Proud were the race who knew not their beginning,
To whom the long past was as sealed as their fate,
Who counted their seasons when insects were winging,
The time by the shadows, the suns for their date.
Skilled were thy dark sons, Tasmania! Tasmania!
Virtuous, gentle and peaceful their ways;
Till civilization o’ertook thee, Tasmania,
And civilized habits renumbered their days.
Set is the sun of thy people, Oh, country!
Strangers now trample unawed o’er they race;