No longer wilful woman hides
Behind a law that over-rides
The dicta of her lawful lord and master.
And, they who fain would lift a hand
Said the Digger: 'Soon forgot! Soon forgot, the deeds of war.
Better so, may be. . . Why not?
Beauty fades and laurels rot;
Last year's roses are no more.
A golden maid whose golden voice
Calls to the northern lands,
Of riches she has had her choice.
Twin treasures to make men rejoice
This we have said: 'We shall remember them.'
And deep our sorrow while the deed was young.
Even as David mourned for Absolem
Mourned we, with aching heart and grievous tongue.
I sing of the hat, of the human lid,
The cadev, the tile, or whatever you please,
The thing that we wear - or our fathers did
For the making of comfort and greater ease.
Once on this historic site
Wild men of a dusky shade,
In defiance of all right,
Broke the laws that good men made.
A country lass with rosy cheeks,
A healthy maid with merry ways;
Labor 'mid loveliness she seeks,
And strives to crowd with joy her days.
Son of our King: When yoemen sailed
From Britain to expand her sway,
The coward from High venture quailed,
The weakling sank beside the way.
The digger's cultured daughter:
Her youth was wildly free.
Now by the placid water
Of tree-girt Wendouree