Two giants guarded well of old, As mother guards her bairn, This wonderland of fern and gold: Donna Buang the stern and bold, And rugged old Ben Cairn. White-headed loomed they over all, In everlasting mail, Above the sparkling waterfall, Above the gum-tops, green and tall, And many a fairy meeting-hall In many a secret vale. But conquering man thro' many a day Has delved and wrought and boiled To build at last a broad highway That winds, where stately myrtles sway, Thro' beauty still unspoiled. Move softly if you would encroach Upon that beauty rare; For, lest you drive a fairy coach, The elves will flee at your approach, Fearing the fool who comes to broach Their scerets hidden there. They call the stream for that dark flood Only the dead may know; But no grim spectres chill the blood, And no dark shapes rise form the mud Where inky waters flow. They call the stream the Acheron; But by a frail craft's helm, With luck, mayhap, you'll see anon A sprite that flashes and is gone. The ferryman is Oberon, Tread lightly through his realm.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002|