Old Melbourne Memories/Balaclava
BALLAARAT
A VISION OF GOLD
I see a lone stream, rolling down
Through valleys green, by ranges brown
Of hills that bear no name,
The dawn's full blush in crimson flakes
Is traced on palest blue, as breaks
The morn in Orient flame.
I see—whence comes that eager gaze?
Why rein the steed, in wild amaze?
The water's hue is gold!
Golden its wavelets foam and glide,
Through tenderest green to ocean-tide
The fairy streamlet rolled.
"Forward, 'Hope!' forward! truest steed,
Of tireless hoof and desert speed,
Up the weird water bound,
Till, echoing far and sounding deep,
I hear old Ocean's hoarse voice sweep
O'er this enchanted ground?"
The sea!—wild fancy! Many a mile
Of changeful Nature's frown and smile
Ere stand we on the shore.
And, yet! that murmur, hoarse and deep,
None save the ocean-surges keep?
It is—"the cradles' roar!"
Onward! we pass the grassy hill,
Around the base the waters still
Shimmer in golden foam;
O wanderer of the voiceless wild,
Of this far southern land the child,
How changed thy quiet home!
For, close as bees in countless hive,
Like emmet hosts that earnest strive,
Swarmed, toiled, a vast, strange crowd:
Haggard each worker's features seem,
Bright, fever-bright, each eye's wild gleam,
Nor cry, nor accent loud.
But each man dug, or rocked, or bore,
As if salvation with the ore
Of the mine-monarch lay.
Gold strung each arm to giant might,
Gold flashed before each aching sight,
Gold turned the night to day.
Where Eblis reigns o'er boundless gloom,
And, in his halls of endless doom
Lost souls for ever roam,
They wander (says the Eastern tale),
Nor ever startles moan or wail
Despair's eternal home.