This 1908 poem extract from William Blocksidge captures the mood.

“And, interspersed among the spangled sheen,
Looks out in differing shades the darkened green—
A background whereupon, in outline bold,
Stands the rich mintage, silver mixed with gold.”

I have quoted a small part of a poem from ‘Songs of the South’ 1908 titled ‘Brisbane’ by William Blocksidge (aka William Baylebridge) courtesy of The Institute of Australian Culture. 

For all its floridness, this poem is quite cutting and the topics are quite revealing. Our modern sensibilities tend to forget the trials and trauma of establishing a town in a new land. Not to mention the brutality towards convict labour and the rightful Indigenous population. Interestingly this is the year the Victorian Government passed the Adult Suffrage Bill 1908 granting female suffrage for the first time. Women’s suffrage is the right of women to vote in elections. Australia was the first nation in the world to grant women these dual rights.

For those keenly interested in the entire version of this past century’s rather long yet insightful poem from a man whose real estate family is well-known in Brisbane, Queensland, below is a copy from AIC for your reading pleasure. Strong billy tea is recommended with damper and golden syrup if you have it handy.

‘Brisbane’ poem by William Blocksidge also known as William Baylebridge, was published in Songs o’ the South (1908)

Brisbane

Brisbane, thou art a city of the sun,
A forest queen, a sea-nymph, joined in one!
Here Summer loves to spin her lengthened rule,
While Winter’s care is but the earth to cool;
Here golden wealth, from many a distant plain,
Is piled in ships, to swim the billowy main —
Here Commerce floods the tides, and minions toil
To prove the measure of her mounting spoil!

How often, perched above the hilly bounds
That wrap thee as a nest its brood surrounds,
Wooing the wind that bears the ocean’s breath,
And many a tale to such as listeneth —
How often have I lovingly surveyed
The scene before my wondering gaze displayed —
The lengthening spires, that point the lofty way
While yet the soul is idling in its clay;
The spacious pile that lifts its stately head;
The winding river, to its lover wed;
The hills that rise above to kiss the sky;
The valleys that within their shadows lie;
The shipping crowding on the silver stream;
The living threads that through the mazes teem!

And when soft Night, in sable vestment gown’d,
Has wrapped her stole thy tranquil form around,
’Tis then, in panoramic splendour viewed,
Thou’d be by fond Imagination wooed;
For then, fair Brisbane, when thy fading bowers,
Tipped with their beacons, turn to fairy towers,
Thy beauty scorns the bounds of words, for dumb
Are these, and ’neath the burden soon succumb!
Now myriad lamps, upon its margin’s crest,
With gleaming pennons light the river’s breast;
And where the city’s constellation lies
The glimmering haze ascends to gild the skies.
The villas blazing on the craggy hills
Augment the golden flood the night that fills;
The bridge displays, above the Garden Bend,
Its fiery lines, that in the cluster blend.

And, interspersed among the spangled sheen,
Looks out in differing shades the darkened green —
A background whereupon, in outline bold,
Stands the rich mintage, silver mixed with gold.
Now sound (for Night has giv’n the magic key)
The pregnant chords of heavenly harmony;
And softly floats across, in mingling rhyme,
The mellowing cadence of the pealing chime —
Such tones as wake the soul’s celestial lyre
When pensive memories the theme inspire;
And, each with each in concord blending true,
With holy rapture flood the heart anew.

Ah, was it but a century ago
When thou did’st in the womb of earth lie low,
And yet unborn to bear the shame of men,
And, rising, throw the burden off again? —
When down the hollow gale, that trembling fled,
At dusk and dawn, the wailing for the dead
In eerie numbers woke the echoes weird,
Till, floating down the vale, it disappeared?
And was it where those stately buildings stand,
Where lofty Art displays her lavish hand,
That plenteous game before the huntsmen sped?
Or down the maze the dusky dancer led?
That round the turrwan, with his magic stone,
The sick revived by simple faith alone;
Or, failing this, full-toothsome morsels made
To tempt their brothers to the festal shade?

Ah, yes, those primal scenes, with plenty crown’d,
Made all the wooded valley hallowed ground,
Till came the time — ill-omened, true, for them —
When, first by truce and then by stratagem,
The settlement unfolded in the vale,
’Neath Logan’s iron rule to fret and quail!

What curses now the trembling wretches spend
As ’neath the blows their bleeding bodies bend —
As, shackled to the rude triangle’s lines,
The gory flood th’ adjoining ground defines!
I seem to hear again the clanking chain,
The creaking treadmill grinding small the grain;
And see the convict turn the stubborn clod,
Or, ’neath the pine, the sluggard bear the rod.

But why dilate? Those cruel days are done:
Time’s ceaseless round has blotted every one:
A fairer scene now meets the favoured eye —
Thou, smiling city, ’neath my gaze dost lie.
What though land-hungry Gipps thought passing fit
To cripple where he lacked improving wit!
Among the first of Austral fair will stand
The one disfigured by his vandal hand!

And while the ages roll their waning round,
Till earth’s but mortal mould the shades confound,
May Plenty’s best thine every call attend,
And smiling Peace her priceless treasure lend!
May noble sons thy benison e’er bless,
And daughters fair thy tender claims confess;
And thus may every tongue conspire to name
Thee and thine offspring heirs to Honour’s fame!

By William Blocksidge (1887-1942)

Further reading: Selected poems, by William Blocksidge (Baylebridge, William) 1887-1942, Songs o’ the South, London: Watts, 1908 pp.60-62.
Also https://www.britannica.com/topic/Songs-o-the-South
Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Baylebridge

Hope you made it this far.
William touched on a nerve, quite the fascinating poet.
❤ Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2024