same opinion. If one can be
selected--one up to the standard of the 'Cornhill Magazine', insert it,
and you will be helping me practically. I do not hint of pecuniary
remuneration however, for your recognition would be sufficient reward.

Let me say a few words about myself: I was born in this colony;
and am now in the nineteenth year of my age. My education has been
neglected--hence you will very likely find that some of these effusions are
immature. At present the most of my time is occupied at an attorney's
office, but I do not earn enough there to cover expenses; considering
that I have to support my mother and three sisters. I want to rise, and
if my poems are anywhere near the mark you can assist me by noticing
them.

They recognise me in this country as the "first Australian poet". If the
men who load me with their fulsome, foolish praises, really believed
{that I have talent (crossed out)} in my talents, and cared a whit about
fostering a native literature, they would give me a good situation; and
I should not have to appeal to you.

If one of the poems is found to be good enough, and you publish it,
someone here will _then_ surely do the rest. On the other hand if
nothing can be gleaned from them, let the effusions and their author be
forgotten. Hoping that you will not forget to read the verses, I remain

Yours, Respectfully,

H. Kendall.

POEMS AND SONGS

The Muse of Australia

Where the pines with the eagles are nestled in rifts,
And the torrent leaps down to the surges,
I have followed her, clambering over the clifts,
By the chasms and moon-haunted verges.
I know she is fair as the angels are fair,
For have I not caught a faint glimpse of her there;
A glimpse of her face and her glittering hair,
And a hand with the Harp of Australia?

I never can reach you, to hear the sweet voice
So full with the music of fountains!
Oh! when will you meet with that soul of your choice,
Who will lead you down here from the mountains?
A lyre-bird lit on a shimmering space;
It dazzled mine eyes and I turned from the place,
And wept in the dark for a glorious face,
And a hand with the Harp of Australia!

Mountains

Rifted mountains, clad with forests, girded round by gleaming pines,
Where the morning, like an angel, robed in golden splendour shines;
Shimmering mountains, throwing downward on the slopes a maz