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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408410" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Last of his Tribe</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He crouches, and buries his face on his knees, <br>And hides in the dark of his hair; <br>For he cannot look up to the storm-smitten trees, <br>Or think of the loneliness there - <br>Of the loss and the loneliness there. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass, <br>And turn to their coverts for fear; <br>But he sits in the ashes and lets them pass <br>Where the boomerangs sleep with the spear - <br>With the nullah, the sling and the spear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Uloola, behold him! The thunder that breaks <br>On the tops of the rocks with the rain, <br>And the wind which drives up with the salt of the lakes, <br>Have made him a hunter again - <br>A hunter and fisher again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For his eyes have been full with a smouldering thought; <br>But he dreams of the hunts of yore, <br>And of foes that he sought, and of fights that he fought <br>With those who will battle no more - <br>Who will go to the battle no more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is well that the water which tumbles and fills <br>Goes moaning and moaning along; <br>For an echo rolls out from the sides of the hills, <br>And he starts at a wonderful song - <br>At the sound of a wonderful song. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he sees through the rents of the scattering fogs <br>The corroboree warlike and grim, <br>And the lubra who sat by the fire on the logs, <br>To watch, like a mourner, for him - <br>Like a mother and mourner for him. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Will he go in his sleep from these desolate lands, <br>Like a chief, to the rest of his race, <br>With the honey-voiced woman who beckons and stands, <br>And gleams like a dream in his face - <br>Like a marvellous dream in his face? <br></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q>
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<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=408410" data-title="The Last of his Tribe de Henry Kendall" data-description="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. 

The wallaroos grope through the tuft..."></div>
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