SH SOLITUDES 
 
 OTHER VERSES 
 
 WILLIAM MAIN

 
 BUSH SOLITUDES 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM MAIN 
 
 GEORGE ROBERTSON & CO. 
 
 MKLI50UI5SE, SYDNEY, ADELAIDE, BRISBANE, AND LONDON 
 1896
 
 \iva\ft\ 
 
 Annex 
 
 ?R 
 
 TO 
 
 MARY HANNAY FOOTT, 
 QUEENSLAND. 
 
 W. M.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BUSH SOLITUDES ... ... ... ... 1 
 
 ONCE ox A TIME ... ... ... ... 5 
 
 A REVERIE ... ... ... ... ... 7 
 
 AUSTRALIAN' SONGS ... .. ... ... 10 
 
 THE BUSHMAN'S FRIEXD ... ... ... 13 
 
 A POET'S DILEMMA ... ... ... ... 15 
 
 A BUSH SELECTION ... ... ... ... 17 
 
 LOVE ... ... ... ... ... 24 
 
 BUSH LIFE ... ... ... ... ... 26 
 
 His FIRST NIGHT ... ... ... ... 28 
 
 LIFE ... ... ... ... ... 34 
 
 THE GOOD-AS-GOLD P.O. ... ... ... 36 
 
 DOROTHY ... ... ... ... ... 41 
 
 ELYSIUM ... ... ... ... ... 43 
 
 THE COOK'S MATE ... ... ... ... 46 
 
 IN MEMORIAM H.M.S. "VICTORIA" .. , 49
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PEACE AND GOODWILL ... ... ... 51 
 
 A PIG-TALE ... ... ... ... 53 
 
 JACKASSES ... ... ... ... ... 58 
 
 THE ALBATROSS ... ... ... ... 61 
 
 MY NEWEST WOMAN ... ... ... 63 
 
 SPRING ... ... ... ... ... 69 
 
 A BIT OF HUMAN NATURE ... ... ... 71 
 
 A NIGHT AT HAME ... ... ... ... 74 
 
 NEW AUSTRALIA ... ... ... ... 77 
 
 THE 25TH JANUARY AULD AYR ... ... 80 
 
 To AN OLD FRIEND ... ... ... ... 84 
 
 WINTER ... ... ... ... ... 86 
 
 THE EXILE .. . 88
 
 BUSH SOLITUDES. 
 
 I LOVE to wander in my idle hours 
 
 Along the paths that pierce the solitude 
 Of the vast bush, where giant timber towers 
 
 Toward the sky and Nature in the rude 
 Is all around. Scarcely a sound is heard 
 
 To tell of life, for when the sun mounts high 
 All Nature slumbers, and not e'en a bird 
 
 Will face the burning monarch of the sky 
 Until his slanting rays, shorn of their power, 
 
 Declare another day is well-nigh done. 
 Then from the shadow of some sheltering 
 bower 
 
 Wake choristers to cheer the sinking sun. 
 With notes, some harsh, some sweet, the 
 songsters come; 
 
 The parrots, screaming, dash across the blue,
 
 2 BUSH SOLITUDES. 
 
 The jackass laughs, high on a tall, gaunt gum, 
 And in the scrub is heard the cat-bird's 
 
 mew; 
 The stockwhip cracks around as if a rnob 
 
 Of travelling cattle trod their weary way 
 To distant market. Birds are there that rob 
 The sky of sunset hues, and e'en make gay 
 The ti-tree flats. Now, with departing day, 
 Bears and opossums wake, and dingoes 
 
 prowl 
 Around, or chase a luckless wallaby, 
 
 And make night hideous, answering howl 
 
 with howl. 
 'Twas day ; 'tis night ! The silvery moonlight 
 
 steals 
 
 Its way among the trees ; the falling dew 
 Kisses the gum leaves, and the dry grass feels 
 Its gracious touch ; and now the dreariest 
 
 view 
 Assumes a beauty. Here a little creek 
 
 Breaks o'er a rock, and in a silver shower 
 It disappears, its onward way to seek 
 
 Through a dense scrub, where soon the 
 magic power
 
 BUSH SOLITUDES. 3 
 
 Of the full moon reveals a beauteous scene, 
 Fit home for sprites, a marvellous fairy 
 
 den : 
 The huge vines clasp the trees, and stretch 
 
 between, 
 
 Like giant serpents in a ghostly glen ; 
 High over all, upright, the lordly palm 
 
 Raises his head to view the distant lands ; 
 The lowlier ferntree, graceful in the calm 
 
 Retreat below, each perfect frond expands ; 
 The drooping bird-nest circles round the 
 
 trees, 
 And, with the staghorn, decks them in 
 
 return 
 
 For home and safety ; and the gentle breeze 
 Brings life to all the palms and vines ; each 
 
 fern 
 
 Feels the soft breath, and bends in sympathy. 
 O'er all the scrub the glorious moonlight 
 
 spreads 
 Its glamour. Moist leaves glisten as they 
 
 sway, 
 
 And diamonds sparkle, caught on countless 
 threads
 
 4 BUSH SOLITUDES. 
 
 Woven by spiders. Friendly shadow hides 
 The shattered trunks and leaves of ages 
 
 dead. 
 
 Here all is silent save the creek that glides 
 With murmuring ripples from its fountain- 
 head. 
 
 The moonlight fades before approaching day ; 
 The birds again break forth in joyful song ; 
 The dingoes hasten to their lairs, away 
 
 Far from all beaten tracks, to sleep. Ere 
 
 long 
 
 The sun's first rays appear all cold and dim, 
 But gaining strength and splendour as the 
 
 mist 
 
 Of morning rises and each bending limb, 
 Each quivering leaf, showers brilliants. To 
 
 exist 
 Is joy while Nature chants her morning hymn.
 
 ONCE ON A TIME. 
 
 ONCE on a time how many a Christmas tale 
 Has thus been opened since the days of old ! 
 
 Once on a time each little face turns pale, 
 Or bright eyes sparkle as the story's told. 
 
 Once on a time, the fairies, lost by day, 
 
 In sylvan glades danced in the pale moon- 
 light; 
 Once on a time, some kindly little fay, 
 
 With magic wand, made wrong give place 
 to right. 
 
 Once on a time, the knights were always brave, 
 And fought for glances from fair maidens' 
 
 eyes;
 
 6 ONCE ON A TIME. 
 
 Once on a time, 'twas " Victory or the grave "- 
 The victor wins the maid, the vanquished 
 dies. 
 
 Once on a time, some grand, heroic deed 
 
 Was done by valiant men in Freedom's cause ; 
 
 Once on a time, some traitor, filled with greed, 
 Betrayed his trust, or broke most sacred 
 laws. 
 
 Once on a time that story most endeared 
 The Wise Men watched a bright new Star 
 
 arise ; 
 Once on a time, the angel host appeared, 
 
 And with a strange, sweet anthem woke the 
 skies. 
 
 Once on a time yes ! Christ the Lord was born, 
 To bear our sorrows, and to soothe our 
 
 pains ; 
 
 Once on a time, on that first Christmas morn, 
 He came to earth, who high in Heaven 
 
 reigns 
 
 Once on a time, wrought out redemption's plan, 
 Glory to God, Peace and Goodwill to man.
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 TICK, tick, tick, how loud you're sounding, 
 
 Good old watch, with measured beat ! 
 Long you've marked the fleeting seconds 
 
 Of Time's steady, sure retreat. 
 You have had your times of sickness, 
 
 When your wheels would not go round : 
 Not your fault ! my clumsy fingers 
 
 Had your mainspring overwound. 
 Yes ! with you the idle moments 
 
 Have been few and far between ; 
 How I wish that my own record, 
 
 When made up, would show as clean ! 
 You are old, but steady living 
 
 Brings with age its own reward,
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 Better far, old friend, if, like you, 
 
 I'd been always on my guard. 
 Watches seem a bit like horses : 
 
 Some for racing are inclined, 
 Others always, like slow coaches, 
 
 Falling more and more behind. 
 Outside some are eighteen-carat, 
 
 Stylish finish on the case ; 
 Good looks do not make a goer 
 
 Shining coat's no proof of pace. 
 You are just a common silver, 
 
 With a plain enamelled dial, 
 But for years you've proved a stayer, 
 
 Up to time on every trial. 
 Well I mind the day I bought you, 
 
 Cheap ! your fashion's out of date- 
 Just the day my old black Bessie 
 
 Won the Maincamp Maiden Plate. 
 That night wasn't there a shindy ! 
 
