As I lay sleeping
on Bakery Hill
I heard her calling:
The leaves were still.
Her words were warm doals
In my dreams and me:
"I am Australia,
come set me free."
Black night and the redcoats
slunk in retreat,
for the fires of the diggers
bloomed at her feet.
On the naked hilltops,
in her warm red soil,
our freedom blossoms
for our fruitful toil.
We are standing night-watch
for the peace we won;
no dollar war-cloud
will blind our sun.
The boots of the jailers
tramp the hills in vain,
for the stars of Eureka
now burn again.
