Voice of Conscience
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- Suddenly he starts, arising from the dead
- The ghost of Yagan stands, without a head!
- And thus addressed him in a guttural note,
- His voice proceeding from this severed throat:
- "Squatter! What brought thee here?
- Did hapless woe, or vile ambition teach
- Thy steps to rove? Or worse than these
- The cursed love of gold, alike the idol of the young and old,
- That crowns the sovereign, forms the noble star,
- Gilds the child's gingerbread, and glittering far
- Controls each circumstance of peace and war,
- And adorns the trappings of the bold hussar,
- Send thee, a sordid wanderer to a barren land
- Of rock and stone, or iron-stone and sand?
- On the Swan's banks shall rise no future home
- Nor these light sands support one splendid dome,
- On our rude mountains little else appears,
- Than man, and wood, the native and his spears."