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THE DIGGER'S GRAVE
HE Sought Australia's far-famed isle, Hoping that Fortune on his lot would smile, In search for gold. When one short year had flown,
He wrote the welcome tidings to his own Betrothed; told how months of toiling
Made ten-fold sweeter to him sudden gain;
With sanguine words, traced with love's eager hand,
He bade her join him in this bright south land.
Oft as he sat, his long day's labor o'er,
His thoughts to the old country home in Kent
Returned. 'T was Christmas-day, and they two went
O'er frost and snow; the Christmas anthem rang
Through the old church, which echoed as they sang.
That day had Philip courage gained to tell His tale of love to pretty Christabel ; And she, on her part, with ingenuous grace, Endorsed the tell-tale of her blushing face. Dream on, true lover! never, never thou Shalt press the kiss of welcome on her brow. E'en now a comrade, eager for thy gold, Above thy fond true heart the knife doth hold
One stroke, the weapon's plunged into his breast;
So sure the aim that, like a child at rest, The murdered digger lies, -a happy smile Parts the full manly bearded lips the while.
Next day they found him. In his death
He held his last home letter, lately scanned With love-lit eyes; and next his heart they
A woman's kerchief which, when they unwound,
Disclosed a lock of silken auburn hair
Sweeter than wild bird's throat,
Again I'll see our long lost home
As down the hill the woolly stream descends.
Or now, the early "muster" over,
And followed close by Nip and Rover,
Here in the world's great heart abiding,
Yes! now my wings I feel,
So sweetly you have sung to me,
O SHEPHERDS! take my crook from me,
Or chasing rhymes to wreathe the strain
Above the stars I drift in thought,
Rides on the wings of thought away,