a^ THE LAND ^ OF THE ^ARRY CROS-"^ ■yf.n.| iii i i m i l 1^'\- THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE LAND OF THE STARRY CROSS DAINTY BOOKS FOR POETRY LOVERS. "Ways of Many Waters," and other Verses, by Edwin J. Brady, illus- trated by Alex. Sass. Price 3/6. "Dawnward," by Bernard O'Dowd. Price 2/6. " The Silent Land," and other Verses, by Bernard O'Dowd. Price 2/6. "Sea Spray and Smoke Drilt," by Adam Lindsay Gordon. Price i/-. "Bells and Bees," by Louis Esson. Price 2/6. THE LAND OF THE STARRY CROSS And Other Verses Bjr " GILROONEY (R. J. Cassidy) STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY PTY. LTD. MELBOURNE SYDNEY ADELAIDE I913 PRINTED IN ENGLAND Eutlor & Tanner, The Sehvood I'rinting Works, Fromc, and London. PR A FEW FOREWORDS The greater number of the verses comprising this volume originally appeared in The Bulletin, the Sydney Worker, The Sydney Mail, and Steele Rudd's Magazine (Brisbane) ; others in The Gadfly (Adelaide), Barrier Truth (Broken Hill), The Town and Country Journal (Sydney), The Critic (Ade- laide), The Sydney Stock and Station Journal, The Red Funnel (New Zealand), The Hobart Clipper (Tasmania), and The Gundagai Independent (N.S.W.). "Smiling Eyes of the Sunset" was first printed in Lilley's Magazine (Sydney). " The Land of the Starry Cross " and several others are now published for the first time. To the Editors and Proprietors of the above- mentioned publications I wish to tender my genuine thanks for the courtesy of permitting me to reprint in book form. THE AUTHOR. Australia, October, 1911. 143459 f-m* CONTENTS page For You 12 The Land of the Starry Cross 13 The Girls .... . 17 Evangeline . 20 Maloney's Motor Car . 22 Your Southern Girl . 25 The Tree of Stars 27 The Mother of the West 28 The Common People 31 An Australian Night . 34 My Lovers . 35 A Song of the Failures 38 The Horsemen 40 Gathering Stars . 43 The Peddlers 45 CONTENTS To Red Lips The Voice . The Absent Ones Fairyland . The Golden Rule At the Gate Two a Penny Down in Riverina The Way the Branding's Done When the Daisies Bloom Again The Little Birds Know Best Jennie Green A Ballad of Aubrey de Var The Narrow Road Will Some One Sing a Song ? In Memoriam At Fortunes-on-the-Rise The Squatters' Cup My Wanderers . Russia Two Plaints CONTENTS 9 page At Night 99 " Clicker-Clacker-Clang ! " . . 101 We'll Miss all the Fun when we'ri : Dead 104 Bush Girlies .... . 106 A Ballad of Mixtures . 110 The Law ..... . 113 When Jamie Johnson Died . . 115 A Song of Buttercups . 118 By Tireless Two-leg-graph . 121 A Ballad of Cant and Crawl . 122 Marching By .... . 126 Thoughts ..... . 128 Drinking Days .... . 129 The Voyagers .... . 132 Eloped !..... . 135 The End . 138 Grey Hairs ..... . 140 The Gifted People . 143 The Follies .... . 147 The Drover's Message . 149 The Return .... . 151 10 CONTENTS PAGE The Road to Gundagai . 152 The Loves of Then and Now . 155 With the Stars . . . . . 158 By the Waters 160 When the Pagans come to Tea . . 162 The Folk I Never Meet . 164 The Rider in the Rain . 166 Won't you be a Socialist . . 167 Waiting 171 When Dad Begins to Shear . 173 The Sapling Grove .... 175 Fancy Flights 177 The Singer and the Song . 179 Sweethearts Still ..... 180 SUNSET SILHOUETTES Exiles' Land ...... 184 The Camels ....... 187 The Pilgrimage ...... 189 Abdul's Love . . . . 190 The Desert's Daughter .... 192 CONTENTS 11 page The Culgoa's Call . 197 Smiling Eyes of the Sunset . 200 To A Desert Queen . 20* Place me There ...... 207 FOE YOU In place of the vows that were broken Because of the Old and the New; In 'place of the words never spoken. Nor written to prove I was true — In place of a worthier token, Australia, this gift is for You. 12 THE LAND OF THE STARRY CROSS Say, is ours the Land of Dishonoured Births and, bright in the purple sky. Does the Cross look down on a joyless earth where the hopes of a people die ? Say, is ours the Kingdom of WhaCs-the-Good, and out in the Shining Way, Does that flaming symbol of Nationhood mock the dreams of a bygone day ? Say, is ours the land where the ghouls rejoice all be- cause of her shame and loss ? No ! No ! — and I speak with a true son's voice for the Land of the Starry Cross. Lo ! ours is a land enshrined by the Gods hke a gem in the Southern seas, Where the Forest waves, and the Flora nods, to the breath of the Old World's breeze ; Where the rivers run from the silent hills to the rims of the Oceans Four (One day they shall run by the throbbing mills' and the factories' rush and roar) ; Where the earth gives all that a man might seek, yea, and all that a god might crave ; Where the good gifts wait for the wTonged and weak, but are won by the big and brave ! 14 THE LAND OF THE STARRY CROSS O ! ours is a land of a hundred lands, where the myriad bounties are ; Where the glorious works of our hearts and hands must reach to the furthest star ! We must toil and sweat in our pregnant mines and our thundering shops of trade ; We must show the world in a thousand lines how the Wealth of the South is made ! We have gold and silver, iron, and coal, we have water, and wheat, and wood, We have muscle and mind — and lo ! our goal is the Glory of Nationhood. O ! ours is a land where her sons must fight for the sake of the Future Days ; Where the intellects with unconscious light are ashine in a star-like blaze ; Where her sons must strive for the sweet and pure, and for all that is strong and true, While-ever the hills of the East endure, and the skies of the South are blue ! Where her sons shall whisper no word of rest till, inviolate, one by one, Ev'ry triumph of Life is manifest, and our national crown is won. Our land shall be bright with unrivalled scenes and the gifts that the season brings ; THE LAND OF THE STARRY CROSS 15 Where the maidens fair will be quested queens and the boys unsceptred kings ! And the world will smile for the babes in the wood, but they, with the babes of the street. Will laugh at Australia's babyhood in the days ere it found its feet ! Our land shall be purged of sorrow and shame when our Arch-Compatriot comes. And its sons shall march on the Heights of Fame to the beat of Australia's drums ! ! ours is a land of unnumbered hopes, and I hear the echoing tread Where a patriotism, impatient, gropes for the light of the Dawn ahead ; 1 list to the tramp of the Purposed Men as they march to that splendid goal, And I feel the fire of the Prophet's pen and the faith of the Singer's soul. But our way lies out where the Strong Men vow, aye, a Nation New to make ; And I hear the call of my comrades now : " Ad- vance, for Australia's sake ! " Aye, ours is the Land of Transcendent Worthy and the Cross in the purple sky Shall yet gleam down on an Eden earth where the flags of a Nation fly ! 16 THE LAND OF THE STARRY CROSS Aye, ours is the Land of the Great and Good [and, ablaze in the Shining Way, Swings the silent symbol of Nationhood, enshrined in a star array). ! our hearts as a single heart rejoice ; for our souls have shed their dross — And I lift to the skies a singer's voice for the Land of the Starry Cross ! THE GIRLS 17 THE GIRLS In bright visions of far-away places They pass us, all smiling and fair, Showing blooms, pink and white, in their faces, And garlands of spring in their hair. O ! some in their girlishness greet us — Blue eyes and brown eyes all aglow ; And there's one — yes, there's one to entreat us, As worldward and wrongward we go. We had met them at first when as rovers Our pence and our troubles were few — Aye, as vagabonds, shearers, and drovers — A wanderer scarce can be true ! "Be ye leal to your sweethearts for ever," The voices of conscience may call, " And be chained to one fancy " — No, never ! A fellow can't marry them all ! We have told our fine tales to dear mothers. And, faith, what a legion we've known ! We have won the wise winks of big brothers — The beggars had girls of their own ! We have helped the stern paters a-farming, And grafted like niggers the while. For the sake of a girl who was charming, A whisper, a kiss, and a smile. 18 THE GIRLS We have giggled 'neath stringy-bark rafters, Round blazes in kitchens at night ; We have strolled in the star-spangled afters, And plighted our troths in their light. We have taken our joys in full measure. Then taken the roadways in rue — O, a walk and a talk ! O, the pleasure ! But how can a fellow be true ? We have ridden out eastward, and westward, And trailed to the north and the south ; We have taken a weeping girl breastward And planted a kiss on her mouth. We have journeyed out eastward, and westward, And northward, and southward, at last ; We have fluttered a streamer, then — crest ward ! And that little courtship was past ! Ah, our hearts in the old-time were younger. With nothing to burden or bar. And we cared not for thirst, nor for hunger, Out West where the vagabonds are. We have lived in the shadow of sorrow. Known other men's troubles, and yet We had never one thought for the morrow. And never one pang of regret. THE GIRLS 19 And far from the highways and alleys, All pregnant with sorrows and sighs, We have bided in homes in the valleys — By river, and roadway, and rise. And foolish, and flirting, forgetful — Uncaring, perchance, and unkind. We had never a feeling regretful, And never a love that was blind ! There are maids who are lonely without us. And have a fond thought for us yet ; And there's one — yes, there's one who may doubt us — We pray she'll forgive and forget. We have trifled with hearts and bereft them — Alas ! for each sorrowing maid ; Alas ! for us — sinners who left them — Good luck to the fellows who stayed ! 20 EVANGELINE EVANGELINE If I could walk the starlands, I Would gaily pluck them clean Of every gem that lights the sky ; And then, Evangeline, I'd string upon a golden thread The stars for you to wear, I'd place the moon upon your head, And planets in your hair. Then, in the gladness of my heart, And from my wealth profuse, I'd fashion buckles on your gart — I mean upon your shoes. I'd work a stylish flounce of stars Around your silken gown ; I'd merge them into peaks and bars. Zig-zag, across, and down ! The brightest silver stars on hand From out the Milky Way Would form your gleaming necklace, and, In radiant array, I'd set them that the world might see, Lest it should mourn their loss ; And O ! your j^endant, dear, would be The great white Southern Cross ! EVANGELINE 21 I'd work a floscular design Upon your shoulders white, And Venus on your breast would shine With opalescent light. And for your belt I'd gaily take A glitt'ring wreath, and grasp The reddest star of all to make An iridescent clasp. Your bracelets — ah, my darling, these I'd make of form sublime By threading all the Pleiades On dual strings of rhyme. And smiling in the silver sheen Of starry garlands bright. You'd be my own Evangeline, And Empress of the Night ! 