“An
Aboriginal Mother’s Lament” by Charles Harpur
STILL
farther would I fly, my child,
To make thee safer yet,
From the unsparing white man,
With his dread hand murder-wet!
I’ll bear thee on as I have borne
With stealthy steps wind-fleet,
To make thee safer yet,
From the unsparing white man,
With his dread hand murder-wet!
I’ll bear thee on as I have borne
With stealthy steps wind-fleet,
And thorns are in my feet.
O
moan not! I would give this braid –
Thy father’s gift to me –
For but a single palmful
Of water now for thee.
Thy father’s gift to me –
For but a single palmful
Of water now for thee.
Ah!
Spring not to his name – no more
To glad us may he come!
He is smouldering into ashes
Beneath the blasted gum!
All charred and blasted by the fire
The white man kindled there,
And fed with our slaughtered kindred
Till heaven-high went its glare!
To glad us may he come!
He is smouldering into ashes
Beneath the blasted gum!
All charred and blasted by the fire
The white man kindled there,
And fed with our slaughtered kindred
Till heaven-high went its glare!
And but for thee, I would their
fire
Had eaten me as fast!
Hark! Hark! I hear his death-cry
Yet lengthening up the blast!
But no – when that we should fly,
Had eaten me as fast!
Hark! Hark! I hear his death-cry
Yet lengthening up the blast!
But no – when that we should fly,
The way that we should fly
On the roaring pyre flung bleeding –
I saw thy father die!
On the roaring pyre flung bleeding –
I saw thy father die!
No more
shall his loud tomahawk
Be plied to win our cheer,
Or the shining fish-pools darken
Beneath his shadowing spear;
The fading tracks of his fleet foot
Shall guide not as before,
And the mountain-spirits mimic
His hunting call no more!
Be plied to win our cheer,
Or the shining fish-pools darken
Beneath his shadowing spear;
The fading tracks of his fleet foot
Shall guide not as before,
And the mountain-spirits mimic
His hunting call no more!
O
moan not! I would give this braid –
Thy father’s gift to me –
For but a single palmful
Of water now for thee.
Thy father’s gift to me –
For but a single palmful
Of water now for thee.
