| |
| HE crouches, and buries his face on his knees, | |
| And hides in the dark of his hair; | |
| For he cannot look up to the storm-smitten trees, | |
| Or think of the loneliness there— | |
| Of the loss and the loneliness there. | 5 |
| |
| The wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass, | |
| And turn to their covers for fear; | |
| But he sits in the ashes and lets them pass | |
| Where the boomerangs sleep with the spear— | |
| With the nullah, the sling, and the spear. | 10 |
| |
| Uloola, behold him! The thunder that breaks | |
| On the top of the rocks with the rain, | |
| And the wind which drives up with the salt of the lakes, | |
| Have made him a hunter again— | |
| A hunter and fisher again. | 15 |
| |
| For his eyes have been full with a smouldering thought; | |
| But he dreams of the hunts of yore, | |
| And of foes that he sought, and of fights that he fought | |
| With those who will battle no more— | |
| Who will go to the battle no more. | 20 |
| |
| It is well that the water which tumbles and fills, | |
| Goes moaning and moaning along; | |
| For an echo rolls out from the sides of the hills, | |
| And he starts at a wonderful song— | |
| At the sounds of a wonderful song. | 25 |
| |
| And he sees through the rents of the scattering fogs, | |
| The corroboree warlike and grim, | |
| And the lubra who sat by the fire on the logs, | |
| To watch, like a mourner, for him— | |
| Like a mother and mourner for him. | 30 |
| |
| Will he go in his sleep from these desolate lands, | |
| Like a chief, to the rest of his race, | |
| With the honey-voiced woman who beckons and stands, | |
| And gleams like a dream in his face— | |
| Like a marvellous dream in his face? | 35 |
| |