22 MALONEY'S MOTOR CAR MALONEY'S MOTOR CAR The people in this neighbourhood were always half- inehned To say Maloney had a most inventive turn of mind ; No new idea was mentioned, nor a new invention shown, But, straight away, Maloney had another of his own ! And so it came to pass that he, in Brown's Dead Dingo bar. Had sworn by all the saints he'd build a " crimson motor car." And, faithful to his promises, Maloney toiled away — All day he had no time to smoke, at night no time to pray. With batteries and dynamos — a modern God of Fire ! The wonders that he worked in wood and coils of fencing-wire ! — The timber polished with an axe, a final touch of tar. And lo ! the waiting world beheld Maloney's motor car. MALONEY'S MOTOR CAR 23 His simple neighbours often said they'd give their hves to know The nature of the mystic force that made that motor go. And if some folk, inquisitive and doubtful of its might, Were hurried to Eternity, it only served 'em right ! But sceptics from the Dingo Press grew most par- ticular In noting all the wonders of that awful motor car. And now it's something fine to see the way that motor whirls — His daughters go to scandal-tea, his sons to see their girls ; The family to functions grand — for, somehow, don't you see. That crazy car has whirled them into high societee ! And coasting down those country lanes by light of moon and star — The gum trees make obeisance to Maloney's motor car ! There's not a sight for man to see, but there Maloney goes; He " patronizes " races, and he " favours " all the showsj 24 MALONEY'S MOTOR CAR He leaves the trotters standing still, and runs the " scorchers " down, And beats the train by furlongs in a morning spin to town. No mountain tracks are steep enough, no roads too rough to bar The record-breaking progress of Maloney's motor car. And now Maloney " motors it " the whole wide country through — The trips no man could hope to make that motor has to do ; It carries water for the house, he loads it up with wood — No motor car in all the world was ever quite so good ! . . Yes, of all the great inventions in a land where wonders are, The one that " takes the pastry " is Maloney's motor car ! YOUR SOUTHERN GIRL 25 YOUR SOUTHERN GIRL So you left her in the South, With your kisses on her mouth, And the raindrops softly gleaming in her hair ; And you waved a fond farewell As you cantered down the dell And recalled your countless starlit meetings there ! And you've wandered north and west On your vagabonding quest — And you flirted with the maidens day by day ; But you seldom gave a thought To that one true girl you sought, And whose prayers went out to help you on your way. She is married now, perhaps — There was quite a host of chaps Who had envied you your place in Rosie's heart (Did she marry Jim or Joe, Or some mate of Long Ago ? — And you wonder how you ever came to part. 26 YOUR SOUTHERN GIRL Or, perhaps, she waits for you When the days are gold and blue. And the earth is scented sweet with winter rain For you vowed that you'd come back By that lonely bridle-track When the daisies on its borders bloomed again.) But you left her in the South, With your kisses on her mouth, And your farewells fondly ringing in her ears ; Aye, you spurred your big brown horse Out upon the Exiles' Course, And you left behind — a woman and her tears. THE TREE OF STARS 27 THE TREE OF STARS One night I dreamed that all the stars On unseen branches grew, And thro' the night they sparkled bright To ev'ry wind that blew ! I dreamed upon that mystic tree I climbed amidst the skies, And you, my dear, were standing near With wonder-laden eyes. I shook the branches one by one Till stars and planets fell Down — gaily down on bush and town, Where all my kindred dwell. I shook the branches one by one Till every twig was bare, And " Gu'l o' Mine, those gems are thine," I said, " for thee to wear ! " But ah, it was a dismal place For one lone man to bide ; I gazed below, and turned to go ; " Good luck ! " the seraphs cried. You stared into the naked skies, Commingling joy and pain. Until I said, " Be comforted — The stars will grow again ! " 28 THE MOTHER OF THE WEST THE MOTHER OF THE WEST When the little grey bush mother lies white- shrouded, stark, and cold, To pay the last grim debt of all to Nature — and the mould ; Ere the little haggard body crumbles slowly back to clay. What shall the wise men think of her ? — what shall her children say ? What shall they think, and say, and write of her who gave them birth — The little grey bush mother — and the dearest one on earth ? And standing there bare-headed 'neath the brassy Western skies What pictures shall come crowding past before their moistened eyes ? We say it, and we've said it, and we'll say it all again : " The little mother lived for good when all things else were vain." " Oh, Grave, where is thy victory ? Oh, Death, where is thy sting ? " Ah, where, indeed, when Life is but one tale of suffering ? THE MOTHER OF THE WEST 29 She bore the brown bush children who are fighting, side by side, To make this fair young land of ours the world-wide nations' pride ; She bore the brown bush children who, whate'er their fate may be, Will always think of one through all ; and that dear one is She. And high above the Plain of Things, this truth eternal stands : " She labour'd where the idle rich would scorn to stain their hands ; The pages of her life are marked with sweat and salty tears, But oh ! she stands the First of All amongst our pioneers." The pagan ones will kneel around bare-headed in the sun. For she — of all — believed in Him . . . and " God, Thy will be done ! " For her we hushed the pagan voice, for her we learned to live The lives of smug hypocrisy . . . and may the Fates forgive ! 30 THE MOTHER OF THE WEST When she, the grey bush mother whom we loved, has passed away, We'll kneel beside the open grave, her godless ones, and pray ; We'll breathe one prayer — one honest prayer — to crave eternal rest For Her who is the best of all — the Mother of the West. THE COMMON PEOPLE 31 THE COMMON PEOPLE I CAME of the common peoi)le in the sorrowful days gone by, And, close to the quaint old steeple, I'll rest with them when I die ; For the truth comes Sou'ward and Nor'ward, and floats from the East and the West : Let the cults of the world come forward, but the simple folk are best. I come of the common people — the people who dared to roam The shuddering, wild seas over while your weak- lings stayed at home — The people who dared to wander, to work, and dream, and hope Li a land that gave them freedom and their wildest fancies scope. I come of the common people, and I seek no childish pride In the shame of fool forefathers who in scandal ages died. I come of the breed that gave me no fancy blood in my veins. But my mother slaved in the homestead, and my father toiled on the plains. 32 THE COMMON PEOPLE My mother worked hard in homespun, my father in dungaree, And my brothers and sisters aided, and worked by the side of me ; I've wearied in field and fact'ry, and laboured long in the mines. And I crave no honour beyond just this : To die in the fighting lines. I come of the common people — the bravest and best on earth ; I'm proud of my sturdy fathers, and glad of my humble birth ; I'm proud of my sturdy people, who were honest, and brave, and strong, For they gave me the courage to seek for, and the strength to strike at, wrong. I come of the common people — the folk who are wrinkled and gray ; But, mark ye well, they have children who shall reckon with you one day. They shall come with the tramp of an army, and each in his rightful place. Yea, the Sons of the Common People and the Christs of the Ruling Race ! THE COMMON PEOPLE 88 / come of the common 'people — the dear, plain souls — and I, In the shadows by church and steeple, shall rest with them when I die ; For this comes Sou'ward and Nor^ward, and floats from the East and the West : Let all the classes come forward, but the simple folk are best. 34 AN AUSTRALIAN NIGHT AN AUSTRALIAN NIGHT When the western winds are crooning, And the river makes reply, When the stars are honeymooning Opalescently on high ; When the planets seem suspended By a shredded string of light, O ! there's nothing half so splendid As a pure Australian night ! When there's some one fondly waiting Where the boxwood saplings are. Kisses hot anticipating From her youthful Lochinvar ; And you hasten to your dearest (Yours by ling'ring lovers' right) — Then does Heaven seem its nearest In a blue Australian night ! When you tell her that you love her, And you'd gladly sacrifice All the gleaming stars above her For possession of her eyes ; When amidst the sapling shadows Love plays skittles with your might, O ! the sum of Eldorados Is a clear Australian night ! MY LOVERS 35 MY LOVERS Horses' hoofs are plainly beating Down the lonely bridle-track — " Oh, it's six miles to our meeting, And it's quite a dozen back ! " So he told me . . . Hark ! the falling Of the sliprails fills the air — Ah ! a whistle soft, a calling, And I know that he is there ! He has ridden far to see me. And his spurs are dripping wet — Aye, the Bushland, dull and dreamy, Gives me one true lover yet ! And where moonlit glories crown'd us, I will meet him — at the rails — For the stories spun around us Are not always truthful tales. Oh ! that night when first I met him. How his eyes with yearning shone ! And I'll never quite forget him — How he kissed me and — was gone ! But I hear the panels falling (Now my heart is free from care !) Ah ! a whistle soft, a calling. And I know that he is there ! 36 MY LOVERS I've had scores of gallant lovers — Clever, solemn, shrewd, and gay (Ah, my dear old restless rovers, Do you think of me to-day ?). I suppose those flirting fellows Have their lovers, sweet and shy- But I'm never feeling jealous, For no grieving girl am I ! Bushmen woo me late and early (And their spurs are dripping wet !) Ah ! their little free-lance girlie Never lacked a lover yet ! And if HE to-night should leave me, I would scarcely miss his face, For one's absence shall not grieve me If there's one to take his place ! What if people say that Dorrie's Not as careful as she " ought " ? — Life is filled with cares and worries. And our flirting days are short ! Let them toss their heads above me, For no grieving girl am I, With a score of boys to love me — And to love me till they die I MY LOVERS 37 And to-night, amidst the shadows, One will tell me, brain a whirl. Not for all Earth's Eldorados Would he lose his dearest girl. And altho' I may not miss him When another country hails, Oh ! it's sweet, it's sweet to kiss him In the starlight by the rails ! Hark ! . . . the sound of sliprails falling Fills the balmy twilight air ; Ah I ... a whistle shrill, a calling. And I know that he is|there ! Oh ! his bridle-reins are creamy, And his spurs are dripping wet ; . . . He, who rides so far to see me, Is my dearest lover yet ! 