O England, I heard the cry of those that died for thee, Sounding like an organ-voice across the winter sea;They lived and died for England, and gladly went their way- England, O England-how could I stay?
J. D. Burns
Beneath our scarlet fields Thermopyl?"s secret ran,The speech of Freedom is one, and one is the Soul of Man.
Author.-J. D. Burns, the elder son of the Rev. H. M. Burns, a Melbourne clergyman, was educated at Scotch College, Melbourne. He enlisted for active service in 1914, was on the torpedoed Southland in 1915, and was killed in action on Gallipoli three weeks later. The verses quoted appeared in The Scotch Collegian, of which magazine he was editor. This poem stresses further the close kinship of England and the Dominions.
General.-How far back would a thousand years take us? What is theanswer to the question, "How could I stay? " What is the "England " for which they died?
Lesson 23
BELL-BIRDS
By channels of coolness, the echoes are calling, And, down the dim gorges, I hear the creek falling; It lives in the mountain, where moss and the sedges Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges; Through brakes of the cedar and sycamore bowers Struggles the light that is love to the flowers;And, softer than slumber and sweeter than singing, The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing.
The silver-voiced bell-birds, the darlings of day-time, They sing in September their songs of the May-time. When shadows wax strong, and the thunderbolts hurtle, They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle; When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together, They start up like fairies that follow fair weather,And straightway the hues of their feathers unfoldenAre the green and the purple, the blue and the golden.
October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses, Loiters for love in these cool wildernesses, Loiters knee-deep in the grasses to listen,Where dripping rocks gleam, and the leafy pools glisten. Then is the time when the water-moons splendidBreak with their gold, and are scattered or blended Over the creeks, till the woodlands have warning Of songs of the bell-bird and wings of the morning.
Welcome as waters unkissed by the summers Are the voices of bell-birds to thirsty far-comers. When fiery December sets foot in the forest,And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest, Pent in the ridges for ever and ever,The bell-bird directs him to spring and to river,With ring and with ripple, like runnels whose torrents Are toned by the pebbles and leaves in the currents.
Often I sit, looking back to a childhood
Mixed with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood, Longing for power and the sweetness to fashionLyrics with beats like the heart-beats of passion- Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest rafters;So I might keep in the city and alleys
The beauty and strength of the deep mountain valleys,Charming to slumber the pain of my losses With glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses.
Henry Clarence Kendall
Author.-Henry Kendall(1841-82), who wrote noteworthy lyrics and descriptions in verse of Australian scenery, was born in New South Wales. He was the grandson of a member of the first band of missionaries sent to New Zealand (1814). Three volumes of Kendall"s verse were published in his lifetime, and several books of selections since. The nearest approach to a complete collection is entitled The Poetical Works of Henry Kendall.
General.-Note the smooth flow of the metre, and the use made ofalliteration- " echoes " and " calling, " "down " and "dim, " "cedar " and "syca- more," "far forest rafters," and so on. In what States do cedars and sycamores grow? What are water-moons? Pick out the rare or old- fashioned words such as "hurtle, " " wildwood. " Why did Kendall write much about hills and crecks and waterfalls? What does that line mean- "They sing in September the songs of the May-time "? Do "shadows wax strong " in stormy weather? Does the musical metre fit the subject? Pick out the choicest phrases. Don"t confuse the bell-miner (ting-ting-ting) with the crested bell-bird that sings " Tip-tip-top-o"-the-wat-tle, " or, more unpoetically, " Bob-Bob-Bob-in-the-lock-up. "Lesson 24
SLAP-BANG
A little boy lay pale and listless in his small white cot, gazing, with eyes enlarged by fever, straight before him, with the strange look of illness which seems to see already more than is visible to living eyes. His mother sat at the bottom of the bed, watching him, and biting her fingers to keep back a cry; while his father, a strong workman, brushed away his burning tears.
The day was breaking: a calm, clear, lovely day of June. The light began to steal into the poor room where little Francis, the son of James and Mary Grant, lay very near death"s door. He was seven years old; three weeks ago, a fair-haired, rosy little boy, as happy as a bird. But, one night, when he came home from school, his head was giddy and his hands were burning. Ever since, he had lain there in his cot. To-night he did not wander in his mind; but for two days his strange listlessness had alarmed the doctor. He lay there sad and quiet, as if, at seven years old, he was already tired of life, rolling his head upon the bolster, his thin lips never smiling, his eyes staring at one knew not what. He would take nothing-no medicine, no lemonade, no beef-tea.
" Is there anything you would like? " they asked him. "No, " he answered, "nothing. ""This must be altered, " the doctor said. "This torpor is alarming. You are his parents, and you know him best. Try to discover what will interest and amuse him. " And the doctor went away.