 Yes, I well remember now, 
 You did all you could to make me 
 
 Clear out long before the row. 
 Told me that my darling Bessie 
 
 Not the mare this time, the Miss
 
 A REVERIE. 9 
 
 Down beside the sleepy river 
 
 Waited for a parting kiss. 
 Confound you ! stop that ceaseless ticking, 
 
 Let those stale old tales alone ! 
 Making me quite sentimental 
 
 Over days that long are gone. 
 Time will see both you and me out, 
 
 Though he's passing fast away ; 
 Yours is not perpetual motion 
 
 Worn out you'll be, too, some day. 
 Tick, tick, tick come, take it easy ; 
 
 Stop your yarns, they'll surely keep. 
 Now my pipe is only ashes, 
 
 Better let a fellow sleep !
 
 10 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SONGS. 
 
 AUSTRALIA ! I often would sing in thy praise, 
 But few are our poets, unknown are their 
 
 lays. 
 The songs that we sing are the auld sangs sae 
 
 fine, 
 But why should we always sing sangs o' lang 
 
 syne? 
 
 When afloat on our rivers our voices we raise, 
 'Tis only to sing o' the Boon's banks and 
 
 braes ; 
 On our own winding Brisbane are scenes quite 
 
 as fair 
 As any Burns saw on the banks o' the Ayr.
 
 AUSTRALIAN SONGS. 11 
 
 The Scotch hills are bright when the heather's 
 
 in bloom, 
 And sweet is the rowan tree, bonnie's the 
 
 broom ! 
 But our ranges are crowned with rare cedar 
 
 and pine 
 In the land of banana and purple grape vine. 
 
 We have no ruined castles on guard round our 
 
 coast, 
 
 Made famous in story, or haunted by ghost ; 
 But slabs are soon split when we fell the right 
 
 tree, 
 And home's still sweet home, howe'er humble 
 
 it be. 
 
 If our songs only praise the old home far 
 
 away, 
 
 Remember that Rome was not built in a day. 
 We must wait for the tide, and the tide always 
 
 turns ; 
 Why, Scotland was old when she bore Robbie 
 
 Burns !
 
 12 AUSTRALIAN SONGS. 
 
 But our country is young, and she's wondrous 
 
 fair 
 How blue is her sky, and how pure is her 
 
 air ! 
 Still, just like the bairn in the auld Scottish 
 
 sang, 
 Australia must creep long before she can gang.
 
 13 
 
 THE BUSHMAN'S FRIEND. 
 
 TOBACCO ! fragrant, soothing weed, 
 
 We hail thee with delight ; 
 Sweet in the morning ; sweeter still 
 
 When day gives place to night. 
 As evening shadows close around, 
 
 We seek the camp-fire's glow ; 
 Stretched at our ease, each pipe is lit, 
 
 And cool blue clouds we blow. 
 We watch each puff as it ascends 
 
 In circles through the air, 
 And as it swiftly vanishes 
 
 So vanishes each care. 
 Our tempers, often sorely tried 
 
 By troubles of the day, 
 
 3
 
 14 THE BUSHMAN'S FRIEND. 
 
 Grow sweet again at eventide 
 
 'Neath good tobacco's sway. 
 The king that sits upon his throne, 
 
 The ploughman in his cottage, 
 The youth, though scarcely in his teens, 
 
 The old man in his dotage, 
 The rich, the poor, both black and white, 
 
 Mankind of every type, 
 In north, and south, and east, and west, 
 
 Are brothers of the pipe.
 
 15 
 
 A POET'S DILEMMA. 
 
 A POOR poet sat on his cane-bottomed chair, 
 He had papers, and pens, and ink, 
 
 But he looked the picture of dire despair, 
 
 He pulled his beard, and he tore his hair, 
 For his rhymes refused to clink. 
 
 Alas ! for to-morrow is publishing day ; 
 
 No verses ! Oh, what will the editor say ! 
 
 So he stated the simple facts of the case, 
 
 How he courted the muse in vain, 
 Till with thinking he almost was black in the 
 face,
 
 16 A POET'S DILEMMA. 
 
 But thinking all night would not fill up the 
 
 space, 
 
 For no rhymes were in his brain. 
 Then, pressing a hand to his weary head, 
 He put out the lamp, and went to bed. 
 
 The editor sat in his own little den, 
 And he smoked the pipe of peace ; 
 Nor bothered his head about poetry men, 
 Nor seemed to regret that the poor fellow's pen, 
 
 To write his rhymes should cease. 
 As a matter of fact he was quite content, 
 For the mail brought a late advertisement.
 
 17 
 
 A BUSH SELECTION. 
 
 AN old slab house, surrounded by a fence 
 That once was post and rail, now mere 
 
 pretence 
 
 To save the garden ; out of line it stands, 
 Or rather hangs together, for the hands 
 That should have kept it firm in its old age 
 Have filled the gaps with saplings. Cattle 
 
 wage 
 
 Unceasing warfare 'gainst each weakened spot, 
 And play the mischief with the garden plot. 
 An old slab house the slabs are good as new, 
 Untouched by storms, although the winds blow 
 
 through 
 The inch of space that now exists between
 
 18 A BUSH SELECTION. 
 
 Each slab. The heavy rain and west winds 
 
 keen 
 
 Find easy entrance, and the folk endure 
 What, but for laziness, they soon could cure. 
 The roof of shingles is, all old and rotten 
 Shingles don't stand like slabs when long 
 
 forgotten 
 
 Many are missing, and their place has been 
 Supplied by tin, that once held kerosene, 
 Cut into squares, and easily placed between 
 The other shingles. Still some gaps are seen 
 Waiting to let the falling raindrops in ; 
 The farmer waiting till another tin 
 Is empty, or, perhaps the reason why, 
 Waiting because the weather now is dry. 
 There is no stable, though there is a steed 
 A long-legged, skinny, half-bred, useless weed 
 Useless for work. Each farmer wants a hack 
 To take him to the township, there and back, 
 In decent time ; you'll find, in many cases, 
 'Twill land a fiver at the local races 
 If it is sent to win, and he can square 
 The butcher, who has got a better mare. 
 No milking shed for the half-dozen cows
 
 A BUSH SELECTION. 19 
 
 The profit no such luxury allows 
 Only grass-fed, milked in an open bail, 
 The half a dozen scarce can fill a pail. 
 About the house a few fruit trees still grow, 
 Mostly half dead, but why he does not know 
 Who planted them in land untrenched, un- 
 
 d rained. 
 " Fruit is no good," he always had maintained. 
 
 Such was Jack Thomson's home, and such his 
 
 life, 
 
 And, if not blest with brains, he had a wife 
 Who bore him children, and she must contrive, 
 Though oft hard set, to keep them all alive. 
 Before effect there must, of course, come cause, 
 And bush selections follow Nature's laws. 
 Jack gave up ploughing, not without good 
 
 reason : 
 
 The land was bad, no matter what the season 
 At best he could but plant and try to raise 
 On his poor soil a scanty crop of maize. 
 When crops were good, then down the market 
 
 fell;
 
 20 A BUSH SELECTION. 
 
 When crops were bad, Thomson had none to 
 
 sell. 
 
