The Bushrangers: A play in five acts

And other poems


Charles Harpur

MINE heart is heavy with an ancient sorrow,
        My brain is aching with a clinging grief,
And if I seek to smooth away the furrow
        It plougheth in my soul, in the relief
        And balminess of Song, the cheat is brief!
One feeling still from which the Past did borrow
Exceeding light, reminds me that the morrow
        Must drag me farther from its lost belief.
        For solace therefore would I dive with Truth
Into the depths of her remotest lore:
        Somewhere in Nature’s motherly breast there’s ruth
Yet for her child though wounded to the core,
Though Life’s first objects may beguile no more
        And Misery clothe her with the dreams of youth!

The Bushrangers - Contents

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