I.-
Peter Michaelov

It was Peter the Barbarian put an apron in his bag
And rolled up the honoured bundle that Australians call a swag;
And he tramped from Darkest Russia, that it might be dark no more,
Dreaming of a port, and shipping, as no monarch dreamed before.
Of a home, and education, and of children staunch and true,
Like my father in the fifties-and his name was Peter, too.
(He could build a ship-or fiddle, out of wood, or bark, or hide-.
Sail one round the world and play the other one at eventide.)

Russia-s Peter (not my father) went to Holland in disguise,
Where he laboured as a shipwright underneath those gloomy skies;
Later on he went to England (which the Kaiser now-condemns)
Where he studied as a ship-smith by old Deptford on the Thames-
And no doubt he knew the rope-walk-(and the rope-s end too, he knew)-
Learned to build a ship and sail it-learned the business through and through.
And I-d like to say my father mastered navigation too.
(He was born across in Norway, educated fairly well,
And he grafted in a ship-yard by the Port of Arundel.)

-Peter Michaelov� (not Larsen) his work was by no means done;
For he learned to make a ploughshare, and he learned to make a gun.
Russian soldiers must have clothing, so he laboured at the looms,
And he studied, after hours, building forts and building booms.
He would talk with all and sundry, merchants and adventurers-
Whaling men from Nova Scotia, and with ancient mariners.
Studied military systems (of which Austria-s was the best).
Hospitals and even bedlams-class distinctions and the rest.

There was nothing he neglected that was useful to be known-
And he even studied Wowsers, who had no creed of his own.
And, lest all that he accomplished should as miracles appear,
It must always be remembered he-d a secret Fund for Beer.
When he tramped to toil and exile he was only twenty-five,
With a greater, grander object than had any man alive.
And perhaps the lad was bullied, and was sad for all we know-
Though it isn-t very likely that he-d take a second blow.
He had brains amongst the brainless, and, what that thing means I knew,
For before I found my kingdom, I had slaved in workshops too.

But they never dreamed, the brainless, boors that used to sneer and scoff,
That the dreamy lad beside them-known as -Dutchy Mickyloff�-
Was a genius and a poet, and a Man-no matter which-
Was the Czar of all the Russias!-Peter Michaelovich.

Sweden struck ere he was ready-filled the land with blood and tears-
But he broke the power of Sweden though it took him nine long years.
For he had to train his army-He was great in training men-
And no foreign foe in Russia have had easy times since then.

Then the Port, as we must have one-His a work of mighty drains-
(Ours of irrigation channels-or it should be, on the plains).
So he brought from many countries strong adventures with brains.
It was marshes to horizons, it was pestilential bogs;
It was stoneless, it was treeless, so he brought Norwegian logs.
-Twas a land without a people, -twas a land without a law;
But the lonely Gulf of Finland heard the axe and heard the saw;
He compelled the population to that desert land and lone-
Shifted them by tens of thousands as we-ll have to shift our own.
He imported stone and mortar (he supplied the labouring gang),
Brought his masons from all Russia-let the other towns go hang;
Brought his carpenters from Venice-they knew how to make a port!
Till he heard the church bells ringing in the town of Petersfort!
Brought his shipbuilders from Holland, built his navy feverishly-
Till the Swedish fleet was shattered and the Baltic routes were free,
And his Port was on the Neva and his Ships were on the sea!

Petrograd upon the Neva! and the Man who saw it through!-
Stately Canberra on the Cotter!-and the men who build it too!

Russian Peter was -inhuman,� so the wise historians say-
What-s the use of being human in a land like ours to-day,
Till a race of stronger people wipe the Sickly Whites away?
Let them have it, who will have it-those who do not understand-
-Peter lived and died a savage�-but he civilized the land.
And, as it is at present, so -twas always in the past-
-Twas his nearest and his dearest that broke Peter-s heart at last.

He was more than half a heathen, if historians are true;
But he used to whack his missus as a Christian ought to do-
And he should have done it sooner-but that trouble isn-t new.
We-d have saved a lot of bother had we whacked our women, too.
Peter more than whacked his subjects, ere the change was brought about.
And, in some form or another, we shall have to use the knout,
If we wish to build a nation-else we-ll have to do without.
And be wretched slaves and exiles, homeless in the Southern Sea,
When an Asiatic Nation hath -rough hewn� our destiny.

II.-
The Brandenburgers

Things have been mixed up in Europe till there-s nothing in a name,
So it doesn-t really matter whence the Brandenburgers came;
But they did no pioneering as our fathers did of old-
Only bullied, robbed and murdered till they bought the land with gold.
And they settled down in Prussia to the bane of Germany,
With a spike upon the helmet where three brazen balls should be.
And they swaggered, swigged and swindled, and by bullying held sway,
And they blindly inter-married till they-re madmen to this day.
And the lovely nights in Munich are as memories of the dead;
Night is filled with nameless terrors, day is filled with constant dread.
But Bavaria the peaceful, ere the lurid star is set,
She shall lead her neighbours on to pluck the Prussian Eagles yet.

We-ll pass over little Denmark, as the brave historians can,
Austria suffered at Sadowa, France was sorry at Sedan.
And for England-s acquiescence in the crime she suffers too.
Meanwhile Denmark drained her marshes, planted grain and battled through.
(We, who never knew what war is-who had gold without the pain-
Never locked a western river that might save a western plain.)
You may say the Danes were pirates, and so leave them on the shelf?
Given youth and men and money, I would pirate some myself!
Why should I be so excited for another nation-s pains?
I am prejudiced and angry, for my forefathers were Danes.
What have I to do with nations? Or the battle-s lurid stars?-
I am Henry, son of Peter, who was Peter, son of Lars;
Lars the son of Nils-But never mind from whence our lineage springs-
Yes, my forefathers wore helmets, but their helmets wore the wings-
(There-s a feather for your bonnet, there is unction for your souls!)
And the wings bore us to England, and Australia and the Poles.
What did we for little Denmark? Well, we sent our thousands through;
But, without the guns or money, what could Scandinavia do?
(It is true of some Australians, by the sea or sandwaste lone,
That they hold their father-s country rather dearer than their own.
But the track is plain before them, and they know who blazed the track,
To the work our Foreign Fathers did in Early Days, Out Back.
As a mate can do no mean thing in the bushman-s creed and song,
So a fellow-s father-s country [seems to me] can do no wrong.)

Where was I? The Wrong of Denmark-or the chastening of her soul?
And perhaps her rulers -got it� where -twas needed, on the whole.
-Twas the gentlemen of Poland crushed the spirit of the Pole,
Till he didn-t care which nation he was knouted by, and served;
So the gentlemen of Poland got wiped out, as they deserved.
Freedom shrieked (where was no freedom), and perhaps she shrieked for shame.
But let Kosciusko slumber-we-ve immortalised his name.
By the poets and the tenors have our tender souls been wrenched;
And, on many a suffering Christian, Polish Jews have been avenged.



III.-
The Blue Danube

Where the skies are blue in winter by the Adriatic Sea,
And the summer skies a