The Curlew Song

by Thomas Henry Kendall

The viewless blast, flies moaning past,
Away to the forest trees;
Where giant pines, and leafless vines
Bend 'neath the wandering breeze.
From ferny streams, unearthly screams
Are heard in the midnight blue;
As afar they roam, to the shepherd's home—
The shrieks of the wild Curlew
As afar they roam,
To the shepherd's home,—
The shrieks of the wild Curlew.

The mists are curled, o'er a dark-faced world,
And the shadows sleep around,
Where the clear lagoon reflects the moon,
In her hazy glory crowned;
While dingoes howl, to wake the growl
Of the watchdog brave and true,
Whose loud rough bark shoots up in the dark,
With the song of the lone Curlew.
Whose loud rough bark,
Shoots up in the dark,
With the song of the lone Curlew.

The clouds are thrown around the cone
Of the mountain bare and high,
Whose craggy peak uprears to the cheek—
To the face of the sombre sky;
When down beneath the foggy wreath,
Full many a gully through,
They rend the air, like cries of despair—
The screams of the wild Curlew.
They rend the air,
Like cries of despair,
The screams of the wild Curlew.

Near herby banks, the dark green ranks
Of the rushes stoop to drink;
And the ripples chime, in a measur'd time,
On the smooth and mossy brink;
As wind-breaths sigh, and pass and die,
To start from the swamps anew
And join again, o'er ridge and plain,
With the cries of the sad Curlew.
And join again,
O'er ridge and plain,
With the cries of the sad Curlew.

The viewless blast flies moaning past,
Away to the forest trees;
Where giant pines, and leafless vines,
Bend neath the wandering breeze.
From ferny streams, unearthly screams,
Are heard in the midnight blue—
As afar they roam, to the Shepherd's home,—
The shrieks of the wild Curlew
As afar they roam
To the Shepherd's home
The shrieks of the wild Curlew.