Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Oceanica: Vol. XXXI. 1876–79.
Down in Australia
By Gerald Massey (1828–1907)Q
We have heard the Reapers shout,
For the Harvest going out,
With the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land;
And our message shall be hurled
Up the ringing sides o’ the world,
There are true hearts beating for you in the Gold Land.
For the old ancestral tree
Striketh root beneath the sea,
And it beareth fruit of Freedom in the Gold Land!
We shall come too, if you call,
We shall fight on if you fall,
Cromwell’s land must never be a bought and sold land.
For, the waiting world holds breath
While she trends the dew of Death,
With the sleeve of Peace stript up from her bare, bold hand:
And her ruddy Rose will bloom
On the bosom and the tomb
Of her many Heroes fallen for the Old Land.
He remembers how she stood
With her raiment rolled in blood,
When the tide of battle burst upon the bold Land,
And he looks with darkened face,
For he knows the hero-race
Sweep the harp of freedom—draw her Sword with bold hand.
Speak the one victorious word,
And fair Freedom’s wandered Bird
Shall wing back with leaf of promise from the Old Land!
And the peoples shall come out
From their slavery, with a shout
For the new world greeting in the Future’s Gold Land!
You shall see the Tyrant down,
You shall see the ransomed crown;
On the brow of prisoned peoples, freed with bold hand!
She shall thrash her foes like corn;
They shall eat the bread of scorn;
And will sing her song of Triumph in the Gold Land.
We have heard the Reapers shout,
For the Harvest going out,
Seen the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land!
And our message shall be hurled
Up the ringing sides o’ the world,
There are true hearts down here, beating for the Old Land.