Botany Bay
by ANONYMOUS
Farewell to old England for ever,
Farewell to my rum culls as well,
Farewell to the well-known Old Bailey,
Where I used for to cut such a swell.
Chorus Singing, too-ral, li-ooral, li-addity,
Singing, too-ral, li-ooral, li-ay,
Singing, too-ral, li-ooral, li-addity,
Singing, too-ral, li-ooral, li-ay.
There's the captain as is our commander,
There's the bo'sun and all the ship's crew,
There's the first- and the second-class passengers,
Knows what we poor convicts goes through.
'Tain't leaving old England we care about,
'Tain't cos we misspells wot we knows,
But because all we light-fingered gentry
Hops round with a log on our toes.
For fourteen long years I have ser-vi-ed,
And for fourteen long years and a day,
For meeting a bloke in the area,
And sneaking his ticker away.
Oh had I the wings of a turtle-dove,
I'd soar on my pinions so high,
Slap bang to the arms of my Polly love,
And in her sweet presence I'd die.
Now, all my young Dook-ies and Duch-ess-es,
Take warning from what I've to say-
Mind all is your own as you touch-es-es,
Or you'll meet us in Botany Bay.
MORETON BAY
Moreton Bay
by ANONYMOUS
One Sunday morning as I went walking
by Brisbane waters I chanced to stray,
And I heard a convict his fate bewailing
as on the sunny river bank he lay:
'I am a native of Erin's island,
though banished now from my native shore;
They tore me from my aged parents
and from the maiden whom I do adore.
'I've been a prisoner at Port Macquaire,
at Norfolk Island and Emu Plains,
At Castle Hill and at cursed Toongabbie,
at all those settlements I've worked in chains;
But of all places of condemnation
and penal stations in New South Wales
To Moreton Bay I have found no equal,
excessive tyranny each day prevails.
'For three long years I've been beastly treated
and heavy irons on my legs I wore;
My back with flogging is lacerated
and often painted with my crimson gore.
And many a man from downright starvation
lies mouldering now underneath the clay;
And Captain Logan he had us mangled
at the triangles of Moreton Bay.
'Like the Egyptians and ancient Hebrews
we were oppressed under Logan's yoke,
Till a native black lying there in ambush
did give our tyrant his mortal stroke.
My fellow prisoners, be exhilarated
that all such monsters such a death may find!
And when from bondage we are liberated
our former sufferings shall fade from mind.'
by ANONYMOUS
One Sunday morning as I went walking
by Brisbane waters I chanced to stray,
And I heard a convict his fate bewailing
as on the sunny river bank he lay:
'I am a native of Erin's island,
though banished now from my native shore;
They tore me from my aged parents
and from the maiden whom I do adore.
'I've been a prisoner at Port Macquaire,
at Norfolk Island and Emu Plains,
At Castle Hill and at cursed Toongabbie,
at all those settlements I've worked in chains;
But of all places of condemnation
and penal stations in New South Wales
To Moreton Bay I have found no equal,
excessive tyranny each day prevails.
'For three long years I've been beastly treated
and heavy irons on my legs I wore;
My back with flogging is lacerated
and often painted with my crimson gore.
And many a man from downright starvation
lies mouldering now underneath the clay;
And Captain Logan he had us mangled
at the triangles of Moreton Bay.
'Like the Egyptians and ancient Hebrews
we were oppressed under Logan's yoke,
Till a native black lying there in ambush
did give our tyrant his mortal stroke.
My fellow prisoners, be exhilarated
that all such monsters such a death may find!
And when from bondage we are liberated
our former sufferings shall fade from mind.'
FIRE AND ICE
Fire and Ice
by ROBERT FROST
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
BETWEEN GOING AND COMING
Between Going and Coming
by OCTAVIO PAZ
Between going and staying
the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.
All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.
Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.
Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.
The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.
I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.
The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.
SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE 43: HOW DO I LOVE THEE? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS
Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways
by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
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