One hundred years ago this week, uniformed young men were parading through Sydney's streets, soon to go to the war. Patriotic versemonger John Sandes in the Daily Telegraph wondered what Captain Cook's statue in Hyde Park, looking on, was making of it all. The war is far, far away, the poem begins, and yet here is Australasia's British blood stirred by "the music of the drums".
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Here and now the war drums rattle/In the sun bright city street .../Glint of steel and sheen of banner,/Thus the ranks go gaily by./But within the gardens spacious,/Not a stone's throw from the crowd,/One who fronts the landscape gracious/Listens to the war drums loud./Beats the eager drummer harder,/And, methinks, the bronze can hear./In those eyes a flash of ardour!/On that cheek a noble tear!/Dauntless Captain, did'st thou ever/With thy sailor eyes of gray/Searching out from thy Endeavour/That sequestered, flower-starred bay,/Dream that some day those who love thee/Here would stake their all of worth,/For the flag that waved above thee/And the land that gave thee birth?/And the dauntless Captain listens;/Ah, if only he could speak ... /But the faith that does not falter/Still may hear his whisper low/"Son, this new land doth not alter/ Britain's breed of long ago."
