ys, fearful many nightfalls through
Lest unfriendly hands should rob him of his hoard of wild nardoo.

. . . . .

Ere he reached their old encampment--ere the well-known spot was gained,
Something nerved him--something whispered that his other chief remained.
So he searched for food to give him, trusting they might both survive
Till the aid so long expected from the cities should arrive;
So he searched for food and took it to the gunyah where he found
Silence broken by his footfalls--death and darkness on the ground.

Weak and wearied with his journey, there the lone survivor stooped,
And the disappointment bowed him and his heart with sadness drooped,
And he rose and raked a hollow with his wasted, feeble hands,
Where he took and hid the hero, in the rushes and the sands;
But he, like a brother, laid him out of reach of wind and rain,
And for many days he sojourned near him on that wild-faced plain;
Whilst he stayed beside the ruin, whilst he lingered with the dead,
Oh! he must have sat in shadow, gloomy as the tears he shed.

. . . . .

Where our noble Burke was lying--where his sad companion stood,
Came the natives of the forest--came the wild men of the wood;
Down they looked, and saw the stranger--he who there in quiet slept--
Down they knelt, and o'er the chieftain bitterly they moaned and wept:
Bitterly they mourned to see him all uncovered to the blast--
All uncovered to the tempest as it wailed and whistled past;
And they shrouded him with bushes, so in death that he might lie,
Like a warrior of their nation, sheltered from the stormy sky.

. . . . .

Ye must rise and sing their praises, O ye bards with souls of fire,
For the people's voice shall echo through the wailings of your lyre;
And we'll welcome back their comrade, though our eyes with tears be blind
At the thoughts of promise perished, and the shadow left behind;
Now the leaves are bleaching round them--now the gales above them glide,
But the end was all accomplished, and their fame is far and wide.
Though this fadeless glory cannot hide a grateful nation's grief,
And their laurels have been blended with the gloomy cypress leaf.

Let them rest where they have laboured! but, my country, mourn and moan;
We must build with human sorrow grander monuments than stone.
Let them rest, for oh! remember, that