我从乡下回来了——很抱歉我去了——寻找南方诗人的土地，在那里搭帐篷;我失去了很多偶像，他们在赛道上被打破了，烧掉了很多华丽的诗句，我很高兴我回来了。更远的地方也许是我们的诗人所夸耀的美景，但我认为沿海一带的乡村更吸引人。不管怎样，我现在要住在城里的一个寄宿公寓里，喝啤酒，吃柠檬瓜，洗个澡，凉快凉快。“阳光明媚的平原”!伟大的斯科特!——那些燃烧着的贫瘠的土地和沙子，它们永远的栅栏延伸在土地上!乌鸦在荒凉的地方!沙漠里有老鹰飞翔的地方，围场里有呆滞的公牛惊跳着红眼睛凝视的地方;在那里，被尘雾笼罩的地方，被烤得焦头烂脑的赶牛人慢慢地从晒干了的牧羊人身边走过。 Stunted peak of granite gleaming, glaring like a molten mass Turned from some infernal furnace on a plain devoid of grass. Miles and miles of thirsty gutters -- strings of muddy water-holes In the place of `shining rivers' -- `walled by cliffs and forest boles.' Barren ridges, gullies, ridges! where the ever-madd'ning flies -- Fiercer than the plagues of Egypt -- swarm about your blighted eyes! Bush! where there is no horizon! where the buried bushman sees Nothing -- Nothing! but the sameness of the ragged, stunted trees! Lonely hut where drought's eternal, suffocating atmosphere Where the God-forgotten hatter dreams of city life and beer. Treacherous tracks that trap the stranger, endless roads that gleam and glare, Dark and evil-looking gullies, hiding secrets here and there! Dull dumb flats and stony rises, where the toiling bullocks bake, And the sinister `gohanna', and the lizard, and the snake. Land of day and night -- no morning freshness, and no afternoon, When the great white sun in rising bringeth summer heat in June. Dismal country for the exile, when the shades begin to fall From the sad heart-breaking sunset, to the new-chum worst of all. Dreary land in rainy weather, with the endless clouds that drift O'er the bushman like a blanket that the Lord will never lift -- Dismal land when it is raining -- growl of floods, and, oh! the woosh Of the rain and wind together on the dark bed of the bush -- Ghastly fires in lonely humpies where the granite rocks are piled In the rain-swept wildernesses that are wildest of the wild. Land where gaunt and haggard women live alone and work like men, Till their husbands, gone a-droving, will return to them again: Homes of men! if home had ever such a God-forgotten place, Where the wild selector's children fly before a stranger's face. Home of tragedy applauded by the dingoes' dismal yell, Heaven of the shanty-keeper -- fitting fiend for such a hell -- And the wallaroos and wombats, and, of course, the curlew's call -- And the lone sundowner tramping ever onward through it all! I am back from up the country, up the country where I went Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent; I have shattered many idols out along the dusty track, Burnt a lot of fancy verses -- and I'm glad that I am back. I believe the Southern poets' dream will not be realised Till the plains are irrigated and the land is humanised. I intend to stay at present, as I said before, in town Drinking beer and lemon-squashes, taking baths and cooling down.