38 A SONG OF THE FAILURES A SONG OF THE FAILURES I'll sing you a song of the Failures — A song of the down-trodden men ; Of the ones who have sought, Who have striven and fought. Yea, and come up again and again ! I'll sing you no ballad unpurposed, Be-thundered with trumpets and drums, But an echoing song That is simple and strong, For straight from my conscience it comes. The Failures, the Failures — / love them ! — The Failures in peace and in strife ; And Fll sing it and shout it {I never could doubt it) : THEY ARE THE SUCCESSES OF LIFE ! By the lessons they taught with their failures We learned the true road to success ; For unless we have steer'd By the routes pioneer'd We must speculate vaguely and guess. By their recklessness, frailty and folly, A SONG OF THE FAILURES 39 The tracks that we travel are plain ; And I'll make it my boast, And a rapturous toast : " May there ever be failures again ! " The Failures, brave Failures — God bless them ! The Failures in peace and in strife ; And ril sing it and shout it, And no man shall doubt it ? — THEY ARE THE SUCCESSES OF LIFE ! They longed %vith a purpose entailing The loss of old Joy's diadem, Aye, in palaces fair, And in halls rich and rare, Or under the canvas of Shem. They lost, and the world was the gainer — The brighter because of their loss ; And we sport with the crown On the heights of Renown — But the Failures have carried the cross. The Failures, true Failures — / love them! — The Failures in peace and in strife ; And ril sing it and shout it. And you . . . can you doubt it ? — THEY ARE THE SUCCESSES OF LIFE! 40 THE HORSEMEN THE HORSEMEN (A Bush Girl's Reverie) I SAW the horsemen go — In the sheen of the morning sunshine, while the mists hung yet in the breeze, And the clouds of the night were floating far away to the roaring seas. In the sheen of the morning sunshine while the dew on the silvered glass Was flashing like countless diamonds, aye, I watched the horsemen pass. Yea, I watched the horsemen go — At the birth of the bright New Year, To the tink, tink, tink. And the jink, jink, jink Of the hobble-chains. And the mounted reins, To the tune of the rovefs gear. Aye, I watched them ride a-row, ' With their jig, jig, jog, and slow — Thro' the golden sheen Of the bushland green, ! I watched the horsemen go. THE HORSEMEN 41 I watched the horsemen go — In the glare of the noonday sunshine, when the great nor'-western haze Swung across to the dreaming mountains and beyond to the ocean ways. ! the blood of my girlhood tingled to the sound of one far-off bell, As I watched them file thro' the gateways — as I waved them a last farewell. 1 watched the horsemen go — In the glow of the crimson sunset, when the moun- tain shades had crept Round the base of the quartzy foothills, yea, and deep in the gorges slept. Then I watched them fade in the twilight, and I whispered a prayer for him As they wandered away to the Westlands, far away in the twilight dim. I watched the horsemen go — In the blaze of the silver starlight I had seen them move away To the land of the Drover's Castles, to the West of the Dying Day. " I'll return," he said, " to you, girlie, ere the daisies have bloomed again. Ere the creeks and rivers have emptied their great stained^loads of rain." 42 THE HORSEMEN Yea, I watched the horsemen go, At the birth of the bright New Year, To the tink, tink, tink And the jink, jink, jink Of the hobble-chains, And the mounted reins. To the tune of the rover's gear, Aye, I watched them ride a-row. With their jig, jig, jog and slow — Thro' the golden sheen Of the bushland green, ! I watched my horsemen go. GATHERING STARS 43 GATHERING STARS Last night adown the streets of Space I saw a troop of girls ; A blaze of glory lit the place, And glistened thro' their curls. Their cheeks and lips were ripest red. Their eyes like planets burned : " It is an angel hive," I said, " To God and home returned." And level with their slender waists They held their aprons white (And then I knew no mortal tastes The ripe fruits of delight !) ; And in those baskets improvised I sadly watched them thrust The stars that down on earth I pr^zed- The lamps of love and trust. At times a gem would flash and fall, And sparkle, hissing far (On earth we always used to call That thing a falling star). And sometimes thro' the purple floor It shot across the night (We called that blaze a meteor — If I remember right). 44 GATHERING STARS So in and out those ranks I went In silence for a while, Till at my look of wonderment I saw an angel smile. " What are to you these jewels worth ? " I asked in pained surprise. She said : " We send them down to earth- For they are maidens' eyes." THE PEDDLERS 45 THE PEDDLERS We peddle all the things of earth — for frenzied folk we are, With many a way to work our wealth, and many a woe to mar. The difference between us all is merely of degree ; While I am robbing some one else another's robbing me ! We put our faith in Self alone, with God and Man ignor'd. Until at last we chance to fall — and then we trust the Lord ! We deal in ev'rything that's used, from churches down to cheese (We're civil, unimpeachable, and always strive to please !) ; We peddle watches, shirts, and shoes, and jingles, jokes, and jam (I peddle prose and poetry, while others peddle sham !) ; We peddle mats, and motor cars, and axes, ads., and ale — The world is just a trading house where Life is marked " For Sale ! " 46 THE PEDDLERS The promises of Paradise by parson and by priest Are peddled in the market-place each seventh day at least : " We've haloes strong and beautiful, and guar- anteed to wear ; They're made for sinners and for saints — now, won't you buy a pair ? Theology has fallen flat with one tremendous thud, Excepting that which WE expound all other creeds are Mud ! " The mission-monger of the isles is trafficking in hope ; The hangman peddles sudden death, and grimly loops the rope ! The doctor peddles countless cures, the lawyer sage advice — We'll sell you Self and all we own, and merely ask — our price ! Our goods are warranted to wear ; tip-top, and number one — And now's the time for bargains, for the sale has just begun ! The writer in his study peddles parcels of romance ; Amidst the thunder of the ring the bookie peddles chance ; THE PEDDLERS 47 And when the stream of human hate is roaring on a flood, The soldier, in his finery, is trafficking in blood. We've trampled Heaven in the dust, we trade next door to Hell — But taste and try before you buy, for we are here to sell ! The woman in the workshop sells her starving children's lives ; The Chinky in the by-way peddles cabbages — and wives ! The miner peddles, day by day, his steaming hunks of toil ; The urchin deals in matches, and the millionaire in oil. To ev'ry age its triumph, and to ev'ry man his trade — For Earth's a seething counter, where the " lines '? are all displayed. The juggler peddles mystery, the statesman peddles fame. And in the shadows of the street Delilah peddles shame ; 48 THE PEDDLERS The sculptor peddles chiselled stone, the painter peddles scenes ; And Chutnee, in the restaurant, his spicy pork and beans ; The actor peddles history from " Trilby " to " Mac- beth " ; The undertaker down the street is trafficking in Death ! We peddle all the things of earth, from Bibles down to grog; We're universal traffickers — but, see our cata- logue ! Our goods are unimpeachable, the purest and the best ; Your custom is solicited, and — we will do the rest ! We sell, and cut each other's throats ; we triumph, and we fail — Ho, ho ! the world's a trading house, and Life a monster sale ! TO RED LIPS 49 TO RED LIPS Are you waiting for me, Red Lips, in that little sleeping town. Where the cattle from the mountains to the West are passing down ? Where the heather-bells are nodding to the daisies in the grass. Are you watching for me, girlie, as the sturdy drovers pass ? Yes, I know the winds are droning where the boughs festoon the creek. And the pebbled quartz is gleaming on the spurs around The Peak ; In the sheeny white liquescence of the glory-gilded moon, O, I know that one is praying : " May he come to Red Lips soon." And I trow that she is watching, with her blue expectant eyes, Do^vn the blossom-bordered pathway for the distant dust to rise — Aye, the dust that to each maiden brings this message : " Never fear. For the drovers with the cattle and the sheep are drawing near ! " s 50 TO RED LIPS O, and we shall travel slowly, yea, and we shall linger long In that township with our charges (what if others deem it wrong !) ; For our youth must have its freedom, and our love must have its way, So we'll mix the twain together, caring not what gossips say ! And amidst the mingled mazes of the tinted twi- light glow I shall whisper you the phrases that we lovers only know ; And I'll tell you how I'll miss you (little need such truth to state !) In the shadows ere I kiss you, " Good-night, Red Lips," at the gate. So you'll linger for me, dearie, as the slow days loiter past. And I trust you will not weary, knowing well I'll come at last. When the year is glad with glories, and the sunny skies are blue ; When the breeze tells perfumed stories, ah, my girl, I'll come to you. TO RED LIPS 51 Yea, I know that she is waiting in that far-off dreaming town, Where the buttercups and daisies by the stock are trodden down ; Where the heather-bells are nodding to each other by the track . . . O, my little red-lipped girlie, I am fondly coming back ! 52 THE VOICE THE VOICE Oh, for the after-world of bliss," The saintly Churchman sighed. Alas, there is no life but this," His pagan chum replied. What's heaven or hell to me and you, And selfish hope or fear ? — Let's do the best that men can do For poor weak mortals here ! " So, sinner and saint, they strove for Right By word and act . . . and then A voice re-echoed through the night : It was the Gores' " Amen." THE ABSENT ONES 53 THE ABSENT ONES Our brightest ones have left us, Aye, London's fog and gloom Have, one by one, bereft us Of fairest bud and bloom. And yet when night is falling, With weary words of pain, I hear Australia calling Her children home again. The land which they were born in Could find no use for them. (Oh ! Thankless land to mourn in For Fame's bright diadem !) Their hopes, long reft asunder, Had sent them far to roam ; Yet do they hear, I wonder, The voice that calls them home ? They struggled, debt- and doubt-ward (I write it to our shame). And when they drifted outward We'd but ourselves to blame. But oh ! our hearts are beating. And fierce the old fires burn, Till all the land's entreating Its children to return. 