He works in the glen where the waratah grows, And the gums and the ashes are tall, 'Neath cliffs that re-echo the sound of his blows When the wedges leap in from the mawl. ...
In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, A youth, whose moments had calmly flown, Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night, He was haunted and watched by a Mountain Sprite. ...
One summer morn, while yet the thrilling lay, Of the dew-loving lark was full and strong, Trampling the wild flowers in my careless way, Up the steep mountain-side I strode along...
Pour wine and dance if Manhood still have pride, Bring roses if the rose be yet in bloom; The cataract smokes upon the mountain side, Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb. ...
"The mountain village was destroy'd; But see how soon is fill'd the void! Shingles and boards, as by magic arise, The babe in his cradle and swaddling-clothes lies; How blest to trust to God's protection!"...
After thy labour take thine ease, Here with the sweet Pierides. But if so be that men will not Give thee the laurel crown for lot; Be yet assur'd, thou shall have one Not subject to corruption.
I look into the aching womb of night; I look across the mist that masks the dead; The moon is tired and gives but little light, The stars have gone to bed. ...
Standing close by you In the cold light Of two tall candles That measure the dark of night, I hear the mouse, The only thing that's moving In the quiet house.
A mouse once from an owl's beak fell; I'd not have pick'd it up, I wis; A Brahmin did it: very well; Each country has its prejudice. The mouse, indeed, was sadly bruised....
A poor thing the Mouse was, and yet, When the Lion got caught in a net, All his strength was no use 'Twas the poor little Mouse Who nibbled him out of the net.
It's many's the scenes which is dear to my mind As I think of my childhood so long left behind; The home of my birth, with it's old puncheon-floor, And the bright morning-glories that growed round the door;...
A prelate's mule of noble birth was proud, And talk'd, incessantly and loud, Of nothing but his dam, the mare, Whose mighty deeds by him recounted were, -...