an anthology of australian verse-第6节
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I sigh for a mate more fickle
Thou comest not back again。
The warm sun riseth and setteth；
The night bringeth moistening dew；
But the soul that longeth forgetteth
The warmth and the moisture too。
In the hot sun rising and setting
There is naught save feverish pain；
There are tears in the night…dews wetting
Thou comest not back again。
Thy voice in my ear still mingles
With the voices of whisp'ring trees；
Thy kiss on my cheek still tingles
At each kiss of the summer breeze。
While dreams of the past are thronging
For substance of shades in vain；
I am waiting； watching and longing
Thou comest not back again。
Waiting and watching ever；
Longing and lingering yet；
Leaves rustle and corn…stalks quiver；
Winds murmur and waters fret。
No answer they bring； no greeting；
No speech； save that sad refrain；
Nor voice； save an echo repeating
He cometh not back again。
The Sick Stock…rider
Hold hard； Ned！ Lift me down once more； and lay me in the shade。
Old man； you've had your work cut out to guide
Both horses； and to hold me in the saddle when I swayed；
All through the hot； slow； sleepy； silent ride。
The dawn at 〃Moorabinda〃 was a mist rack dull and dense；
The sun…rise was a sullen； sluggish lamp；
I was dozing in the gateway at Arbuthnot's bound'ry fence；
I was dreaming on the Limestone cattle camp。
We crossed the creek at Carricksford； and sharply through the haze；
And suddenly the sun shot flaming forth；
To southward lay 〃Katawa〃； with the sand peaks all ablaze；
And the flushed fields of Glen Lomond lay to north。
Now westward winds the bridle…path that leads to Lindisfarm；
And yonder looms the double…headed Bluff；
From the far side of the first hill； when the skies are clear and calm；
You can see Sylvester's woolshed fair enough。
Five miles we used to call it from our homestead to the place
Where the big tree spans the roadway like an arch；
'Twas here we ran the dingo down that gave us such a chase
Eight years ago or was it nine？ last March。
'Twas merry in the glowing morn among the gleaming grass；
To wander as we've wandered many a mile；
And blow the cool tobacco cloud； and watch the white wreaths pass；
Sitting loosely in the saddle all the while。
'Twas merry 'mid the blackwoods； when we spied the station roofs；
To wheel the wild scrub cattle at the yard；
With a running fire of stock whips and a fiery run of hoofs；
Oh！ the hardest day was never then too hard！
Aye！ we had a glorious gallop after 〃Starlight〃 and his gang；
When they bolted from Sylvester's on the flat；
How the sun…dried reed…beds crackled； how the flint…strewn ranges rang；
To the strokes of 〃Mountaineer〃 and 〃Acrobat〃。
Hard behind them in the timber； harder still across the heath；
Close beside them through the tea…tree scrub we dash'd；
And the golden…tinted fern leaves； how they rustled underneath；
And the honeysuckle osiers； how they crash'd！
We led the hunt throughout； Ned； on the chestnut and the grey；
And the troopers were three hundred yards behind；
While we emptied our six…shooters on the bushrangers at bay；
In the creek with stunted box…trees for a blind！
There you grappled with the leader； man to man； and horse to horse；
And you roll'd together when the chestnut rear'd；
He blazed away and missed you in that shallow water…course
A narrow shave his powder singed your beard！
In these hours when life is ebbing； how those days when life was young
Come back to us； how clearly I recall
Even the yarns Jack Hall invented； and the songs Jem Roper sung；
And where are now Jem Roper and Jack Hall？
Ay！ nearly all our comrades of the old colonial school；
Our ancient boon companions； Ned； are gone；
Hard livers for the most part； somewhat reckless as a rule；
It seems that you and I are left alone。
There was Hughes； who got in trouble through that business with the cards；
It matters little what became of him；
But a steer ripp'd up Macpherson in the Cooraminta yards；
And Sullivan was drown'd at Sink…or…swim；
And Mostyn poor Frank Mostyn died at last； a fearful wreck；
In the 〃horrors〃 at the Upper Wandinong；
And Carisbrooke； the rider； at the Horsefall broke his neck；
Faith！ the wonder was he saved his neck so long！
