Song of the Cattle-Hunters

While the morning light beams on the fern-matted streams,
And the water-pools flash in its glow,
Down the ridges we fly, with a loud ringing cry
Down the ridges and gullies we go!
And the cattle we hunt they are racing in front,
With a roar like the thunder of waves,
As the beat and the beat of our swift horses feet
Start the echoes away from their caves!
As the beat and the beat
Of our swift horses feet
Start the echoes away from their caves!

Like a wintry shore that the waters ride oer,
All the lowlands are filling with sound;
For swiftly we gain where the herds on the plain,
Like a tempest, are tearing the ground!
And well follow them hard to the rails of the yard,
Oer the gulches and mountain-tops grey,
Where the beat and the beat of our swift horses feet
Will die with the echoes away!
Where the beat and the beat
Of our swift horses feet
Will die with the echoes away!

Henry Kendall

Henry Kendall was an Australian poet born on April 18, 1839, known for his lyrical and descriptive poetry reflecting the natural world and the colonial experience of Australia. He faced personal and financial difficulties throughout his life, which deeply influenced his works. His poetry collections include 'Leaves from Australian Forests' and 'Songs from the Mountains'. Kendall passed away on August 1, 1882, leaving a lasting impact on Australian literature.

Henry Kendall

The Warrigal

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

In the Depths of a Forest

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

A Birthday Trifle

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

Passing Away

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

English

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After the Hunt

Underneath the windy mountain walls
Forth we rode, an eager band,
By the surges and the verges and the gorges,
Till the night was on the land
On the hazy, mazy land!
Far away the bounding prey
Leapt across the ruts and logs,
But we galloped, galloped, galloped on,
Till we heard the yapping of the dogs
The yapping and the yelping of the dogs.

Oh, it was a madly merry day
We shall not so soon forget,
And the edges and the ledges and the ridges
Haunt us with their echoes yet
Echoes, echoes, echoes yet!
While the moon is on the hill
Gleaming through the streaming fogs,
Dont you hear the yapping of the dogs
The yapping and the yelping of the dogs?

Henry Kendall

The Wild Kangaroo

The rain-clouds have gone to the deep
The East like a furnace doth glow;
And the day-spring is flooding the steep,
And sheening the landscape below.
Oh, ye who are gifted with souls
That delight in the music of birds,
Come forth where the scattered mist rolls,
And listen to eloquent words!
Oh, ye who are fond of the sport,
And would travel yon wilderness through,
Gather each to his place for a life-stirring chase,
In the wake of the wild Kangaroo!
Gather each to his place
For a life-stirring chase
In the wake of the wild Kangaroo!

Beyond the wide rents of the fog,
The trees are illumined with gold;
And the bark of the shepherds brave dog
Shoots away from the sheltering fold.
Down the depths of yon rock-borderd glade,
A torrent goes ...

Henry Kendall

On a Cattle Track

Where the strength of dry thunder splits hill-rocks asunder,
And the shouts of the desert-wind break,
By the gullies of deepness and ridges of steepness,
Lo, the cattle track twists like a snake!
Like a sea of dead embers, burnt white by Decembers,
A plain to the left of it lies;
And six fleeting horses dash down the creek courses
With the terror of thirst in their eyes.

The false strength of fever, that deadly deceiver,
Gives foot to each famishing beast;
And over lands rotten, by rain-winds forgotten,
The mirage gleams out in the east.
Ah! the waters are hidden from riders and ridden
In a stream where the cattle track dips;
And Death on their faces is scoring fierce traces,
And the drouth is a fire on their lips.

It is far to the station, and gau...

Henry Kendall

The Opossum-Hunters

Hear ye not the waters beating where the rapid rivers, meeting
With the winds above them fleeting, hurry to the distant seas,
And a smothered sound of singing from old Ocean upwards springing,
Sending hollow echoes ringing like a wailing on the breeze?
For the tempest round us brewing, cometh with the clouds pursuing,
And the bright Day, like a ruin, crumbles from the mournful trees.

When the thunder ceases pealing, and the stars up heaven are stealing,
And the Moon above us wheeling throws her pleasant glances round,
From our homes we boldly sally neath the trysting tree to rally,
For a night-hunt up the valley, with our brothers and the hound!
Through a wild-eyed Forest, staring at the light above it glaring,
We will travel, little caring for the dangers where we bound.
...

Henry Kendall

The Warrigal

The Warrigals lair is pent in bare,
Black rocks at the gorges mouth;
It is set in ways where Summer strays
With the sprites of flame and drouth;
But when the heights are touched with lights
Of hoar-frost, sleet, and shine,
His bed is made of the dead grass-blade
And the leaves of the windy pine.

Through forest boles the storm-wind rolls,
Vext of the sea-drivn rain;
And, up in the clift, through many a rift,
The voices of torrents complain.
The sad marsh-fowl and the lonely owl
Are heard in the fog-wreaths grey,
When the warrigal wakes, and listens, and takes
To the woods that shelter the prey.

In the gully-deeps the blind creek sleeps,
And the silver, showery moon
Glides over the hills, and floats, and fills,
And dreams in the dar...

Henry Kendall

The Curlew Song

The viewless blast flies moaning past,
Away to the forest trees,
Where giant pines and leafless vines
Bend neath the wandering breeze!
From ferny streams, unearthly screams
Are heard in the midnight blue;
As afar they roam to the shepherds home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!
As afar they roam
To the shepherds home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!

The mists are curled oer a dark-faced world,
And the shadows sleep around,
Where the clear lagoon reflects the moon
In her hazy glory crowned;
While dingoes howl, and wake the growl
Of the watchdog brave and true;
Whose loud, rough bark shoots up in the dark,
With the song of the lone Curlew!
Whose loud, rough bark
Shoots up in the dark,
With the song of the lone Curlew!

Henry Kendall