Page:Moyarra- An Australian Legend in Two Cantos, 1891.djvu/90

 That they had fallen by the stranger's hand; And there was mourning deep throughout the land.

Thus far have I essayed to trace The lives, the loves, of that dark race (Chequered the tale, and fraught with ill For frail is bliss, life human still), Heirs of the land where I must pine Reflecting that it is not mine. My tale is done: and I would fain Believe, though humble be my strain, A pitying tear may dim some tender eye, Some breast may heave a sympathetic sigh. But yet it matters not—to me It hath fulfilled kind ministry; To purest fancies it hath won me From sorrowing thoughts that crowded on me; Affection, homeward prone to veer It hath compelled with magic wand; Beguiling the sad truth that here I am a stranger in the land. Thou mild moon! pouring down each night