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The silver fountains sing forever. Far
There rolls the grand hymn of the deathless
SING the song of wave-worn Coogee, Coogee in the distance white,
With its jags and points disrupted, gaps and fractures fringed with light; Haunt of gledes, and restless plovers of the melancholy wail,
Ever lending deeper pathos to the melancholy gale.
There, my brothers, down the fissures, chasms deep and wan and wild, Grows the sea-bloom, one that blushes like a shrinking, fair, blind child; And amongst the oozing forelands many a glad green rock-vine runs, Getting ease on earthy ledges, sheltered from December suns.
Often, when a gusty morning, rising cold
and gray and strange, Lifts its face from watery spaces, vistas full with cloudy change, Bearing up a gloomy burden which anon begins to wane,
Fading in the sudden shadow of a dark determined rain,
Do I seek an eastern window, so to watch
the breakers beat
Round the steadfast crags of Coogee, dim with drifts of driving sleet: Hearing hollow mournful noises sweeping down a solemn shore,
While the grim sea-caves are tideless, and the storm strives at their core.
Often when the floating vapors fill the silent autumn leas, Dreaming memories fall like moonlight over silent sleeping seas,
Youth and I and Love together! other times and other themes
Come to me unsung, unwept for, through the faded evening gleams.
Come to me and touch me mutely — I that looked and longed so well,
Shall I look and yet forget them? - who may know or who foretell ? Though the southern wind roams, shadowed with its immemorial grief,
Where the frosty wings of Winter leave their whiteness on the leaf.
Friend of mine beyond the waters, here and there these perished days Haunt me with their sweet dead faces and their old divided ways.
You that helped and you that loved me, take this song, and when you read Let the lost things come about you, set your thoughts, and hear and heed. Time has laid his burden on us - we who wear our manhood now, We would be the boys we have been, free of heart and bright of brow,
Be the boys for just an hour, with the splendor and the speech
Of thy lights and thunders, Coogee, flying up thy gleaming beach.
Heart's desire and heart's division! who would come and say to me, With the eyes of far-off friendship, "You are as you used to be?" Something glad and good has left me here with sickening discontent, Tired of looking, neither knowing what it was or where it went.
So it is this sight of Coogee, shining in the morning dew,
Sets me stumbling through dim summers once on fire with youth and you— Summers pale as southern evenings when the year has lost its power And the wasted face of April weeps above the withered flower.
Not that seasons bring no solace, not that time lacks light and rest,
But the old things were the dearest, and the old loves seem the best. We that start at songs familiar, we that tremble at a tone
Floating down the ways of music, like a sigh of sweetness flown,
With the honey-voiced woman who beckons and stands,
And gleams like a dream in his face-
THE VOICE IN THE WILD OAK
TWELVE years ago, when I could face High heaven's dome with different eyes, In days full-flowered with hours of grace, And nights not sad with sighs,
I wrote a song in which I strove
To shadow forth thy strain of woe, Dark widowed sister of the grove Twelve wasted years ago.
But youth was then too young to find
But he who hears this autumn day
Thy more than deep autumnal rhyme,
He has no need, like many a bard,
No more he sees the affluence
The old delight God's happy breeze
But I, who am that perished soul,
Yet here, where plovers nightly call Across dim melancholy leas
Where comes by whistling fen and fall
Beneath thy shade with tired wings, And fills thy strong, strange rhyme by fits With awful utterings.
Then times there are when all the words
Dream-haunted spirit, doomed to be Imprisoned, cramped in bands of bark, For all eternity.
Yea, like the speech of one aghast
At Immortality in chains,
What time the lordly storm rides past
With flames and arrowy rains: Some wan Tithonus of the wood,
White with immeasurable years An awful ghost, in solitude
With moaning moors and meres !
And when high thunder smites the hill
Thy soul for some infernal crime That left it blasted, blind, and strippedA dread to Death and Time!
But when the fair-haired August dies, And flowers wax strong and beautiful, Thy songs are stately harmonies
By wood-lights green and cool,
But, ah! conceptions fade away,
And he must speak the speech divine,
By hollow lands and sea-tracts harsh,
And, year by year, one step will break
Thy home of many dreams.
Percp F. Sinnett
More than ever you could gather-
We have seen, and heard, and laughed,
We tossed them like a plaything,
We have laughed, and heard, and seen,
And the growling thunder's blast ;
For their fears.
There were mothers there on board
With their little ones in arms; There were maidens there on board More lovely in their charms Than the day;
And again we heard, and laughed As we dashed across the craft;
While our master shrieked and roared,
And they battled all in vain,
With their puny human strength. In our grasp they were as nothing; Down, down, they sank at length In the sea;
And still again we screamed,
This, this, now is the tale
How our havoc we have wrought,
Oh! ye cruel waves up-dashing,
The sand your salt spume splashing,