THE ORIGIN OF
'LIFE IS MOSTLY FROTH AND BUBBLE'

Adam Lindsay Gordon, 1833 to 1870 was Australia's first poet of note.
Gordon laid the foundations for Henry Lawson and Banjo Paterson to follow.
He was a police mounted trooper, horsebreaker, stockman, parliamentarian, steeplechase jockey and above all, a poet.
He was the first poet to bring the Australian bush to the Australian public in words that they could understand.
Using his poems, the Australian Literature Society was formed and painters McCubbin, Streeton and Condor met
to discuss using the open air elements of Gordon's poems for their bush paintings.
They went on to form the Australian Impressionist Painters and the Heidelberg School.
Gordon was the champion steeplechase rider of his time culminating in winning
three steeplechase races in one day at Flemington Racecourse where a plaque in the members stand
commemorates that event.
His published books are: The Feud. Ashtaroth, Sea Spray and Smoke Drift. Bush Ballads and Galloping Rhymes
Gordon was elevated to the status of a hero after his untimely death and is the only Australian to have his
Bust in The Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey where he, of late, could be seen looking out on the
televised Royal Wedding of Catherine Middleton to Prince William.
He is buried in the Brighton General Cemetery and his grave is maintained by The Adam Lindsay Gordon Commemorative
Committee Inc. Three members being also on the committee of The Torquay Froth and Bubble Literary Festival Inc.

The words 'Froth and bubble' are taken from his long poem in eight parts called 'Ye Wearie Wayfarer'
published in Bell's Life, a sporting magazine, from October 1865 through to November 1866

PART EIGHT
Hark! the bells on distant cattle
Waft across the range,
Through the golden-tufted wattle,
Music low and strange;
Like the marriage peal of fairies
Comes the tinkling sound,
Or like chimes of sweet St. Mary's
On far English ground.

How my courser champs the snaffle,
And with nostril spread,
Snorts and scarcely seems to ruffle
Fern leaves with his tread;
Cool and pleasant on his haunches
Blows the evening breeze,
Through the overhanging branches
Of the wattle trees:

Onward! to the Southern Ocean,
Glides the breath of Spring,
Onward, with a dreamy motion,
I, too, glide and sing--
Forward! forward! still we wander--
Tinted hills that lie
In the red horizon yonder--
Is the goal so nigh?

Whisper, spring-wind, softly singing,
Whisper in my ear;
Respite and nepenthe bringing,
Can the goal be near?
Laden with the dew of vespers,
From the fragrant sky,
In my ear the wind that whispers
Seems to make reply--

'Question not, but live and labour
Till yon goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
Seeking help from none;
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
KINDNESS in another's trouble,
COURAGE in your own.'