CCXXVIII
FLINDERS
He left his island home
For leagues of sleepless foam,
For stress of alien seas,
Where wild winds ever blow;
For England’s sake he sought
Fresh fields of fame, and fought
A stormy world for these,
A hundred years ago.
And where the Austral shore
Heard southward far the roar
Of rising tides that came
From lands of ice and snow,
Beneath a gracious sky
To fadeless memory
He left a deathless name
A hundred years ago.
Yea, left a name sublime
From that wild dawn of Time,
Whose light he haply saw
In supreme sunrise flow,
And from the shadows vast,
That filled the dim dead past,
A brighter glory draw,
A hundred years ago.
Perchance, he saw in dreams
Beside our sunlit streams
In some majestic hour
Old England’s banners blow;
Mayhap, the radiant morn
Of this great nation born,
August with perfect power,
A hundred years ago.
We know not,—yet for thee
Far may the season be,
Whose harp in shameful sleep
Is soundless lying low!
Far be the noteless hour
That holds of fame no flower
For those who dared our deep
A hundred years ago!
John Bernard O’Hara. CCXXIX
THE AUSTRALIAN COMMONWEALTH
Lo, ’tis the light of the morn
Over the mountains breaking,
And our Empire’s day is born,
The life of a Nation waking
To the triumph of regal splendour,
To the voice of conquering fate
That cries ‘No longer wait!’
To the rising hopes that send her
Fearless upon her way
With no thoughts of her yesterday,
But dreams of a mighty State
Great ’mid the old grave nations,
Divine in her aspirations;
Blest be the men who brought her,
Freedom’s starriest daughter,
Out of the night
Into the light,
A power and a glory for evermore!—
Let the old world live in the pages
Time wrote in the dark of the ages,
For us ’tis the light of the morning breaking on sea and shore!
They found her a maiden with dower
Only of seasons sunny,
Blue skies and the frail white flower
Of Peace with its song’s sweet honey,
And the joy of her wild seas flinging
Their voices on fairy strands
Where only the winds’ soft singing
Broke on the sleep of day,
Or a whistling spear by the dim green way
Of the water and the lands.
Green were the woodlands round her,
Blue were the seas that bound her,
Soft was the sky above her,
A dreamily lonely lover;
Streams and dells
And the mountain wells,
And the voice of the forest were hers alone,
And the life of the grim grave ranges,
The night and the noon and the changes
Of light on the topmost peaks when the rose of the dawn was blown.
Lift up thine honoured head!
The skies are all aflame;
The east to morn is wed;
Lift up thine honoured head,
And fearless keep thy fame!
There is work for thee to do,
A nation’s work is thine;
O land, beloved, mine!
Gird thee for life anew!
With strength, that fails not, keep
Thy pathway bright with Good;
Let Honour, Justice, sweep
Aside the weeds that creep—
Grim Error, Unbelief,
And their Titanic brood,
Be thine the task to rear
The spacious halls of Art,
To hearken to sweet Song,
Be thine the pride to fear
No foe while in thy heart
The love of Truth is strong,
To help the weak, and be
Beloved and great and free,
Even as thy Mighty Mother—the Grey Queen of the Sea!
John Bernard O’Hara.
|
  |
