The Human Inheritance :: :: University of Virginia Library

Northward long leagues of plain, until the eye
Grew wearied with a vast monotony
Like that of the far seas, long leagues of plain
Grass-cover'd, which for weeks and months had lain
Beneath the scorching of the Austral sun,
Thirsting with drought: beyond, the sands begun
And stretched a dreary desert where nor beast
Nor man were often seen. Far to the east
Rolled also the long grassy plains, tanned brown
And crisp with heat, where the hot sun shone down
Day after day, with rays athirst to find
Some lingering moisture—where no cooling wind
Blew ever, save when the lamplike stars swung low
From the vast depths of heav'n, and rising slow
The moon usurp'd the night; then ofttimes blew

A fresh wind steadily, that lately knew
The cool breath of the South Pacific seas.
West of the loghouse, gum and wattle-trees
Rose miles away, and miles beyond them still
Dim densely-wooded ranges, hill on hill
Cover'd with mint and box and sassafras,
White stringy bark and the coarse upland grass.
Southward the ground shelved downward to a stream
That lispéd through the rushes like a gleam
Of beaten silver, shallow, yet that filled
The sunken pools where rains of winter spilled
Themselves and were not lost: and overshore
The grassy plains, but greener, swept once more
For half a mile, until like a green sea
They laved against a base whence solemnly
A vast and ancient forest stretched away.
About the house itself, rough-hewn and grey,
A lovely creeper, such as stars the trees
With large and yellow blossoms that each breeze
Casts like gold globes of fragrance o'er the ground,
Clung with a wavy tenderness around
The stain'd peeled logs; and at one end there grew
An English rose that underneath the blue
Australian sky gave red blooms full as sweet
As the winds kiss in Kent, that loved the heat

Of the long day that on the log walls streamed
For burning hours. In front dark violets dreamed
Of their ancestral haunts in English woods
Where the thrush flutes his song and the dove broods
Through the green-shadowed noon; with lilies, white
And holy as the shining stars of night,
Brought also o'er the seas from out the West.
Acacias shaded them, in one a nest
Where a sweet songbird dwelt and wooed its mate
Each spring recurrent with insatiate
Heart of music. A wide verandah ran
Round half the house, which, whene'er noon began
To burn the freshness up, still kept a place
Wherein cool airs might wander—with the grace
Of vine leaves overgrown, that large and green
Made a soft, wavy, and delicious screen.

II.

This was the house which, after years gone by
In many wanderings underneath the sky
That held the Austral stars, John Armitage
At length had built for home; here to old age
His last ten years had grown, and here he knew
That he would look his last upon the blue

Deep skies he loved—not glad to leave the earth
Yet wishing not to shun the soul's rebirth
Through the dark womb of death. About him were
His children, flowers around his sepulchre
Of years—and like sweet youngling buds new blown
His children's children, who were yet his own
To love and cherish. Only she who bore
This noble fruit on earth would never more
Hear each loved voice say Mother, or take hold
Of tiny hands, or in her arms enfold
The weary one who slept. She who had been
His wife and friend thro' every changing scene
Had left him years ago, and in his eyes
The silent yearning lay till Paradise
Should one day see the lovers meet again.
But full of peace he was, and the dull pain
Of loss beyond all words lay down so deep
In his soul's depths it almost seemed to sleep.

III.

Life still was full of pleasantness, of peace
And calm content: for when his years should cease
The record would go down of one whose life
Through all the stress and peril of its strife

Still stainless was, of one who bravely faced
The early dangers of an unknown waste
Undaunted through each failure till at last
The years that nothing brought but toil were past.

IV.

The summertide was full, and through the heat
The flowers gave up their heavy odours sweet
In rich comminglement, as fancies go
Wing'd and rich-hued for ever to and fro
Amidst the haunted silences that are
The realms of reverie, where, like a star
Alone in a wan dusk, the soul doth seem
The mystic dreamer or itself the dream.

V.

Since from the wattles, at the break of morn,
The joyous magpie sang its lilting scorn
For those who waken'd not, till now the noon
Had burned itself away and twilight soon

Would be the shadow of a finish'd day,
The old man had been glad, for far away
His flocks and herds were scatter'd o'er the runs
Far stretching, and to each one of his sons
He had apportioned out an equal share,
Feeling the burden of his years a care
Best lighten'd now. The busy day being done
He rested 'neath his vines, watching the sun
The deep blue of the sky to crimson change
And golden hang o'er the last purple range.

VI.

The heat still made a silence everywhere,
Save when, at intervals, the startled air
Shook with the laughter of the mocking-bird
Strident and harsh: or when afar was heard
Once only the shy lyre-bird's voice from deep
Within the forest, where the stream did sleep.

VII.

And as a dream before him his past life
Moved in a vision—all the toil and strife,

Adventure, love, and sorrow, and death and all
That fate had brought: and heard dead voices call
Like faint sweet echoes from a distant world.
He saw the day on which the sails were furl'd
Upon the ship that lay in port at last,
And how his eager wandering eyes were cast
Upon the new strange land: and how the days
And weeks went by until he sought the ways
That led due north thro' almost trackless bush
Till far from men, and still did onward push
Until before his eyes the unclaimed plains
Lay stretched for leagues, and saw the winter rains
Fill up the lonely stream with floods that would
Outlast the drought. And how the years went, rude
And rough, but happy, often stirred and thrilled
With danger;—till all things being fulfilled
That he had hoped for, one week he rode down
To the far distant port, already a town
Where he had seen but huts, and to his side
Clasped one he welcomed as his promised bride
Come over seas to join him. And how sweet
The after years slid by on rapid feet
Joy-wing'd: for ever their love grew and grew
From year to year, unchanging, deep, and true.