 So he gave ploughing best, and looked around 
 For other work, if such could but be found. 
 He had one bit of luck : the Government, 
 With ample funds, on rail extension bent, 
 Invited tenders for a line, surveyed 
 Not far from Jack's selection, to be made 
 Within two years. The contract soon was let, 
 And Thomson thought, " There's corn in Egypt 
 
 yet." 
 
 He had no money, but a good new dray, 
 On the time-payment system, straight away 
 He bought, and worked eight honest hours a 
 
 day 
 
 Carting for sub-contractors ; but the pay 
 Was not all profit, for horse feed was dear, 
 And his young family grew with every year. 
 
 But this was long ago. The stir and life 
 Of rail construction and the frequent strife 
 Of drunken navvies at the old main camp 
 Are talked of only when the flickering lamp
 
 A BUSH SELECTION. 21 
 
 Is lit, and iti the uninviting room 
 
 Tries hard to chase away the evening gloom. 
 
 The horse and dray were sold a backward 
 
 move ; 
 Jack takes life easy, and things don't improve. 
 
 Bush children have but little of the fool 
 About them, still they must be sent to school 
 By force of arms. In this 'tis such a pity 
 They're not unlike their cousins of the city. 
 But Nellie Thomson, though no model child 
 (One likes them best well, just a little wild), 
 Was early taken with a wish to know 
 Why this was thus, and what was so-and-so. 
 Books Nell would read whenever she could get 
 
 them, 
 Till she got one on seeds and when to set 
 
 them. 
 
 Nell read of plants with names so very strange 
 That to pronounce them was beyond the range 
 Of her attainments. Soon she learned to prize 
 The many flowers that, as by magic, rise 
 To sun themselves beneath our southern sky,
 
 22 A BUSH SELECTION. 
 
 Making earth brilliant blooms that glorify 
 A sixteen-perch allotment, if but taste 
 Rescues the too oft bare, unsightly waste. 
 Nell was the eldest, and her brothers knew 
 Her as their leader loved and feared her 
 
 too. 
 
 For oft she made them, on a holiday, 
 Work at her garden when they wished to 
 
 play 
 
 Or fish for catfish in the little creek 
 The one redeeming feature of the place, 
 Summer and winter, down the waters race 
 From some high spring, their destiny to seek. 
 
 The bright lights shine on beauteous city 
 belles ; 
 
 Glad are the eyes that glance at other eyes. 
 Hark ! now the music of the anthem swells, 
 
 The Governor ! and all the people rise. 
 The bush selection and this scene so gay 
 
 Are brought together by our fairy's spell ; 
 For many a plant, and many a choice bouquet, 
 
 Come from the home of clever little Nell.
 
 A BUSH SELECTION. 23 
 
 The old slab house still stands, but on the hill 
 A good new house of weatherboards soon will 
 Defy the rain and all the winds that blow 
 From the four corners. Now sweet roses grow 
 In grand profusion down the gentle slope, 
 And fill wise Nellie's heart with joyful hope.
 
 24 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 LOVE lasts for aye ! 
 
 Love never dies 
 Nor fades away ! 
 
 'Neath brighter skies 
 Love lives, and grows, 
 A beauteous rose, 
 
 That every morn 
 Sweet scent bestows, 
 
 Without a thorn 
 To hurt the hand 
 
 That stretches forth 
 
 To test its worth 
 In that fair land.
 
 LOVE. 25 
 
 Love lasts for aye ! 
 
 A purer love 
 Than now holds sway 
 
 On earth ! Above 
 Love reigns supreme ! 
 The fairest dream 
 
 Of human mind 
 Is but a beam 
 
 Of love ! Not blind 
 Beyond the veil 
 
 Is love, but proves 
 Bright-eyed no pale 
 
 Sad earthly loves 
 Can enter there ! 
 
 The glad songs rise 
 High on the air. 
 
 Perfect each chord ! 
 Complete each move ! 
 
 Sublime each word ! 
 No wild despair, 
 
 Nor tears, nor sighs ! 
 For God is love.
 
 26 
 
 BUSH LIFE. 
 
 SOME sing praises of life on the ocean, 
 
 While others delight in the hum 
 Of the city ; but give me the life of the bush, 
 
 The scent of the wattle and gum. 
 
 Then away to the bush, where the 
 
 wattle and gum, 
 
 The blood-wood and iron bark grow ; 
 With the cedar and pine on the ranges 
 
 so fine, 
 Ti-tree in the swamps down below. 
 
 For clothes I've two shirts and my moleskins, 
 To want more's neither reason nor rhyme 
 
 The wealthiest man in the city 
 Wears only one suit at a time. 
 
 Then away to the bush, <fec.
 
 BUSH LIFE. 27 
 
 'Tis true that the bush makes few fortunes ; 
 
 Never mind, there is plenty to eat ! 
 And that's more than many a fellow 
 
 Can say that keeps tramping a street. 
 
 Then away to the bush, &c. 
 
 Let's drink to a life in the bush, lads, 
 We're happy though fortune may frown ! 
 
 God made the pure air of the country, 
 Man makes the vile smells in the town ! 
 
 Then away to the bush, where the 
 
 wattle and gum, 
 
 The blood-wood and ironbark grow ; 
 With the cedar and pine on the ranges 
 
 so fine, 
 Ti-tree in the swamps down below.
 
 28 
 
 HIS FIRST NIGHT. 
 
 TWAS the night of the election, I went in to 
 
 hear the news ; 
 
 To me it did not matter, but a change, 
 A drink, a yarn, are welcome just to keep 
 
 away the blues 
 
 When a lonely chap, you know, feels some- 
 what strange. 
 
 It was in the blacksmith's paddock that I 
 
 turned my young horse out, 
 Near a small pub. in the outskirts, for the 
 
 grass 
 Was the only kind of tucker he knew anything 
 
 about, 
 And a stall feed don't suit neddies of his class.
 
 HIS FIRST NIGHT. 29 
 
 I met old Jim you'll pardon me, his name is 
 
 really Jim 
 
 And Alick Grant, with spirits sadly down 
 Since the days when we were younger and we 
 
 three were in the swim 
 When anything was going on in town. 
 
 So we downed imported spirits to a moderate 
 
 extent 
 
 You can't shout very strong on just five bob ! 
 But I felt a little fresher, and a trifle more 
 
 content, 
 
 When I went to catch my horse for rhyme 
 say cob. 
 
 He had bushed himself entirely in that little 
 
 bit of ground ; 
 
 It was dark, I couldn't spot him anywhere ; 
 But I saw a light still shining, and I heard the 
 
 muffled sound 
 Of voices in the Golden Crown just there.
 
 30 HIS FIRST NIGHT. 
 
 Well, I got in, and I mentioned that I could 
 
 not find my horse ; 
 Said the boss, a new arrival, " That's all 
 
 right ! 
 You'll get him in the morning; he'll be safe 
 
 enough, of course. 
 
 Come round. What's yours ? we're wetting 
 my first night." 
 
 So I joined the party, friendly-like, and helped 
 
 them with the beer; 
 The pub. had just changed hands I knew 
 
 before, 
 And the new boss was providing, free to all, 
 
 his liquid cheer. 
 
 "My first night have another plenty 
 more ! " 
 
 I'd been first night at a show which means 
 
 an extra charge and crush, 
 And is really a mistake, for time will rub 
 And polish a performance, while it slackens off 
 
 the rush 
 But I'd never struck a first night at a pub.
 
 HIS FIRST NIGHT. 31 
 
 And that first night, too, a free night, with the 
 
 liquor all Al 
 
 For we made a fairish sample of the bar ; 
 Laughed at all the ancient stories that the new 
 
 boss sat and spun, 
 
 While we thought, " Poor chap ! ' 'E dunno 
 where 'e are.' " 
 
 For the place was going down hill since the 
 
 railway knocked the coach. 
 In the good times it did fifty notes a week ; 
 But our new man said the quality of every 
 
 cask he'd broach 
 
 Would make his house the best near Goe- 
 bung Creek. 
 
