Verses 1889-1896 Part 20

Clive kissed me on the mouth and eyes and brow, Wonderful kisses, so that I became Crowned above Queens -- a withered beldame now, Brooding on ancient fame.

RANGOON

Hail, Mother! Do they call me rich in trade?

Little care I, but hear the shorn priest drone, And watch my silk-clad lovers, man by maid, Laugh 'neath my Shwe Dagon.

SINGAPORE

Hail, Mother! East and West must seek my aid Ere the spent gear may dare the ports afar.

The second doorway of the wide world's trade Is mine to loose or bar.

HONG-KONG

Hail, Mother! Hold me fast; my Praya sleeps Under innumerable keels to-day.

Yet guard (and landward), or to-morrow sweeps Thy war-s.h.i.+ps down the bay!

HALIFAX

Into the mist my guardian prows put forth, Behind the mist my virgin ramparts lie, The Warden of the Honour of the North, Sleepless and veiled am I!

QUEBEC AND MONTREAL

Peace is our portion. Yet a whisper rose, Foolish and causeless, half in jest, half hate.

Now wake we and remember mighty blows, And, fearing no man, wait!

VICTORIA

From East to West the circling word has pa.s.sed, Till West is East beside our land-locked blue; From East to West the tested chain holds fast, The well-forged link rings true!

CAPE TOWN

Hail! s.n.a.t.c.hed and bartered oft from hand to hand, I dream my dream, by rock and heath and pine, Of Empire to the northward. Ay, one land From Lion's Head to Line!

MELBOURNE

Greeting! Nor fear nor favour won us place, Got between greed of gold and dread of drouth, Loud-voiced and reckless as the wild tide-race That whips our harbour-mouth!

SYDNEY

Greeting! My birth-stain have I turned to good; Forcing strong wills perverse to steadfastness: The first flush of the tropics in my blood, And at my feet Success!

BRISBANE

The northern stirp beneath the southern skies -- I build a Nation for an Empire's need, Suffer a little, and my land shall rise, Queen over lands indeed!

HOBART

Man's love first found me; man's hate made me h.e.l.l; For my babes' sake I cleansed those infamies.

Earnest for leave to live and labour well, G.o.d flung me peace and ease.

AUCKLAND

Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart -- On us, on us the unswerving season smiles, Who wonder 'mid our fern why men depart To seek the Happy Isles!

England's Answer

Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban; Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man.

Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare; Stark as your sons shall be -- stern as your fathers were.

Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether, But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together.

My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by; Sons, I have borne many sons, but my dugs are not dry.

Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors, That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors -- Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas, Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees! -- That ye may talk together, brother to brother's face -- Thus for the good of your peoples -- thus for the Pride of the Race.

Also, we will make promise. So long as The Blood endures, I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is yours: In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all, That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall.

Draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands, And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.

This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom, This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom.

The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will, Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still.

Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you, After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few.

Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways, Balking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise.

Stand to your work and be wise -- certain of sword and pen, Who are neither children nor G.o.ds, but men in a world of men!

THE FIRST CHANTEY

Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found her; Haling her dumb from the camp, took her and bound her.

Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her; Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her.

Swift through the forest we ran; none stood to guard us, Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us -- Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen.

Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen.

Yet ere they came to my lance laid for the slaughter, Lightly she leaped to a log lapped in the water; Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed her, Called she the G.o.d of the Wind that He should aid her.