In the morning I set out from the sun-lit shore,
When the sun was setting I rested by the shadowy peaks.
Leaving my boat I gazed at the far-off banks,
Halting my staff, I leant against a flourishing pine
The narrow path is dark and secluded,
Yet the ring-like island is bright as jade.
Below I see the tops of towering trees,
Above I hear the meeting of wild torrents
Over the rocks in its path the water divides and flows on,
In the depth of the forest the paths are free from footprints.
What is the result of " Delivering " and " Forming " ?

Hail to the land of the free and the bold,
Where honor and justice have planted their throne,
Where the hearts of the meanest can never be sold,
But order and liberty reign there alone!
Hail to the souls that can never be slaves,
Who boast of the rights they have won by the sword,
Who fight for their forefathers' altars and graves,
And soar as the eagle who rescued them soared!

Hail to the land we have cherished so long, —
The soil where the bright tree of liberty grows!
May its root deeper sink, and its branches be strong,

At dawn with staff in hand I climbed the crags,
At dusk I made my camp among the mountains
Only a few peaks rise as high as this house,
Facing the crags, it overlooks winding streams.
In front of its gates a vast forest stretches,
While boulders are heaped round its very steps.
Hemmed in by mountains, there seems no way out,
The track gets lost among the thick bamboos
My visitors can never find their way,
And when they leave, forget the path they took.
The raging torrents rush on through the dusk,
The monkeys clamour shrilly through the night.

Give the Warrior Chief his due,
Him who, to his country true,
Boldly, at her summons, flew,
Fired with gallantry!
Him who met the foe in fight,
And with death-fires lit the night,
Till his valor turned in flight
Britain's chivalry.

Crown him with the laurel wreath,
Hail him with the clarion's breath,
Him who, in the face of death,
Battled fearlessly.
Let the bard a chaplet twine,
Deathless gift of song divine,
And the hero's name will shine
Through eternity.

Cherish then the son of song:

I

Where she fell swearing hand to side
The old tramp woman lies.
For every black year of her life
A raven flies.
And the gaunt ungainly procession
Flaps over the skies.

II

Look up, O living passer by,
And see the white clouds in the sky:
Look round on this dear valley land
With Meavy Church on thy right hand,
And in thy mercy shed a tear
For the blind thing buried here.

The great Iebovah who did e'rst create
Heaven, earth, and all, and all doth gubernate,
Ever He help you ward the Host , within
Of honour'd graces, that the world hath seen
Plac't in the Cabinet of your true heart:
He help you ward them, be teach you the art,
Into your heart who did the grace instill,
Lively your heart with new supplies to fill.
Vertue will so a ward most sure make you,
Saving your Countrey, as a Peere most true.

He help you ward the Host , if need there be,
Of armed Souldiers, and that destiny

Between dusk and dawn the weather is constantly changing,
Bathing mountain and lake alike in radiant sunlight
This radiant sunlight filled me with such joy,
That lost in delight I quite forgot to go home.
When I left my valley the day had scarcely broken,
When I stepped into my boat the light was growing dim
Forest and gorge were veiled in somber colors,
The sunset clouds mingled with evening haze
Gay panoply of water-chestnut, lotus,
Rushes and cattails growing side by side,
I swept them aside with my hands as I hastened southward.

Choyce Peece of worth, your noblenesse doth show,
Hard'tis to search out sinne with awfull brow,
And ne'rethelesse a low mind to retain,
Rightly he commeth of a noble strain,
Labouring as he 's set above on high,
Ev'n to on sinne to have a watchfull eye;
Searching it our, lest that it should increase,

Having withall an humble Lowlines :
Oh Hard is this to search , and yet be Low !
Well, natheles your honour'd self doth so:
Arm'd so against sinne, with a search so pure,
Rightly iniquity cannot endure.

There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There is many another, but dearest to me,
And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.

Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,
And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;
And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me
Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.

And when sawn-timber homes were built out in the West,
Then for walls and for ceilings that wood was the best;

I read in Dante how that horned light,
Which hid Ulysses, waved itself and said:
" Following the sun, we set our vessel's head
To the great main; pass'd Seville on the right.

" And Ceuta on the left; then southward sped.
At last in air, far off, dim rose a Height.
We cheer'd; but from it rush'd a blast of might,
And struck — and o'er us the sea-waters spread."

I dropp'd the book, and of my child I thought
In his long black ship speeding night and day
O'er those same seas; dark Teneriffe rose, fraught.