Page:In bad company and other stories.djvu/172

 Onward! I pass the grassy hill Around whose base the waters still Shimmer in golden foam, Oh! wanderer of the voiceless wild, Of this far southern land the child, How changed thy quiet home!

For, close as bees in countless hive, Like emmet-hosts that tireless strive, Swarmed, toiled, a vast strange crowd; Haggard each face's features seem, Bright, fever-bright, each eye's wild gleam; Nor cry, nor accent loud.

But each man delved, or rocked, or bore As if salvation with the ore Of the mine-monarch lay; Gold strung each arm to giant might, Gold flashed before the aching sight, Gold turned the night to day.

Where Eblis reigns o'er boundless gloom, And in his halls of endless doom Lost souls for ever roam, They wander (says the Eastern tale), Nor ever startles moan or wail Despair's eternal home.

Less silent scarce than that pale host, They toiled as if each moment lost Were the red life-drop spilt; While heavy, rough, and darkly bright, In every shape rolled to the light Man's hope, and pride, and guilt.

All ranks, all ages, every land Had sent her conscripts forth to stand In the gold-seekers' rank; The bushman, bronzed, with sinewy limb, The pale-faced son of trade, e'en him Who knew the fetters' clank.

'Tis night; her jewelled mantle fills The busy valley, the dun hills, 'Tis a battle-host's repose; A thousand watch-fires redly gleam, Where ceaseless fusillades would seem To warn approaching foes.

The night is older. On the sward Stretched, I behold the heavens broad When, a Shape rises dim; Then clearer, fuller, I descry By the swart brow, the star-bright eye, The gnome king's presence grim.