NOTICE: This message is intended for the addressee named and may contain confidential or privileged information. If you are not the intended recipient, please notify the sender and delete the message. Views expressed in this message are those of the individual sender, and are not necessarily the views of the NSW Department of Mineral Resources. Hello all, I recently sent along the words of Charles Thomson Jnr's poem "Fair Castlereagh". Two people have since emailed me commenting on what a lovely poem it is, and one person was actually so wrapt in it that he said he was setting off to the library to try and find Thomson whole book of verse (He said he'd never known about Thomson before but thought he was a very interesting poet). Charles Thomson Jnr is taken to have been one of Fulton's brightest students at the classics-teaching Castlereagh Academy on the hill (presumably very close to the Anglican or general cemetery although not a trace of it remains today I think). One person has detailed to me why C Thomson Jnr was not "Australia's first native born published poet" but probably the second and that the first one was born on Norfolk Island, if we are to consider that as part of Australia. Mmmm, thanks for that information. Here is another poem below, written about a place that must be in England one presumes, which is at least a little like the "Fair Castlereagh" one (although my favorite poem remains as "Fair Castlereagh"). Kind Regards, John Byrnes ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ LINDEN LEA by William Barnes (1801-1886) 'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaded, By the woak tree's mossy moot, The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded, Now do quiver under voot: An' birds do whissle auver head, An' water's bubblen in its bed, An' there vor me the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea. When leaves that leatley wer a-springen Now do feade 'ithin the copse, An' painted birds do hush their zingen Up upon the timber's tops: An' brown-leav'd fruit's a-turnen red, In cloudless zunsheen, auver head, Wi' fruit vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea. Let other vo'k meake money vaster In the air o'dark-room'd towns, I don't dread a peevish measter: Though noo man do heed my frowns. I be free to goo abrode Or teake agean my homeward road To where, vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea. (William Barnes wrote this quite obviously in his native Dorset dialect ....)