Part 9

Perhaps the lady of the past Upon these lines may light, The purest verses, and the last, That I may ever write: She need not fear a word of blame: Her tale the flowers keep -- The wind that heard me breathe her name Has been for years asleep.

But in the night, and when the rain The troubled torrent fills, I often think I see again The river in the hills; And when the day is very near, And birds are on the wing, My spirit fancies it can hear The song I cannot sing.

Hy-Brasil

"Daughter," said the ancient father, pausing by the evening sea, "Turn thy face towards the sunset -- turn thy face and kneel with me! Prayer and praise and holy fasting, lips of love and life of light, These and these have made thee perfect -- shining saint with seraph's sight! Look towards that flaming crescent -- look beyond that glowing space -- Tell me, sister of the angels, what is beaming in thy face?" And the daughter, who had fasted, who had spent her days in prayer, Till the glory of the Saviour touched her head and rested there, Turned her eyes towards the sea-line -- saw beyond the fiery crest, Floating over waves of jasper, far Hy-Brasil in the West.

All the calmness and the colour -- all the splendour and repose, Flowing where the sunset flowered, like a silver-hearted rose! There indeed was singing Eden, where the great gold river runs Past the porch and gates of crystal, ringed by strong and shining ones! There indeed was God's own garden, sailing down the sapphire sea -- Lawny dells and slopes of summer, dazzling stream and radiant tree! Out against the hushed horizon -- out beneath the reverent day, Flamed the Wonder on the waters -- flamed, and flashed, and passed away. And the maiden who had seen it felt a hand within her own, And an angel that we know not led her to the lands unknown.

Never since hath eye beheld it -- never since hath mortal, dazed By its strange, unearthly splendour, on the floating Eden gazed! Only once since Eve went weeping through a throng of glittering wings, Hath the holy seen Hy-Brasil where the great gold river sings! Only once by quiet waters, under still, resplendent skies, Did the sister of the seraphs kneel in sight of Paradise! She, the pure, the perfect woman, sanctified by patient prayer, Had the eyes of saints of Heaven, all their glory in her hair: Therefore God the Father whispered to a radiant spirit near -- "Show Our daughter fair Hy-Brasil -- show her this, and lead her here."

But beyond the halls of sunset, but within the wondrous West, On the rose-red seas of evening, sails the Garden of the Blest. Still the gates of glassy beauty, still the walls of glowing light, Shine on waves that no man knows of, out of sound and out of sight. Yet the slopes and lawns of lustre, yet the dells of sparkling streams, Dip to tranquil shores of jasper, where the watching angel beams. But, behold! our eyes are human, and our way is paved with pain, We can never find Hy-Brasil, never see its hills again! Never look on bays of crystal, never bend the reverent knee In the sight of Eden floating -- floating on the sapphire sea!

Outre Mer

I see, as one in dreaming, A broad, bright, quiet sea; Beyond it lies a haven -- The only home for me. Some men grow strong with trouble, But all my strength is past, And tired and full of sorrow, I long to sleep at last. By force of chance and changes Man's life is hard at best; And, seeing rest is voiceless, The dearest thing is rest.

Beyond the sea -- behold it, The home I wish to seek, The refuge of the weary, The solace of the weak! Sweet angel fingers beckon, Sweet angel voices ask My soul to cross the waters; And yet I dread the task. God help the man whose trials Are tares that he must reap! He cannot face the future -- His only hope is sleep.

Across the main a vision Of sunset coasts, and skies, And widths of waters gleaming, Enchant my human eyes. I, who have sinned and suffered, Have sought -- with tears have sought -- To rule my life with goodness, And shape it to my thought. And yet there is no refuge To shield me from distress, Except the realm of slumber And great forgetfulness.

Marcus Clarke.

The Song of Tigilau

The song of Tigilau the brave, Sina's wild lover, Who across the heaving wave From Samoa came over: Came over, Sina, at the setting moon!

The moon shines round and bright; She, with her dark-eyed maidens at her side, Watches the rising tide. While balmy breathes the starry southern night, While languid heaves the lazy southern tide; The rising tide, O Sina, and the setting moon!

The night is past, is past and gone, The moon sinks to the West, The sea-heart beats opprest, And Sina's passionate breast Heaves like the sea, when the pale moon has gone, Heaves like the passionate sea, Sina, left by the moon alone!

Silver on silver sands, the rippling waters meet -- Will he come soon? The rippling waters kiss her delicate feet, The rippling waters, lisping low and sweet, Ripple with the tide, The rising tide, The rising tide, O Sina, and the setting moon!

He comes! -- her lover! Tigilau, the son of Tui Viti. Her maidens round her hover, The rising waves her white feet cover. O Tigilau, son of Tui Viti, Through the mellow dusk thy proas glide, So soon! So soon by the rising tide, The rising tide, my Sina, and the setting moon!

The mooring-poles are left, The whitening waves are cleft, By the prows of Tui Viti! By the sharp keels of Tui Viti! Broad is the sea, and deep, The yellow Samoans sleep, But they will wake and weep -- Weep in their luxurious odorous vales, While the land breeze swells the sails Of Tui Viti! Tui Viti -- far upon the rising tide, The rising tide -- The rising tide, my Sina, beneath the setting moon!

She leaps to meet him! Her mouth to greet him Burns at his own. Away! To the canoes, To the yoked war canoes! The sea in murmurous tone Whispers the story of their loves, Re-echoes the story of their loves -- The story of Tui Viti, Of Sina and Tui Viti, By the rising tide, The rising tide, Sina, beneath the setting moon!

She has gone! She has fled! Sina! Sina, for whom the warriors decked their shining hair, Wreathing with pearls their bosoms brown and bare, Flinging beneath her dainty feet Mats crimson with the feathers of the parrakeet. Ho, Samoans! rouse your warriors full soon, For Sina is across the rippling wave, With Tigilau, the bold and brave. Far, far upon the rising tide! Far upon the rising tide! Far upon the rising tide, Sina, beneath the setting moon.

Patrick Moloney.

Melbourne

O sweet Queen-city of the golden South, Piercing the evening with thy star-lit spires, Thou wert a witness when I kissed the mouth Of her whose eyes outblazed the skyey fires. I saw the parallels of thy long streets, With lamps like angels shining all a-row, While overhead the empyrean seats Of gods were steeped in paradisic glow. The Pleiades with rarer fires were tipt, Hesper sat throned upon his jewelled chair, The belted giant's triple stars were dipt In all the splendour of Olympian air, On high to bless, the Southern Cross did shine, Like that which blazed o'er conquering Constantine.

Alfred Domett.

An Invitation

Well! if Truth be all welcomed with hardy reliance, All the lovely unfoldings of luminous Science, All that Logic can prove or disprove be avowed: Is there room for no faith -- though such Evil intrude -- In the dominance still of a Spirit of Good? Is there room for no hope -- such a handbreadth we scan -- In the permanence yet of the Spirit of Man? -- May we bless the far seeker, nor blame the fine dreamer? Leave Reason her radiance -- Doubt her due cloud; Nor their Rainbows enshroud? --

From our Life of realities -- hard -- shallow-hearted, Has Romance -- has all glory idyllic departed -- From the workaday World all the wonderment flown? Well, but what if there gleamed, in an Age cold as this, The divinest of Poets' ideal of bliss? Yea, an Eden could lurk in this Empire of ours, With the loneliest love in the loveliest bowers? -- In an era so rapid with railway and steamer, And with Pan and the Dryads like Raphael gone -- What if this could be shown?