  Where linger the people I once called my own? In depths of the forest I stand here alone; Where waits my beloved one, my queen and my bride? ’Twas seldom she wandered thus far from my side. I hear not, I see not the world where they live; No day-dream reveals it, or comfort will give To passionate longing; hope dies in the heart Of man when he dwells from his fellows apart. With weary complaining I question again; ’Mid rivers and mountains I hear a refrain From cliff to the valley seem clearly to ring— “Alone in thy kingdom where once thou wert king!” From over wide seas the white chieftains had come To rest in our mountains and claim our dear home; ’Twas darker than darkness, that fell ere the night. Our farewells were short, as thro’ thicket we sprang, All armed with sharp spears and the curved boomerang; My people loud shouted their battle-cry old, A quick answer came, by the bullet soon told! I prayed as I fell, “May I speedily die With those who, around me, now silently lie Like reeds in a tempest, struck low by the rain, Who never to life will awaken again!” I dragged myself back, yet scarce knew it was day, Or if any escaped from the heat of the fray; No voice there I heard, not a sigh, not a sound, As fainting, I lay on the grass-trodden ground. But morning brought life, and the noonday gave strength, The day slowly passed, and with evening at length (Kind Nature had nourished my famishing frame) I found I could rise, though enfeebled and lame. Though why should I value that newly found breath? For bitter is life to me, sweeter is death, And if I felt sure I should find them at last, With joy would I join those true friends of the past. I’ve sought the deep hollows, the gorge, and ravine, From mallee to plain not a creature is seen. White chieftains have journeyed and left me to rest, They scour all the country from east to the west. Alone in my camp, now, when fadeth the day, I sit in the firelight the lizard to flay; Tho’ nights are as fine as were those we could choose To dance the corroboree, feast or carouse Around the bush fire piled with myall and pine, And box, red and white, or the cedar-wood fine! Once danced we the war-dance from dark till the dawn, And stayed not to rest until sunlight was born. Warm sunshine still plays among myriad leaves, Where silver-like thread the tarantula weaves; I see thro’ the green the bright web he hath spun, And kingfishers dazzling the light of the sun; From nests in the banks quick they flash in and out. While jackass sits laughing with comical shout ’Mid branches o’erhead, wearing plumage of brown, The river beneath floweth steadily down. Thus murmuring, the ripples bring tears to my eye, They sound like the tones of my loved one’s reply; Of knowing she never will hear them again. Alone on the marshes the water-hens float, With cresses and rushes surrounding their throat, They pluck at the circles of mud-coloured slime, Which harden and bake in the summer’s sweet time. If water be scarce, or if river run dry, There sandpiper, too, on occasion will hie, And heron or pelican often be seen, Food patiently seeking in silence serene. At times I do wonder if haply they know What power has arisen my sway to o’erthrow?— What memories they stir! When they rise on the wing I dream of the days when I reigned here as king. The wattle’s scent mingles with that of the briar, Where tower the white gum trees in noble attire: In days when we hunted the emu abreast, ’Twas under their shade we would lie down and rest, Till curlew at evening poured wail upon wail That circled the forest and crept thro’ the vale, Would rise there and fall there, and circle again. Do yearnings increasing disturb the strong breeze, That moans in the brushwood and grieves in the trees? Its sob overcomes me, no more can I sing, But bend low in anguish where once I stood king! |
|
