 | The South-Sea Sisters |  |
2. PART II.
SONG FOR THE VOYAGERS ON THE ATLANTIC, INDIAN, AND OTHER GREAT OCEANS.— ARRIVAL OF MINING ADVENTURERS FROM EUROPE, AMERICA, CHINA, ETC.—SONG FOR THE LOVED ONES LEFT BEHIND.—AUSTRALIA'S WELCOME TO RELATIONS AND FRIENDS.—LOST IN THE BUSH.—CORROBOREE SONG.—VARIABLE FORTUNES.—THE MINERS' SONG.No. 3.—Chorus.
The rolling ships and the rolling sea,
'Neath the rolling clouds speed gloriously;
Strong hands they bear, and hearts strong as bold,
Away from their kindred and country old
To grapple with rocks, and demand their gold!
Sing hey! over billows and flashing spray!
Never were spirits more hopeful than they.
No. 4.—March of all Nations with their National Airs.
Old England's sons sail forth with three cheers—
For roast beef, jack tars, and the grenadiers;
And Erin comes with her native harp;
And the warlike pipe of the Scot is shrilling;
And Shenkin “of noble race” seems willing
His bard's long beard to fold up, or crop,
And die with bright gold from Australia's land.
Hand in hand—blithe and bland—
From each foreign strand—
'Tis a motley band!
For roast beef, jack tars, and the grenadiers;
And Erin comes with her native harp;
And the warlike pipe of the Scot is shrilling;
And Shenkin “of noble race” seems willing
6
And die with bright gold from Australia's land.
Hand in hand—blithe and bland—
From each foreign strand—
'Tis a motley band!
For the Yankee comes on his “little pony”
To feather his tall hat in Melbourne town,—
To open up lands, and teach us to drive—
To dash on, and thrive;
And the German for mining brings knowledge and money,—
For farming—exploring—will spend his last crown,
Or lay his life down.
The Russian deserts his paternal ice;
The Parisian his civic paradise;
Swiss and Spaniard make speed,
Italian, Dane, Swede,
Though the Dutchman strove hard to precede;
And the Chinaman starts
From celestial Hong Kong,
With crackers and gong,
And alchemical arts,
Or industrious picks,
His kites,
And his sleights,
His lanterns and fans,
His strange shoes and pans,
His opium-pipes and his ivory sticks,
His porcelain, tea, and the Books of Cung Foo,
And baskets that dance fore and aft his bamboo.
To feather his tall hat in Melbourne town,—
To open up lands, and teach us to drive—
To dash on, and thrive;
And the German for mining brings knowledge and money,—
For farming—exploring—will spend his last crown,
Or lay his life down.
The Russian deserts his paternal ice;
The Parisian his civic paradise;
Swiss and Spaniard make speed,
Italian, Dane, Swede,
Though the Dutchman strove hard to precede;
And the Chinaman starts
From celestial Hong Kong,
With crackers and gong,
And alchemical arts,
Or industrious picks,
His kites,
And his sleights,
His lanterns and fans,
His strange shoes and pans,
His opium-pipes and his ivory sticks,
His porcelain, tea, and the Books of Cung Foo,
And baskets that dance fore and aft his bamboo.
No. 5.—Chorus.
Alas! for the loved ones we leave behind,
Who sigh as they gaze on the vacant seat,
And at night when they hear the threatening wind,
Or hail on the windows in darkness beat!
They know that we promised so soon to return,
And cheer them with heaps of the prodigal gold,—
Ah, little we dream love or fortune may burn
False lights, when by distance made changeful or cold!
Welcome, Americans!—one mother bore us;
And welcome, Germans!—also near of blood;
Ye sons of valiant France! all time before us
Should join our hands,
E'en as our lands
Will be united 'neath St. George's flood!
7
Flings scrambling crowd on crowd;
Machines—men—luggage—all on each,
As a lumber-cart shoots its load,
They all heard—they all believe
The treasures of each wild “new rush,”
And headlong hopes and follies weave
With child-like ignorance of the “bush.”
By horse, by dray, or resolute foot,
With ardent eyes they leave the town;
Sleep, rich in dreams, on some hard root—
Eat “damper” as t'were Eden's fruit—
And envy not a royal crown.
