Nationalism And M'Ilwraith! The Queensland Elections Cry, 1888.

Australia listened! Through the brawling game
    Of played-out rascals gambling for her gold,
    The rotten-hearted traitors who had sold
For flimsy English gauds her righteous fame -
Through the foul hubbub, it did seem, there came
    The still small voice of nobler things untold.
    But now, but now with wonder manifold
She hears a voice that calls her by her name!

Australia listens, as the mother wilt
    To hear her first-born cry. "Say, is it death,
Or life and all life's hope made audible
    That thrills my heart and gives my spirit faith?"
From out the gathering war-hosts leaps forth shrill
    The double cry, "Australia, M'Ilwraith!"

The dawn is breaking northward! Rise, O Sun,
    Australian Liberty, and give us light!
    And thou who through the dark and doubtful night
With great clear eyes of patience looking on
Even to that splendid hour REPUBLICAN,
    O know what things are with thee in the fight -
    What hope and trust, what truth, what right, what might
To never leave this work till it be done!
Not as these others were, the helpless slaves
    Of each diurnal need and cringing debt,
    Australia's statesman, have we known thee yet! -
The world's great heroes call from a thousand graves:
    "Thy land, a nation, cries to thee to be set
Free as the freedom of her ocean waves!"

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893) was an English writer, poet, dramatist, and social reformer. His literary work often reflected his radical socialist views. Adams lived a life marred by poverty and struggles with his health, eventually committing suicide at the age of 30. Despite his brief life, his contributions to literature and social thought remain significant.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

To Henry George In America.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

William Wallace.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Liberty!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

English

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Sydney Town In 91

Let us sing a song as not a
Solitary poet sings,
For our seething brain has got a
Mighty grip on earthly things;
We can feel the strength within us,
And our soul is bounding high,
And our hissing pen shall win us
Wealth and Beauty by-and-bye.

Listen to the thunder swelling
Till the mighty west vibrates!
Tis the horny-handed yelling
For the Labour candidates!
Hear the language of the frisky
Push assisting at the fun:
Liberty, and rum and whisky!
Sydney town in 91.

Whack the poor and cut a caper,
Turn the taps and shout wharroo!
For each Sydney leading paper
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Wherefor...

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The Australiad - (A poem for children.)

Twas brave De Quiros bent the knee before the King of Spain,
And sire, he said, I bring thy ships in safety home again
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And, sire, the land we sought is found, its coasts lay full in view
When homeward bound, perforce, I sailed, at the bidding of my crew.
Terra Australis¹ called I it; and linked therewith the name
Of Him who guideth, as of old, in cloud and starry flame.
And grant me ships again, he said, and southward let me go,
A new Peru may wait thee there, another Mexico.

A threadbare suitor, year by year, There is a land, said he;
While King and Court grew weary of this old man of the sea;
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A Story. (For The Irish Delegates In Australia.)

    Do you want to hear a story
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A National Song For Australia Felix

Dark over the face of Nature sublime!
Reignd tyranny, warfare, and every crime;
The world a desertno oasis green
A man-loving soul on its surface had seen;
Then mercy above a mandate sent forth
An Eden to forma refuge for worth.
From the ocean it came, with halo so bright,
Want, strife, and oppression were lost in its sight.

                                        Chorus

    First isle of the seabrightest gem of the earth
    In thee every virtue and joy shall have birth.
    A land of the just, the brave, and the free,
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Eureka

Stand up, my young Australian,
In the brave light of the sun,
And hear how Freedom's battle
Was in the old days lost - and won.
The blood burns in my veins, boy,
As it did in years of yore,
Remembering Eureka,
And the men of 'Fifty-four.

The old times were the grand times,
And to me the Past appears
As rich as seas at sunset,
With its many-coloured years;
And like a lonely island
Aglow in sunset light,
One day stands out in splendour
The day of the Good Fight.

Where Ballarat the Golden
On her throne sits like a Queen,
Ten thousand tents were shining
In the brave days that have been.
There dwelt the stalwart diggers,
When our hearts with hope were high.
The stream of Life ran brimming
In that golden time gone by.

Victor James Daley