THE THREE-MILE SCRUB

 

I know a dell, where weeds grow rank

Along a streamlet's shaded bank,-

A lonely, wild, sequestered glen,

Far from the dinning noise of men.

 

The trees above their branches twine,

And tendrils of uncultured vine

Clasp the rough bark, in that rude spot,

With grace which art surpasseth not,

 

In close companionship are seen

The varied shades of nature's green,

And dwarfish shrubs and giant trees

Together woo the fresh'ning breeze.

 

So dense their foliage, scarce a ray

Of summer's sun can downward stray;

And, while the other world is bright,

Here dwells the sombre shade of night.

 

The noisy strife of babbling men

Breaks not the quiet of this glen;

Here-far from man's discordant prate-,

The wild dove cooeys to his mate.

 

To this lone spot I oft repair,

When torn with town's distracting care,

And in its solitude profound,

I tread at once on holy ground.

 

And dearer far that spot to me

Than crowd or gay festivity;-

With nature holding converse sweet,

I love this shady, calm retreat.

 

Oh ! long to me this love be given,

Communion high with nature's heaven !

Love of the solemn, calm, and free,

Soft notes of spirit melody !

 

Frederick, Brisbane, Feb. 18,1851.

                                 Moreton Bay Courier, 22 February 1851, p4

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