George Gordon McCrae poems

George Gordon McCrae(9 May 1833 - 15 August 1927 / Leith, Scotland)
Page 1Go

The Silence of the Bush

- by George Gordon McCrae 44

There's that in our lone Bush, I know not what,
Which 'genders silence; I've all that to learn.
Here, there and everywhere, to loose the knot
That binds the sheaf-band of the taciturn;
It may be where it freezes; where 'tis hot,
Or streams lie silent in the nymph's cool urn;
In forest depths, or where the lone plain stretches
Sans other roof than sky, o'er heat-worn wretches.

Or 'mid the gully's fern and sassafras,
Where all is cool green glooms and early dusk,
With silvern foliage in delicious mass
As, sunwards, feel their way the spires of musk;
Or where those solemn branches crossing, pass
And wave o'er-head their pennon'd fragrant husk;
Or by the river's marge or broad gumbower
With lily-pads a-swim and floating flower.

Here might one read the Silence of Fatigue,
And here again of Rest and Admiration.
Where gentle hands are clasped in wordless league,
And eyes meet eyes in eloquent oration,
Or fingers wreathed, accomplish mute intrigue,
Or tell by signs of ardent adoration,
Or past all these, 'neath burning rocks and bare,
The deep and death-like Silence of Despair.

L'envoi from Balladeadro

- by George Gordon McCrae 32

See where the allied armies camped,
Where plumed and painted dancers tramped--
'Tis still the same, the same wild scene,
As though the ploughshare ne'er had been.
Grey Tomboritha still the skies
With bold and massy front defies;
And gorge, and chasm, and long-ledged rocks
Echo the ever-thundering shocks
Of waters dashed with headlong force,
Wild cataracts leaping on their course.
In dark Maroka's vale the stream
Reflects the slanting solar beam;
There the proud lyre-bird* spreads his tail,
And mocks the notes of hill and dale--
Whether the wild dog's plaintive howl
Or cry of piping waterfowl,
Or the shrill parrot's answering scream,
As, gem-like, dangling o'er the stream
He hears, re-echoed from the rock
The whirlwind whistle of the flock.
Alas! and what a change is there!
And yet the landscape still is fair.
There smiled the woodland by the rill:
'Tis gone--the waters turn a mill.
There the Mirbango village lay:
Mirbango maidens, where? O say,
Where the tall braves, whose warrior songs
Once wooed the dark-eyed Darakongs.
Yon sheltered hollow, 'neath the steep,
Now dotted o'er with browsing sheep,
Holds the last graves the dark man owns--
The treasure of his father's bones.
All else, alas! has passed, is o'er;
Time's wing has swept hill, vale, and shore;
All, hence to farthest northern strand,
Obeys the white, "the blood-stained hand;"
And grey-beards by the fire at night,
Warm, basking in its ruddy light,
The young, in solemn tones, advise
To shun all stranger-women's eyes.
"Our fathers," quoth they, "as we trace,
Thus lost a country--doomed a race."

Page description:

Poems by George Gordon McCrae, George Gordon McCrae's poems collection. George Gordon McCrae is a classical and famous poet (9 May 1833 - 15 August 1927 / Leith, Scotland). Share all poems of George Gordon McCrae.

© Poems are the property of their respective owners, reproduced here for educational and informational purposes, and is provided at no charge.