54 FAIRYLAND FAIRYLAND My life is lived within the ken Of soulless politicians, Of journalists, and actor-men, And frenzied rhetoricians. But 'midst those mortals great and grand I'm feeling sad and lonely — And O ! to be in Fairyland For one brief season only ! Ah, where is each and every one Of Childhood's Land a dweller ? Aye, where is Jack the Piper's son ? And where is Cinderella, The fairy of the attic, who Had lips than cherries riper ? And Trixy of the Golden Shoe ? And Ham'lin's queer old piper ? And darling little Riding Hood, Who might have made a dinner For Mr. Wolf, who always would Be such a cute old sinner ? FAIRYLAND 55 And Goodfellow, and Bluebeard, too ? And that old fabled miller ? And Marigold, who'd Otto woo ? And Jack the Giant Killer ? For them the old sun shed his gold. For them the white stars shone, too ; And, with a sorrow all untold, I wonder where they've gone to. Ah, brownies, elfins, and the rest, And princes good and clever — The fabled ones I loved the best, Have vanished — all for ever ! My days are spent within the ken Of hustling politicians, Of journalists, and artist-men, And frenzied rhetoricians. But 'midst those mortals great and grand I'm feeling sad and lonely — And O ! to live in Fairyland For one glad season only ! 56 THE GOLDEN RULE THE GOLDEN RULE It has been the theme of sages Down thro' all the misty ages, I must wearily aver ! It's a stocked-to-order sermon For the wicked folk to squirm on In Sin's amphitheatre ! What if Omar Khayyam wrote it ? Why should every smatt'rer quote it To long-suffering me and you ? What if gay old Homer said it ? — It was little to his credit — He had nothing else to do ! What if Julius Caesar told it ? Or if Pliny said : " Behold it "— Is it cause for such a fuss ? What if Keats and Byron sang it, And Bill Shakespeare, too ? Why, hang it ! Does it matter much to us ? What if Buddha vaguely guessed it ? Or Confucius impressed it On the minds of Chinamen ? THE GOLDEN RULE 57 If it came from old Mahomet — If he shaped a doctrine from it — Does it matter now or then ? It is wanted — I don't doubt it, And we'd suffer much without it — It is first amongst our needs ; Far too plain to misconstrue it, It's our duty — let us do it ; Yea, and prove our faith with deeds ! 58 AT THE GATE AT THE GATE It was long and long ago (Did her people ever know ?) When a body, young and pretty, used to wait, With a girlish love and strong (And she never waited long !) For another due to meet her at the gate. How she filled the ears that harked, And she stilled the dogs that barked, And her lover knew when father was away. How they used to coo and kiss Through a fleeting hour of bliss, And the lovers' names ? — I'll tell some other day ! So we courted on the sly In the starlight, she and I (And I wonder did her people ever know). O, the nights we used to flirt. Vagabond and Miss Alert, In the shadows by the gateway, long ago. I am far away, and, p'r'aps, " Some one " flirts with other chaps- AT THE GATE 59 And as gaily as she ever did with me ; But I know it is the way Of the old world every day, And I hope they are as happy as can be. Other girls have come across Cupid's highway ; and the loss Of a dear one's in the game of love and hate. But I'm longing oft (Ah me !) Just for one short hour to be With that " some one " in the shadows by the gate. 60 TWO A PENNY TWO A PENNY " Two kisses for a penny, sir," She whispered once or twice — " As hot and sweet as any, sir, — A bargain at the price ! " So I kissed her (thrice !) and paid her. Yea, and thought myself a trader Shrewd in everything that's nice. " Two kisses for a penny, sir, I'm sure was what I said — You've taken one too many, sir ! " (She blushed a charming red.) " Now you'll pay for all your blisses. No ? Well, give me back my kisses, Sir, and keep your coin instead ! " I gave her back her kisses, and Just half-a-dozen more That boyhood never misses (and I'd thousands left in store !). " Take your money back, you cheat, sir, And some other day we'll meet, sir. When you're honest. Au revoir ! " DOWN IN RIVERINA Gl DOWN IN RIVERINA Down in pleasant Riverina ! In my fancies and my dreams I can see that land of laughter, with its valleys and its streams ; I can see it decked with silver in the silent summer noon, And I picture all its glories as it slumbers 'neath the moon ; For I've lived in narrow cities, and I've found that life is vain — Ah ! I'm longing, Riverina, for your laughing land again. Down in sunny Riverina, where the skies are bright and blue, Where the men are always striving, and the maids are sweet and true, Where the daylight breaks in splendour, and the sunlights dream all day, Where the breezes drone their stories, and the rippling waters play. Where the nights are black and silver, and the days are gold and green — Where one's life is worth the living — down in sleepy Riverine, 62 DOWN IN RIVERINA Down in dreaming Riverina, where my old bush sweethearts are, Where my early loves lie hidden in the distance, faint and far. Where soft eyes are lit with laughter, and sweet loving voices call (And I'll love their owners truly, or I'll never love at all !). I know city girls in plenty, but they never can compare With the girls of Riverina, for my dearest ones are there. Down in old-time Riverina, where my home of boyhood lies In that valley where the ridges to the westward roll and rise, Where the sunbeams keep their vigils, and the stars the night long shine O'er the graves of those whose mem'ries are so dear to me and mine — When my hopeless quest is over in these hopeless lands I roam I will claim you, Riverina, as my last, eternal home. Down in far-off Riverina, where I fashioned as a child Rainbow dreams that I have followed with a longing^almost wild, DOWN IN RIVERINA 63 Where my people proudly saw me take my destined path — and yet I have followed, vainly followed, with an aching, vague regret ; But they speak my name with sorrow and, per- chance, a touch of pride Down in slumbrous Riverina, far away from Sydney-side. Down in leafy Riverina — how my fevered fancy flies To that land of happy meetings, days of bliss, and sad good-byes — Ah, my old, Avild, reckless bushmen — faithful com- rades of my heart — Though our ways have differed widely and we've drifted far apart, Yet I'm longing for a meeting, when my wild, mad dreams are past, Down in fertile Riverina, when her sons return at last. Lotus land of Riverina ! I have learned what men endure — I have feasted with the wealthy, and I've fasted with the poor ; 64 DOWN IN RIVERINA I have walked the splendid highways where the pulseless hearts are cold, Till I weary of the city with its glory and its gold. And I'd sooner be a rover with a load of want and woe Down in sleepy Riverina, where the dear old rivers flow. Far away from Riverina ! Let my fancies faint and fade — I have sampled life in earnest in the sunlight and the shade. Let the traffic roar and rattle, let the holy church- bells ring (Ah, they only chime to mock me in the twilight of my fling !) ; Let me flee the sin and squalor till I set my feet again Down in dreamy Riverina, far from mockery and pain. Down in God's own Riverina ! I am far away, but clear Are the scenes that rise before me in my narrow office here. How the weary, woeful city in its fever moans aloud ! DOWN IN RIVERINA 65 How the passing people haunt me ! How the ghastly faces crowd ! And there's Httle left to cheer me, and there's nothing left to thrill — Yes, my native Riverina, I am loyal to you still ! 66 THE WAY THE BRANDING'S DONE THE WAY THE BRANDING'S DONE " Just draft them from the others — Will I have to speak again ? — And bring the calves and mothers All together down the lane. Take them easy, there an' — steady, Now ! An' what in Heaven ails That screechin', squallin' Eddie, Squeezin' there against the rails ? " Keep that yelpin' mongrel quiet ! What ? He never follered you ? You'll ride them ? Just you try it — You'll be sorry if you do. Now then, Jack — well, did I ever ! Oh, you pumpkin-'eaded fool ! I'll teach you what they never Used to teach at all in school. "Is it any use in speakin" Andy, now I'd like to know ? Here's that crimson breaker streakin' ! — Stop the blanky blanker— Woh ! " Half a score of arms enfold him In a grip that's worse than death. " Bring the ropes and — hold him, hold him ! " And he struggles hard for breath. THE WAY THE BRANDING'S DONE 67 Why, you're like some city swell ; an' Jack, you needn't act so bold. Send that yelpin' dog to hell, an' — Lord, the brandin' iron's cold ! Make a fire of sticks an' 'cap them Quick, and 'ang such darned delays ; An' watch the brands, an' keep them In the centre of the blaze." And the smirching smoke comes thickly Up to hard, unfeeling eyes, And the smoky smell comes sickly As the curling cloudlets rise. Every grafting mother's son is Marked and moiled with smoke and grime, And — " It's bully, and the fun is Better now than shearing time ! " 4c 4t 3ie 4! i|: Half a score of weaners groaning In their burning, blinding pain. And their anxious mothers moaning At the gateway down the lane. Take the irons to their places. Shift the roping poles away, Wash our grimy hands and faces. And the branding's done — Hooray ! 68 WHEN THE DAISIES BLOOM AGAIN WHEN THE DAISIES BLOOM AGAIN When flow'rs and weeds to greyness turn'd Around our cottage door, And summer suns ail-fiercely burn'd, He sought the West — once more To join the band of droving men By ridge, and rock, and plain ; But he shall come to claim me, when The daisies bloom again. " When the daisies bloom again, In the sunshine and the rain,'^ Oh, he said with ardour true ; " When their fragrance wanders sweet. Where the fond hush lovers meet, ril come homing, homing, homing Bach to you." From East to West, and North to South The Roads of Commerce go ; He came and kissed me on the mouth, And said he loved me so. He gazed away beyond the hill, And laughed to hide his pain : " The roads shall claim me, dear, until The daisies bloom again." WHEN THE DAISIES BLOOM AGAIN 69 " When the daisies bloom again Round the waving crops of grain, Ah, my sweetheart, Vll he due ; When the Spring with silver sheen Lights a land of blue and green, ril come riding, riding, riding Back to you." My lover shall a rover be Thro' all the tracks of life, Until he's chained to constancy And comfort by a wife ; But he shall cease his rovings then, Thro' sun, and wind, and rain. For soon he'll come to claim me — when The daisies bloom again. " When the daisies bloom again {And he laughed to hide his pain) ; When the skies are bright and blue ; In the fragrant twilight glow. When the breezes come and go, I shall wander, wander, wander Back to you."" 70 THE LITTLE BIRDS KNOW BEST THE LITTLE BIRDS KNOW BEST Last night there came upon the breeze a rich and rare perfume That told of creepered treUises and wattle dells in bloom, Of buttercups and daisies nodding gaily in the grass — As though to give a welcome to the lovers as they pass. It floated, memory-laden, till the truth