 Well, he didn't know the district, and we don't 
 
 cry stinking fish 
 When a new chum comes whose pockets still 
 
 hold coin. 
 We spoke up for the chances and of ounces to 
 
 to the dish 
 We all knew likely spots if he would join.
 
 32 HIS FIRST NIGHT. 
 
 At sunrise Duke was standing near the rails ; 
 
 it saved a tramp 
 How I missed him in that paddock beats me 
 
 quite. 
 " My saddle's at the blacksmith's, boss ; how 
 
 much for last night's camp 1 " 
 " Look here, d'ye see, it was my shout first 
 night." 
 
 I thanked him for his kindness, and he praised 
 
 the points of Duke, 
 
 So I thought I'd let him have a little light 
 " Don't touch a claim in Goebung, and don't 
 
 score drinks in your book ;" 
 He smiled and said, " D'ye see, it was first 
 night." 
 
 So I left him ; but I wonder how he'll get on at 
 
 that game, 
 Turning old-established customs upside 
 
 down 
 A publican, but knocking down his cheque just 
 
 all the same 
 As a miner or a shearer when in town.
 
 HIS FIRST NIGHT. 33 
 
 For a man that keeps a bush pub. can't afford 
 
 to have a heart ; 
 He's got to be a human parasite, 
 Manipulating poison, keeping men on till they 
 
 part 
 
 Their last stiver turn them out whatever 
 night. 
 
 And if there's any trouble, why, the constable's 
 
 at hand ; 
 
 It need not trouble him, for that's the way 
 To carry on the business, in a free, enlightened 
 
 land 
 
 Kind hearts and decent grog don't seem to 
 pay.
 
 34 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 How sad is Life to most ! The very joy 
 We see around us is, we know, unreal. 
 E'en laughter is a mask we but employ 
 
 To cheer our friends and our own grief 
 
 conceal. 
 
 Each heart alone knows its own bitterness 
 The gnawing pain, the weary, deep unrest 
 That lasts as long as life, without redress, 
 
 Till some, despairing, put Death to the test. 
 As some lone bushman, far from beaten 
 
 track, 
 
 The sun gone down, knows not the home- 
 ward way,
 
 LIFE. 35 
 
 Each step he takes, perchance, may but lead 
 
 back, 
 
 And forfeit all the progress of the day. 
 Lost in the night ! But day will break again. 
 The sun will rise, and he shall reach his 
 
 home. 
 So we may hope our life is not in vain 
 
 That, like the sunrise, perfect joy will come. 
 But for the night we would not prize the day, 
 
 And thus we know why life is surely sad. 
 A little longer, and the first bright ray 
 
 Shall pierce the gloom, and make us ever 
 glad.
 
 36 
 
 THE GOOD-AS-GOLD P.O. 
 
 'TWAS summer time in Queensland, in the bush 
 
 Tom Mitchell lay, 
 
 Old bluey he'd been humping since the morn- 
 ing; 
 His mate, Joe Smith, was baking, so he smoked 
 
 the time away, 
 
 And watched the setting sun the range adorn- 
 ing. 
 
 A miner in Australia ! and the gold is hard to 
 
 find ; 
 How oft prospecting ends in dire despair !
 
 THE GOOD-AS-GOLD P.O. 37 
 
 Tom thought to make a fortune when he left 
 
 his home behind, 
 But still he's building castles in the air. 
 
 Now good-bye, quartz and gumtrees ! Tom has 
 
 struck a real pile claim, 
 
 And sails away for home from Moreton Bay; 
 Hard weary years he waited for the wealth 
 
 that was his aim ; 
 
 But gold makes smooth the longed-for home- 
 ward way. 
 
 A hero 'mongst his own folk ! when he gains 
 
 o o 
 
 that distant shore 
 
 He sees the happy faces known so well ; 
 With heartfelt joy they greet him, his own love 
 
 shall wait no more, 
 All is merry as the merriest marriage bell. 
 
 They spend a pleasant evening, drink a friendly 
 
 glass of wine, 
 
 Strange tales he has to tell them by the score ; 
 
 5
 
 38 THE GOOD-AS-GOLD P.C. 
 
 And then they join their hands around and 
 
 sing " For Auld Lang Syne " 
 Tom feels the dear old words as ne'er before. 
 
 " But seas between us braid hae rolled." Yes ! 
 
 this full well he knew, 
 The simple words bring thoughts so sweet 
 
 and strange ; 
 " We've wandered many a weary foot" had he 
 
 not proved them true, 
 
 Through Queensland bush, o'er many a track- 
 less range ? 
 
 The slim white hand slips from his grasp the 
 
 faces are a myth 
 
 Tom wakens up to find he has been sold ; 
 The bush is all around him yet, and now he 
 
 hears Joe Smith 
 
 Shout " Hurry up ! you'll find your supper 
 cold."
 
 THE GOOD-AS-GOLD P.O. 39 
 
 Many long years have gone since Tom opened 
 
 his eyes, 
 
 Just to find that the billy was cold ; 
 But working and waiting have brought him a 
 
 rise, 
 He has got what he longed for the gold. 
 
 Yes ! Mitchell and party have struck it at 
 
 last ; 
 'Twas the " Good-as-Gold " reef that Tom 
 
 found ; 
 
 His dreams of the future are things of the past, 
 He's the wealthiest man on the ground. 
 
 Twenty head of new stampers are crushing his 
 
 stone, 
 
 And it runs good two ounces all round, 
 With a patch here and there, if you take it 
 
 alone, 
 That will go quite an ounce to the pound.
 
 40 THE GOOD-AS-GOLD P.O. 
 
 Old Tom's got a good thing ! but gold cannot 
 
 buy 
 
 Back the years, and the bright hopes now- 
 fled. 
 Lucky man ! they all call him, but hear not 
 
 the sigh 
 As he thinks of his dear ones long dead. 
 
 A lonely old man ! he can purchase with gold 
 
 A home and a wife if he will ; 
 But the love of his youth ne'er again he'll 
 behold, 
 
 The void in his heart will ne'er fill.
 
 41 
 
 DOBOTHY. 
 
 MY own Dorothy, darling, proud of your pretty 
 dresses ! 
 
 A little earth-born angel, with long silken 
 tresses ! 
 
 Say rather a little fairy ! which do you prefer ? 
 
 Angel's a shade too perfect, fairies may some- 
 times err. 
 
 Well, then, a little fairy you shall be to me, 
 
 With love your only magic, dear little Dorothy. 
 
 Some day, my fairy princess, a prince will come 
 
 in view, 
 And claim all your sweet kisses as part of his 
 
 royal due.
 
 42 DOROTHY. 
 
 You will list to his old, old story, that none but 
 
 him can tell, 
 And go with him to his castle, if he holds the 
 
 magic spell. 
 Now this is how you will know him, when he 
 
 drops from the clouds above 
 The spell is the same as the story, 'tis love, 
 
 dear, just true love. 
 
 Sleepy? You like not my story? Well, hold 
 
 up your little head, 
 Kiss me good-night, sweetest fairy, now vanish 
 
 to your little bed. 
 Good-night, and good-bye, for the morning will 
 
 find me away once again, 
 But in this old heart, fairly conquered with 
 
 kisses, my fairy shall reign.
 
 43 
 
 ELYSIUM. 
 
 THERE is a land where troubles never enter, 
 Where life is sweet, and love and friendship 
 
 reign ; 
 
 Home of all homes, of happiness chief centre, 
 Though in that land man cannot long 
 remain. 
 
