A spectral film that came and went… In its elusive way gave vent In some unreal words which meant; ‘I think therefore I am.’ That phantasm only thought it thou…

Deem not this wielder of this pen The happiest bloke alive, For I am only five-foot-ten, And ye are ten-foot-five. Wherefore I clothe myself in jute…

“Are you the Cove?” He spoke the… As freeman only can. The squatter freezingly inquir’d, “What do you mean, my man?” “Are you the Cove?” His voice was…

A gentle loving thoughtful boy, But happy gay and bright: A gleam of sunshine from the sky That filled a home with light. And whether busied with his play

(From ‘An Idyll of the Wimmera.’… On the geodetic line, where the pa… At a level and interminable lane You can see it there, alone, stand… Like an iceberg in a solitary main…

Johnny’s drowned '€” here’s his cl… Where he’s got to, we dunno; Sure enough, he never rose; So we thought we’d let you know. Gosh! the fright has knocked us fl…

O Time! Time! Time! Thou wondrous mystery! Within whose rune and rhyme Lies all Man’s history Before Creation’s birth

(A Romance.) December 11th, 1867. The fleecy clouds had passed away Before the bright approach of day, And now the morning’s radiance shi…

Sing the evil days we see, and the… In such doggerel as dejection will… We are pilgrims, sorrow-led, with… No elysian Up the Country for us… For the settlements extend till th…

“Prove what Life can give of glad… Seek for aught that merits trust— All thy mirth will turn to sadness… All thy bliss to cold disgust. Soon revolving years will banish

In spite of his imposing plea, A freeman whom the truth makes fre… Is often fairly up a tree, And marvels why it should be thus. Then reasoning in his tin-pot way

When the great Creator fashion’d… He commission’d us to dominate the… But His ordinance meets denial st… For the Boer is always with us, c… Yet the Lord has given us grace t…

No two leaves that wave in Arden, No two grass blades on the plain, No two flowers that gem the garden… Show as twins in form or vein, No two grains of desert sand

Tell me not in future numbers That our thought becomes inane, That our metre halts and lumbers, When the Wattle blooms again. Lies of great men all remind us

Life is a Poem, short or long, A dismal Dirge, or jovial Song, A Psalm of faith, or Lay of Prid… One stanza by each year supplied. And thy sweet Hymn of love and tr…