was sweetly plain That love, and kiss, and blossom-time had come to earth again. It told of past years' strollings, through the dreamy afternoons. By pathways, primrose-bordered, close beside the deep lagoons ; Of moonlit walks together (and how many miles we stray'd When Heaven up above us seemed a planet pro- menade !) Of world-old vows and kisses when the night was lone and late, And a pair of happy lovers were caressing at the gate. THE LITTLE BIRDS KNOW BEST 71 But we parted in the winter, and now, mated in the spring, The Httle birds are chirping " Why this foolish quarrelhng ? Why don't you wed and settle down and leave your hearts at rest ? " What fools are we — it seems to me the little birds know best ! But now she's got another chap, and I another girl As though to show the ebb and flow of Love's amazing whirl ! And Time goes rolling past us, leaving nothing much behind Save here and there some little thing to prove that we were blind ; Some little tokens scattered in the shadow and the sheen To emphasize the spectres of the joys that might have been. So we live, and love, and wander on a vague uncharted quest — Yes, after all, it seems to me the little birds know best! 72 JENNIE GREEN JENNIE GREEN Jennie Green, a full-blooded aboriginal, reported to have been queen of a tribe of blacks formerly inhabiting the Lake Condah district, has died in the Ararat (Victoria) Asylum for the Insane. She was 70 years of age. How many thousand kings and queens of brave but brief command Are mingled with the dust to-day, or scattered with the sand ? How many thousand Jennie Greens who ruled the sons of men Are marching with the spirit tribes beyond all mortal ken ? How many thousand tribesmen hailed this lady as their queen ? — And who will pray on bended knees to-night for Jennie Green ? For her no mournful tidings speed around the hustling world ; For her no waving banners are in silence drooped and furled ; For her no cable messages to regal quarters fly ; For her there booms no requiem ; no tings are half- mast high ; JENNIE GREEN 73 For her no holy church bells ring ; no mourners crowd the scene — But who will say one prayer to-night for vanished Jennie Green ? She did, perchance, as other queens, her unavailing best, And p'r'aps 'tis well that Jennie Green has gone to endless rest ! 'Twere better had she died long ere she saw the White Man come — With crucifix and rifle, aye, and Bible, tracts and rum ! 'Twere better far for Jennie, p'r'aps, had such things never been — But now, when all is said and done, who'll pray for Jennie Green? Her lands were not as wide as those of other queenly heads, But O ! the sunsets painted them in ever-changing reds ! The stars gazed on them guardian-like, and silverly the Cross Gleamed down from Heaven's treasure-house on Jennie's gain or loss ; 74 JENNIE GREEN The white moon shed its lustre in a soft mysterious sheen — But who will say a prayer to-night — one prayer for Jennie Green ? No pictures fine of Jennie Green have ever come to me ; No lords and ladies bowed before Her Gracious Majestee ! No fashion journals photographed the things she mostly wore (A smile, a frown, a worried look, perchance, and nothing more !) ; No gay postillions bore her out her soldiers' ranks between — But who will offer up a j)rayer to God for Jennie Green ? Did tribal folk kneel by her last sad sordid couch of pain, And probe the mystery of why Queen Jennie was insane ? Did rival aspirants beseech her sceptre and her crown ? JENNIE GREEN 75 And did she name her followers — and were they black or brown ? Or did she as Camilla die — or Mary Magdalene ? And who will pray on bended knees to-night for Jennie Green ? 76 A BALLAD OF AUBREY DE VAR A BALLAD OF AUBREY DE VAR Say, here is a dairy-maid ditty — A topical ballad of how One Aubrey de Var from the city Helped Nellie a-milking the cow. He came for a change — and he found it ! (Too much of a good thing, I fear !) And I've woven a story around it With verses, and printed it here. He came from the roar and the riot — His doctor had ordered a change. So he journeyed out searching for quiet By roadway, and river, and range. And that is the why and the wherefore He wandered our people among (My muse was awakened, and, therefore. This dairy-made ditty is sung). He spoke every classical lingo With perfectly wonderful ease ; His trousers were matchless, by Jingo ! And drooped just a shade at the knees. A BALLAD OF AUBREY DE VAR 77 His vest was the Flag of All Nations, With facings, and stripings, and S2)ots ; His ties were the representations Of all that is dainty in knots. His watch and his chain eighteen carat. And jewels that glittered in rings — In short, from his toes to his garret (That's vulgar) were marvellous things. He did as a gentleman " oughter," And wore a weird glass at his eye — A swell of the very first water He was, as his name would imply. And out where the Sun-god's adorning The land of the strippers and ploughs, We made Aub's acquaintance one morning, When Nellie was milking the cows^ — When Nellie was milking " Red Rosie," And " Pansy," and " Beauty," and " Ball " (Mark, she hadn't yet started on " Posie " — Most wonderful kicker of all !). To Nellie's soft touch, as with magic. The milk in a showerlet stream'd. And here is the part that is tragic : Quite simple to Aubrey it seem'd. 78 A BALLAD OF AUBREY DE VAR So he offered to help her, and save her The trouble he never had tried, Might he help her just once — as a favour ? And Nellie (the darling !) complied. Now, the next on the list was old Posie (A knowing old vixen was she !), And Aubrey got seated quite cosy, And rested the pail on his knee. The sight of that dandy quite " knock'd her " — She'd never seen mortal so strange ! Then she dealt with the man whom the doctor Had ordered out West for a change. And talk about change ! Well, he got it ! (Too much of a good thing, I fear !) For she dusted his trousers (that's not it !), And patted him under the ear. Abdominal, facial, and spinal — Anatomical names for her deals — And then, as a glorious final. She trampled him under her heels ! And when, after scrimmages gory, He managed to work himself free, 'Twas a very sad wreck of a glory That stood before Nellie — and me ! A BALLAD OF AUBREY DE VAR 79 And that gem of a Paris-cut waistcoat, Immaculate one-time in silk, Ah me, was a very defaced coat. All tattered, and dripping with milk ! His wonderful eye-glass was broken, His trousers all trampled and torn, And, if pain of expression's a token. Quite foolish he felt, and forlorn. Then his way through the timber he wended In clothes that were shockingly stained, And of all that was matchless and splendid, No vestige of beauty remained ! He came for a change — and he found it ! (Too much of a good thing, I fear !) And I've woven a story around it With verses, and printed it here. For this is a ballad — not pretty. But truthful — a ballad of how One Aubrey de Var from the city Helped Nellie a-milking the cow. 80 THE NARROW ROAD THE NARROW ROAD Where lies Emancipation ? — say. " Thro' tears and blood," you cry ; But is there not a kinder way For us to reach it by ? The Gods you worshipped in the past, Are they grown helpless now ? Does no Redeemer rise at last To teach you Why and How ? Are all the pray'rs you whisper here Upon your bended knees But selfish pleadings born of fear, To set your hearts at ease ? Is there no finger-post of Fate To point you out the way ? No master hand inviolate To lead you from Decay ? THE NARROW ROAD 81 There is a narrow thorny track Whereon a Workman trod With Pilate'' s cross upon his back : AND THAT ROAD LEADS TO GOD. 82 WILL SOME ONE SING A SONG? WILL SOME ONE SING A SONG ? I WANT to sing a song — The song Australia needs To set the warm blood gushing In the veins of stern men rushing On to brave and mighty deeds. Its music (O, so sweet and strong !) Shall thrill the nation's heart With its rhythmic passion tender, Rich in all the magic splendour Of the true-born singer's art. Aye, that grand, inspiring song shall be Of Young Australia's history A monumental part. I want to sing a song — The song my land awaits, With its longings ripe for stirring, With its great heart fit for daring All the fair or frenzied Fates. Its music shall be rich and rare And bear no paltry theme, But shall rise in exultation For the youngest, fairest nation WILL SOME ONE SING A SONG? 83 In the great all-worldly scheme. Yea, its melody shall roll and rise In grandeur to the arching skies Like songs of which we dream. Australia waits a song, But the 5^ears roll swiftly by. And O ! my brother singers — Young Australia's message-bringers — Who shall sing it, you or I ? Its music shall be rich and rare, Inspiring, deep, and strong ; It shall be our nation's greeting. Sung to set the warm hearts beating In the bosoms of the throng. Yes, a blazoned part that song shall be Of our Australia's destiny. Will some one siiig Her Song ! 84 IN MEMORIAM IN MEMORIAM H. J. McCooey, Australian rover and Bush natural- ist, who died in November, 1902. Gone, gone beyond the pale of earthly care And everlasting strife ; Beyond the dreads of Doubt and Dumb Despair That haunt the paths of Life. Beyond the furthest sunset bathed in gold To peace he earned — and won ; Beyond the range of rovings uncontroll'd — And Nature claims her son. As Nature's own her strangest paths he took — The ways no fortune bars. The Earth — ^to him a priceless, open book With seas, and streams, and stars ; With never-ending, silent glories vast Of shadow and of sheen, The secrets of the hoary, voiceless Past The distant, dark Unseen, The links, and lines, and countless causes grim Through each succeeding age Were in the open book engraved for him, And limned on every page. IN MEMORIAM 85 Gone, gone beyond the land where Genius gropes In guises all unknown ; Beyond Life's vain regrets and fallen hopes — And Nature claims her own. * * * « * I voice me here a strange, but true, regret, And write a tender line For one to me a stranger always — yet An old, old friend of mine. 86 AT FORTUNES-ON-THE-RISE AT FORTUNES-ON-THE-RISE One sunny morn he wandered to our village in the south, With a scent of fine Havanas stealing softly from his mouth, 'Twas something for the gods to see the way that dandy dress'd — The perfect pattern of his pants, the beauty of his vest ; He twirled a real malacca, and he curled a silken mou., And Lord ! without a doubt he was a reg'lar London beau. His face was very fine, 'twas said, his skin was soft and fair. He always glossed his pearly teeth and brilliantined his hair ; He took the Piccadilly stride in shining boots of tan. And any one could see he was a perfect gentleman ; His voice was really splendid, he could play and he could dance — No village lad who vied with him had ever half a chance ! AT FORTUNES-ON-THE-RISE 87 He lodged and boarded " parlour " at the town- ship's best hotel, And people courted favours from that dainty English swell. His mission in our neighbourhood was run on Christian lines : To buy at fancy prices all the " wildest " of our mines ; For " money was no object " — haw ! (he'd come from London straight, And represented millions in some English syndi- cate). He went to tea with managers, and every single girl At sight of him went off her head in one prodigious whirl ! And matrons, too, had seen him come with quite beseeching eyes That plainly told of " hearts to let " at Fortunes- on-the-Rise. The photos, that admirers sent ! — and specimens galore ! For seldom were we honoured by an English swell before. But changes came, as changes do, and months went rolling on, 88 AT FORTUNES-ON-THE-RISE Till Fate has left the task to me to tell the world he's gone, — To tell the world he's vanished like a shadow from the scene, And left some trifling things behind to keep his mem'ry green — Some unpaid bills, some broken hearts, and other things — but oh ! If you meet that gay levanter will you kindly let us know ? THE SQUATTERS' CUP 89 THE SQUATTERS' CUP We 'ave won a splendid vict'ry — just as we anti- cipated — With old Darkness from the station, an' that city youngster up, An' we're just a bit excited, an' excusably elated, For we consummated all our dreams an' won the Squatters' Cup ! It was such an easy triumph, too ; 'e won by 'arf a furlong, An' gracious me ! you should 'ave 'card those busy bookies curse ! For, despite our bet at evens, Burradonga wasn't there long Till it 'ad their surplus silver safely resting in its purse ! 