The Muse of Australia

Where the pines with the eagles are nestled in rifts, And the torrent leaps down to the surges, I have followed her, clambering over the clifts, By the chasms and moon-haunted verges. I know she is fair as the angels are fair, For have I not caught a faint glimpse of her there; A glimpse of her face and her glittering hair, And a hand with the Harp of Australia? I never can reach you , to hear the sweet voice So full with the music of fountains! Oh! when will you meet with that soul of your choice , Who will lead you down here from the mountains? A lyre -bird lit on a shimmering space; It dazzled mine eyes and I turned from the place , And wept in the dark for a glorious face, And a hand with the Harp of Australia!