Greeting! Nor fear nor favour won us place, Got between greed of gold and dread of drouth, Loud-voiced and reckless as the wild tide-race That whips our harbour-mouth!

_Sydney._

Greeting! My birth-stain have I turned to good; Forcing strong wills perverse to steadfastness; The first flush of the tropics in my blood, And at my feet Success!

_Brisbane._

The northern stirp beneath the southern skies-- I build a nation for an Empire's need, Suffer a little, and my land shall rise, Queen over lands indeed!

_Hobart._

Man's love first found me; man's hate made me h.e.l.l; For my babes' sake I cleansed those infamies.

Earnest for leave to live and labour well G.o.d flung me peace and ease.

_Auckland._

Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart-- On us, on us the unswerving season smiles, Who wonder 'mid our fern why men depart To seek the Happy Isles!

England's Answer.

Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban; Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man.

Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare; Stark as your sons shall be--stern as your fathers were.

Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether, But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together.

My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by; Sons, I have borne many sons but my dugs are not dry.

Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors, That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors-- Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas, Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees!-- That ye may talk together, brother to brother's face-- Thus for the good of your peoples--thus for the Pride of the Race.

Also, we will make promise. So long as The Blood endures, I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is yours: In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all, That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall.

Draw now the three-fold knot firm on the nine-fold bands, And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.

This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom, This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom.

The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will, Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still.

Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you, After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few.

Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways, Baulking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise.

Stand to your work and be wise--certain of sword and pen, Who are neither children nor G.o.ds, but men in a world of men!

THE FIRST CHANTEY.

Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found her; Haling her dumb from the camp, held her and bound her.

Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her; Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her.

Swift through the forest we ran; none stood to guard us, Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us-- Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen; Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen,

Yet ere they came to my lance laid for the slaughter, Lightly she leaped to a log lapped in the water; Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed her, Called she the G.o.d of the Wind that he should aid her.

Life had the tree at that word, (Praise we the Giver!) Otter-like left he the bank for the full river.

Far fell their axes behind, flashing and ringing, Wonder was on me and fear, yet she was singing.

Low lay the land we had left. Now the blue bound us, Even the Floor of the G.o.ds level around us.

Whisper there was not, nor word, shadow nor showing, Still the light stirred on the deep, glowing and growing.

Then did He leap to His place flaring from under, He the Compeller, the Sun, bared to our wonder.

Nay, not a league from our eyes blinded with gazing, Cleared He the womb of the world, huge and amazing!

This we beheld (and we live)--the Pit of the Burning, Then the G.o.d spoke to the tree for our returning; Back to the beach of our flight, fearless and slowly, Back to our slayers he went: but we were holy.

Men that were hot in that hunt, women that followed, Babes that were promised our bones, trembled and wallowed: Over the necks of the tribe crouching and fawning-- Prophet and priestess we came back from the dawning!

THE LAST CHANTEY.

"And there was no more sea."

Thus said The Lord in the Vault above the Cherubim, Calling to the angels and the souls in their degree: "Lo! Earth has pa.s.sed away On the smoke of Judgment Day.

That Our word may be established shall We gather up the sea?"

Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners: "Plague upon the hurricane that made us furl and flee!

But the war is done between us, In the deep the Lord hath seen us-- Our bones we'll leave the barracout', and G.o.d may sink the sea!"

Then said the soul of Judas that betrayed Him: "Lord, hast Thou forgotten Thy covenant with me?

How once a year I go To cool me on the floe, And Ye take my day of mercy if Ye take away the sea!"

Then said the soul of the Angel of the Off-sh.o.r.e Wind: (He that bits the thunder when the bull-mouthed breakers flee): "I have watch and ward to keep O'er Thy wonders on the deep, And Ye take mine honour from me if Ye take away the sea!"

Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners: "Nay, but we were angry, and a hasty folk are we!

If we worked the ship together Till she foundered in foul weather, Are we babes that we should clamour for a vengeance on the sea?"

Then said the souls of the slaves that men threw overboard: "Kennelled in the picaroon a weary band were we; But Thy arm was strong to save, And it touched us on the wave, And we drowsed the long tides idle till Thy Trumpets tore the sea."

Then cried the soul of the stout Apostle Paul to G.o.d: "Once we frapped a ship, and she laboured woundily.

There were fourteen score of these, And they blessed Thee on their knees, When they learned Thy Grace and Glory under Malta by the sea."

Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, Plucking at their harps, and they plucked unhandily: "Our thumbs are rough and tarred, And the tune is something hard-- May we lift a Deep-sea Chantey such as seamen use at sea?"

Then said the souls of the gentlemen-adventurers-- Fettered wrist to bar all for red iniquity: "Ho, we revel in our chains O'er the sorrow that was Spain's; Heave or sink it, leave or drink it, we were masters of the sea!"

Up spake the soul of a gray Gothavn 'speckshioner-- (He that led the flinching in the fleets of fair Dundee): "Ho, the ringer and right whale, And the fish we struck for sale, Will Ye whelm them all for wantonness that wallow in the sea?"

Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, Crying: "Under Heaven, here is neither lead nor lea!