This section is from the book "Stories Of Old Sydney", by Charles H. Bertie.
When evening's hush comes on the land
And day's last legions flee, I fain would sit and see the hand
Smooth out the wrinkled sea.
And then I see the island lights Shoot out from night's black cave.
Like founts of fire, that fare to heights Of fury with each wave.
And there beyond the bridge are*ships ^
Asleep in even's breeze, Whose prows have kissed the white-green lips
Of many hungry seas.
And as I sat one summer's night.
And saw the beacon's gleam. There came to me a noble sight.
In substance of a dream ;
For when the span swung out from shore,
I heard a far-off song, And through the bridge with sail and oar
There came a stately throng.
And first, as 'twere that timid bird, The little "Dove" comes through, And steals away with her unheard,
Unknown, but honoured crew.
The next a Spanish galleon,
Which brought to birth our land, And on her poop, 'mid frowning gun,
Torres and Quiros stand.
George Street North, the Site of Robert Campbell's Gararden
And then came strange and wondrous barks,
With crews both rough and brave, The men on whom were heavy marks Of tempest, war and wave.
And last there came with song and cheer,
The ships I'd waited long, And from the decks there floated clear
An old, an English song.
'Twas there I saw our nation's pride,
The men who ne'er forsook The call that came to danger's side, Brave Dampier and Cook.
The visions fade -then comes a sound
From men and cities caught, For in the lands these men have found
A nation have we wrought.