 
Prologue. Alone she sits, nor marks the dying day. Alone on earth, she bows her weary head, And dusky spirits bear her soul away; A race extinct. The last Tasmanian dead. Apostrophe. Where are thy dark sons, Tasmania, Tasmania? Where are the lords who once swayed o’er thy shore? Gone to their fathers; Oh! weep ye, Tasmania, Weep for the race thou shalt see never more. Weep for the race on thy fair bosom nourished, Tutored by nature, untrammeled, so free; Kings of thy green hills and valleys they flourished, Kings who now sleep in their graves by the sea. Proud were the race who knew not their beginning, To whom the long past was as sealed as their fate, Who counted their seasons when insects were winging, The time by the shadows, the suns for their date. Skilled were thy dark sons, Tasmania! Tasmania! Virtuous, gentle and peaceful their ways; Till civilization o’ertook thee, Tasmania, And civilized habits renumbered their days. Set is the sun of thy people, Oh, country! Strangers now trample unawed o’er they race; Forgotten, the dusky-hued sons that a century Past were the monarchs of all thy sweet place. Soft may they sleep by thy shores, Oh! Tasmania, Where sea-dirges swell for the child of the past; Sleep as thy guardian spirits, Tasmania, Hovering round thy dear land to the last. |
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