A whiteness of the lakes。
Here； while beyond the rainy stream
The wild winds sobbing blow；
I see the river of my dream
Four wasted years ago。
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Narrara of the waterfalls；
The darling of the hills；
Whose home is under mountain walls
By many…luted rills！
Her bright green nooks and channels cool
I never more may see；
But； ah！ the Past was beautiful …
The sights that used to be。
There was a rock…pool in a glen
Beyond Narrara's sands；
The mountains shut it in from men
In flowerful fairy lands；
But once we found its dwelling…place …
The lovely and the lone …
And； in a dream； I stooped to trace
Our names upon a stone。
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Above us； where the star…like moss
Shone on the wet； green wall
That spanned the straitened stream across；
We saw the waterfall …
A silver singer far away；
By folded hills and hoar；
Its voice is in the woods to…day …
A voice I hear no more。
I wonder if the leaves that screen
The rock…pool of the past
Are yet as soft and cool and green
As when we saw them last！
I wonder if that tender thing；
The moss； has overgrown
The letters by the limpid spring …
Our names upon the stone！
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Across the face of scenes we know
There may have come a change …
The places seen four years ago
Perhaps would now look strange。
To you； indeed； they cannot be
What haply once they were：
A friend beloved by you and me
No more will greet us there。
Because I know the filial grief
That shrinks beneath the touch …
The noble love whose words are brief …
I will not say too much；
But often when the night…winds strike
Across the sighing rills；
I think of him whose life was like
The rock…pool's in the hills。
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A beauty like the light of song
Is in my dreams； that show
The grand old man who lived so long
As spotless as the snow。
A fitting garland for the dead
I cannot compass yet；
But many things he did and said
I never will forget。
In dells where once we used to rove
The slow； sad water grieves；
And ever comes from glimmering grove
The liturgy of leaves。
But time and toil have marked my face；
My heart has older grown
Since； in the woods； I stooped to trace
Our names upon the stone。
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LEICHHARDT
LORDLY harp； by lordly master wakened from majestic sleep；
Yet shall speak and yet shall sing the words which make the fathers weep！
Voice surpassing human voices … high； unearthly harmony …
Yet shall tell the tale of hero； in exalted years to be！
In the ranges； by the rivers； on the uplands； down the dells；
Where the sound of wind and wave is； where the mountain anthem swells；
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Yet shall float the song of lustre； sweet with tears and fair with flame；
Shining with a theme of beauty； holy with our Leichhardt's name！
Name of him who faced for science thirsty tracts of bitter glow；
Lurid lands that no one knows of … two…and…thirty years ago。
Born by hills of hard grey weather； far beyond the northern seas；
German mountains were his sponsors； and his mates were German trees；
Grandeur of the old…world forests passed into his radiant soul；
With the song of stormy crescents where the mighty waters roll。
Thus he came to be a brother of the river and the wood …
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Thus the leaf； the bird； the blossom； grew a gracious sisterhood；
Nature led him to her children； in a space of light divine：
Kneeling down； he said … ‘‘My mother； let me be as one of thine！''
So she took him … thence she loved him … lodged him in her home of dreams；
Taught him what the trees were saying； schooled him in the speech of streams。
For her sake he crossed the waters … loving her； he left the place
Hallowed by his father's ashes； and his human mother's face …
Passed the seas and entered temples domed by skies of deathless beam；
Walled about by hills majestic； stately spires and peaks supreme！
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Here he found a larger beauty … here the lovely lights were new
On the slopes of many flowers； down the gold…green dells of dew。
In the great august cathedral of his holy lady； he
Daily worshipped at her altars； nightly bent the reverent knee …
Heard the hymns of night and morning； learned the psalm of solitudes；
Knew that God was very near him … felt His presence in the woods！
But the starry angel； Science； from the home of glittering wings；
Came one day and talked to Nature by melodious mountain springs：
‘‘Let thy son be mine；'' she pleaded； ‘‘lend him for a space；'' she said；
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‘‘So that he may earn the laurels I have woven for his head！''
And the lady； Nature； listened； and she took her loyal son
From the banks of moss and myrtle … led him to the Shining One！
Filled his lordly soul with gladness … told him of a spacious zone
Eye of man had never looked at； human foot had never known。
Then the angel； Science； beckoned； and he knelt and whispered low …
‘‘I will follow where you lead me'' … two…and…thirty years ago。
On the tracts of thirst and furnace … on the dumb； blind； burning plain；
Where the red earth gapes for moisture； and the wan leaves hiss for rain；
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In a land of dry； fierce thunder； did he ever pause and dream
Of the cool green German valley and the singing German stream？
When the sun was as a menace； glaring from a sky of brass；
Did he ever rest； in visions； on a lap of German grass？
Past the waste of thorny terrors； did he reach a sphere of rills；
In a region yet untravelled； ringed by fair untrodden hills？
Was the spot where last he rested pleasant as an old…world lea？
Did the sweet winds come and lull him with the music of the sea？
Let us dream so … let us hope so！ Haply in a cool green glade；
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Far beyond the zone of furnace； Leichhardt's sacred shell was laid！
Haply in some leafy valley； underneath blue； gracious skies；
In the sound of mountain water； the heroic traveller lies！
Down a dell of dewy myrtle； where the light is soft and green；
And a month like English April sits； an immemorial queen；
Let us think that he is resting … think that by a radiant grave
Ever come the songs of forest； and the voices of the wave！
Thus we want our sons to find him … find him under floral bowers；
Sleeping by the trees he loved so； covered with his darling flowers！
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AFTER MANY YEARS
THE song that once I dreamed about；
The tender； touching thing；
As radiant as the rose without …
The love of wind and wing …
The perfect verses； to the tune
Of woodland music set；
As beautiful as afternoon；
Remain unwritten yet。
It is too late to write them now …
The ancient fire is cold；
No ardent lights illume the brow；
As in the days of old。
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I cannot dream the dream again；
But when the happy birds
Are singing in the sunny rain；
I think I hear its words。
I think I hear the echo still
Of long…forgotten tones；
When evening winds are on the hill
And sunset fires the cones；
But only in the hours supreme；
With songs of land and sea；
The lyrics of the leaf and stream；
This echo comes to me。
No longer doth the earth reveal
Her gracious green and gold；
I sit where youth was once； and feel
That I am growing old。
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The lustre from the face of things
Is wearing all away；
Like one who halts with tired wings；
I rest and muse to…day。
There is a river in the range
I love to think about；
Perhaps the searching feet of change
Have never found it out。
Ah！ oftentimes I used to look
Upon its banks； and long
To steal the beauty of that brook
And put it in a song。
I wonder if the slopes of moss；
In dreams so dear to me …
The falls of flower； and flower…like floss …
Are as they used to be！
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I wonder if the waterfalls；
The singers far and fair；
That gleamed between the wet； green walls；
Are still the marvels there！
Ah！ let me hope that in that place
The old familiar things
To which I turn a wistful face
Have never taken wings。
Let me retain the fancy still
That； past the lordly range；
There always shines； in folds of