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Not long after his retirement from the Legislative Assembly in 1856, Mr. Parkes published a second volume of poems, entitled, "Murmurs of the Stream", with the following dedication:—

THE VERSES UNDER THIS HEAD,

CONTAINING

RECORDS OF FEELING

SCATTERED OVER FIFTEEN YEARS,

ARE DEDICATED

TO THE

3,057

ELECTORS OF SYDNEY,

WHO RETURNED THE AUTHOR

TO THE

LEGISLATIVE ASSEMBLY,

MARCH 13th, 1856.

The little book—it contained 107 pages—showed no particular advance upon the previous volume in poetic conception or skilfulness of versification, but it revealed the yearnings of a soul impelled to utterance by the same deep love and reverence for England, and passionate desire for the well-being of Australia. It opened with a poem on "Fatherland:"

"The brave old laud of deed and song,

Of gentle hearts and spirits strong,

Of queenly maids and heroes grand,

Of equal laws,—our Fatherland!"

And, after recounting some of the splendid characteristics of England, it proceeds:

"Shall Cromwell's memory, Milton's lyre,

Not kindle 'mong us souls of fire,

Not raise in us a spirit strong—

High scorn of shams—quick hate of wrong?

"Shall we not learn, Australians born!

To smile on tinselled power our scorn,—

At least, a freeman's pride to try,

When tinselled power would bend or buy?

"The brave old land of deed and song,

We ne'er will do her memories wrong!

For freedom here we'll firmly stand,

As stood our sires for Fatherland!"

Politics in the days when some of these poems were written did not, in all respects, commend itself to the writer, and the Donaldson Cabinet, the first Administration under the new Constitution Act of 1856, did not please him. Especially did he view with disfavour the appointment of the late Mr. Thomas Holt to the position of Colonial Treasurer. And he wrote:-

"Here men leap forth, the statesmen of an hour,

With one untutored bound to highest place,

Who yesterday had never dreamt of power,

Whom none had named for mad ambition's race.

"Here men are called to rule,—ah, self-deceived!

Because, if for a cause the thing can be—

They have neglected most and least achieved,

To found a State or set a people free."

Not inapplicable are these verses to what has been the case in some Ministries since 1856, and must continue to be so until sufficient time shall have passed for a race of politicians to exist in the colony, natives of the soil, and trained in politics and parliamentary procedure from their youth upwards.

"Poor land!" he exclaimed in some lines "suggested by political changes in men and power and men out of power in 1856",—

"Poor land! of what avail for thee

Thy summer wilds and skies resplendent,

If all this light still lifeless be,

And man grow here a thing dependent."

And in a poem entitled "The Australian Maiden to her Brother", in which he deplores the debasing effect of much that, at this period, marked the institutions connected with the government of the country, he says, alluding to the condition of lands possessed of the blessings of freedom, and urging that every effort be made to raise Australia to the same level,—

"Hast thou forgot our evening, morning,

And midday dreams, of isles less fair,

Where Freedom dwelt, the world adorning,

And Truth made man her gifted heir!

"And how our loved Australia yet

Might rise among those names of light,

Brighter than star e'er rose, which set

Within the old world's troubled night?

"Did we not dream how thou should'st stand,

Though even alone, a patriot true,

And late and early, for our land

Toil on as patriots only do?

"And art thou worn with nights of thought,

For her so steeped in crime and fear?

Hast thou all means of justice sought

To raise her up—our country dear?

"In manhood's dawn—in sport of fame,

Thou, with the poet's skill, did'st twine

A garland round her sullied name,

As proud to call such country thine.

"But is this all?—and can'st thou brother

Australia's abject suffering see?

And live one hour for any other

Than the great purpose—her to free?

"Go—through her sun-bright forests gaze—

Go, and determine which shall share—

A people free for better days,

Or lord or serf—God's bounty, there.

"Ask not what sorrow wears my breast,

Seek not again to comfort me,

While still our country sinks oppressed,

Without a helping hand from thee."

There are other verses in the book expressing similar sentiments to these, but at the same time full of hope of the glorious future which the author saw clearly from the first awaited this land.

