BUSH BALLADS AND RHYMES 



The skyline, staining the green gulf crimson, 

 A death stroke fiercely dealt by a dim sun 

 That strikes through his stormy winding 

 sheet. 



Oh ! brave white horses ! you gather and 

 gallop, 

 The storm sprite loosens the gusty reins ; 

 Now the stoutest ship were the frailest shallop 

 In your hollow backs, on your high arch'd 

 manes. 

 I would ride as never a man has ridden 

 In your sleepy, swirling surges hidden, 

 To gulfs foreshadow'd through straits for- 

 bidden. 

 Where no light wearies and no love wanes. 