'E's a brave 'un is old Darkness, an' that street- bred urchin rode 'im With a gameness an' a judgment that were equal to the best ; An' the local people chaffed us, but we merely winked, who know'd 'im — For we reckoned when the time was due 'e'd rise to any test ! 90 THE SQUATTERS' CUP An' they said the old black stager would dissolve in 'arf a minute, But we answered : " Wait an' watch 'im, Bertie knows what 'e's about ! " — Yea, an' so it proved, for truly not another 'orse was in it — Comin' round the homeward turn the stringin' field was wearied out ! Ah ! that day at Stony Ridges 'Erbert Nixon was the 'ero, An' I'm sure were I immortalized I'd never quite forget E'en the very faintest echo of that glad exub'rant cheer (Oh ! In a flood of recollections I can 'ear the thunder yet!) An' altho' this 'ero bizness wasn't quite the sort o' racket That our darin' station comrade would by choice decide to face. Sweet Miss Nettie from the 'omestead pinned a blossom on 'is jacket As a mark of admiration for the way 'e rode the race. An' altho' the boss is 'ere to-day entirely for the love of THE SQUATTERS' CUP 91 That 'onest pastime deemed the joy of many an ermined king, Still we station chaps were eager to deplete the treasure-trove of All the Ikey Mo fraternity that made the welkin ring, . . . Yes, we won a noted vict'ry — just as we anticipated — With old Darkness from the station, an' that city youngster up, An' we're just a bit excited, an' excusably elated, For we consummated all oiu' dreams an' won the Squatters' Cup. 92 MY WANDERERS MY WANDERERS The sheen is on the earth Hke A gleaming cloth of gold, Inviting song and mirth like In joyful days of old. The gleaming sunshine mellows The crop of waving grain, And yet, my dear Bush fellows. You Cometh not again ! For some have crossed the ranges. And some have sailed the seas : Thro* all the countless changes They went in twos and threes. ^Tis Time alone discovers The fains the Fates allow — But say, my old Bush Lovers, What lands you wander now ? They said that I was pretty, They wrote that I was fair ; For I was always, " Nettie, A bloom so debonair ! " And when the Cross hung brightly, From starlit ways they came To flirt with Nettie nightly — And were they much to blame ? MY WANDERERS 93 (All time an idol-wrecker, Despair of saint and sage, The Maid has been the Mecca, Of Man thro' every age ! Since mortals lived in wurlies, Or thro' the mountains ranged, The ways of boys and girlies Have scarcely ever changed !) My lovers ? They were toilers With axe, and pick, and pen, And they were Care-despoilers — Great strong Bohemian men ! The writers wrote their verses. And sent them on to me, And spite of empty purses They lived in ecstasee ! All hungered for the chances To win Miss Nettie's smiles. (O rides to sweet bush dances Across the starlit miles !) Then homeward hard hoofs clatter'd An hour before the sun ; So a score of hearts were shatter'd And another " boy " was won ! 94 MY WANDERERS The old brigade has vanished To drear and distant climes, And passing years have banished The joys of olden times But when the quest is over, The rainbow chased in vain, Perchance each dear old rover Will homeward turn again For some have crossed the ranges. And some have sailed the seas ; Thro* all the countless changes They went in twos and threes. Ah yes, old Time discovers The lightness of a voW' — But say, my Old-time Lovers, What lands you wander now ? RUSSIA 95 RUSSIA Hear the voices raised for Freedom as our brothers face the foe, See the blood that prints a story as it trickles thro' the snow ; Hear the cracking of the rifles, and the sighs that find release. Ye who turn to God to judge ye — ye who lightly talk of peace ! 'Tis the same old simple story told of hate and grasping greed ; 'Tis the same old bitter sequel wrought in thought- ful word and deed ; 'Tis the same old sorrow suffered ever since the world began ; 'Tis the same old anguish lesson ever taught by man to man. Never yet has grim Oppression crushed a spirit down so low In the homes of rain and sunshine, or in lands of sleet and snow, But that spirit rose thrice-strengthen'd from the passion of its pain — Rose daring and defiant in its triumph once again. 96 RUSSIA Never yet was cause so futile, never yet was hope so weak, But a cannon belched its thunder — if the gunner dared to speak ; Never yet a Christ has risen, bidding gallant hearts rejoice When the wrongs of earth are righted, but there came an ans'ring voice. And afar in snow-clad Russia, thro' the gloom of joyless years, See : the snow with blood is redden'd, aye, and thawed with women's tears — It is redden'd with the life-blood (and they've little else to give) Of those sturdy sons of Freedom that its future sons may live. Mark and study well the lesson, ye who glibly talk of peace ; Ye whose only creed is Selfishness, whose gods are smeared with grease ; Study well, and take ye warning by the white slaves' sacrifice, As the battle-smoke goes drifting up to Russia's cheerless skies. RUSSIA 97 Take ye warning now, who idle long in lands of snow or sun ; Take ye warning ere the patience of your own white slaves be done ; For the hearts that throb with passion 'neath the banner now unfurl 'd Overseas in far-off Russia beat for all the Christian world. 98 TWO PLAINTS TWO PLAINTS Oh, if I were rich," he cried, " The happiest man on earth I'd be, with her as my bride — Forgetting my humble birth . . . Oh, if I were rich,^^ he cried. Oh, if I were poor," she sighed, "I'd lay my heart at his feet. All stripp'd of its tinsel pride — Its worldliness and deceit . . . Oh, if I were poor,^^ she sighed. So lovers, to each denied Because of the shams that be For ever apart must bide. ..." Oh, if I were rich,'''' mused he. " Oh, if I were poor,^' she cried. AT NIGHT 99 AT NIGHT Once again the night is folding Twilight glories in its gloom, Icy clouds are revels holding While the thunders belch and boom. Once again the rain is falling Over mountain, ridge, and plain — And my heart is calling, calling To my old Bush " boy " again 1 Are his thoughts of me ? I wonder, In that land across the seas, For the wind, and rain, and thunder Bring a flood of memories. Yea, he often came a-girling From his lonely camps afar When the winter clouds were whirling. And the skies showed not a star. But he's coming back to take me In the sunny Christmas-tide, For he promised he would make me In those golden days his bride. 100 AT NIGHT And altho' the skies may clear not, And in spite of wind and rain, He will come to claim me, fear not, When the Summer shines again ! While a horse is strong to bear him. Ah, that horse his own shall be ; While a God is good to spare him, O ! my Jack will come to me ! . . Hark, the cheerless rains are falling Over mountain, ridge, and plain — And my heart is calling, calling To my old Bush " boy " again ! CLICKER-CLACKER-CLANG ! " 101 " CLICKER-CLACKER-CLANG ! " In The Bulletin, Grant Hcrvey vociferously enjoins his young carpentering friends to leave public life alone, and stick to the flooring-dog and handsaw. Why ? Honest manual labour is as noble as it is necessary ; but, even so, what's wrong with honest brain- work, which is equally indispensable in this hustling world of men ? So this scribe presents his best respects, and — Here's an earnest song of discontent for all who choose to hear, In spite of butter-hearted men and selfish " snobs who sneer." I sing for clerks and carpenters, and big-ambitioned men, Exhorting them to do their best, and ask not how, nor when. I, too, have nailed the rafters on while ever there was light — And in the candle's feeble glow I wrote my songs at night. I've proved that they who push the plane can ply the pen as well When there are millions to be moved or red revolts to quell. 102 " CLICKER-CLACKER-CLANG ! " I've proved they mark their services, and not their souls, for sale — Aye, souls that rise above such things as " pints of good brown ale " ; For they have deeply hated wrong since ever hammers rang Above the city's turmoil with their " clicker- clacker-clang." My dad and I were carpenters, and thus he spake to me : " Tho' now you are the same as I, you shall not always be ; Your spirit is a dynamo that ever throbs and strains. The rebel blood of ages hotly surges thro' your veins. Go forth, my boy, invade the world and strike at wrong and sham — For he who knew not discontent was never worth a damn. " There's plenty left to use the tools when you have laid them down (They might be ])lied by many a pro. in college cap and gown) ; " CLICKER-CLACKER-CLANG ! " 103 There 3 plenty left to fit the joints and clamber up the walls When you have made your purpose plain in legis- lative halls. The world is waiting to be won ; it waits its saviour's word — And he who clamoured loud enough has ever yet been heard." So use your brains, young carpenter, and clerk, and engineer, And strike for country, home, and friends, and ev'rything that's dear. Aye, make your purpose pure and plain, and work with all your might While ever sorrow, shame, and sin infest the paths of Right. Let pints of good brown sparkling ale and selfish thoughts go hang — And you'll glorif}?