Wangaratta

[At the meeting of the waters]
   Where the dark tree shadows play
Wangaratta's sons and daughters
   Dream the drowsy hours away;
Placid see the season's greeting --
   Winter storm and summer sun
Wed, to flow henceforth as one.
   Where two northbound rivers meeting,

Long since prone to sudden dangers
   When, to dim her dawning pride,
Morgan and his wild bushrangers
   Thronged her pleasant countryside,
Now in her quiet graveyard resting
   Lies old shame and that rash lad,
Where a mate, on tin attesting,
   Pleads that "he was not all bad."

Crime and she are almost strangers
   Now, since those ill doers died.
Bishops reign where once bushrangers
   Slew her peace and shamed her pride.
And content within her waxes
   In this pious atmosphere
Where naught now save threat-worn taxes
   Wakens echoes of past fear.

At the meeting of the waters
   Where tree shadows shift and sway,
Nothing lingers here that slaughters
   Her bucolic calm away.
Done at last with Youth's adventure --
   Quiet lady slow to move,
And wealthier grown she lives down censure
   As she drifts in one straight groove.