And when the orb of day in splendour dies, And trailing flambent clouds thy peaks enlace, The opalescent tints of western skies Reveal the enchantments of thy dwelling-place. Or when our lady of the night, so fair, Silvers thy forests in translucent showers, Deftly the sylvan poet thrills the air With murmuring symphony from wind-wooed bowers. Gorges and canyon, clefts and ravines deep, And fairy grotts with starry flowerets set, Where water-lilies pale on green pool sleep; Lo! Nature’s masterpiece, her grand magnificat. Ye massive pillars! Which have viewed the spray Far, far away upon the impulsive tide For countless years--ye too must pass away. For at His fiat who shall then abide? And He who changeth not, He who hath made All things of earth we love to change and die, Hath made thee beautiful, that ’neath thy shade Vain man may muse upon his immortality. THE POET LAUREATE. ALFRED AUSTIN. The lyre is mute, the strings unstrung, The muse hath left the song unsung; He weareth on his poet’s brow A fairer wreath than men bestow Or fame may give. As leaves are scattered o’er the mould, Unheeded by the world so cold, Yet, traced indelibly on stone, Their shapes remain through ages flown, So sweet words live. His pleasure was a healthy mind, Teaching man’s duty to mankind; No thought of glory or of gain Centred within that brilliant brain But love to men. Oh, life! Oh, death! Thou hast no sting! Swiftly upon thy glorious wing, Trembling, within the golden maze, He passed to pour his sweetest lays Beyond our ken. His ivory casket lies at rest In that dear island of the west; His song hath ceased, his rest is won, And peace is his at set of sun, For he hath led Some weary mortals to the spheres Of fancy, far from pensive tears, Where, in imagination’s bliss, They hung upon a poet’s kiss. Oh, happy dead! And Britain mourns him not alone, And not because of sculptured stone, Or tributes great, or elegy, Will her laureate remembered be, But in her heart. Though rugged be the path to fame, Yet history hath writ his name A star of magnitude that shines; For fame, whose lustre few entwines, Hath crowned his art. [Illustration: text decoration] MOUNT TAMBOURINE, QUEENSLAND.