They crowded weeping from the teacher's house, Crying aloud their fear at what he taught, Old men and young men, wives and maids unwed, And children screaming in the crowds unsought:...
Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed, To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak in their need, He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and pant, and sweat,...
When little Dickie Swope's a man, He's go' to be a Sailor; An' little Hamey Tincher, he's A-go' to be a Tailor: Bud Mitchell, he's a-go' to be A stylish Carriage-Maker;...
There was a day, when I, if that was I, Surrendered lay beneath a burning sky, Where overhead the azure ached with heat, And many red fierce poppies splashed the wheat;...
Out of me unworthy and unknown The vibrations of deathless music; "With malice toward none, with charity for all.', Out of me the forgiveness of millions toward millions, And the beneficent face of a nation...
When erst, my Southey, thy tuneful tongue The terrible tale of Thalaba sung-- Of him, the Destroyer, doomed to rout That grim divan of conjurors out, Whose dwelling dark, as legends say,...
I ransack'd for a theme of song, Much ancient chronicle, and long; I read of bright embattled fields, Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields, Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast...
The Text is from a broadside of the seventeenth century from the press of Coles, Vere, Wright, and Clarke, now preserved in the Rawlinson collection in the Bodleian Library.
Say, ye apostate and profane, Wretches, who blush not to disdain Allegiance to your God,' Did e'er your idly wasted love Of virtue for her sake remove And lift you from the crowd?
Arise, arise, arise! There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread; Be your wounds like eyes To weep for the dead, the dead, the dead. What other grief were it just to pay?...
Dear old road, wheel-worn and broken, Winding through the forest green, Barred with shadows and with sunshine, Misty vistas drawn between. Grim, scarred bluegums ranged austerely,...
From the terrace here, where the hills indent, You can see the uttermost battlement Of the castle there; the Cliffords' home; Where the seasons go and the seasons come And never a footstep else doth fall...
Here lieth one who did most truly prove, That he could never die while he could move, So hung his destiny never to rot While he might still jogg on, and keep his trot, Made of sphear-metal, never to decay...
My pedagogue dear, I read with surprise Your long sorry rhymes, which you made on my eyes; As the Dean of St. Patrick's says, earth, seas, and skies! I cannot lie down, but immediately rise,...
Another tattered rhymster in the ring, With but the old plea to the sneering schools, That on him too, some secret night in spring Came the old frenzy of a hundred fools ...
On these green banks, where falls too soon The shade of Autumn's afternoon, The south wind blowing soft and sweet, The water gliding at nay feet, The distant northern range uplit...