Here you will find the Poem An Australian Paean1876 of poet Marcus Clarke
The English air is fresh and fair, The Irish fields are green; The bright light gleams o?er Scotland?s streams, And glows her hills between. The hawthorn is in blossom, And birds from every bough Make musical the dewy spring In April England now. Our April bears no blossoms, No promises of spring; Her gifts are rain and storm and stain, And surges lash and swing. No budded wreath doth she bequeath, Her tempests toss the trees; No balmy gales?but shivered sails, And desolated seas. Yet still we love our April, For it aids us to bequeath A gift more fair than blossoms rare, More sweet than budded wreath. Our children?s tend?rest memories Round Austral April grow; ?Twas the month we won their freedom, boys, Just twenty years ago. Though Scotland has her forests, Though Erin has her vales, Though plentiful her harvests, In England?s sunny dales; Yet foul amidst the fairness, The factory chimneys smoke, And the murmurs of the many In their burdened bosoms choke. We hear the children?s voices ?Mid the rattle of its looms, Crying, ?Wherefore shut God?s heaven All our golden afternoons?? Though here the English April Nor song nor sun imparts, Its Spring is on our children?s lips, Its summer in their hearts! We?ve left the land that bore us, Its castles and its shrines; We?ve changed the cornfields and the rye For the olives and the vines. Yet still we have our castles, Yet still we bow the knee; We each enshrine a saint divine, And her name is Liberty. Liberty! name of warning! Did?st thou feel our pulses beat As we marching, moved this morning All adown the cheering street? In our federated freedom, In our manliness allied, While the badges of our labour Were the banners of our pride. Did our fancies speak prophetic Of a larger league than this? With higher aims and nobler claims To grasp the good we miss; When in freer federation In a future yet to be, Australia stands a nation From the centre to the sea. Cheer for Australia, comrades, And cheer for Britain, too; Who loves them both will not be loth To give each land its due. So cheer for Britain, comrades; Our fathers loved the soil, And the grandeur of her greatness Is the measure of their toil. But never let our sons forget, Till mem?ry?s self be dead, If Britain gave us birth, my lads, Australia gave us bread! Then cheer for young Australia, The empire of the Free, Where yet a Greater Britain The Southern Cross shall see!