Now rife with life and Trade’s keen strife,
Just at the mouth of Yarra.
It creeps between high wooded sides,
And ere it reach the city,
Past holy Abbotsford it glides—
To which it owes this ditty.
For in Australian album, why
Waste praise on Connemara,
Thy heart’s in Abbotsford, and I
Will praise its Yarra-Yarra.