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Page： 102
So； in the fall of the year；
Saint with the fatherly head
Hunted for somebody's dear …
‘‘Somebody's darling；'' he said。
Bob； who was nobody's child；
Sitting on nobody's lap；
Draggled and dirty and wild …
Bob got the little one's cap。
Strange were compassionate words！
Waif of the alley and lane
Dreamed of the music of birds
Floating about in the rain。
White…headed father in God；
Over thy beautiful grave
Green is the grass of the sod；
Soft is the sound of the wave。
Page： 103
Down by the slopes of the sea
Often and often will sob
Boy who was fostered by thee …
This is the story of Bob。
Page： 104
PETER THE PICANINNY
HE has a name which can't be brought
Within the sphere of metre；
But； as he's Peter by report；
I'll trot him out as Peter。
I call him mine； but don't suppose
That I'm his dad； O reader！
My wife has got a Norman nose …
She reads the tales of Ouida。
I never loved a nigger belle …
My tastes are too aesthetic！
The perfume from a gin is … well；
A rather strong emetic。
Page： 105
But； seeing that my theme is Pete；
This verse will be the neater
If I keep on the proper beat；
And stick throughout to Peter。
We picked him up the Lord knows where！
At noon we came across him
Asleep beside a hunk of bear …
His paunch was bulged with 'possum。
（Last stanza will not bear； I own；
A pressure analytic；
But bard whose weight is fourteen stone；
Is apt to thump the critic。）
We asked the kid to give his name：
He didn't seem too willing …
The darkey played the darkey's game …
We tipped him with a shilling！
Page： 106
We tipped him with a shining bob …
No Tommy Dodd； believe us。
We didn't ‘‘tumble'' to his job …
Ah； why did Pete deceive us！
I； being； as I've said； a bard；
Resolved at once to foster
This mite whose length was just a yard …
This portable impostor！
‘‘This babe'' … I spoke in Wordsworth's tone …
（See Wordsworth's ‘‘Lucy''； neighbour）
‘‘I'll make a darling of my own；
And he'll repay my labour。
‘‘He'll grow as gentle as a fawn …
As quiet as the blossoms
That beautify a land of lawn …
He'll eat no more opossums。
Page： 107
‘‘The child I to myself will take
In a paternal manner；
And ah！ he will not swallow snake
In future； or ‘goanna'。
‘‘Will you reside with me； my dear？''
I asked in accents mellow …
The nigger grinned from ear to ear；
And said； ‘‘All right； old fellow！''
And so my Pete was taken home …
My pretty piccaninny！
And； not to speak of soap or comb；
His cleansing cost a guinea。
‘‘But hang expenses！'' I exclaimed；
‘‘I'll give him education：
A ‘nig' is better when he's tamed；
Perhaps； than a Caucasian。
Page： 108
‘‘Ethnologists are in the wrong
About our sable brothers；
And I intend to stop the song
Of Pickering and others。''
Alas； I didn't do it though！
Old Pickering's conclusions
Were to the point； as issues show；
And mine were mere delusions。
My inky pet was clothed and fed
For months exceeding forty；
But to the end； it must be said；
His ways were very naughty。
When told about the Land of Morn
Above this world of Mammon；
He'd shout； with an emphatic scorn；
‘‘Ah； gammon； gammon； gammon！''
Page： 109
He never lingered； like the bard；
To sniff at rose expanding。
‘‘Me like；'' he said； ‘‘em cattle…yard …
Fine smell … de smell of branding！''
The soul of man； I tried to show；
Went up beyond our vision。
‘‘You ebber see dat fellow go？''
He asked in sheer derision。
In short； it soon occurred to me
This kid of six or seven；
Who wouldn't learn his A B C；
Was hardly ripe for heaven。
He never lost his appetite …
He bigger grew； and bigger；
And proved； with every inch of height；
A nigger is a nigger。
Page： 110
And； looking from this moment back；
I have a strong persuasion
That； after all； a finished black
Is not the ‘‘clean'' … Caucasian。
Dear Peter from my threshold went；
One morning in the body：
He ‘‘dropped'' me； to oblige a gent …
A gent with spear and waddy！
He shelved me for a boomerang …
We never had a quarrel；
And； if a moral here doth hang；
Why let it hang … the moral！
My mournful tale its course has run …
My Pete； when last I spied him；
Was eating 'possum underdone：
He had his gin beside him。
Page： 111
NARRARA CREEK
（Written in the Shadow of 1872）
FROM the rainy hill…heads； where； in starts and in spasms；
Leaps wild the white torrent from chasms to chasms …
From the home of bold echoes； whose voices of wonder
Fly out of blind caverns struck black by high thunder …
Through gorges august； in whose nether recesses
Is heard the far psalm of unseen wildernesses …
Like a dominant spirit； a strong…handed sharer
Of spoil with the tempest； comes down the Narrara。
Page： 112
Yea； where the great sword of the hurricane cleaveth
The forested fells that the dark never leaveth …
By fierce…featured crags； in whose evil abysses
The clammy snake coils； and the flat adder hisses …
Past lordly rock temples； where Silence is riven
By the anthems supreme of the four winds of heaven …
It speeds； with the cry of the streams of the fountains
It chained to its sides； and dragged down from the mountains！
But when it goes forth from the slopes with a sally …
Being strengthened with tribute from many a valley …
It broadens and brightens； and thereupon marches
Above the stream sapphires and under green arches；
With the rhythm of majesty … careless of cumber …
Its might in repose and its fierceness in slumber …
Till it beams on the plains； where the wind is a bearer
Of words from the sea to the stately Narrara！
Page： 113
Narrara！ grand son of the haughty hill torrent；
Too late in my day have I looked at thy current …
Too late in my life to discern and inherit
The soul of thy beauty； the joy of thy spirit！
With the years of the youth and the hairs of the hoary；
I sit like a shadow outside of thy glory；
Nor look with the morning…like feelings； O river；
That illumined the boy in the days gone for ever！
Ah！ sad are the sounds of old ballads which borrow
One…half of their grief from the listener's sorrow；
And sad are the eyes of the pilgrim who traces
The ruins of Time in revisited places；
But sadder than all is the sense of his losses
That cometh to one when a sudden age crosses
And cripples his manhood。 So； stricken by fate； I
Felt older at thirty than some do at eighty。
Page： 114
Because I believe in the beautiful story；
The poem of Greece in the days of her glory …
That the high…seated Lord of the woods and the waters
Has peopled His world with His deified daughters …
That flowerful forests and waterways streaming
Are gracious with goddesses glowing and gleaming …
I pray that thy singing divinity； fairer
Than wonderful women； may listen； Narrara！
O spirit of sea…going currents！ … thou； being
The child of immortals； all…knowing； all…seeing …
Thou hast at thy heart the dark truth that I borrow
For the song that I sing thee； no fanciful sorrow；
In the sight of thine eyes is the history written
Of Love smitten down as the strong leaf is smitten；
And before thee there goeth a phantom beseeching
For faculties forfeited … hopes beyond reaching。
Page： 115
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*
*
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Thou knowest； O sister of deities blazing
With splendour ineffable； beauty amazing；
What life the gods gave me … what largess I tasted …
The youth thrown away； and the faculties wasted。
I might； as thou seest； have stood in high places；
Instead of in pits where the brand of disgrace is；
A byword for scoffers … a butt and a caution；
With the grave of poor Burns and Maginn for my portion。
But the heart of the Father Supreme is offended；
And my life