Australia listened! Through the brawling game
Of played-out rascals gambling for her gold,
The rotten-hearted traitors who had sold
For flimsy English gauds her righteous fame—
Through the foul hubbub, it did seem, there came
The still small voice of nobler things untold.
But now, but now with wonder manifold
She hears a voice that calls her by her name!
Australia listens, as the mother wilt
To hear her first-born cry. “Say, is it death,
Or life and all life’s hope made audible
That thrills my heart and gives my spirit faith?”
From out the gathering war-hosts leaps forth shrill
The double cry, “Australia, M‘Ilwraith!”
The dawn is breaking northward! Rise, O Sun,
Australian Liberty, and give us light!
And thou who through the dark and doubtful night
With great clear eyes of patience looking on
Even to that splendid hour Republican,
O know what things are with thee in the fight—
What hope and trust, what truth, what right, what might
To never leave this work till it be done!
Not as these others were, the helpless slaves
Of each diurnal need and cringing debt,
Australia’s statesman, have we known thee yet!—
The world’s great heroes call from a thousand graves:
“Thy land, a nation, cries to thee to be set
Free as the freedom of her ocean waves!”
TO THE EMPEROR WILLIAM.
London, May 15, 1889.—“The promised interview with the Emperor William was granted to-day to the delegates from the coal-miners now on strike in Westphalia; but the audience lasted for only ten minutes. The men asked that the Emperor would inquire into the merits of their case and the hardships under which they suffered. His Majesty replied that he was already inquiring into the matter. He then warned the miners that he would employ all his great powers to repress socialistic agitation and intrigue. If the slightest resistance was shown he would shoot every man so offending. On the other hand, he promised to protect them if peaceable.”—Cablegram.
Son of a Man and grandson of a Man,
Mannikin most miserable in thy shrunken shape
And peevish, shrivelled-soul, is’t thou wouldst ape
The thunder-bearer of Fate’s blustering clan?
Know, then, that never, since the years began,
The terrible truth was surer of this word:
“Who takes the sword, shall perish by the sword!”
For mankind’s nod makes mannikin and man.
Surely it was not shed too long ago,
That Emperor’s blood that stained the Northern snow,
O thou King Stork aspiring that art King Log,
Wild-boar that wouldst be, reeking there all hog;
To teach thy brutish brainlessness to know
Those who pulled down a lion can shoot a dog.
A STORY.
(For the Irish Delegates in Australia.)
Do you want to hear a story
With a nobler praise than “glory,”
Of a man who loved the right like heaven and loathed the wrong like hell?
Then, that story let me tell you
Once again, though it as well you
Know as I—the splendid story of the man they call Parnell!