The world is young today:
Forget the gods are old,
Bad verse at times I write, I know;
I'm read but little luckily;
All you on emigration bent,
With home and England ill-content,
A luz do sol bate na lua...
Bate na lua, cai no mar...
In the days before the high tide
Swept away the towers of sand
When Royal pow'r was hunted down,
In the lonely midnight on the wintry hill,
Shepherds heard the angels singing, “Peace, good will.”
There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard,
And white are the blossoms o't in our kail-yard
Some love to roam
Where the glasses foam,
Oh one who enchants the wise, did I lie out of greed to be known as your foremost devotee on this earth?
The earth rolls on through empty space, its journey's never done;
It's entered for a starry race throughout the kingdom come.
THE world's heart is kindless and grey and unholy,
As the head of the wandering Jew,
Yes! I had hope when first we met,
For hope and joy were in thine eye;
Am I the only child awake
Beneath thy midnight beams?
Sunshine has filled the room
with clear golden specks of dust.
If those dark eyes have gazed on me,
Unconscious of their power—
I'll sing to you a fine new song, made by my blessed mate,
Of a fine Australian squatter who had a fine estate,
When I was at home I was down on my luck,
And I earned a poor living by drawing a truck;
I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary,
Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast;
O son of the daughter of the king of the mountains, O kind hearted one!
O say, is there ane wha does nae rejoice,
To hear the first note o' the wee birdie's voice;
Shadows of the twilight falling
On the mountain's brow,
There's cauld kail in Aberdeen,
There's castocks in Stra'bogie,
The man who rightly acts without coercion
Snowfall blankets the mountain village and buries my rocky lane.
No need to open the brushwood gate, none will come to see me.
I.
To one fair lady out of Court,
Hail, glorious morn! whose radiant beams,
Looked down on Christ's nativity,
To The Freed Colored People:
Come back to me, mother! why linger away
From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day!
THE weather had been sultry for a fortnight's time or more,
And the shearers had been driving might and main,
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