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 foaming along;
And the blind-owls retire into shade,
And the bell-bird beginneth its song.
By the side of that yawning abyss,
Where the vapours are hurrying to,
We will merrily pass, looking down to the grass
For the tracks of the wild Kangaroo!
We will merrily pass,
Looking down to the grass
For the tracks of the wild Kangaroo.

Ho, brothers, away to the woods;
Euroka hath clambered the hill;
But the morning there seldom intrudes,
Where the night-shadows slumber on still.
We will roam oer these forest-lands wild,
And thread the dark masses of vines,
Where the winds, like the voice of a child,
Are singing aloft in the pines.
We must keep down the glee of our hounds;
We must steal through the glittering dew;
And the breezes shall sleep as we cautiously creep
To the haunts of the wild Kangaroo.
And the breezes shall sleep,
As we cautiously creep
To the haunts of the wild Kangaroo.

When we pass through a stillness like death
The swamp fowl and timorous quail,
Like the leaves in a hurricanes breath,
Will start from their nests in the vale;
And the forester, snuffing the air,
Will bound from his covert so dark,
While we follow along in the rear,
As arrows speed on to their mark!
Then the swift hounds shall bring him to bay,
And well send forth a hearty halloo,
As we gather them all to be in at the fall
At the death of the wild Kangaroo!
As we gather them all
To be in at the fall
At the death of the wild Kangaroo!

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

King Saul at Gilboa

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

Achan

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

Bell-Birds

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

Laura

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

English

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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?
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When the thunder ceases pealing, and the stars up heaven are stealing,
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Morning in the Bush (A Juvenile Fragment.)

Above the skirts of yellow clouds,
The god-like Sun, arrayed
In blinding splendour, swiftly rose,
And looked athwart the glade;
The sleepy dingo watched him break
The bonds that curbed his flight;
And from his golden tresses shake
The fading gems of Night!
And wild goburras laughed aloud
Their merry morning songs,
As Echo answered in the depths
With a thousand thousand tongues;
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Of ancient growth had crept,
To cluster round the hoary pine,
Where scanty mosses wept.

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In wild chaotic heap,
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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...

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Camped by the Creek

All day a strong sun has been drinking
The ponds in the Wattletree Glen;
And now as theyre puddles, Im thinking
We were wise to head hitherwards, men!
The country is heavy to norard,
But Lord, how you rattled along!
Jacks chestnuts best leg was put forard,
And the bay from the start galloped strong;
But for bottom, Id stake my existence,
Theres none of the lot like the mare;
For look! she has come the whole distance
With never the turn of a hair.

But now let us stop, for the super
Will want us to-morrow by noon;
And as he can swear like a trooper,
We cant be a minute too soon.
Here, Dick, you can hobble the filly
And chestnut, but dont take a week;
And, Jack, hurry off with the billy
And fill it. Well camp by the creek.

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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!

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Urara

Euroka, go over the tops of the hill,
For the Death-clouds have passed us to-day,
And well cry in the dark for the foot-falls still,
And the tracks which are fading away!
Let them yell to their lubras, the Bulginbah dogs,
And say how our brothers were slain,
We shall wipe out our grief in the blood of their chief,
And twenty more dead on the plain
On the blood-spattered spurs of the plain!
But the low winds sigh,
And the dead leaves fly,
Where our warriors lie,
In the dingoes den in the white-cedar glen
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
Urara! Urara!
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!

The Wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass,
And crawl to their coverts for fear;
But well sit in the ashes and let them pass
Where the boomerangs s...

Henry Kendall