"Let others traverse sea and land, and toll through various climes, I turn the world round with my hand, reading these poets' rhymes." -- LONGFELLOW.
Grant me, ye bards of olden times,
Of these thy melodies,
That I may give unto these rhymes
The charm which bears your mellow chimes
Across the centuries.
Give me of this that I may sing--
In pleasure hunting days--
Of the pure pleasures that you bring
To him who listens, wondering,
Enraptured with thy lays.
There is no theme of this our earth,
Or of the heavens above,
But that ye sang me from my birth;
Betimes in sorrow, oft in mirth;
Of vengeance or of love.
Ye sing tbe future, and I see
With thy far-reaching eyes
The bright days in the years to be
Wherein man shall, unsullied, free,
To his true stature rise.
Ye sing the hate that brings unrest;
The love that tenderly,
From realms on high, to many a breast
Comes soothingly, a welcome guest,
And sings of Arcady.
Of war ye sing, and then of peace,
And back the soldiers roam;
Of Life's long marchings -- Death's release --
Of Voice that bids our marchings cease,
And bugles sounding "Home."
Thus in my heart the melody
Is ringing, and I pray
That never may the hollow glee
Which masks the suff'ring debauchee
E'er tempt my thoughts away.
But as the years the ages throng,
And the long aeons fly,
Oh, still may thy "undying song"
Uplift tbe right, stamp out the wrong,
And lead men to the sky.
First published in The Queenslander, 28 May 1898
