires are breaking；
Great waves of the molten night；
Deep in his eyes comes aching
The icy Boreal Light。
。 。 。 。 。
O； lost King； and O； people perished；
Your Thule has grown one grave！
Unvisited as uncherished；
Save by the wandering wave！
The billows burst in his doorways；
The spray swoops over his walls！
O； his banners that throb dishonoured
O'er arms that hide in his halls
Deserved is your desolation！
Why could you not stir and save
The last…born heir of your nation？
Sold into the South； a slave
Till he dies； and is buried duly
In the hot Australian earth
The lorn； lost King of Thule；
Whom a Witch…wife stole at birth。
A Fragment
But； under all； my heart believes the day
Was not diviner over Athens； nor
The West wind sweeter thro' the Cyclades
Than here and now； and from the altar of To…day
The eloquent； quick tongues of flame uprise
As fervid； if not unfaltering as of old；
And life atones with speed and plenitude
For coarser texture。 Our poor present will；
Far in the brooding future； make a past
Full of the morning's music still； and starred
With great tears shining on the eyelids' eaves
Of our immortal faces yearning t'wards the sun。
Andrew Barton Paterson （‘Banjo'）。
The Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying
Away in the west；
The wild birds are flying
In silence to rest；
In leafage and frondage
Where shadows are deep；
They pass to their bondage
The kingdom of sleep。
And watched in their sleeping
By stars in the height；
They rest in your keeping；
Oh； wonderful night。
When night doth her glories
Of starshine unfold；
'Tis then that the stories
Of bushland are told。
Unnumbered I hold them
In memories bright；
But who could unfold them；
Or read them aright？
Beyond all denials
The stars in their glories
The breeze in the myalls
Are part of these stories。
The waving of grasses；
The song of the river
That sings as it passes
For ever and ever；
The hobble…chains' rattle；
The calling of birds；
The lowing of cattle
Must blend with the words。
Without these； indeed； you
Would find it ere long；
As though I should read you
The words of a song
That lamely would linger
When lacking the rune；
The voice of the singer；
The lilt of the tune。
But； as one half…hearing
An old…time refrain；
With memory clearing；
Recalls it again；
These tales； roughly wrought of
The bush and its ways；
May call back a thought of
The wandering days。
And； blending with each
In the mem'ries that throng；
There haply shall reach
You some echo of song。
Clancy of the Overflow
I had written him a letter which I had； for want of better
Knowledge； sent to where I met him down the Lachlan； years ago；
He was shearing when I knew him； so I sent the letter to him；
Just 〃on spec〃； addressed as follows； 〃Clancy； of The Overflow〃。
And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected；
（And I think the same was written with a thumb…nail dipped in tar）
'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it； and verbatim I will quote it：
〃Clancy's gone to Queensland droving； and we don't know where he are。〃
。 。 。 。 。
In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a…droving 〃down the Cooper〃 where the Western drovers go；
As the stock are slowly stringing； Clancy rides behind them singing；
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know。
And the bush hath friends to meet him； and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars；
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended；
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars。
。 。 。 。 。
I am sitting in my dingy little office； where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall；
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty； dirty city；
Through the open window floating； spreads its foulness over all。
And in place of lowing cattle； I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the 'buses making hurry down the street；
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting；
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet。
And the hurrying people daunt me； and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste；
With their eager eyes and greedy； and their stunted forms and weedy；
For townsfolk have no time to grow； they have no time to waste。
And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy；
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go；
While he faced the round eternal of the cash…book and the journal
But I doubt he'd suit the office； Clancy； of 〃The Overflow〃。
Black Swans
As I lie at rest on a patch of clover
In the Western Park when the day is done；
I watch as the wild black swans fly over
With their phalanx turned to the sinking sun；
And I hear the clang of their leader crying
To a lagging mate in the rearward flying；
And they fade away in the darkness dying；
Where the stars are mustering one by one。
Oh！ ye wild black swans； 'twere a world of wonder
For a while to join in your westward flight；
With the stars above and the dim earth under；
Through the cooling air of the glorious night。
As we swept along on our pinions winging；
We should catch the chime of a church…bell ringing；
Or the distant note of a torrent singing；
Or the far…off flash of a station light。
From the northern lakes with the reeds and rushes；
Where the hills are clothed with a purple haze；
Where the bell…birds chime and the songs of thrushes
Make music sweet in the jungle maze；
They will hold their course to the westward ever；
Till they reach the banks of the old grey river；
Where the waters wash； and the reed…beds quiver
In the burning heat of the summer days。
Oh！ ye strange wild birds； will ye bear a greeting
To the folk that live in that western land？
Then for every sweep of your pinions beating；
Ye shall bear a wish to the sunburnt band；
To the stalwart men who are stoutly fighting
With the heat and drought and the dust…storm smiting；
Yet whose life somehow has a strange inviting；
When once to the work they have put their hand。
Facing it yet！ Oh； my friend stout…hearted；
What does it matter for rain or shine；
For the hopes deferred and the gain departed？
Nothing could conquer that heart of thine。
And thy health and strength are beyond confessing
As the only joys that are worth possessing。
May the days to come be as rich in blessing
As the days we spent in the auld lang syne。
I would fain go back to the old grey river；
To the old bush days when our hearts were light；
But； alas！ those days they have fled for ever；
They are like the swans that have swept from sight。
And I know full well that the strangers' faces
Would meet us now in our dearest places；
For our day is dead and has left no traces
But the thoughts that live in my mind to…night。
There are folk long dead； and our hearts would sicken
We would grieve for them with a bitter pain；
If the past could live and the dead could quicken；
We then might turn to that life again。
But on lonely nights we would hear them calling；
We should hear their steps on the pathways falling；
We should loathe the life with a hate appalling
In our lonely rides by the ridge and plain。
。 。 。 。 。
In the silent park is a scent of clover；
And the distant roar of the town is dead；
And I hear once more as the swans fly over
Their far…off clamour from overhead。
They are flying west； by their instinct guided；
And for man likewise is his fate decided；
And griefs apportioned and joys divided
By a mighty power with a purpose dread。
The Travelling Post Office
The roving breezes come and go； the reed beds sweep and sway；
The sleepy river murmurs low； and loiters on its way；
It is the land of lots o' time along the Castlereagh。
。 。 。 。 。
The old man's son had left the farm； he found it