"We live in hope—we have no past—

Our glory's to be won!

And come it will, in spite of ill,

Sure as to-morrow's sun."

In some lines called "The Strength of Life" we have a picture of the poet himself, drawn with such clearness that the portrait cannot be mistaken.

"The dreams of boyhood all were passed,

The gorgeous light that shone through all

Had faded from life's track at last,

Like sunshine from a prison wall:

He stood alone, and faced the world—

The wide, bleak world without a star;

And every scorner's lip was curled;

And heart was faint; and hope was far.

"But—faint with disappointment's pang,

And trust deceived, and efforts foiled,—

And bleeding now from misery's fang,—

That heart yet firmly beat and toiled.

He gazed upon the desert way,

And drew fresh life from resolute will;

For hope still smiled, though pale her ray,

And Heaven was bending o'er him still.

"And never failed that trustful heart,

In conflict dark and suffering long,—

Still striving for the higher part,—

By every struggle waxing strong.

The grim realities of life

He met, with front as fixed and grim;

But well he cherished, through the strife,

All gentle thoughts that came to him.

"And when, far up the sunny mount,

He rested like a traveller tired,

His dearest joy was to recount

The dreams that first his spirit fired.

The glory of those dreams returned,

All pure and tranquil, bright and free,—

Not one rich hue that early burned

Tinged by the trail of misery."

No truer or better description of Mr. Parkes' life, up to the time when these verses were written, could be given than is set forth in these lines. His friendlessness when he came here, his struggles to improve his position, the sneers of the envious or the unfriendly, the pangs of disappointment or of failure, the pleasures of hope, the faith in the future, the determination to go on: all are depicted with strength and vividness.

The book contains also a rather lengthy poem addressed "To an Australian Child", and the verses have a deeply pathetic tone. The child who had inspired the poet to pen the lines, was his first born son; they were written in the warmth of a father's affection, and the brightness of his anticipation of the boy's future; and, alas! the boy's life was a disappointment. He lived a commonplace existence; he died in early manhood; and the father's cherished hopes were unfulfilled. The poem is too long to quote in extenso, but a few verses are sufficient to show with what fond expectation the future of "my own blue-eyed boy" was regarded.

"How bright is the morning, young creature of mirth,

As 'twere the fresh dawn on a paradise wild,

Out-bursting in smiles o'er the land of thy birth!

But the beauty of Eden had ne'er reconciled

Thy sire to his exile, if never those eyes

Had pleaded in innocent love for its claim!

For, oh! these are not the green woods and blue skies

Which my childhood rejoiced, nor these wild flow'rs the same.

. . . . .

"But the sun in his rising, benignly resplendent,

Thy land, little Southerner! flooding with smiles,

Ever wakes fresher feelings—pure, proud, independent,

That link us anew to this fairest of isles!

And right regally She, in the morning's rich light—

My boy's native city—now looketh the Queen,

With the sea at her feet lying tranquil and bright,

Skirted still by her forests of dark evergreen!

"And grandly her future, my fair-fortuned boy!

Shall unfold o'er Australia's wild mountains and glens,

With effulgence of mind, and pervasion of joy!

That shall startle the world from its pomp of old sins.

Yes! Freedom her prime more august shall renew,

With the spirit of Sparta, the sway of first Rome,

Where now the green desert lies shut from man's view;

Or the desert's dark tribes, in sole mastery, roam.

"And high is thy birthright, entitling to share

In her patriot's labours—the work yet unplanned

Of some Hampden, perchance, now by mother's fond care

Cradled safe 'mong the mountains afar in the land;—

To claim when thy country shall rank with the nations,

An honour-marked place by the side of her chiefs,

With a soul that has fed on her proud aspirations,

And pined 'neath the weight of her national griefs!"

The boy might have risen to manhood's estate high in the Government service, had his father so chosen, but it was one of the principles of Sir Henry Parkes' life not to appoint his relatives to positions under the Government, and his sons had to make their way in the world independently of this aid, and by their own efforts. The eldest, following in the footsteps of his father when he was conducting the Empire, became a printer. He died at the age of 37, and was buried at Faulconbridge, Sir Henry Parkes' mountain home, his grave being the first that was made there.