^ your calling where the hammers click and clang 104 WE'LL MISS ALL THE FUN WE'LL MISS ALL THE FUN WHEN WE'RE DEAD Let them flee from the paths that we travel — Those creatures and croakers who crave For the peace 'neath the grass and the gravel, Deep down in the gloom of the grave ! And we'll drink to " The Fun of the Future," Unshadowed by Doubt or by Dread ; So here's to the mirth Of this weary old earth — We'll miss it, my dear, when we're dead ! Yea, for Life in our leisure or duty Is quite a procession of joys ! — There are trips down the harbour with Beauty, And nights down the town with the boys. There are races, and picnics, and parties. Where Joy's brightest lustre is shed. (There's a shadow of rue When Dame Fortime's untrue — But then look what we'll miss when we're dead !) There is some one to lure us and bring us To joylands of kisses and cm'ls ; WHEN WE'RE DEAD 105 There are " some ones " to flirt with and " string us"— Our own or another chap's girls ! O, the days and the nights that we squander ! (Let sinners be saintly instead !) O, the glories that are 'Neath the Vagabonds' Star ! — We'll miss them, my dear, when we're dead ! And in spite of Life's shadows and sorrows ; In spite of the withering scorn Of the croakers for painful to-morrows, • It's glorious, dear, to be born ! . . So here's to " The Fun of the Future " ; " Good-bye " to the days that are fled ; " Better Luck " to the men Who have troubles — but then We'll miss all the fun when we're dead ! 106 BUSH GIRLIES BUSH GIRLIES I AM sitting at my window, and I'm busy coining rhymes Of a score of men and maidens and the scenes of other times. There were homes beyond the ranges — ^little heavens on the farms, Where the brown-haired sun-kissed girhes enter- tained us with their charms ; Where the Nelhes, and the Susans, and the Marys, and the Mays Ever waved a hand of welcome down the blossom- bordered ways. There was Nellie — little Nellie, fairest flower of all the flock. Who, like Helen, kept a legion of most killing smiles in stock. She would dance from dark till daylight with the big brown earnest men (Sweetest Nellie^ — little Nellie — ^you had many lovers then !) ; But she married big Tom Manders — ah, from many rugged lives All the beacon lights are taken when the bushmen claim their wives. BUSH GIRLIES 107 There was Susie — freckled Susie, of the old Tre- wolgan-road (Ah, for her the eyes of bushmen in her smiling presence glowed !) But she said she " loved them equal " — so she treated all the same. (Yes, but only, freckled Susie, till the Prince of Lovers came !) Oh, but bitter are the glances, and too cruel are the curls, When the unromantic plodders come and marry all our girls ! There was Mary — fickle Mary, of the old Trewolgan Creek (Faith ! what stories it could murmur if it only chose to speak !) ; She had quite a dozen lovers, and she loved them each in turn (Mary — fickle Mary, tell me, were there any you could spurn ?). They were big and brown and earnest, they were loyal, they were brave (And you saved them many quarrels when you went and married Dave !). There was May, old Spencer's daughter — with her face of ruddy brown, 108 BUSH GIRLIES Whom we loved — and loved the better when her pater was in town ; For her dad was old and crusty, and he treasured her so much That his ruddy, brown-faced daughter was to look at — not to touch ! But Willonga Jack, the digger, cu'cumnavigated Fate, For he partnershiped with Spencer — and she married Spencer's mate ! There was brown-eyed Laurel Schroeder, of the Never-Never track. And the shearers' joy — ^the guardian of the saddle and the pack. True, she may have been a siren, luring cheque-men from their loves — Yet Miss Laurel's eyes, I venture, were the eyes of cooing doves. Ah, but where are those who kissed her, where are those who held her hand ? . . . Ask the desert that has mantled Laurel Schroeder with its sand. There were others — ^many others — played the old sweethearting games, But the men I wot of know them — though, alas ! by other names. BUSH GIRLIES 109 To the rover, homeward turning, there's a sameness in the range, In the river and the roadway — but the girHes ever change. For the gloss has left their tresses and the blooms have left their cheeks — But the trysting spots are sacred in the shadows of the peaks. So the Mother Bush has claimed them, men and maidens, for its own — Laughing, reckless, sad-eyed bushmen and the sweethearts we have known ; But we'll leave them with our blessings and their blossoms and their birds (We ! — ^who'd never much to offer save a string of honeyed words !). Yet the world seems full of sorrows and icono- clastic churls When the unromantic plodders stay and marry all our girls ! 110 A BALLAD OF MIXTURES A BALLAD OF MIXTURES An Australian bard complains that the field of balladry has been too well exploited, with the deplorable result that the latest arrivals have no song material at hand. Rot ! There are thou- sands, tons, dray-loads of subjects patiently await- ing the touch and thrill of the enthusiastic rhymer. For instance, he might write — A BALLAD of all the things that go to make a weary world — Of dukes, and dudes, and dossers, and of darlings crimp'd and curl'd ; A ballad of this and that and those ; a ballad of here and there ; A ditty of mostly everything — a ballad of every- where ! A ballad of all the wealthy, of the proud and patient poor ; A ballad oi things uncertain, and a ballad of all that's sure ; A ditty of all the fair and frail, the fast, and fine, and fat ; A ballad of why, and whence, and where ; a ballad of this and that. A BALLAD OF MIXTURES 111 A ballad af all the short and tall, a ballad of little and big ; A ditty of those who go the pace or miss the whirligig ; Of sins and sighs and sorrows and such, of trials and troubles and tears ; Of friends and foes, and famine and feast, of horrors, and hopes and fears. A ballad of birth, and life, and death ; of boyhood, youth, and age ; A ditty of prude and parson, or of peer, and priest, and page ; A ballad of this, and that, and these ; a ballad of here and there — A ditty of mostly everything — a ballad of every- where ! A ballad of all the things that go to make the uni- verse ; A ballad of good, and better, and best ; a ballad of bad and worse ; A ditty of men with wisdom deep, and of sharps, and flats, and fools ; A ballad of pubs, and temples, and of chiu-ches, gaols, and schools. 112 A BALLAD OF MIXTURES A ballad of all the things that were, of all that might have been ; A ditty of drought and dust and damp, of mist, and shadow, and sheen ; A ballad of all that shall be yet, of all that's pre- sent or past ; A ditty of drink, and doubt, and debt ; a ballad of first and last. A ballad of cringe, and cant, and " crawl " ; of greed, and grovel, and gain ; A ditty of vice and virtue, and a ballad of pleasure and pain ; A ballad of joy and broken hearts ; of longing and lust and love ; A ditty of Hell that burns beneath ; a ballad of Heaven above. A ballad of mostly everything that goes to make a world ; Of beasts and beauties, beggars and bards, and darlings crimp'd and curl'd ; A ballad of this, and that, and those ; a ballad of here and there — A ditty of mostly everything — a ballad of every- where ! THE LAW 113 THE LAW Last night I had a fearful dream, and this is what I saw : A fiendish monstei:, grey and gaunt, that called itself the Law. Thro' ways of Truth and Innocence I saw it fiercely grope The while it grasped a prison key, a rifle, and a rope. It stalked about my office door with ghostly step and grim ; It searched thro' Hunger's lone abode, and peered in corners dim. (Adown the street I heard a cry that told of driven fear, And yet the Monster heeded not — it scarcely seemed to hear !) I saw it sneaking silently where faint the gas-light shone On urchins hungry, homeless — and it fiercely moved them on. At length I asked, " What have they done ? — what charges might be made ? " " I am the Law," the Thing replied, " and so must be obeyed. '- H 114 THE LAW It gnashed its teeth, and tore its hair, and then with hate intense It blundered thro' the realms of Love and Faith and Innocence ; It tempted Virtue from its path with pitiless intent — Then dragged it back, and meted out a spiteful punishment ! It saw the People's Heritage filched by the hand of Fat. And heeded not — for it had more important work than that ! It saw the sharks and spielers rob the widow and her child (The Monster dined with Fat that night, and hideously smiled). Last night I had a fearful dream, and this is what I saw : A fiendish, hate-inspiring Thing that called itself the Law. The while I gazed into its face cold shudders shook me thro' — / woke and looked around the world — AND FOUND MY DREAM WAS TRUE ! WHEN JAMIE JOHNSON DIED 115 WHEN JAMIE JOHNSON DIED Two score of darkened miles away from doctor's hope and skill, A doomed man in the wilderness, our old-time mate lay ill. The night wind moaned itself to sleep, and gave no cooling breath To lift the awful calm that was the harbinger of Death ; Not even on the timbered peak a lonely night-bird cried To break the " weird expectancy," when Jamie Johnson died. The moonlight glittered through the cracks, and at the open door A flood of silver streamed across the squalid earthen floor. It lit the sick man's pallid face, and climbed the wall to show Some trifling thing to prove that one had loved him long ago — A trinket here, a picture there, a letter opened wide From her who'll never know (nor care) how Jamie Johnson died, 116 WHEN JAMIE JOHNSON DIED Rough bushmen, tanned and tall, we were, who earned our daily bread By strength of heart, and yet we felt a voiceless, aching dread. The all we knew of godliness our roving lives had marred — We cared not for a woman's love, and scorned a man's regard ; And yet we felt a dread that we, with bushmen gaunt beside. Would die away from home and kin — the same as Johnson died. One whispered of a mother's or a sister's blinding tears — Some trifling acts of tenderness far back in buried years ; One fanned the patient's fevered face and wiped his matted hair In silence as he tried to say some half-remembered prayer. Another sighed a strange " Amen," and turned his head to hide A tear that trickled down his cheek, that night when Johnson died. But one amongst us knew that prayers were but of doubtful worth WHEN JAMIE JOHNSON DIED 117 When those who have to go have lived their destined time on earth ; He knew it well, and wondered, in a strong man's fashion grim, If both the parts they played were changed, would Johnson pray for him ? He knew the creed of hopelessness, the stern, un- bending pride — And breathed no wasted prayer the time when Jamie Johnson died. The moonlight glittered through the cracks, and at the open door A flood of silver streamed across the squalid earthen floor ; It climbed the rough unpainted wall, and played across the bed To show