Henry Kendall

(18 April 1839 – 1 August 1882 / Ulladulla, New South Wales)

Henry Kendall Poems

1. Wollongong 4/7/2010
2. William Bede Dalley 4/7/2010
3. When Underneath The Brown Dead Grass 4/7/2010
4. Watching 4/7/2010
5. Wamberal 4/7/2010
6. Waiting And Wishing 4/7/2010
7. Urara 4/7/2010
8. Under The Figtree 4/7/2010
9. Ulmarra 4/7/2010
10. To The Spirit Of Music 4/7/2010
11. To My Brother, Basil E. Kendall 4/7/2010
12. To Miss Annie Hopkins 4/7/2010
13. To Henry Halloran 4/7/2010
14. To Damascus 4/7/2010
15. To A Mountain 1/4/2003
16. To - - 4/7/2010
17. The Wild Kangaroo 4/7/2010
18. The Waterfall 4/7/2010
19. The Warrigal 4/7/2010
20. The Wail In The Native Oak 4/7/2010
21. The Voyage Of Telegonus 4/7/2010
22. The Voice In The Wild Oak 4/7/2010
23. The Sydney International Exhibition 4/7/2010
24. The Song Of Ninian Melville 4/7/2010
25. The Song Of Arda: (From “annatanam”.) 4/7/2010
26. The River And The Hill 1/1/2004
27. The Rain Comes Sobbing To The Door 4/7/2010
28. The Opossum-Hunters 4/7/2010
29. The Old Year 4/7/2010
30. The Muse Of Australia 1/1/2004
31. The Merchant Ship 4/7/2010
32. The Melbourne International Exhibition 4/7/2010
33. The Maid Of Gerringong 4/7/2010
34. The Late W. V. Wild, Esq. 4/7/2010
35. The Last Of His Tribe 1/1/2004
36. The Ivy On The Wall 4/7/2010
37. The Hut By The Black Swamp 4/7/2010
38. The Helmsman 4/7/2010
39. The Glen Of Arrawatta 4/7/2010
40. The Girl I Left Behind Me 4/7/2010
Best Poem of Henry Kendall

The Last Of His Tribe

He crouches, and buries his face on his knees,
And hides in the dark of his hair;
For he cannot look up to the storm-smitten trees,
Or think of the loneliness there -
Of the loss and the loneliness there.

The wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass,
And turn to their coverts for fear;
But he sits in the ashes and lets them pass
Where the boomerangs sleep with the spear -
With the nullah, the sling and the spear.

Uloola, behold him! The thunder that breaks
On the tops of the rocks with the rain,
And the wind which drives up with the...

Read the full of The Last Of His Tribe


Take this rose, and very gently place it on the tender, deep
Mosses where our little darling, Araluen, lies asleep.
Put the blossom close to baby -- kneel with me, my love, and pray;
We must leave the bird we've buried -- say good-bye to her to-day;
In the shadow of our trouble we must go to other lands,
And the flowers we have fostered will be left to other hands.
Other eyes will watch them growing -- other feet will softly tread
Where two hearts are nearly breaking, where so many

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