 All have been there, have tested all its 
 
 treasures, 
 And found them true, each dearest hope 
 
 fulfilled ; 
 Rest for the weary, health, and all the 
 
 pleasures 
 
 That wealth can bring to hearts by hardship 
 chilled.
 
 44 ELYSIUM. 
 
 Oh ! happy land, where care is ever banished, 
 'Neath thy bright sky we all grow young 
 
 again ; 
 
 Envy and malice, all life's ills have vanished, 
 And gone with them is every thought of 
 pain. 
 
 Enchanted Dreamland ! wandered have we 
 
 often 
 On thy bright shores, and called thy beauty 
 
 ours ; 
 Touched by thy glamour, hardest hearts will 
 
 soften ; 
 
 Long parted friends meet in thy mystic 
 bowers. 
 
 Lovers thy charm through ages all have 
 
 known, 
 
 For love meets love to wander hand in hand 
 Through thy sweet shades unhindered and 
 
 alone 
 
 Nothing can part them while in dear 
 Dreamland.
 
 ELYSIUM. 45 
 
 Fair Dreamland is what seems to each one 
 
 best, 
 
 And as we ask so shall we find it given ; 
 When earthly cares are o'er, and death brings 
 
 rest, 
 
 Dreamland shall be our long last home, our 
 Heaven.
 
 46 
 
 THE COOK'S MATE. 
 
 HE was Herny Alexander Patrick William 
 
 Eglinton, 
 Who at home a mighty swell had been, this 
 
 long-named, hard-up son 
 Of aristocratic parents; but his pure-bred 
 
 pedigree 
 Did little good for Sonny when he came across 
 
 the sea. 
 It was Sonny he was known by I don't mind 
 
 now how he got 
 The name at first ; no matter, it did service for 
 
 the lot. 
 Our Sonny, though a hard-up, and not blest 
 
 with too much brain,
 
 THE COOK'S MATE. 47 
 
 Did his own fair share when working, both in 
 
 sunshine and in rain ; 
 And when he had the ready he could do the 
 
 duke as well 
 As ever in the city, and we all admired our 
 
 swell. 
 Poor Sonny struck a dry stage, and he could 
 
 not raise the wind, 
 When, thinking o'er his troubles, he just 
 
 chanced to bring to mind 
 His cousin, Archie Brownhill, then a planter in 
 
 Fiji, 
 And he thought how very pleasant it would be 
 
 to go and see 
 His old chum and the islands, if he could but 
 
 raise the fare 
 But one pound was all his riches, and that 
 
 would not take him there. 
 It was Sydney he was stuck in, so he tried the 
 
 boats all round, 
 Till he struck a little steamer that for Fiji 
 
 straight was bound. 
 He asked and got a billet as assistant to the 
 
 cook,
 
 48 THE COOK'S MATE. 
 
 And he gladly washed the dishes, for it suited, 
 
 just, his book. 
 But when they reached the islands Sonny 
 
 quickly slipped ashore, 
 And, got up in his newest togs, down on the 
 
 agent bore. 
 He asked how much a passage to his cousin's 
 
 port would be. 
 " One pound." Our Sonny paid it, and a happy 
 
 man was he 
 When, with his old-time swagger, he boarded 
 
 his old craft, 
 And roundly called the steward to take his 
 
 luggage aft. 
 So he met his cousin, smiling as a gentleman 
 
 should look 
 But, my word, he never told him how he 
 
 washed up for the cook.
 
 49 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 H.M.S. " VICTORIA," 22ND JUNE, 1893. 
 
 SMOOTH is the sea, and from a cloudless sky 
 The glorious sun showers down his brilliant 
 
 rays 
 
 On line-of-battle ships, and each displays 
 The British ensign high. 
 
 They sail in line, and move in sympathy 
 One with the other as the signal shows 
 From the flag-ship ; they open out, or close, 
 Or motionless they lie. 
 
 6
 
 50 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 And now they steam full speed ; the waters fly 
 Apart from each sharp prow too near ! oh, 
 
 heaven ! 
 
 Is this but mimic war ? the air is riven 
 By many a loud death-cry. 
 
 Too near, alas ! we know not how nor why 
 The Camperdown with her death-dealing 
 
 ram 
 
 Runs the Victoria down in daylight calm 
 Beneath a bright blue sky. 
 
 Alas, proud ship ! to-day though didst defy 
 An Empire's foes ; but one destructive blow, 
 All unintended, swift, and thou art low, 
 Though friends alone float nigh. 
 
 Alas, brave men ! in vain for you we sigh ; 
 An Empire's grief will ne'er bring back 
 
 again 
 
 One single life. Alas ! but not in vain 
 Do brave men live and die.
 
 51 
 
 PEACE AND GOODWILL. 
 
 THE years roll on, and each year brings 
 Old Father Christmas back again. 
 
 The sweet, familiar greeting rings, 
 Borne first to earth on angels' wings, 
 Peace and goodwill to men. 
 
 Peace and goodwill, hail ! joyful sound, - 
 
 Harbinger of a better life, 
 When men this weary world around 
 
 Will but by cords of love be bound 
 True love, that ends all strife.
 
 52 PEACE AND GOODWILL. 
 
 Then let us, through the coming year, 
 
 Endeavour always to fulfil 
 Christ's last command. We need not fear 
 
 The future then, for love draws near 
 To men peace and goodwill.
 
 53 
 
 A PIG-TALE. 
 
 IN an old house surrounded by a wall 
 
 Lived the schoolmaster, learned, lean, and 
 
 tall; 
 
 A careful man, who guarded well his pence, 
 No one could charge him with improvidence. 
 His boarders knew few culinary joys 
 Is not high living very bad for boys 1 
 But still on Sunday morning he would try 
 To please them with a tempting dish of fry : 
 Sometimes a liver, as a special favour, 
 Cut with the ham knife, just to give it flavour. 
 His garden large, but running rather wild, 
 Had great fruit trees, admired by every child ; 
 Luxuriantly his humble cabbage grew,
 
 54 A PIG-TALE. 
 
 It grieved him much that he could use but 
 
 few ; 
 
 To sell them would be rather infra dig., 
 And thus it came about he kept a pig. 
 
 'Twas summer holidays. The boys at home 
 Out in the fields found fresh delight to roam, 
 Or in the waters of some sheltered bay 
 Sailed, fished, and swam in their own boyish 
 
 way. 
 
 Tom, Dick, and Harry, likewise Bill and Sam, 
 Once more rejoiced in home-baked cakes and 
 
 jam, 
 
 Light-hearted, happy, free from master's rule, 
 Forgetting e'en the very name of school. 
 
 Meanwhile the master, also free from cares, 
 With ample leisure, lovingly prepares 
 A learned essay showing how to train, 
 As he thinks best, a boy's receptive brain. 
 At other times he would his garden dig, 
 And every day he went and fed the pig 
 Or, rather, gave it food with sparing hand
 
 A PIG-TALE. 55 
 
 Such appetite he ne'er could understand. 
 The house was empty, for the master knew, 
 The boys away, there was no work to do ; 
 Rather than keep them let his servants go 
 To see their friends so kind of him, you know ! 
 E'en the housekeeper, old and rather lame, 
 Asked and got leave to visit some old dame ; 
 But this the master troubled not, for he, 
 A simple man, could make his cup of tea, 
 And fry a chop and boil an egg or so 
 What more can mortal man want here below 1 
 
 A conference scholastic sat that year, 
 The master with his essay must appear. 
 To lock the door's a simple thing to do 
 Small chance there was of burglars breaking 
 
 through. 
 
 He packed his bag, put on his Sunday rig, 
 And then remembered he must leave the pig. 
 A difficulty this, you must confess, 
 He'd be away a fortnight, more or less. 
 He liked no stranger-folk about his place, 
 The thought of payment emphasized the case.
 
