James Lister Cuthbertson

James Lister Cuthbertson, born on May 8, 1851, was a Scottish-Australian poet and classical master at Geelong Grammar School. He is remembered for his influence on Australian literature and education. During his tenure at Geelong Grammar, Cuthbertson became widely known for his poetic works, which include numerous verses that reflect both his Scottish heritage and his Australian experiences. He passed away on January 18, 1910, leaving a legacy as one of Australia's notable poets and educators.

May 8, 1851

January 18, 1910

English

A Racing Eight

Who knows it not, who loves it not,
The long and steady swing,
The instant dip, the iron grip,
The rowlocks linked ring,
The arrowy sway of hands away,
The slider oiling aft,
The forward sweep, the backward leap
That speed the flying craft?

A racing eight of perfect mould,
True to the builders law,
That takes the waters gleaming gold
Without a single flaw.
A ship deep, resonant within,
Harmonious to the core,
That vibrates to her polished skin
The tune of wave and oar.

A racing eight and no man late,
And all hearts in the boat;
The men who work and never shirk,
Who long to be afloat.
The crew who burn from stem to stern
To win the foremost place,
The crew to row, the boat to go
The eight to win the race.

James Lister Cuthbertson

At Cape Schanck

Down to the lighthouse pillar
The rolling woodland comes,
Gay with the gold of she-oaks
And the green of the stunted gums,
With the silver-grey of honeysuckle,
With the wasted bracken red,
With a tuft of softest emerald
And a cloud-flecked sky oerhead.

We climbed by ridge and boulder,
Umber and yellow scarred,
Out to the utmost precipice,
To the point that was ocean-barred,
Till we looked below on the fastness
Of the breeding eagles nest,
And Cape Wollomai opened eastward
And the Otway on the west.

Over the mirror of azure
The purple shadows crept,
League upon league of rollers
Landward evermore swept,
And burst upon gleaming basalt,
And foamed in cranny and crack,
And mounted in sheets of silver,
And hurried re...

James Lister Cuthbertson

Australia Federata

Australia! land of lonely lake
And serpent-haunted fen;
Land of the torrent and the fire
And forest-sundered men:
Thou art not now as thou shalt be
When the stern invaders come,
In the hush before the hurricane,
The dread before the drum.

A louder thunder shall be heard
Than echoes on thy shore,
When oer the blackened basalt cliffs
The foreign cannon roar,
When the stand is made in the sheoaks shade
When heroes fall for thee,
And the creeks in gloomy gullies run
Dark crimson to the sea:

When under honeysuckles gray,
And wattles swaying gold,
The stalwart arm may strike no more,
The valiant heart is cold,
When thou shalt know the agony,
The fever, and the strife
Of those who wrestle against odds
For liberty and ...

James Lister Cuthbertson

Corona Inutilis

I twined a wreath of heather white
To bind my ladys hair,
And deemed her locks in even light
Would well the burden bear;
But when I saw the tresses brown,
And found the face so fair,
I tore the wreath, and left the crown
Of beauty only there.

James Lister Cuthbertson

Ode to Apollo

Tandem venias precamur
Nube candentes humeros amictus
Augur Apollo.


Lord of the golden lyre
Fraught with the Dorian fire,
Oh! fair-haired child of Leto, come again;
And if no longer smile
Delphi or Delos isle,
Come from the depth of thine Aetnean glen,
Where in the black ravine
Thunders the foaming green
Of waters writhing far from mortals ken;
Come oer the sparkling brine,
And bring thy train divine,
The sweet-voiced and immortal violet-crownèd Nine.

For here are richer meads,
And here are goodlier steeds
Than ever graced the glorious land of Greece;
Here waves the yellow corn,
Here is the olive born,
The gray-green gracious harbinger of peace;
Here too hath taken root
A tree with golden fruit,
...

James Lister Cuthbertson

Solitude

This is the maiden Solitude, too fair
For mortal eyes to gaze on, she who dwells
In the lone valley where the water wells
Clear from the marble, where the mountain air
Is resinous with pines, and white peaks bare
Their unpolluted bosoms to the stars,
And holy Reverence the passage bars
To meaner souls who seek to enter there;
Only the worshipper at Nature's shrine
May find that maiden waiting to be won,
With broad calm brow and meek eyes of the dove,
May drink the rarer ether all divine,
And, earthly toils and earthly troubles done,
May win the longed-for sweetness of her love.

James Lister Cuthbertson

The Australian Sunrise

The morning star paled slowly, the Cross¹ hung low to the sea,
And down the shadowy reaches the tide came swirling free,
The lustrous purple blackness of the soft Australian night
Waned in the grey awakening that heralded the light;

Still in the dying darkness, still in the forest dim
The pearly dew of the dawning clung to each giant limb,
Till the sun came up from ocean, red with the cold sea mist,
And smote on the limestone ridges, and the shining tree-tops kissed;

Then the fiery Scorpion² vanished, the magpies note was heard,
And the wind in the sheoak wavered and the honeysuckles stirred;
The airy golden vapour rose from the river breast,
The kingfisher came darting out of his crannied nest,
And the bulrushes and reed-beds put off their sall...

James Lister Cuthbertson

The Bush

Give us from dawn to dark
Blue of Australian skies,
Let there be none to mark
Whither our pathway lies.

Give us when noontide comes
Rest in the woodland free,
Fragrant breath of the gums,
Cold, sweet scent of the sea.

Give us the wattles gold
And the dew-laden air,
And the loveliness bold
Loneliest landscapes wear.

These are the haunts we love,
Glad with enchanted hours,
Bright as the heavens above,
Fresh as the wild bush flowers.

James Lister Cuthbertson

To a Billy

Old Billy, battered, brown and black
With many days of camping,
Companion of the bulging sack,
And friend in all our tramping:
How often on the Friday night,
Your cubic measure testing,
With jam and tea we stuffed you tight
Before we started nesting!

How often, in the moonlight pale,
Through gums and gullies toiling,
Weve been the first the hill to scale,
The first to watch you boiling;
When at the lane the tent was spread
The silver wattle under,
And early shafts of rosy red
Cleft sea-born mists asunder!

And so, old Billy, you recall
A host of sun-burnt faces,
And bring us back again to all
The best of camping places.
True flavour of the bush you bear,
Of camp and its surrounding,
Of freedom and of open air,
Of ...

James Lister Cuthbertson

Wattle and Myrtle

Gold of the tangled wilderness of wattle,
Break in the lone green hollows of the hills,
Flame on the iron headlands of the ocean,
Gleam on the margin of the hurrying rills.

Come with thy saffron diadem and scatter
Odours of Araby that haunt the air,
Queen of our woodland, rival of the roses,
Spring in the yellow tresses of thy hair.

Surely the old gods, dwellers on Olympus,
Under thy shining loveliness have strayed,
Crowned with thy clusters, magical Apollo,
Pan with his reedy music may have played.

Surely within thy fastness, Aphrodite,
She of the sea-ways, fallen from above,
Wandered beneath thy canopy of blossom,
Nothing disdainful of a mortals love.

Aye, and Her sweet breath lingers on the wattle,
Aye, and Her myrtle dominates...

James Lister Cuthbertson