<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354832" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Aboriginal Mothers's Lament</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament <br>Charles Harpur </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">[About the year 1842 a party of stockmen, several of whom were afterwards hanged for the crime, made a wholesale slaughter of a small tribe of defenceless blacks; one woman only, with her infant, escaped from the murderers.] </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still farther would I fly, my child, <br> To make thee safer yet, <br>From the unsparing white man, <br> With his dread hand murder-wet! <br>I’ll bear thee on as I have borne <br> With stealthy steps wind-fleet, <br>But the dark night shrouds the forest, <br> And thorns are in my feet. <br> O moan not! I would give this braid— <br> Thy father’s gift to me— <br> But for a single palmful <br> Of water now for thee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! Spring not to his name—no more <br> To glad us may he come! <br>He is smouldering into ashes <br> Beneath the blasted gum! <br>All charred and blasted by the fire <br> The white man kindled there, <br>And fed with our slaughtered kindred <br> Till heaven-high went its glare! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O moan not! I would give this braid— <br> Thy father’s gift to me— <br> For but a single palmful <br> Of water now for thee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And but for thee, I would their fire <br> Had eaten me as fast! <br>Hark! Hark! I hear his death-cry <br> Yet lengthening up the blast! <br>But no—when that we should fly, <br> On the roaring pyre flung bleeding— <br>I saw thy father die! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O moan not! I would give this braid— <br> Thy father’s gift to me— <br> For but a single palmful <br> Of water now for thee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more shall his loud tomahawk <br> Be plied to win our cheer, <br>Or the shining fish-pools darken <br> Beneath his shadowing spear; <br>The fading tracks of his fleet foot <br> Shall guide not as before, <br>And the mountain-spirits mimic <br> His hunting call no more! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O moan not! I would give this braid— <br> Thy father’s gift to me— <br> For but a single palmful <br> Of water now for thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Harpur">Charles Harpur</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354832" data-title="An Aboriginal Mothers's Lament de Charles Harpur" data-description="An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament Charles Harpur ------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------- [About the year 1842 a party of stockmen, several of whom were afterwards hanged for the crime, made a wholesale..."></div> </div> </div>

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