 56 A PIG-TALE. 
 
 " I know," thought he, " how much she eats 
 
 per day ; 
 
 Why not provide, in just the usual way, 
 Rations for fourteen days, and something 
 
 over 1 ? 
 
 In holidays e'en pigs should live in clover." 
 Pleased with the thought, on that auspicious 
 
 morn 
 
 He gave the pig a bucketful of corn, 
 Plenty of cabbage, filled the trough with slops ; 
 The pig, astonished, stood and licked her chops. 
 This problem solved he caught the forenoon 
 
 train 
 The pig was right till he came home again. 
 
 Things sometimes seem too good to be quite 
 
 true 
 
 The hungry pig saw food she must get through; 
 She did not stay to think what this might 
 
 mean, 
 
 She only felt her hunger was most keen ; 
 Here were supplies all fresh from Plenty's 
 
 horn ;
 
 A PIG-TALE. 57 
 
 Straightway she started on the master's corn. 
 The midday sun looked down and saw the sow 
 Making great headway 'mong the cabbage now ; 
 The setting sun as usual in the west 
 Left piggy doing still her level best. 
 The morning came ; the earliest ray serene 
 That reached the sty discovered it quite 
 
 clean 
 
 No corn, no cabbage oh ! ye gracious powers, 
 A fortnight's rations gone in twenty hours ! 
 
 Scholastic themes are foreign to my story 
 The' master came home covered thick with 
 
 glory ; 
 
 Early next morn, recovered from fatigue, 
 He wandered forth to see how fared the pig. 
 Alas ! the sight deprived him of his breath 
 The stupid animal was cold in death.
 
 58 
 
 JACKASSES. 
 
 THOSE jackasses sitting on that ancient gurn 
 Look wise as our judges in robes of state ; 
 What a serious air ! now, don't they look 
 
 rum ! 
 The big one has just spun a yarn to his 
 
 mate. 
 Ha ! ha ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! why what are they 
 
 after ? 
 Whatever's the cause of such boisterous 
 
 laughter 1 
 Though often I've heard it aye, times by the 
 
 score 
 I'm blest if I know what makes jackasses roar!
 
 JACKASSES. 59 
 
 Jackasses would laugh if a real royal king 
 Was passing that tree with his golden 
 
 crown 
 And sceptre they'd make their loud 
 
 laughter ring, 
 So little care they for a proud monarch's 
 
 frown. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! to them it's all one, 
 They laugh at each boss, on his own blessed 
 
 run; 
 
 No respecters of persons, they sit on that tree 
 And laugh at poor duffers just like you and 
 me. 
 
 If they'd just stop that row, on the old ring- 
 barked gum, 
 The wisest of birds they would seem, but, 
 
 alas ! 
 Not one of the breed will consent to sing 
 
 dumb 
 
 The emblem of folly's a laughing jackass ! 
 Ha ! ha ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! they know not a 
 boy
 
 60 JACKASSES. 
 
 In Australia would dare their charmed life to 
 
 destroy, 
 So whatever may come within range of their 
 
 Sight 
 They greet with loud laughter perhaps they 
 
 are right.
 
 61 
 
 THE ALBATROSS. 
 
 OUT on the wide, deep sea, 
 
 Where the sun m&y rise and set 
 O'er only the ocean free, 
 
 Where fisherman ne'er cast net, 
 There we watched the swing, on tireless wing, 
 
 Of an albatross we met. 
 
 One at first ; then came a score, 
 Came from we know not where. 
 
 Around us they circled, and o'er, 
 Scanning our ship with care ; 
 
 Then astern of our boat we saw them float, 
 At rest on the ocean bare. 
 
 7
 
 62 THE ALBATROSS. 
 
 Their strong wings never fail 
 
 When the raging storm-fiends come ; 
 
 They triumph o'er the gale, 
 Wild spirits of living foam. 
 
 But when ships draw near to land they fear, 
 And flee to their ocean home.
 
 63 
 
 MY NEWEST WOMAN. 
 
 I AM watching for her coming, while the evening 
 
 shadows fall, 
 
 Now the glory has departed from the day, 
 And I am weary waiting for my love the best 
 
 of all- 
 She will chase my dreary fancies all away. 
 
 She can comfort me and love me in the darker 
 
 hours of life, 
 And love me still the same when fortune's 
 
 kind ; 
 Just the best of little women, and the dearest, 
 
 sweetest wife 
 That in all the ends of earth you'll ever find.
 
 64 MY NEWEST WOMAN. 
 
 So I hate to be without her, and the house is 
 
 not like home 
 
 When she's out of it for even half a day, 
 And it surely is misfortune when those clever 
 
 women come 
 And take her off to hear them say their say. 
 
 Will they wrangle o'er the minutes of last 
 
 meeting, and then move 
 The previous question o'er and o'er again ? 
 'Mid a scene of great excitement will the chair- 
 woman reprove 
 
 Strong language, and fair play for all main- 
 tain ? 
 
 The new women are not charming to old- 
 fashioned kind of men, 
 Who long to keep them from the tiresome 
 
 strain 
 Of office and of business, or the unrestricted 
 
 pen 
 That some of them have got upon the brain.
 
 MY NEWEST WOMAN. 65 
 
 Why, now the bell is ringing, and my wife not 
 
 in her place ! 
 
 And dinner all alone is never nice 
 Oh, here she is my darling ! " Dearest Jack, 
 
 I've had a race ; 
 
 I'm late, although I moved adjournment 
 twice ! 
 
 " But I had to leave them sitting, for I knew 
 
 you would be mad, 
 
 So I placed my resignation in the hands 
 Of the president, and left them ; that's the end 
 
 of it. You're glad ? 
 
 It stiikes me very much they're shifting 
 sands. 
 
 " It is not the work for women, or at least not 
 
 in the way 
 
 They seem to want to do it just like man. 
 We've the training of the young ones that 
 
 should be a good big say ; 
 And besides, it plainly is old Nature's plan.
 
 66 MY FEWEST WOMAN. 
 
 " "We have brains, if we but use them there's 
 
 a proper time and place ; 
 But the rougher work we women cannot do ; 
 For the greatest, grandest duty that we owe 
 
 the human race 
 
 Is the motherhood to that we must be 
 true." 
 
 " Well said, my newest women ! will you have 
 
 the undercut ? 
 
 Your sentiments are mine please pass the 
 salt ; 
 
 But what about the spinsters, dear, and " 
 
 "Jack ! you know that 'but ' 
 Is not the poor, lone, single women's fault. 
 
 " Only let them all get husbands just as kind 
 
 as one I know, 
 And they'll give up public business life, and 
 
 roam 
 No more in those strange pathways where 
 
 they never want to go, 
 For a woman's longing is for love and home.
 
 MY NEWEST WOMAN. 67 
 
 " And though I left the meeting dear, will 
 
 you have beer or tea 1 
 We women have some wrongs you must put 
 
 right, 
 And, like the dames we read of in the days of 
 
 chivalry, 
 
 I name you now my own true valiant 
 knight. 
 
 " So for my sake you must battle with all 
 
 things not comme ilfaut ; 
 Until our wrongs are righted never yield, 
 And you'll find the newest woman will be 
 
 quickly altered, so 
 
 That she'll proudly claim sweet home as her 
 own field. 
 
 " For love she'll bear her portion of the 
 
 troubles of this life, 
 And scorn to purchase ease with old men's 
 
 gold; 
 Tis the young man is the coward let him 
 
 claim her as a wife, 
 And with her face the future as of old !
 
 68 MY NEWEST WOMAN. 
 
 " But the devil with the flesh-pots, and the 
 
 club, and all the rest 
 React upon poor women of to-day ; 
 So you've got to fight our battles, and good 
 
 men can do that best, 
 
 While the newest, truest women show the 
 way." 
 
