8
A Protest.
Oh! ye who blame Australia,
Who tauntingly upbraid
Her woods for lack of colour,
Her trees that cast no shade,
Who tauntingly upbraid
Her woods for lack of colour,
Her trees that cast no shade,
Her birds that know no music,
Her flowers without perfume,
And the drear and ghastly phantoms
That breed amid the gloom
Her flowers without perfume,
And the drear and ghastly phantoms
That breed amid the gloom
Of spectral forests, gray and wild,
Where crawls a shrunken stream,
And weird, uncanny creatures
Disport, as in a dream.
Where crawls a shrunken stream,
And weird, uncanny creatures
Disport, as in a dream.
Oh! ye who draw such pictures,
Whose spirits thus recoil,
Are aliens! aliens!—Never one
Is native to the soil,
Whose spirits thus recoil,
Are aliens! aliens!—Never one
Is native to the soil,
For we, thine own, Australia—
Bred of thee, blood and bone—
We thrill responsive to thy voice,
Answer thee tone for tone.
Bred of thee, blood and bone—
We thrill responsive to thy voice,
Answer thee tone for tone.