Ah！ those days and nights we squandered at the Logans' in the glen
The Logans； man and wife； have long been dead。
Elsie's tallest girl seems taller than your little Elsie then；
And Ethel is a woman grown and wed。
I've had my share of pastime； and I've done my share of toil；
And life is short the longest life a span；
I care not now to tarry for the corn or for the oil；
Or for wine that maketh glad the heart of man。
For good undone； and gifts misspent； and resolutions vain；
'Tis somewhat late to trouble。 This I know
I should live the same life over； if I had to live again；
And the chances are I go where most men go。
The deep blue skies wax dusky； and the tall green trees grow dim；
The sward beneath me seems to heave and fall；
And sickly； smoky shadows through the sleepy sunlight swim；
And on the very sun's face weave their pall。
Let me slumber in the hollow where the wattle blossoms wave；
With never stone or rail to fence my bed；
Should the sturdy station children pull the bush…flowers on my grave；
I may chance to hear them romping overhead。
I don't suppose I shall though； for I feel like sleeping sound；
That sleep； they say； is doubtful。 True； but yet
At least it makes no difference to the dead man underground
What the living men remember or forget。
Enigmas that perplex us in the world's unequal strife；
The future may ignore or may reveal；
Yet some； as weak as water； Ned； to make the best of life；
Have been to face the worst as true as steel。
Henry Kendall。
Prefatory Sonnets
I。
I purposed once to take my pen and write；
Not songs； like some； tormented and awry
With passion； but a cunning harmony
Of words and music caught from glen and height；
And lucid colours born of woodland light
And shining places where the sea…streams lie。
But this was when the heat of youth glowed white；
And since I've put the faded purpose by。
I have no faultless fruits to offer you
Who read this book； but certain syllables
Herein are borrowed from unfooted dells
And secret hollows dear to noontide dew；
And these at least； though far between and few；
May catch the sense like subtle forest spells。
II。
So take these kindly； even though there be
Some notes that unto other lyres belong；
Stray echoes from the elder sons of song；
And think how from its neighbouring native sea
The pensive shell doth borrow melody。
I would not do the lordly masters wrong
By filching fair words from the shining throng
Whose music haunts me as the wind a tree！
Lo； when a stranger in soft Syrian glooms
Shot through with sunset treads the cedar dells；
And hears the breezy ring of elfin bells
Far down by where the white…haired cataract booms；
He； faint with sweetness caught from forest smells；
Bears thence； unwitting； plunder of perfumes。
September in Australia
Grey Winter hath gone； like a wearisome guest；
And； behold； for repayment；
September comes in with the wind of the West
And the Spring in her raiment！
The ways of the frost have been filled of the flowers；
While the forest discovers
Wild wings； with the halo of hyaline hours；
And the music of lovers。
September； the maid with the swift； silver feet！
She glides； and she graces
The valleys of coolness； the slopes of the heat；
With her blossomy traces；
Sweet month； with a mouth that is made of a rose；
She lightens and lingers
In spots where the harp of the evening glows；
Attuned by her fingers。
The stream from its home in the hollow hill slips
In a darling old fashion；
And the day goeth down with a song on its lips
Whose key…note is passion；
Far out in the fierce； bitter front of the sea
I stand； and remember
Dead things that were brothers and sisters of thee；
Resplendent September。
The West； when it blows at the fall of the noon
And beats on the beaches；
Is filled with a tender and tremulous tune
That touches and teaches；
The stories of Youth； of the burden of Time；
And the death of Devotion；
Come back with the wind； and are themes of the rhyme
In the waves of the ocean。
We； having a secret to others unknown；
In the cool mountain…mosses；
May whisper together； September； alone
Of our loves and our losses。
One word for her beauty； and one for the grace
She gave to the hours；
And then we may kiss her； and suffer her face
To sleep with the flowers。
。 。 。 。 。
Oh； season of changes of shadow and shine
September t