 I'm smoking hard, my second pipe, and think- 
 ing all the while ; 
 
 I'm blest if I know what one man can do ! 
 As a knight I should do something, though it 
 
 scarcely suits my style 
 Look here, young men, you all must marry 
 too!
 
 69 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 ONCE more, sweet Spring, we greet thy gentle 
 
 presence, 
 
 At thy command wild Nature lives again, 
 Casts off her brown robe gift of sombre 
 
 winter 
 And dons bright green, 'neath thy enchanting 
 
 'Tis nothing new, this change to youth and 
 
 beauty, 
 
 Old as old Time, who o'er all earth has sway ; 
 But shall we then despise thy glorious bounty 1 
 Ah, no ! sweet Spring, we love thy flowery 
 way !
 
 70 SPUING. 
 
 We hail thee as a friend, from friends long 
 
 parted 
 By angry seas and snow-capped mountains 
 
 wild, 
 
 But always true, still bright and loving-hearted, 
 Contented now we breathe thy zephyrs mild. 
 
 Oh, stay with us ! art thou of wandering 
 
 weary ? 
 Why shouldst thou thus be ever on the 
 
 wing? 
 
 It cannot be, when other lands lie dreary 
 And sigh for thee ! Adieu, then, gentle 
 spring.
 
 71 
 
 A BIT OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 NEAR to a butcher's shop in a side street 
 Stood a big bushman, looking at his feet 
 As if uncertain which should take the lead ; 
 A grand, strong man, of a hardworking breed, 
 His yellow beard untrimmed, his shoulders 
 
 broad 
 
 And slightly rounded, fit for any load 
 That falls to average man ; on them his swag 
 "Was swung. He held a bulky paper bag 
 In his left hand, and now and then his right 
 Would grasp a friendly rail. A common 
 
 sight 
 
 Just a drunk man, but still his wavering eyes 
 Looked blue and kindly, like Australian skies
 
 72 A BIT OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 When " Delta " has departed, and our sun 
 Has not retired before dread " Epsilon." 
 Slowly he worked his way along somehow, 
 Took all the space the footpath would allow, 
 In corkscrew fashion, as on a steep ridge, 
 Doubling the distance to Victoria Bridge. 
 He met two children rushing fast along, 
 The first a boy, singing that joyful song 
 Of " Daisy," and, a step or two behind, 
 A little girl, hatless, and the wind 
 Was playing with her unrestricted hair. 
 Brother and sister seemed this little pair. 
 The boy went on, but not the little maid ; 
 She saw the bushman, and seemed just afraid 
 There was not room for two when he was 
 
 there ; 
 
 She was not strong enough to claim her share. 
 The bushman saw her too, came to a stand 
 If stand it could be called ; he made a grand 
 Attempt to stop involuntary motion, 
 But kept on swaying like the restless ocean. 
 And thus they stood confronting one another, 
 The maiden anxious to rejoin her brother 
 Could she but pass this big, unsteady man,
 
 A BIT OF HUMAN NATURE. 73 
 
 Who blocked the way as only drunk men can. 
 The bushman smiled, as if some funny wag 
 Had made a joke. He opened up the bag, 
 And the child saw bananas, ripe and big ; 
 For the drunk man she cared not now a fig, 
 But seized the fruit, and, with a cry of joy, 
 Slipped past his legs, and ran to join the boy. 
 
 NOTE "Delta" and "Epsilon." This is Mr. 
 Wragge's way of distinguishing storms.
 
 74 
 
 A NIGHT AT HAME. 
 
 TUNE up your fiddle, Sandy, man, 
 
 Gie us an auld Scotch tune ; 
 Hoo weel they stan' the test o' time ! 
 
 We're longing for the soon' 
 O' guid catgut. When your richt han' 
 
 The bow guides o'er the strings 
 We leave Australia far behind ; 
 
 Borne on swift Fancy's wings 
 We see the Scottish hills again, 
 
 And wander through her glens ; 
 We hear the auld familiar tongue 
 
 That each true Scotsman kens. 
 We see the very land o' Burns 
 
 And visit Ayr's auld toon,
 
 A NICHT AT HAME. 75 
 
 And wander on the bonnie banks, 
 
 The banks and braes o' Boon. 
 Play it again, that air sae sweet, 
 
 The saddest o' his sangs, 
 The story o' a heartless chiel, 
 
 A lassie and her wrangs. 
 Play " Scots wha hae " and " Rothesay Bay," 
 
 That sang's as guid's the best ; 
 " O' a' the airts the wind can blaw " 
 
 We dinna lo'e the west 
 In Queensland noo, but we're at hame 
 
 The nicht. Come rosin weel 
 Your bow, and let us hear the pipes, 
 
 And then we'll hae a reel. 
 A reel's the best o' dancing tunes ; 
 
 Wha ca's us a dull race ? 
 Man, naething maks sic souple taes, 
 
 And fast maun be the pace 
 That brings the dancers tae a stan', 
 
 Though like a tap they spin. 
 Na ! na ! gin they but get the chance 
 
 They'll dance the fiddler din. 
 Ay, finish up wi' " Auld Lang Syne;" 
 
 Come, join and sing it a',
 
 76 A NICHT AT HAME. 
 
 For proudly we lo'e Scotland yet, 
 Though lang we've been awa' 
 
 Frae her wild shores and heather hills, 
 Far frae her lowlands fine, 
 
 Australians though we live and dee, 
 We're Scotch " for auld lang syne."
 
 77 
 
 NEW AUSTRALIA. 
 
 WE told you so ! as each fresh cablegram 
 Spreads news of discontent from Paraguay. 
 
 We told you so ! the lion and the lamb 
 Must still live on in their unfriendly way ; 
 Peace and goodwill have not yet come to stay. 
 
 It was a dream " United all we stand ! " 
 
 The thought was life to many a weary soul. 
 " Shoulder to shoulder," " brothers," " hand in 
 
 hand ; " 
 
 Brave words ! but hearts, to reach the longed- 
 for goal, 
 Must love and beat as a harmonious whole.
 
 78 NEW AUSTRALIA. 
 
 Alas ! too strong the self-imposed test 
 
 For human nature, and the cold, wide sea 
 Rolls now between them and our glorious 
 
 west, 
 Where they might dream in safety, and as 
 
 free 
 As ever men in Paraguay could be. 
 
 We told you so ! for by ourselves we gauge 
 The average standard of our human race, 
 
 And know full well the world is but a stage, 
 And actors who our local footlights face 
 Act still the same when in a distant place. 
 
 But New Australian hopes, that now lie low, 
 E'en though they be as though they ne'er 
 
 had been, 
 Have not been born in vain we tell you 
 
 so ! 
 The good will live and grow, for sorrow 
 
 keen 
 Still paves the way for joy all unforeseen.
 
 NEW AUSTRALIA. 79 
 
 Let true Australians do, let others dream ; 
 And right with us must triumph over wrong 
 
 If love but reign. Far off the day may seem ; 
 The upward path is hard, the journey long, 
 But on the heights resounds love's true, sweet 
 song.
 
 80 
 
 THE 25ra JANUARY AULD AYR. 
 
 MA brither Scots, though far awa' the nicht, 
 We dearly lo'e the land where first the licht 
 O' day we saw aye dear's her ilka name, 
 Auld Scotland, Scotia, Caledonia, Hame ! 
 Each heart the nicht this land o' gumtree 
 
 spurns, 
 
 Mem'ry transports us tae the hame o' Burns. 
 We're in Australia, but let fancy stray, 
 And look ance rnair ower Ayr's ain boniiie bay. 
 There still the setting sun arrays Goatfell 
 In gowden splendour, mair than tongue can 
 
 tell. 
 
 Auld Ailsa Craig still stems the ocean tide, 
 And guards the entrance tae the Firth o' Clyde.
 
