Page:Australian and Other Poems.djvu/33

How often with my joyous shout,
     Thy shelt'ring rocks have loudly rung,
When sporting free, 'mid truant rout,
     I gamboll'd thy wild scenes among!
 
And still, unchanged, thy charms I feel;
     And still I gaze but to admire!
Not years can make those charms unreal;
     Nor ages fade thy bright attire!
 
No ancient tale, no classic lore,
     Amid thy scenes like spirits bide;
Nor to thy vales, as spots of fame.
     Does history point in glowing pride!
 
No moss-grown pile, no mystic tower,
     Attractive rise to spell-bound ken;
No shrine of druid, king, or saint,
     Inspires the pencil or the pen.

Nor do thy heights, approving, smile
     O'er fields by martyr'd heroes trod.
Such as at Marathon, erewhile,
     Crush'd Persia's hosts, and broke her rod.