In Hyde Park
--
* [This and the next poem were written for "Prince Alfred's Wreath",
published in Sydney in 1868. While in Sydney, the Prince was shot at
by a fanatic and slightly injured.]
--
They come from the highways of labour,
From labour and leisure they come;
But not to the sound of the tabor,
And not to the beating of drum.
By thousands the people assemble
With faces of shadow and flame,
And spirits that sicken and tremble
Because of their sorrow and shame!
Their voice is the voice of a nation;
But lo, it is muffled and mute,
For the sword of a strong tribulation
Hath stricken their peace to the root.
The beautiful tokens of pity
Have utterly fled from their eyes,
For the demon who darkened the city
Is curst in the breaking of sighs.
Their thoughts are as one; and together
They band in their terrible ire,
Like legions of wind in fierce weather
Whose footsteps are thunder and fire.
But for ever, like springs of sweet water
That sings in the grass-hidden leas
As soft as the voice of a daughter,
There cometh a whisper from these.
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