Sunrise, from Bourke's Statue

A youth rein'd in his graceful steed On Bourke's proud-statued hill, And bent his eye, with passionate heed, Where day was breaking still; He watch'd the glorifying gleams Sent through the cloud-shapes grand, And gazed until the god all beams Burst on his native land.

And like a god, indeed, he rose, That bright Australian sun, Swift through the gorgeous phantom shows, Which flamed,–are changed,–are gone,— Like battle-pomps of many a legion When first their bright ranks close; Or burning city in a region Of dim and distant snows.

Ay, glorious more than dream of things All beauty, joy, and power, Broke forth his world illuminings, His splendours of that hour. And blissful as may ever seem This thorny world of ours, The palaced shore and harbour-stream Glow'd in his beamy showers.

The young Australian press'd his steed Onward, with throbbing heart: Wild, thrilling thoughts, which none might read, Rich hopes new-born, were part Henceforth of his impassioned life; And ever in his breast, By day, by night, in calm, in strife, That picture seem'd to rest.

That glorious picture he had seen From infancy till then; But it a shining blank had been,— No thought of freeborn men Had flash'd upon his spirit, there No prescience of the fame And greatness of a land so fair E'er smote him, as with flame.

But ever hence shall he behold, That picture at all hours, With thoughts more rich than virgin gold, With hopes more bright than flowers. And, 'mid the soul–fret of the mart, And in the ball-room's glee, His country shall be next his heart— A nation great and free.