The Tale of Purley

“In the long past, in days of yore, Such days, alas! return no more! Our tribe liv’d on the Wonga plain, That stretches southward to the main.

“In all good things they richly shar’d, Sumptuously on dainties far’d; With bursting nets of game and fish, In implements surpassing rich.

“We were, of all, the greatest tribe That in the North or West reside; Our dire enchantments never fail’d, Northern sorcerers ’ fore them quail’d.

“Victors in ev’ry hunt and battle, ’Twas enough our spears to rattle; Our enemies would fly apace, Though rarely winners in the race.

“But though so powerful and great, We dwindled at a rapid rate; For hunting when the tribe would go, There would be missing one or so.

“Suggest, could none of us a cause, Whereby this sad mysterious loss Could be explain’d, or could be trac’d, For death had doom’d our noble race.

“It was resolv’d, before too late, A gen’ral hunting match to make; The scrub, and swamps, and plains to scour, To find the foe, or magic power.

“Everywhere searching, left and right, Till Nilarro appear’d in sight; When lo! a monster on them springs, Four men to ground he quickly brings.

“The unnatural creature, then, Instead of grass ate up the men! They lift no spear, they lift no wirri, Powerless before Kupirri.

“Behold! like burnt sticks in a row, By’s tail he fells them with a blow! Enrag’d, he lashes it about, And quickly puts them to the rout!

“Homeward they rush, nor look behind, Frighten’d at e’en the rustling wind; Frighten’d at the grass-tree stump, Frighten’d at every stone and lump.

“Abandon’d all, both shield and spear, Demented by their madd’ning fear, Nought else they know, nought else repeat, Than their sad loss—their dread retreat.

“Long and loud the death-wail rose, They cut their arms—blood freely flows! While tears run down the sadden’d cheek, And on their breast they strike and beat.

“‘My son! my brother! O my friend!’ The women thus lament their end; While burkas try all magic art, To cause the monster to depart.

“Oh! then were long days of sadness, Unavailing wrath, and madness! But who, they ask, can kill Kupirri? Can bold man, can charm or wirri?

“Then they arose in wild despair, Invoke the gnomes of earth and air Dread magic rites initiate, All spirits bad propitiate.

“The warra warra now declare Sure success to those who’d dare Their monster-enemy to face, The scourge of their devoted race.

“Murmurs of doubt run through the throng— Who able was, or who was strong? With what weapons could they fight The monster on Nilarro’s height?

“But none among the young or old, As hunters, were so brave or bold As the noted fighter “Inda,” And his far-famed brother “Pilla.”

“‘We go,’ they in one voice exclaim, ‘Though we should ne’er return again, We’ll perish, or we’ll victors be O’er this cursed beast, Kupirri.’

“Then with great skill, and with rare art, They well anoint and paint each part With mystic dots, with stripe and line, From head to foot in karkoo shine.

“Aloft a witto nods and bends, And grace to every motion lends; A long white bone adorns the nose, While on the forehead—teeth in rows.

“With a well-tried shield and spear, Wirri, and other war-like gear, Kyahs, wommeras, and kuttas, And the mystic Paityowattas.

“Well versed in all ancient curses, Which, when one properly rehearses. Neither bird, beast, nor fish escape, But, unresisting, yield to fate.

“Bright was the sun that shone that day, As the daring brothers bent their way; Sounds lamentable rise on high, Mingl’d with shouts that rend the sky.

“Then solitary, on they go, Their progress mark—firm, stealthy, slow; Eyes, like their steps, most firmly bent, Both on the one great aim intent.

“Through heat and scrub, all that long day, Till the last sun-beam died away; Then on a dreary, stony height, Repeat their charms, and camp the night.

“Just where glimmers th’ early dawn, Loom’d grandly in the ruddy morn, Mount Nilarro, so vast and gaunt, The abyss of Kupirri’s haunt.

“Bald were its hoary sides, and steep Its gullies, precipitous and deep; A silent stream, from a hidden source, Pursued its dark meand’ring course.

“Little they ate, they little said, But on their way they quickly sped; With eagle-glances scan the land, And closely watch on either hand.

“Another night they try to rest In vain—with horrid fears opprest; For they in fancy often see The Red Kangaroo, Kupirri!

“Half valiant, yet half affrighted, Arm’d with dark words recited, March on they, eager for the fray, Thirsting for their insatiate prey.

“O’er hill and dale they longing seek, Through prickly scrub and winding creek; Anxiously from the heights, review The land of the Red Kangaroo.

