Here, at the invaders talk-talk place,
We, who are the strangers now,
Wall, chilern,
whar dar is so much racket
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone
He crouches, and buries his face on his knees,
And hides in the dark of his hair;
Across the stony ridges,
Across the rolling plain,
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down and broke his crown
The daylight moon looked quietly down
Through the gathering dusk on London town
The eastward spurs tip backward from the sun.
Nights runs an obscure tide round cape and bay
I stopped to call a taxi in the heart of Babylon.
At the pavement’s edge I stood - the traffic writhing on
They mustered us up with a royal din,
In wearisome weeks of drought.
The London lights are far abeam
Behind a bank of cloud,
The night too quickly passes
And we are growing old,
On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
The paladins are dancing, dancing
Day of ending for beginnings!
Ocean hath another innings,
Fire lighted; on the table a meal for sleepy men;
A lantern in the stable; a jingle now and then;
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music!
Bring me a quart of colonial beer
And some doughy damper to make good cheer,
White founts falling in the courts of the sun,
And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run;
It chanced upon the very day we'd got the shearing done,
A buggy brought a stranger to the West-o'-Sunday Run;
We boast no more of our bloodless flag, that rose from a nation's slime;
Better a shred of a deep-dyed rag from the storms of the o
A cloud of dust on the long white road,
And the teams go creeping on
Who stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone,
Unmoving and tall in the light of the sky,
Weary and listless, sad and slow,
Without any conversation,
Visit of Hope to Sydney Cove Where Sydney Cove her lucid bosom swells,
ROLL UP, Eureka’s heroes, on that grand Old Rush afar,
For Lalor’s gone to join you in the big camp where you are;
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
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