On The Harshness Of Nature

In this poem, Paterson paints a brooding portrait of the formidable yet alluring Australian wilderness. Through vivid description and reflective musings, he explores the complex relationship between humanity and nature.

Paterson establishes an aura of mystery and danger in the “great grey chaos” of the isolated northern plains. Nature wears a “sphinx-like visage” that defies human understanding. The land is personified as an aloof, ancient force both alluring and threatening to intrepid “rovers.”

Death and impermanence haunt the landscape, with “many nameless graves” marking Nature’s harsh toll. Paterson acknowledges her ruthless side through this “dole of death,” even as the land hypnotically draws people to it.

He emphasizes humanity’s insignificance next to the timelessness of “the stream that will run forever.” Against this backdrop, worldly concerns fade away for those lured into the wilderness.

Yet for all its severity, Paterson also recognizes the strange beauty of the land, evident in the lark’s sweet songs of praise. The poem’s close suggests he yearns to return to the mystery and solace of the grey Gulf country.

With vivid imagery and thoughtful philosophical reflections, Paterson pays tribute to the awe-inspiring Australian wilderness, deadly yet liberating for those bold enough to lose themselves in it.

By the Grey Gulf-Water

Far to the Northward there lies a land,
A wonderful land that the winds blow over,
And none may fathom or understand
The charm it holds for the restless rover;
A great grey chaos—a land half made,
Where endless space is and no life stirreth;
There the soul of a man will recoil afraid
From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth.
But old Dame Nature, though scornful, craves
Her dole of death and her share of slaughter;
Many indeed are the nameless graves
Where her victims sleep by the Grey Gulf-water.

Slowly and slowly those grey streams glide,
Drifting along with a languid motion,
Lapping the reed-beds on either side,
Wending their way to the North Ocean.
Grey are the plains where the emus pass
Silent and slow, with their staid demeanour;
Over the dead men’s graves the grass
Maybe is waving a trifle greener.
Down in the world where men toil and spin
Dame Nature smiles as man’s hand has taught her;
Only the dead men her smiles can win
In the great lone land by the Grey Gulf-water.

For the strength of man is an insect’s strength
In the face of that mighty plain and river,
And the life of a man is a moment’s length
To the life of the stream that will run for ever.
And so it cometh that they take no part
In small world worries; each hardy rover
Rides abroad and is light of heart,
With the plains around and the blue sky over.
And up in the heavens the brown lark sings
The songs that the strange wild land has taught her;
Full of thanksgiving her sweet song rings—
And I wish I were back by the Grey Gulf-water.