“Suddenly, in a gulley deep, Behold the creature fast asleep! Each at each in mute wonder stare, While sinking, almost, with despair.

“Kupirri moves his wondrous tail, Their courage ’gan direct to fail! His ears, immense, he wags about, And opes, awide, his awful snout!

“He sleeps—shut are his dreadful eyes, Nor heeds his daring enemies, Who in right earnest now prepare, To slaughter him as he lies there.

“Strike him with the blood of circumcision! Strike him with the tuft of eagle feathers! Strike him with the girdle—the paltando! Strike him with the manga, the kundando!

“With mystic curse they imprecate! More soundly sleeps the monster great! Forth fly the deadly quiv’ring spears! Kupirri only shakes his ears!

“Trying then the long uwinda: Fearlessly the hunter, Inda, Steps up, and gives a deadly thrust, He sprawling, kicking, sends the dust!

“Now Pilla, bold, with strong wirri, Batters, manfully, Kupirri, Madden’d by pain he vainly tries From his enchanted sleep to rise.

“Then they the blood-drench’d warpoo try, Sneaking upon him, very sly; Though standing by his panting side, In vain they try to pierce his hide.

“But now! oh most unfortunate! The magic of an adverse fate! The hunters ’gan to disagree, In the presence of Kupirri.

“Alas! for these two valiant brothers, They fight, and almost kill each other, Until at last, their fury spent, They see their folly and relent.

“’Twas well, for lo! the earth did quake With the monster’s efforts to awake; They bravely rush, renew the strife, Kupirri yields, with groans, his life!

“Terrible was his dying pain, Agonising his pond’rous frame; Terrible were his mortal throes, Horror-struck stood by his foes.

“A blacken’d rent marks the dire place, Where died the last of Kupirri’s race; Rarely do men to it repair, Very rarely go hunting there.

“They leap for joy, and jump, and shout, And in steps mystic dance about; Refreshed now from their late affray, Proceed at once to divide their prey.

“But with incredible surprise They see—doubting their own eyes, Their dead companions he had ate When Kupirri they last had met.

“But skilful they in magic art, They lay the bodies wide apart, Then conq’ring in spiritual strife, They slowly raise the dead to life.

“Round their old foe themselves they seat, Ready his choicest parts to eat. And thus their just revenge appease, And with his fat their bodies grease.

“Laden with prey they homeward bend, Each talking with his late dead friend, Chatting of surprise and greeting, That ’wait their unexpected meeting.

“Soon the great Wonga plain appears, They strike their shields, and raise their spears; With hasty strides now onwards press, Nor heed the place or time of rest.

“Ne’er was there such a day as that, When the late-dead by the living sat; Nor were such paltis ever sung, As through the woods all that night rung.

“Very often they told the tale How their courage began to fail, How with kutta, spear, and wirri, They at length did slay Kupirri.

“Time roll’d on, the hunters brave Were fast descending to the grave, The youths would oft recite, in play, The heroic deeds of a former day.

“Years pass by, the period came When to perpetuate their fame Our tribe great mystic rites perform’d, Pilla and Inda were transform’d.

“Behold ‘Pilla,’ the Native Cat! Varied spots adorn his back, For thus his cruel brother mark’d him, When he in quarrel spear’d him,

“Behold the Oppossum, ‘Inda,’ His face streak’d by the uwinda, Great Pilla’s unnatural deed, When they in fight both disagreed.

“Henceforth our tribe did dwell in peace, Nevermore hurt by monstrous beast; They multiplied and grew apace, And so arose our mighty race.”

Finish’d the tale, Purley arose, The list’ners hasten to repose; The camp is sunk in quiet sleep, The moon-beams through the foliage peep.

The cricket chirps beneath the grass, The wodlalla bends beneath the blast; The fragrant wattle scents the air, The yerké skips around his lair.

Heaven’s bridegroom, in all his pride, Doth forth in silv’ry glory ride; The evil spirits try in vain, Their unholy hands with blood to stain.

Loudly wails the voice “kokunya,” The native trembles in his gunya; The lonely mawpawk softly coos, As coyishly his mate he woos.

Upon the beach, the gentle roll Speaks sweet words to the list’ning soul; The wind sighs in the patta tree, Like a mother’s softest lullaby.

Beauteous nature beams around, Breathing many a pleasing sound! We linger o’er the enchanted scene, Sweet vision of a heavenly dream!