II.
Moyarra lived a reckless child
And deemed, albeit a savage, wild:
His mimic spear was early sped
Far o'er each wondering comrade's head:
The eucalyptus on the hill
Was silent challenge to his skill:—
Did torrents deck the mountain's side,
Moyarra stemmed the foaming tide:—
If spies went forth to circumvent
The neighbouring tribes on plunder bent,
Moyarra clasped his hands in prayer
That he, though young, th' exploit might share.
III.
Long years have passed; those rites1 are done
Which, handed down from sire to son.
Still from that wandering people claim
Obeisance to religion's name:
Their temple is the earth, air, sky,
And through the gorgeous canopy
The moon, their priestess, wades in light—
While round her path, in order bright,
