Did you ever walk down by the wide reedy river
That wanders away round the foot of the hill?
Where is an old house that will stand there for ever,
The shell lime shows out over lintel and sill.

'Twas built in the fifties for old sargeant [Walker,]
Who came in the First Fleet and settled down here,
Then sent for his wife and their one little daughter,
Who lived after them for many a year.

Go down there some time when the soft summer twilight
Has mellowed the glow of an ideal day,
Lo! where the wide road, lava-coloured, winds at
The entrance gate of an old carriage way.

A high wall of stone keeps the [bypassers] from it,
A strong iron gate holds the entrance still,
From [cyclists and tourists] whose eyes fall upon it,
In idle days touring round [Wandera Hill].

Stand there for a moment with careless hand resting
Upon the top bar of the old iron gate,
[In] front of the porch where the swallows are nesting,
There pause for a moment and patiently wait.

Then let your quick eyes that were seeming [unseeing,]
With quick concentration then suddenly rise,
[To] where a soft must in the form of a being
[Is] steadily watching with baby blue eyes.

But not for a crown may your soulful oblations
[R]est on those two discs of soft opaline blue,
[F]or love unrequited with endless vastations
[W]ill follow you ever if only you do.

The legend runs thus: That a lover went over
The river the day that he wedded his bride,
[T]o take back the priest, but alas never lover
Came back to her arms from the river's cold tide.

And through the cold length of her fathomless sorrow
She watched for his enemy and prayed for the day,
But hopes [consummation] ne'er gladdened the morrow,
Till died she heart broken when faded and grey.

'Tis said that a rival, the heir of the mansion,
With brutal attack bore her lover away,
And chained him half dead to a strong iron stanchion,
Whence saw he not ever the fair light of day.

A way subterranean from under the mansion
Leads down to the boat house, and traditions say,
A [rock] in the dungeon once carried the stanchion,
Where helpless offenders were once put away.

The Hall has been sold and the secret way broken,
To make for the drayman a level cart way,
And down in the basement was found the gold token
And picture he wore on his sad wedding day.

The Astral spirit is seeking its lover,
Who now has passed into a still higher plane,
But when to his level her spirit goes over,
The sweet twilight lady will come not again.