 THE 25TH JANUARY- AULD AYR. 81 
 
 The Heads o' Ayr still aft are dashed wi' spray, 
 And Greenan Castle's much the same the day 
 As when we first explored its ruined tower 
 Stane lang withstands time's sair destroying 
 
 power. 
 The Doon still flows between its banks and 
 
 braes, 
 
 Bonnie as when Burns first sang in its praise ; 
 And up its stream the lordly salmon sooms 
 When on the banks the wild rose sweetly 
 
 blooms. 
 
 The River Ayr by Craigie's woods pursues 
 Its onward course there still the poets muse. 
 The "auld toon" lover, by its rippling stream, 
 Still tells to willing ears love's ain sweet dream. 
 Men come and go, but still the sun will shine, 
 And love will reign, as in the auld lang syne. 
 I ken ye min', when frosty winter cam', 
 The glorious fun there was on each mill-dam, 
 Skating and sliding ; while we're sweltering 
 
 here, 
 
 At harne, as like as no', the ice will bear. 
 'Tis said each Scot who o'er the earth may 
 
 roam
 
 82 THE 25TH JANUARY AULD AYR. 
 
 Gets aye mair Scotch the further he's from 
 
 home 
 That "distance lends enchantment to the 
 
 view ; " 
 
 0' ither toons this may be but ower true, 
 But Ayr ma powers descriptive a' surpasses ; 
 Think o' her honest men and bonnie lasses : 
 Burns ca's them sae, and it is no for me 
 Tae prove him wrang at least we a' agree 
 They micht be waur ; but Robin Burns himsel', 
 Though born in Ayr, broke barriers by the spell 
 Of genius. Birthplace never can confine 
 Hearts large as his, nor dare we draw the line 
 With earthly limits o'er them poets rise, 
 And live beyond the veil, and thus we prize 
 Each burning thought, each grand verse left 
 
 behind, 
 When Death has claimed his own ; deathless 
 
 the mind 
 
 Lives on and on, and while the ages roll, 
 Will cheer and strengthen many a weary soul. 
 O'er all the earth to-day the message rings, 
 " Princes and lords are but the breath of 
 
 kings."
 
 THE ZSTH JANUARY AULD AYR. 83 
 
 " Then let us pray that come it may, 
 
 As come it will for a' that ; 
 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
 May bear the gree, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 It's comin' yet, for a' that, 
 That man to man, the warld o'er, 
 Shall brothers be for a' that."
 
 Si 
 
 TO AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 MY good old coat ! the storms of many a year, 
 On land, o'er sea, in cold, in sultry climes, 
 
 Have changed you to the yellow and the sere 
 Of autumn still we've had our good old 
 times. 
 
 'Twas long ago that you were sent to me, 
 In newest fashion cut fit like a glove, 
 
 But not too tight no overcoat should be 
 In such a plight that longs for owner's love. 
 
 I loved you, of myself you seemed a part, 
 For first with you I felt a very man,
 
 TO AN OLD FRIEND. 85 
 
 And strong to do. Ah ! young was then my 
 
 heart, 
 
 Full of bright hopes and many a brilliant 
 plan. 
 
 Some buttons wanting, pockets slightly torn, 
 A collar shapeless, and a tinge of green 
 
 Through your once glorious brown you look 
 
 forlorn, 
 And ne'er again will be as you have been. 
 
 Yes, you are getting old a greasy gloss 
 
 Reflects your age upon your well-brushed 
 back ; 
 
 Perhaps you wonder why I do not toss 
 You to some beggar that a coat doth lack. 
 
 You wonder not ? Is that what you would say ? 
 
 You know my hopes, like your good looks, 
 
 have gone, 
 And you and I together still must stay, 
 
 My poor old coat, alas ! my only one.
 
 86 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 THE piercing cold winds blow o'er paddocks 
 
 brown and bare ; 
 Leaner and leaner grow the stock on winter 
 
 fare; 
 The ribs of horses show 'neath rough coats 
 
 void of sheen, 
 As on they vainly go searching for grasses 
 
 green. 
 The earth now takes her rest till sounds the 
 
 voice of spring ; 
 The cold winds from the west but fleeting 
 
 sadness bring. 
 But sadness from my heart no spring will e'er 
 
 remove :
 
 WINTER. 87 
 
 Summer is but a part of winter, O my love ! 
 If I ne'er see again the love-light in your eyes, 
 The sun shines all in vain in blue unclouded 
 
 skies, 
 Cold shall my heart remain till life within me 
 
 dies.
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 I AM watching a snow-fed river as it flows to 
 
 the distant sea, 
 And I love its song of triumph as it rushes 
 
 wild and free 
 O'er the rocks that bar its progress, round the 
 
 islands that divide 
 But cannot stay its waters, that join again and 
 
 glide, 
 Now slowly round a deep bend, now swiftly 
 
 o'er the gravel, 
 But always onward, seaward, by day and night 
 
 they travel. 
 Sun-claimed from the snow-clad mountains, by 
 
 many a kindly ray,
 
 THE EXILE. 89 
 
 And meeting a mighty river, they reach the 
 
 far-off bay. 
 They mingle with the ocean, and with its 
 
 currents flow, 
 Borne on its restless bosom, warmed in the 
 
 sunshine glow, 
 Till they join the foaming breakers, that tell 
 
 of a journey o'er, 
 As on the bar they thunder, and reach the 
 
 Queensland shore. 
 
 Oh ! my heart goes Avith the river, I scent the 
 old gum leaves, 
 
 And hear the parrots screaming high above me 
 in the trees ; 
 
 The Queensland sun is sinking, and the peace- 
 ful night draws nigh, 
 
 With glorious moonlight spreading o'er bush, 
 and sea, and sky. 
 
 My black mare in the gloaming wants neither 
 whip nor spur ; 
 
 Old Bessie is heading homeward, that is enough 
 for her.
 
 90 THE EXILE. 
 
 She knows each track and short-cut for home 
 
 her feed is there ; 
 And Nipper's bark sounds joyous in the calm 
 
 of the evening air, 
 Till Bluey, the lazy house-dog, hears it and 
 
 barks reply ; 
 A light at the station is gleaming the mare 
 
 would like to fly. 
 Steady, Bess ! she pulls at her bridle, she hears 
 
 a welcome neigh, 
 And thinks not of the miles behind, the long, 
 
 hot, weary day. 
 She may lack the finer feelings, but there's 
 
 poetry in her pace, 
 'Mid the rushing of frightened cattle, when the 
 
 wild steers madly race. 
 Her smooth coat's always shining, like the 
 
 moist leaves in the morn, 
 But she shines all round, the gipsy, when she's 
 
 heading for her corn. 
 The boys are home before me, sitting smoking 
 
 at their ease, 
 For the evening meal is over, reading, chatting, 
 
 as they please.
 
 THE EXILE. 91 
 
 The news of our little world, all its pleasure 
 
 and its care, 
 Will be served up with my supper when the 
 
 saddle is off the mare. 
 
 No more ! not a post is standing to mark the 
 well-known spot ; 
 
 I am watching a snow-fed river, but the past is 
 ne'er forgot. 
 
 All unchanging are the bush-paths, though the 
 old slab-house has gone, 
 
 And the friends that in it gathered are far- 
 scattered, every one. 
 
 Go ! follow the winds and find them some 
 
 winning wealth and fame, 
 Some worn and aweary, longing for the ending 
 
 of the game. 
 For brightest hopes oft vanish, and hearts once 
 
 joyous break, 
 When love is lost, and all is lost, all but the 
 
 farewell stake.
 
 92 THE EXILE. 
 
 The game soon will have one ending for all, 
 
 come weal or woe ; 
 Thank God ! there is rest for the weary rest 
 
 after the final throw. 
 
 I am watching a snow-fed river, and I hear but 
 
 a sullen roar 
 As the waters vanish for ever, as past days, for 
 
 evermore. 
 
 George Robertson and Co., Melbourne.
 
 A 000135229