On the day before the funeral the present writer received the following letter, dated from Faulconbridge, which contains some interesting references to the verses just quoted, and some touching observations regarding him to whom the lines had been addressed.

"Faulconbridge,

"January 4, 1880.

"My dear Mr. Lyne,

"At page 75 of the accompanying little volume you will find some verses which more than 34 years ago I addressed to my poor dead son, then a child 2 1/2 years old. At that time I was myself an unknown young man with no thought of entering upon a public career. The verses were written in 1846. I took part in public proceedings for the first time in 1848, at the election of Mr. Robert Lowe for Sydney.

"Looked at from the present day, through the changes of the intervening years, the political character of the verses has a curious interest for myself, and in this sense and in connection with my loss they might be of interest to the public. I am too much absorbed in my own little world to be a judge of this.

"Throughout my poor boy's boyhood I had great hopes of his future. All this ended in sad disappointment, but he was one of the kindest and gentlest creatures that ever lived.

"Faithfully yours,

"HENRY PARKES."

There was a touching simplicity, and yet a picturesqueness, about the funeral. The remains of the deceased were conveyed to Faulconbridge by train, and on arriving at the railway platform there the coffin was taken from the train, and carried to the grave by six of the workpeople employed by Sir Henry Parkes and the late Sir James Martin, then Chief Justice, on their mountain estates, the men being dressed in spotlessly white attire, and wearing a band of crape around the left arm and another around the hat. Preceding the coffin was the clergyman, an old friend of the family, and following it were Sir Henry Parkes, his son Mr. Varney Parkes, Mr. James Watson, then Colonial Treasurer, Mr. G. A. Lloyd, Mr. W. Neill, and a few others. On reaching the grave, which had been dug in a spot shaded by a wild nutmeg tree, about a quarter of a mile from the Faulconbridge railway platform, though but a very short distance from the railway line, a beautiful cross of flowers composed of rare white roses and maiden hair fern, some equally beautiful floral wreaths, and some wild flowers were laid upon the coffin; and bearing these tributes of regard and affection, the body was lowered into its last resting place. The floral cross and wreaths were sent by the Governor, Lord Augustus Loftus; the wild flowers were gathered by hands prompted by loving hearts, about the rocks and dells of Faulconbridge.

"Murmurs of the Stream", closes with some

ATTEMPTS

IN

SONNET WRITING,

DEDICATED

TO

SIR CHARLES NICHOLSON, K.B.,

AS

A LINK

OF

A VALUED FRIENDSHIP.

They are not unsuccessful, and the little book generally, though it exhibits some crudities of expression and rhyme, is musical, thought-inspiring, and pleasing. Writing in 1878 with reference to some books he was sending me, one of them being this volume of poems, Sir Henry Parkes said:-

"I shall feel gratified if you will accept the accompanying volumes in remembrance of a very pleasant journey we performed together last month.

"The speeches were published chiefly as a record of opinion extending over some 25 years. The book has had a value attached to it by others, both here and in England, which I can say most sincerely I do not attach to it myself.

"The smaller volume ("Murmurs of the Stream") has been severely condemned by the critics, but that too has had a good word said of it by a great poet, the late W. C. Bryant.

"I offer the books to you, good or bad, as part of myself."

But the book, and more recent volumes of poems, have had a "good word" said for them by a greater poet than W. C. Bryant. Lord Tennyson spoke well of them, and another authority, famous for his genius with the sculptor's chisel rather than the poet's pen, but recognised as a poet of considerable talent, Mr. Thomas Woolner, R.A., also alluded to some of them in terms of praise. Not very long before Mr. Woolner's decease Sir Henry Parkes received from him, in acknowledgment of a copy of "Fragmentary Thoughts", a letter in which he said—"The poems give a most interesting glimpse of your inner aspirations, and, above all, the warm and passionate desire you have always felt to improve the hard fate of the poor, and bestow upon them your sympathy, which, in some respects, is by them even more highly valued."