The Red Kangaroo

The rippling waves of Boston Bay Lay glimm’ring in the fading day Growing shadows were length’ning o’er, Dark’ning the distant islet’s shore.

Far away in the open sea, Beyond the Cape Catastrophe, The sun shot forth its golden ray, And kiss’d each wave in parting play.

Gorg’ous colours o’erspread the sky, From farthest verge that’s scann’d by eye, To where the sun’s effulgent rays Pour’d forth its last resplendent blaze.

Majestic clouds were pil’d and mass’d, In form sublime and grand in rest, In true perspective—line on line, Till mix’d and lost in hues divine.

Splashing loud on the pebbly beach, The dimpling waves were chasing each Filling inlet, dent, and bay, With murmurs soft, and sparkling spray.

The scrub wav’d gently to and fro, A green irradiating bow; The she-oak in the distant view, Whisper’d a mournful, sad adieu.

The bold hills in a rounding line, Glorious in a sunny clime, Purpling when the bright eve declines, Dark’ning as day its rule resigns.

The tribe was camp’d beside a hill, Near a transparent gurgling rill; On a bold bluff the wurleys stood, Within a copse of wattle-wood.

The warriors were far away, Creeping on their unwary prey— Girdling them in a treach’rous ring, With artful deep manoœuv’ring.

Some spearing fish upon the coast, Where Koonta’s mystic stream is lost; Some sneaking emu on the plain, Searching Kupe, or snaring game.

Or, listless from a cool retreat, Were watching Cowee’s great heart beat, Its ebb and flow, its wondrous tide, Marma’s wayward, beauteous bride.

The jocund laugh resounds along, Tho lubras mark their little throng: The scornful look and air they bore, Engag’d in strife and mimic war.

Behold them on the open plain, Naked as they from nature came In fierce opposing bands they range, Spears rattle, and dire words exchange.

In childish accents, “Death,” they cry, And mockingly the foe defy; With quiv’ring limbs, and glaring eye, They rush to conquer or to die.

Their mimic spears hiss through the air, And whirring waddies cause despair; Their shields resound with awful blows— The ground is strewn with friends and foes.

Now o’er the hills the lubras come, In Indian file, by one and one; Each bears the produce of the day, Of roots, and herbs, and wallaby.

With weary step they hasten down, And cast their burdens on the ground, And cooey for their absent child, And waiting—gossip ere the while:

“How at the last corrobboree, Ngamma’s familiarity With Yerku, shock’d all decency, Hence Bultawilta’s jealousy.

“How saucy Tekartoo behav’d, While her husband in palti play’d; And caused the stranger’s sly advance, And quarrelling, broke up the dance:

“What dreadful things the burkas said, For Tau had ate the sacred leg; How Kuinyo would at night appear, With stomach vast, and snaky hair.

“And Paune’s wonderful escape From cunning sorcerer’s deadly hate, As in the reeds he hiding lay, A bird by night, a bush by day.”

Murmurs confus’d sound o’er the hill. Now near, then far, now loud, then shrill; Soon seen are many hunters bold, Like full of game and tales untold!

To the camp they are drawing near, Very emulous to appear! Each more famous than the other, In the sight of wife and mother.

Did ever see such kangaroo, As now borne past in grand review, Besides the fattest of emu?— Prais’d be the Manurapindoo!

All stare, and gloat, and feast their eyes, As the game spread forth in glory lies; The kuttas soon at work resound, And women, joking, dig the ground.

Some a hole of just size prepare, And leaves and stones arrange with care Well heated these, and duly laid, Thus the native oven is made.

The meal enjoy’d—their bodies greas’d They chat and laugh, or loll at ease; Hunting and warlike stories tell, Of sorcery, magic, charm, or spell.

Of wondrous feats, and jerks, and jumps, Of water-holes, and scrub and stumps; Of narrow ’ scapes, and dreadful leaps, Of swamps, and storms, and flooded creeks.

But there were none among the brave So skill’d, so witty, or so grave, Or could recite the tales of yore, Which he knew by many a score.

Purley, the star—such was his name, Through all the tribes had spread his fame As hunter, warrior, burka wise, In dance or song durst none despise.

Now him around, in circles sat— The boys in front, the elders back; With gaping mouths and wond’ring eyes, They laugh and marvel with surprise!

The tribe enwrapp’d in shades of night, While rows of fire are twinkling bright, Loud wails the plaintive monotone, To cure the pain, or soothe the gnome.

“Now behold the road before me, How beautiful throughout Yerna, Watteyernorlo Tappandē, Miny-el-ity yarluke an-ambe.”

“Now to the water-hole we’ve come, We two, together, at Tunte nung.” Thus corrobories they sing, How sweet the memories they bring.

But others, of more mournful frame, Pierce the air in a tender strain, Sing of the lost beloved one— “O, why did you die! my son! my son!”

Cow’ring nearer, a young man asks, “Tell us of the great First and Last? Who was, and who is yet to come, And why gaze we oft on setting sun?

“Why the burkas in silence meet, Why in uncertain whispers speak. In wild and lonely bushy creek, And there enchanted words repeat?

For what the magic weapons use, Why ourselves in warm blood suffuse, Ord’ring women from th’ sacred place, Tell us the myst’ries of our race?”

No! no! shouts the great Uwinda, Rather tell us the tale of Inda, And the famous hunter, Pilla, And their deeds upon the Willa.

Crowding, then, around the wurley, They listen to the tale of Purley, Who in a measur’d tone begins, Of the famous Kangarooing.