Page:Old Melbourne Memories.djvu/256

"Son of a tribe accursed, of those
Whose greed has broken our repose
Of the long ages dead,
Think ye, for nought our ancient race
Leaves olden haunts, the sacred place
Of toils for ever fled?

"List while I tell of days to come,
When men shall wish the hammers dumb
That ring so ceaseless now;
That every arm were palsy-tied,
Nor ever wet on grey hillside
Was the gold-seeker's brow.

"I see the old world's human tide
Set southward on the ocean wide.
I see a wood of masts,
While crime or want, disease or death,
With each sigh of the north-wind's breath,
He on this fair shore casts.

"I see the murderer's barrel gleam,
I hear the victim's hopeless scream
Ring through these crimeless wastes;
While each base son of elder lands
Each witless dastard, in vast bands
To the gold-city hastes.

"Disease shall claim her ready toll,
Flushed vice and brutal crime the dole
Of life shall ne'er deny;
Danger and death shall stalk your streets,
While staggering idiocy greets
The horror-stricken eye!