I might, as thou seest, have stood in high places,
Instead of in pits where the brand of disgrace is,
A byword for scoffers -- a butt and a caution,
With the grave of poor Burns and Maginn for my portion.
But the heart of the Father Supreme is offended,
And my life in the light of His favour is ended;
And, whipped by inflexible devils, I shiver,
With a hollow "~Too late~" in my hearing for ever;
But thou -- being sinless, exalted, supernal,
The daughter of diademed gods, the eternal --
Shalt shine in thy waters when time and existence
Have dwindled, like stars, in unspeakable distance.
But the face of thy river -- the torrented power
That smites at the rock while it fosters the flower --
Shall gleam in my dreams with the summer-look splendid,
And the beauty of woodlands and waterfalls blended;
And often I'll think of far-forested noises,
And the emphasis deep of grand sea-going voices,
And turn to Narrara the eyes of a lover,
When the sorrowful days of my singing are over.
In Memory of John Fairfax
Because this man fulfilled his days,
Like one who walks with steadfast gaze
Averted from forbidden ways
With lures of fair, false flowerage deep,
Behold the Lord whose throne is dim
With fires of flaming seraphim --
The Christ that suffered sent for him:
"He giveth His beloved sleep.
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