The Melbourne International Exhibition

II

Dressed is the beautiful city--the spires of it
 Burn in the firmament stately and still;
Forest has vanished--the wood and the lyres of it,
 Lutes of the sea-wind and harps of the hill.
This is the region, and here is the bay by it,
 Collins, the deathless, beheld in a dream:
Flinders and Fawkner, our forefathers grey, by it
 Paused in the hush of a season supreme.
Here, on the waters of majesty near to us,
 Lingered the leaders by towers of flame:
Elders who turn from the lordly old year to us
  Crowned with the lights of ineffable fame.

[Extract]