Poor little orphan! thou dost go,
Seeming with heart at ease --
Rejoicing even, because 'tis so --
To trust the treacherous seas.
And then hast paced that high ship's deck,
In foreign climes, ere now;
And forth thou goest again, to seek
Lands 'neath th' Equator's glow.
Thou'st seen that good ship's prow divide
Old Ganges' sacred stream;
By island shores hast watched her glide,
Where conch and coral gleam:
Calcutta's streets of palaces
Thou'st wandered through, alone;
And 'neath Sumatra's spice-fraught trees
Dreamt of the dear hearts gone.
From summer isles afar thou'st brought
Bright shells and fine wrought toys;
Not deeming then such things were nought,
With none to share thy joys.
And oft with happy thoughts of home
Thy little heart would burn --
Thou hadst forgot no friend would come
To welcome thy return.
Alas, poor boy! a bitter fate,
In childlhood's bloom, is thine:
Though wealth and honour elevate
Thy fortunes, thou'lt repine.
For culture ne'er illumed thy mind,
Life's sweets with thee were brief:
Thou ow'st to stranger's even each kind
Word whispered 'mid thy grief.
First published in The Australasian Chronicle, 20 March 1841;
and later in
Stolen Moments: A Short Series of Poems by Henry Parkes, 1842.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library
See also.
Seeming with heart at ease --
Rejoicing even, because 'tis so --
To trust the treacherous seas.
And then hast paced that high ship's deck,
In foreign climes, ere now;
And forth thou goest again, to seek
Lands 'neath th' Equator's glow.
Thou'st seen that good ship's prow divide
Old Ganges' sacred stream;
By island shores hast watched her glide,
Where conch and coral gleam:
Calcutta's streets of palaces
Thou'st wandered through, alone;
And 'neath Sumatra's spice-fraught trees
Dreamt of the dear hearts gone.
From summer isles afar thou'st brought
Bright shells and fine wrought toys;
Not deeming then such things were nought,
With none to share thy joys.
And oft with happy thoughts of home
Thy little heart would burn --
Thou hadst forgot no friend would come
To welcome thy return.
Alas, poor boy! a bitter fate,
In childlhood's bloom, is thine:
Though wealth and honour elevate
Thy fortunes, thou'lt repine.
For culture ne'er illumed thy mind,
Life's sweets with thee were brief:
Thou ow'st to stranger's even each kind
Word whispered 'mid thy grief.
First published in The Australasian Chronicle, 20 March 1841;
and later in
Stolen Moments: A Short Series of Poems by Henry Parkes, 1842.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library
See also.
