GOOD-BYE, AUSTRALIANS!
Through the Channel's drift and toss
Swift your homing transports churn;
Soon for you the Southron Cross
High above your bows shall burn;
Soon beyond the rolling Bight
Gleam the Leeuwin's lance of light.
Rich reward your hearts shall hold,
None less dear if long delayed,
For with gifts of wattle-gold
Shall your country's debt be paid;
From her sunlight's golden store
She shall heal your hurts of war.
Ere the mantling Channel mist
Dim your distant decks and spars,
And your flag that victory kissed
And Valhalla hung with stars—
Crowd and watch our signal fly:
"Gallant hearts, good-bye! Good-bye!"
W.H.O.