Some on the way
Through forests wander far astray,
And, brooding o'er bright greedy thoughts they see,
One dense dark night,
By lurid light,
The demon-like Corroboree;
And while the great logs crack and blaze,
The uncouth song, and dancing maze
Astounds their ears—affrights their gaze!
No. 6.—Chorus.
From creek of Worooboomi—boo!
And sheep-run Woolagoola—goo!
Come Dibble-Fellow dancing in fog!
All over mount Wooloola—yah!
And earth-holes of Worondi—wah!
Till he vanish in the yellow Wog-wog!
And sheep-run Woolagoola—goo!
Come Dibble-Fellow dancing in fog!
All over mount Wooloola—yah!
And earth-holes of Worondi—wah!
Till he vanish in the yellow Wog-wog!
Old Chief of Woolonara—nah!
From the Great River banks, far—far!
Hasten here with spear and boomerang—
Then to snowy Woologoomerang—
For White Fellow comes to make war!
From the Great River banks, far—far!
Hasten here with spear and boomerang—
Then to snowy Woologoomerang—
For White Fellow comes to make war!
8
But while some stray, and others strive in vain
The treacherous riches of their hopes to seize,
Many, at once, more than they hoped attain
With half a prayer to Plutus on their knees.
To the mad city straight they hurry down,
And waste in varied vices all they found,—
The scholar fares but ill beside the clown
Whose soul was ever nearer to the ground.
Yet, O, believe a true heart thinks of home,
And those he left with stifled sobs all pale;
The wealth he finds dispels their anxious gloom,
While eager eyes smile o'er his wondrous tale.
“Receive,” he says, “the earliest fruits
Of labour by unpractised hands;
Australia's tree of golden roots
Will spread with years through many lands.”
The day's toil o'er—
Toil hard and long—
Aching and sore,
Round the log fire
The smoking quire
Now sing the Miner's Song.
No. 7.—Chorus.
Our hardships 'midst hot sand and clay,
Or waist-deep in the watery claim,
'Neath winter's frost and summer's ray,
Test the brave heart and sturdy frame.
But huzzah! for the near, or the distant new rush,
On the quartz-reef, the creek, or the close-timbered bush!
And huzzah! for the steady old ground,
Where sure wages are made
By a new goldsmith's trade,
And large fortunes are sometimes found!
Or waist-deep in the watery claim,
'Neath winter's frost and summer's ray,
Test the brave heart and sturdy frame.
But huzzah! for the near, or the distant new rush,
On the quartz-reef, the creek, or the close-timbered bush!
And huzzah! for the steady old ground,
Where sure wages are made
By a new goldsmith's trade,
And large fortunes are sometimes found!
The deep shafts, with the trams below;
The cross-drives, and our working bank;
The liberty to come, or go,
Proclaim our independent rank.
Then huzzah! for the freedom of mining life,
With the single man, or the miner-and-wife!
And huzzah! for the true horny hand!
By good luck, or hard work,
We can always uncork
A bottle to drink, “To this Land!”
The cross-drives, and our working bank;
The liberty to come, or go,
Proclaim our independent rank.
Then huzzah! for the freedom of mining life,
With the single man, or the miner-and-wife!
And huzzah! for the true horny hand!
By good luck, or hard work,
We can always uncork
A bottle to drink, “To this Land!”
The Dibble (or Devil) Fellow, dancing in fog, represents the white or gray appearance attributed by the native blacks to an Evil Spirit. This Dibble comes from New South Wales as an omen of ill. The old Chief Woolonara crosses the Murray into this colony in warlike style; but “discretion” with the blacks being by far “the better part of valour,” he is advised to pass over to the Snowy River of Gipps Land, to wait his time for an opportunity against the White Fellows.
The rhythm of the Song-dance here adopted, is that of the blacks on the Goulburn River. The extra syllables at the end of most of the lines is characteristic of the untaught singing of the lower orders of all nations; and with none is it more conspicuous than among the agricultural labourers in the rural districts of England. The only “instrumental accompaniment” to the Song-dance of the Australian corroboree is the measured beating upon a sort of drum made from a dried opossum skin.
—R. H. H. | The South-Sea Sisters | |