An Anthology of Australian Verse Part 30

Will. H. Ogilvie.

Queensland Opal

Opal, little opal, with the red fire glancing, Set my blood a-spinning, set my pulse a-stir, Strike the harp of memory, set my dull heart dancing Southward to the Sunny Land and the love of Her!

Opal, s.h.i.+ning opal, let them call you luckless jewel, Let them curse or let them covet, you are still my heart's desire, You that robbed the sun and moon and green earth for fuel To gather to your milky breast and fill your veins with fire!

Green of fluttering gum-leaves above dim water-courses, Red of rolling dust-clouds, blue of summer skies, Flash of flints afire beneath the hoofs of racing horses, Sunlight and moonlight and light of lovers' eyes

Pink clasping hands amid a Southern summer gloaming, Green of August gra.s.ses, white of dew-sprung pearls, Grey of winging wild geese into the Sunset homing, Twined with all the kisses of a Queen of Queensland girls!

Wind o' the Autumn

I love you, wind o' the Autumn, that came from I know not where, To lead me out of the toiling world to a ballroom fresh and fair, Where the poplars tall and golden and the beeches rosy and red Are setting to woodland partners and dancing the stars to bed!

Oh! say, wild wind o' the Autumn, may I dance this dance with you Decked out in your gown of moonmist and jewelled with drops of dew?

For I know no waiting lover with arms that so softly twine, And I know no dancing partner whose step is so made for mine!

Daffodils

Ho! You there, selling daffodils along the windy street, Poor drooping, dusty daffodils -- but oh! so Summer sweet!

Green stems that stab with loveliness, rich petal-cups to hold The wine of Spring to lips that cling like bees about their gold!

What price to you for daffodils? I'll give what price you please, For light and love and memory lie leaf by leaf with these!

And if I bought all Sydney Town I could not hope to buy The wealth you bring of everything that goes with open sky!

My money for your daffodils: why do you thank me so?

If I have paid a reckless price, take up my gift and go, And from the golden garden beds where gold the sunbeams s.h.i.+ne Bring in more flowers to light the hours for lover-hearts like mine!

A Queen of Yore

Slowly she hobbles past the town, grown old at heart and gray; With misty eyes she stumbles down along the well-known way; She sees her maiden march unrolled by billabong and bend, And every gum's a comrade old and every oak's a friend; But gone the smiling faces that welcomed her of yore -- They crowd her tented places and hold her hand no more.

And she, the friend they once could trust to serve their eager wish, Shall show no more the golden dust that hides in many a dish; And through the dismal mullock-heaps she threads her mournful way Where here and there some gray-beard keeps his windla.s.s-watch to-day; Half-flood no more she looses her reins as once of old To wash the busy sluices and whisper through the gold.

She sees no wild-eyed steers above stand spear-horned on the brink; The brumby mobs she used to love come down no more to drink; Where green the gra.s.ses used to twine above them, shoulder-deep, Through the red dust -- a long, slow line -- crawl in the starving sheep; She sees no crossing cattle that Western drovers bring, No swimming steeds that battle to block them when they ring.

She sees no barricaded roofs, no loop-holed station wall, No foaming steed with flying hoofs to bring the word "Ben Hall!"

She sees no reckless robbers stoop behind their ambush stone, No coach-and-four, no escort troop; -- but, very lorn and lone, Watches the sunsets redden along the mountain side Where round the spurs of Weddin the wraiths of Weddin ride.

Tho' fettered with her earthen bars and chained with bridge and weir She goes her own way with the stars; she knows the course to steer!

And when her thousand rocky rills foam, angry, to her feet, Rain-heavy from the Cowra hills she takes her vengeance sweet, And leaps with roar of thunder, and buries bridge and ford, That all the world may wonder when the Lachlan bares her sword!

Gray River! let me take your hand for all your memories old -- Your cattle-kings, your outlaw-band, your wealth of virgin gold; For once you held, and hold it now, the sceptre of a queen, And still upon your furrowed brow the royal wreaths are green; Hold wide your arms, the waters! Lay bare your silver breast To nurse the sons and daughters that spread your empire west!

Drought

My road is fenced with the bleached, white bones And strewn with the blind, white sand, Beside me a suffering, dumb world moans On the breast of a lonely land.

On the rim of the world the lightnings play, The heat-waves quiver and dance, And the breath of the wind is a sword to slay And the sunbeams each a lance.

I have withered the gra.s.s where my hot hoofs tread, I have whitened the sapless trees, I have driven the faint-heart rains ahead To hide in their soft green seas.

I have bound the plains with an iron band, I have stricken the slow streams dumb!

To the charge of my vanguards who shall stand?

Who stay when my cohorts come?

The dust-storms follow and wrap me round; The hot winds ride as a guard; Before me the fret of the swamps is bound And the way of the wild-fowl barred.

I drop the whips on the loose-flanked steers; I burn their necks with the bow; And the green-hide rips and the iron sears Where the staggering, lean beasts go.

I lure the swagman out of the road To the gleam of a phantom lake; I have laid him down, I have taken his load, And he sleeps till the dead men wake.

My hurrying hoofs in the night go by, And the great flocks bleat their fear And follow the curve of the creeks burnt dry And the plains scorched brown and sere.

The worn men start from their sleepless rest With faces haggard and drawn; They cursed the red Sun into the west And they curse him out of the dawn.

They have carried their outposts far, far out, But -- blade of my sword for a sign! -- I am the Master, the dread King Drought, And the great West Land is mine!

The Shadow on the Blind

Last night I walked among the lamps that gleamed, And saw a shadow on a window blind, A moving shadow; and the picture seemed To call some scene to mind.

I looked again; a dark form to and fro Swayed softly as to music full of rest, Bent low, bent lower: -- Still I did not know.

And then, at last, I guessed.

And through the night came all old memories flocking, White memories like the snowflakes round me whirled.

"All's well!" I said; "The mothers still sit rocking The cradles of the world!"