by Charles Harpur
And wonder ye not if his speech be uncouth,
Nor look ye much for his rhymes to be smooth,
Nor that the flight should be lofty and free
Of one with so little of learning as he;
For all of his aptest years were past
In primal solitudes wild and vast.
But nurtured thus; self-urged he knew
Australia's virgin Muse to woo,
And of song's bright mysteries 'gan to guess
With a lone and eager studiousness,
While toiling along the plough's first tracks,
Or 'twixt the strokes of the felling axe,
Or while upon the prairie wide
Where the savage whooped and the wild dog cried.
Last updated September 18, 2015