And the cool, clear streams, are everywhere ;
And the tree tops sigh, when the breezes blew,
Steady and constant with a fragrant air. It is the land of, Alone, where old Mingin sleeps,
For never a comrade, or tribesman, dwells near ;
They are exiled away, where they fret and they weep,
For their wild native, home, they all loved so dear. And the wild birds carols are still as of yore,
From the first streak of day, to the darkness of night;
When the fireflies illuminate nature's earth floor,
With a glory of brilliance, by their primitive light. And he cuckcoo's deep call, and wild, dismal cry,
Is constant and clear, while searching for prey;
For they are the vultures, who are cowardly and shy
When the Billboran heralds the dawning of day. And the old sounds are there, in that land of Alone.
But footsteps are scarce, in that empty lone land;
For the tribesmen are exiled, to parts they disown,
Where the waves, of the ocean play on the sea sand. Poor children of nature, for fate has denied
The rights of your laws, or the freedom to roam,
Along the stream banks or round the mount's side,
And the well-sheltered glens, that you once prized as home; COYYAN. Notes From the Queensland Newspaper The Cairns Post 9 Jul 1919 p. 8.