VIII.

And how at last a dreadful day there came
When she he loved lay dying, and the flame
Of life slow flicker'd to its certain end.
Above the dear dead face his lips did blend
To take one farewell kiss, and then he rode
Far through the bush to bear alone his load
Of bitter anguish, and to let his tears
Flow for the vanish'd sweetness of his years.

IX.

'Twas the full tide of summer, and the days
Were sated with the cloudless, changeless blaze
Of the fierce sun: but close to a small pool
Of running water, shaded by the cool
O'erarching tree-fern fronds, they made a grave
Lonely and sacred as where sea-depths lave
The coral beds where pale drown'd mariners lie.
The vast primeval forest round—the high
Deep dome above, the wondrous stars at night
And the strange glory of the moon's soft light—
These watched and brooded o'er her grave, and kept
An endless watch above her where she slept.

X.

A lyre-bird sang a low melodious song
Far off, then ceased: a soft wind swept along
The lofty gums and breathless died away:
And Silence woke and knew her dream was day.

XI.

Hush, from the trackless depths comes what sweet sound
Ineffable! Do spirits underground
In hollow caverns ring phantasmal chimes
For elfin deaths in faery sunless climes—
Or does some sad aerial spirit high
In serene air suspend the listening sky
With sweet remember'd music of joy-bells
Changing for death? Hush! how it swells and swells
Still sweet and low and sad,—as tho' the peal
Were chimed in forest-depths where never steal
Sounds from the world beyond, and where no noise
Breaks ever the long dream. It was the voice
Of the mysterious bird whose bell-like note
Chimes through the Austral noon as church bells float

O'er lonely slopes and pastures far at home:
Sometimes but once it sang, as when the foam
On northern seas sleeps on the ebbing tide
And scarcely stirs the Inchcape's sounding side
To one faint clang: then ceased: then once again
Tolled out with silver sweetness its part pain,
Part reverie over some belovéd thing:
At last it too was still, recovering
Some dream to brood upon with voiceless peace.
To each who listen'd there a calm surcease
Of sorrow came, and in each aching breast
There was a sense of toil foregone, of rest.

XII.

Before him these dead years and joys repassed,
Watching the sun go down. His thoughts at last
Brooded upon his spirit's imminent flight
From life, when unto him the eclipsing night
Would come with shrouds impenetrably dark.
Yet death he feared not: whether his soul's barque
Should sail the infinite deeps knowing no end,
Or to some far, far strand its course should tend
Whereon at last to rest and voyage no more,
Or whether it should founder ere the shore

Of any goal be seen, he cover'd o'er
For ever by the waves of death,—not less
Would he thank God for the great happiness
Of having lived at all. Why should man seek
That which his soul might find itself too weak
To bear—God's own supreme eternity?
Shall not the cycles or the æons be
Enough for him,—his spirit find a goal
At last? Nay, whether the tried human soul
Lives out new lives on earth again alone,
Or speeds triumphant far beyond the zone
Of that which we call Time till, æons pass'd,
It finds its ultimate goal and rest at last,
Or whether it eternal is, with Him
Whom we half think we see, our eyes being dim,
It still is well. In each alone His breath
Would be the Lord of life, the Lord of death.

XIII.

Such were his thoughts this last day of the year
Waning 'mid summer heats instead of clear
Cold skies and frost and icy northern wind.
At last the sun's flames burned right out behind
The furthest range; a strange delicious blue

Hung o'er the south and west, as spirits drew
Thin filmy veils of azure gossamer
Out of the depths of heav'n and trailed them where
The great gums spread their branches thro' the air.

XIV.

But ere the short and shadowy twilight came
The bush was no more still: each tree became
Alive with sound, and the cool dusky skies
Shrill with the shrieks of parrots and the cries
Of crested cockatoos and parrakeets
In thousands, swarming from their green retreats,
With over all the hoarse and chuckling sounds
From laughing-birds; and when with mighty bounds
The kangaroos fled far in sudden fright
There swelled the dingo's howl. In the cool light
The fierce cicalas whirred their deafening noise
From ev'ry bole, and oft a querulous voice
Told where opossums hid: with resonant hum
The grey mosquitoes wheeled around each gum
Ceaseless and fierce: and not until had come
The night itself grew all the clamour dumb.

XV.

Slowly the vast round Austral moon became
The glory of the night: and each a flame
Purple, or blue, or white, the stars hung low
From blue-black skies. Serene, and calm, and slow
The last night of the year to death did go.

XVI.

And when the faint flush of the newborn day
Quiver'd above the wan horizon grey
And deepen'd tenderly, the soul of one
Whose years of patient waiting were all done
Greeted with happy gaze the glad New Year
Far hence. At last he now would meet the dear
Expectant eyes, and feel the longed-for kiss
Once more upon his lips foretell of bliss.

XVII.

The rosy dawn still deepen'd steadily,
Till of a sudden all the eastern sky

O'er brimmed with gold: and from a wattle-tree
A magpie sang the new year's jubilee—
High, sweet, and clear the silver music trilled
As though the singer's heart with joy was overfilled.

The Australian magpie is the sweetest songster, though within limited compass, that one meets with in the Antipodes.

One of the names of the mopoke, or laughing-jackass.