songs from the mountains-第12节
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Which built this city of the hundred spires！
A stately Morning rises on the wing；
The hills take colour； and the valleys sing。
A strong September flames beyond the lea …
A silver vision on a silver sea。
A new Age； ‘‘cast in a diviner mould''；
Comes crowned with lustre； zoned and shod with gold！
What dream is this on lawny spaces set？
What miracle of dome and minaret？
What great mute majesty is this that takes
The first of morning ere the song…bird wakes？
Lo； this was built to honour gathering lands
By Celtic； Saxon； Australasian hands！
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These are the halls where all the flags unfurled
Break into speech that welcomes all the world。
And lo； our friends are here from every zone …
From isles we dream of and from tracts unknown！
Here are the fathers from the stately space
Where Ireland is and England's sacred face！
Here are the Norsemen from their strong sea…wall；
The grave； grand Teuton and the brilliant Gaul！
From green； sweet groves the dark…eyed Lusians sail；
And proud Iberia leaves the grape…flushed vale。
Here are the lords whose starry banner shines
From fierce Magellan to the Arctic pines。
Here come the strangers from the gates of day …
From hills of sunrise and from white Cathay。
The spicy islands send their swarthy sons；
The lofty North its mailed and mighty ones。
Venetian keels are floating on our sea；
Our eyes are glad with radiant Italy！
Yea； North and South； and glowing West and East；
Are gathering here to grace our splendid feast！
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The chiefs from peaks august with Asian snow；
The elders born where regal roses grow；
Come hither； with the flower of that fair land
That blooms beyond the fiery tracts of sand
Where Syrian suns their angry lustres fling
Across blind channels of the bygone spring。
And on this great； auspicious day； the flowers
Of labour glorify majestic hours。
The singing angel from the starry sphere
Of dazzling Science shows his wonders here；
And Art； the dream…clad spirit； starts； and brings
From Fairyland her strange； sweet； glittering things。
Here are the works man did； what time his face
Was touched by God in some exalted place；
Here glows the splendour … here the marvel wrought
When Heaven flashed upon the maker's thought！
Yea； here are all the miracles sublime …
The lights of Genius and the stars of Time！
And； being lifted by this noble noon；
Australia broadens like a tropic moon。
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Her white； pure lustre beams across the zones；
The nations greet her from their awful thrones。
From hence the morning beauty of her name
Will shine afar； like an exceeding flame。
Her place will be with mighty lords； whose sway
Controls the thunder and the marching day。
Her crown will shine beside the crowns of kings
Who shape the seasons； rule the course of things；
The fame of her across the years to be
Will spread like light on a surpassing sea；
And graced with glory； girt with power august；
Her life will last till all things turn to dust。
To Thee the face of song is lifted now；
O Lord！ to whom the awful mountains bow；
Whose hands； unseen； the tenfold storms control；
Whose thunders shake the spheres from pole to pole；
Who from Thy highest heaven lookest down；
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The sea Thy footstool； and the sun Thy crown；
Around whose throne the deathless planets sing
Hosannas to their high； eternal King。
To Thee the soul of prayer this morning turns；
With faith that glitters； and with hope that burns！
And； in the moments of majestic calm
That fill the heart in pauses of the psalm；
She asks Thy blessing for this fair young land
That flowers within the hollow of Thine hand！
She seeks of Thee that boon； that gift sublime；
The Christian radiance； for this hope of Time！
And Thou wilt listen！ and Thy face will bend
To smile upon us … Master； Father； Friend！
The Christ to whom pure pleading heart hath crept
Was human once； and in the darkness wept；
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The gracious love that helped us long ago
Will on us like a summer sunrise flow；
And be a light to guide the nation's feet
On holy paths … on sacred ways and sweet。
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CHRISTMAS CREEK
PHANTOM streams were in the distance … mocking lights of lake and pool …
Ghosts of trees of soft green lustre … groves of shadows deep and cool！
Yea； some devil ran before them changing skies of brass to blue；
Setting bloom where curse is planted； where a grass…blade never grew。
Six there were； and high above them glared a wild and wizened sun；
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Ninety leagues from where the waters of the singing valleys run。
There before them； there behind them； was the great； stark； stubborn plain；
Where the dry winds hiss for ever； and the blind earth moans for rain！
Ringed about by tracks of furnace； ninety leagues from stream and tree；
Six there were； with wasted faces； working northwards to the sea！
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Ah； the bitter； hopeless desert！ Here these broken human wrecks
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Trod the wilds where sand of fire is with the spiteful spinifex；
Toiled through spheres that no bird knows of； where with fiery emphasis
Hell hath stamped its awful mint…mark deep on every thing that is！
Toiled and thirsted； strove and suffered！ This was where December's breath
As a wind of smiting flame is on weird； haggard wastes of death！
This was where a withered moan is； and the gleam of weak； wan star；
And a thunder full of menace sends its mighty voices far！
This was where black execrations； from some dark tribunal hurled；
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Set the brand of curse on all things in the morning of the world！
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One man yielded … then another … then a lad of nineteen years
Reeled and fell； with English rivers singing softly in his ears；
English grasses started round him … then the grace of Sussex lea
Came and touched him with the beauty of a green land by the sea！
Old…world faces thronged about him … old…world voices spoke to him；
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But his speech was like a whisper； and his eyes were very dim。
In a dream of golden evening； beaming on a quiet strand；
Lay the stranger till a bright One came and took him by the hand。
England vanished； died the voices； but he heard a holier tone；
And an angel that we know not led him to the lands unknown！
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Six there were； but three were taken！ Three were left to struggle still；
But against the red horizon flamed a horn of brindled hill！
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But beyond the northern skyline； past a wall of steep austere；
Lay the land of light and coolness in an April…coloured year！
‘‘Courage； brothers！'' cried the leader。 ‘‘On the slope of yonder peak
There are tracts of herb and shadow； and the channels of the creek！''
So they made one last great effort …
haled their beasts through brake and briar；
Set their feet on spurs of furnace； grappled spikes and crags of fire；
Fought the stubborn mountain forces； smote down naked； natural powers；
Till they gazed from thrones of Morning on a sphere of streams and flowers。
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Out behind them was the desert； glaring like a sea of brass！
Here before them were the valleys； fair with moonlight…coloured grass！
At their backs were haggard waste…lands； bickering in a wicked blaze！
In their faces beamed the waters； marching down melodious ways！
Touching was the cool； soft lustre over laps of lawn and lea；
And majestic was the great road Morning made across the sea。
On the sacred day of Christmas； after seven months of grief；
Rested three of six who started； on a bank of moss and leaf …
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Rested by a running river； in a hushed； a holy week；
And they named the stream that saved them … named it fitly … ‘‘Christmas Creek''。
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ORARA
THE strong sob of the chafing stream
That seaward fights its way
Down crags of glitter； de
