The Armada

Eleven vessels are listed as having loaded, or are due to load, cargo in Hamburg for Australia up to September 2.

Eleven ships upon the wavy deep,
Eleven loads of very, very cheap,
And probably extremely many things—
In this peace-time to Australia
bring.
The pump, the pram, the sugar-
coated pill—
And will Australia buy them? Yes,
she will.
Maybe she will!

Eleven cargoes—rags and rings and
rails,
Eleven ships to show Protection fails,
And probably before the year is over
There’ll be eleven more, and then some more
Machinery for farm and mine and
mill.
And will Australia take them? Ah,
she will!
I fear she will!

Eleven years ago—or was it more?
Eleven men or, maybe, some odd
score
Vowed that we’d surely have Protec-
tion here—
A real Protection—and within a year,
Eleven thousand factories would rise
And drive prosperity beneath our
skies.
But was it lies?

Eleven tears we drop for futile
schemes.
Eleven sighs we sigh for fond, vain
dreams.
I don’t know why it should be just
eleven;
But ’twill suffice; for, lo, beneath
high heaven
I do not care if it be only six—
Darn politics!

Eleven curses I should like to curse—
Eleven damns—and then say some-
thing worse.
Because, in spite of strain and stress
and war,
The whole thing leaves us where we
were before—
Bartering nationhood for something
cheap.
It makes me weep.

Eleven ships will soon be on the sea
With scissors, nails and knives for
you and me;
And we, my friends, will buy them
just because
Australia remains right where she
was.
I’d like to hear you say perhaps we
won’t;
I hope we don’t.

Eleven times eleven years may pass—
And shall we still just act the silly
ass?
Or shall we, for the pride of nation-
hood,
Take up some finer task than chop-
ping wood?
And show the whole world that Aus-
tralia can
Yet be a man?

Eleven reasons I could give you
plain.
Eleven arguments; but I refrain.
For, lo, eleven ships upon the sea
Are sailing out to be confounding me
And with the pump, the pram, the
patent pill.
They surely will.