the ghastly paleness on the features of the dead. The stars glowed in the firmament, it seemed as though to guide A freed soul to forgetfulness, that night when Johnson died. 118 A SONG OF BUTTERCUPS A SONG OF BUTTERCUPS O ! I SING a song of buttercups — of blossoms golden yellow That are nodding to each other in the breeze, While an Eden-fashioned fragrance, ever magical and mellow, Fills the paddocks, where the grass is to the knees. O ! to walk amidst the beauties of this laughing land of ours, And to woo the spirit maiden that is Mirth, Where the spider-webs are silver, and the sun- beams kiss the flowers — Heaven's dearest treasures symbolized on earth ! O ! I sing a song of buttercups — ^to me their cease- less nodding Is a hint to leave one's worries all behind — Aye, to quit the strife and bitterness, the planning, and the plodding. And the sameness of the everlasting grind. For they seem to say : " Oh, loved one, break in twain your flimsy fetters ; Exile, shake the city's shackles from your feet — A SONG OF BUTTERCUPS 119 Leave the shams and empty pleasures, leave the world of Art and Letters, And the sorrows of the sordid, soulless street." O ! I sing a song of buttercups — I sing because I love them In that garden where the humblest blooms might be A planet cluster fallen from the firmament above them, Or a bouquet from the dells of Arcadee. And in the dusk I fancy, when the silent shadows linger, That the Lady of the Spring, in garments grand. Commandeers the flowery legions with a tiny thumb and finger. For the little laughing elves of Fairyland. O ! I sing a song of buttercups — for in the far-off valleys They are gleaming, pure and bright, upon the hills ; Where the mantling mist of morning from the river drifts and dallies They are bordering the ruby-reddened rills. 120 A SONG OF BUTTERCUPS O ! 'tis good to walk amongst them (as I did in seasons olden) When their fragrance scents the sunny, slothful air; O ! 'tis good to wander thro' them when the days are glad and golden, And the winter chills have sought their summer lair. O ! I sing a song of buttercups. . . . Out where the children pluck them There's a balm for all my worldly griefs and pains ; Where the dews adorn their spindles, and the droning wild bees suck them. And the breezes waft their scent across the plains. ! to love, and laugh, and linger in that ever- lasting garden. Aye, amidst those joys to see the wearied live, 1 would forfeit Heaven's welcome, and the Mas- ter's praise or pardon — And would deem my lot the best that God could give ! BY TIRELESS TWO-LEG-GRAPH 121 BY TIRELESS TWO-LEG-GRAPH Strange days are these of wondrous things, And schemings number-less ; Of ways no poet ever sings, And prophets seldom guess. " In lovers' lore there's only speech " — Ah, no — and not by half ! We send our greetings each to each By wireless tel-e-graph. At meals her pa sits by my left. Her ma adorns my right. And Linda May, of words bereft. Sits shyly op-pos-ite. She " rings me up " incessantlee. And laughs a silent laugh ; For Linda sends her love to me By tireless two-leg-graph ! 122 A BALLAD OF CANT AND CRAWL A BALLAD OF CANT AND CRAWL I AM a speck to be ignored, a weak and worthless thing ; I kiss the dust before a lord, and scrape before a king. I have no independence worth a counterfeited cent^ — To all the craven cults on earth I am a monument ! With blood grown weak and cold and thin, and spirit mean and small, I bend, and creep, and toady in a Land of Smoodge and Crawl ! To vanished deeds of bygone days and kings of other lands I turn my sham-adoring gaze and clasp my pallid hands ; I halt, salute, I turn aside, I shamble, and I bow Before old glories putrefied that cannot matter now. Let others risk a man's disgrace when Freedom's voice shall call — But I won't dare to show my face — I'll merely cringe and crawl ! A BALLAD OF CANT AND CRAWL 123 My prided crest shall be a worm — a symbol of the way That I must creep, and twist, and squirm, and toady day by day ! For I must bow to High Degrees, and condescend to Fat- Must fall upon my humble knees, and meekly lift my hat. Across the sheets of history I'll leave my languid scrawl — A fearsome thing for folk to see when men no longer crawl. No great and noble dreams have I, no hope, nor strong man's wish Save but to shout " Gorsave ! — Banzai ! " and " Ho, for Stinking Fish ! " I see the striving people trudge upon their thriving way; I see them — and I slouch in sludge, I slobber, and I pray ! Through all the land I glibly rant, and most abjectly sprawl, Expounding well the creed of Cant, of Cringe, and Cadge, and Crawl. 124 A BALLAD OF CANT AND CRAWL We've heroes here who one by one have done the grandest things That I have dreamed were only done by God's Titanic kings. We've men I never dote upon who put the Fates to rout, Whose creed was ever " On and On " — and always " Further Out ! " The daring men of plain address who swung the axe and maul, Who cleared the howling wilderness- — and gave us room to crawl ! I know that I should make sublime this land of brighter scenes In place of wasting golden time with idle kings and queens ; I know that I should lift my voice in praise of this, my land, And teach our children to rejoice in patriotism grand ; But then I have no time to think, but only time to bawl — To croak and cavil, sneer and slink — ^to kneel and smoodge, and crawl ! / am a speck to be ignored, a base and servile thing ; I pay my homage to a lord, and fawn before a king. A BALLAD OF CANT AND CRAWL 125 / have no independence worth a fraction of the name — I harp upon my humble birth, and glory in my shame ! With blood long grown a sickly hue and spirit mean and small, I crouch, and creep, and whimper thro'' a Land of Smoodge and Crawl ! 126 MARCHING BY MARCHING BY O HAVE you seen them passing ? — nearly twenty millions strong ! Hark ! their battle-drums a-beating, and the cadence of their song ! Hear them tramping down the bye-ways where the lonely scouts have gone : *Tis the tramping of our army — Labour's army marching on ! O their tools of trade are glist'ning, and their flags are all unfurled ; Yea, and brain and heart have sought them from the walks of all the world ! And the slaves who groped in blindness through the darkness of the past Have seen the light with open eyes, and join our ranks at last. From the grandest halls of knowledge, from the palace and the slum — The prince beside the pauper — O ! it's splendid how they come ! From the peaceful home of plenty, and from hovels raised in dearth, Come the army of the workers — and the best of all the earth ! MARCHING BY 127 And the hopes that light the Future, and the dearest dreams that were — They'll waken in the bosoms of our faintest com- rades there. See the vanguard still advancing, and the standard waving high — Hark the drums, the song, the tramping ! — It is Labour marching by ! Ah, that song shall not be silenced, nor that cease- less tramping stayed. Till the birthrights of the People at that army's feet are laid ; And those drums shall not be deadened, nor those waving banners furl'd, Till their owners march in triumph through the highways of the world ! 128 THOUGHTS THOUGHTS There was never a ring around the moon, But some one has wondered why. There was never a wind that sighed at noon, But some one has heard that sigh. There was never a star that crossed the skies, When the weird night voices call, But that star was plain to expectant eyes, And some one saw it fall. There was never a thought all unexpressed, And never a voice so dumb, But some one at least that secret guessed. And that voice was heard by some. There was never a care in patience borne In the gloom, where none might see, But some one has grieved for that heart forlorn, In spite of its secrecy. 'Tis a worldly way that has slowly come Through the aching centuries ; Where we shall speak, one shall be dumb. And where we are blind, one sees. And through wisdom vast, or all too scant, While the Nations fall and rise, No man shall be totally ignorant, And no man perfectly wise. DRINKING DAYS 129 DRINKING DAYS d, THE days and the nights of old, when we have painted cities red ! O, the riotous songs of our orgies then, that might have wakened the dead ! O, the tales we told as we lounged and smoked, or gazed on the gleaming wine, When the girls I loved were the girls you kissed, and the girls you loved were mine ! O, the punting joys at the races, and the wild nights after the plays ! Ah, my heart beats fast, and my brain revolves, when I think of our drinking days ! If we breakfasted with the ballet-girls, or beered down town with the bards ; If we risked our all in a game of chance with the dice-box or the cards ; If our wildest deeds and disgrace were both, like our " poison cup," well known. Did they matter a jot to one heart on earth, when the years were all our own ? For, while-ever a saintly mortal sins and a hardened sinner prays. There'll be one to sing and one to hark to a ballad of drinking days ! 130 DRINKING DAYS I'm honoured now — a chairman of some cold so-ciet-tea, Whose youths are told to follow the bright example set by me ! I'm asked to preach lay sermons, and must never neglect a chance To emphasize the " curse of drink " and the joys of temper-ance. I'm deaf to " Hoity-Toity " now, and blind to the " Girl from Kay's," And dead to all the pleasures of old, in these, my sober days ! " Ah ! what a changed young chap ! " they bray, as the " guid " my person scan, And the dear old maids of the " Gimlet " say, " Oh, what a sweet young man ! " And the men who drink as once I drank (poor sin- ners out in the cold !) Say, " Spare us, Fate, from an end like his — and lead us far from the fold ! " But little they think I envy them in their wild Bohemian ways. And long to break from my chains, and flee to the scenes of my drinking days ! And out from the depths of my loneliness there comes a plaint like this : DRINKING DAYS 131 " I've never a chum like the chums of old, nor a red-lipped girl to kiss." To point a moral, or deck a tale, my case is often shown, Wherein a wild and a careless rake to a good young man has grown. But in spite of all my religiousness, and in spite of my clergy's praise, I have fashioned out of the pagan past a ballad of drinking days. 132 THE VOYAGERS THE VOYAGERS The crooning winds were fair and free, The waves were all aglow, That morning when we put to sea — Ah, long and long ago ! Then all the routes were new and strange To ports of ev'ry clime ; We reck'd not that the winds would change, Or dangers grow with time. We left the port of Endless Strife, Of kinsmen, friends, and foes ; We left the sleepless dreads of Life And terrors comatose. For youthful hearts revolted then At fam'ly feuds and cares. And — we were sons of sailor-men, The Ocean Voyagers. We've drifted through the wider ways ; We've wander'd all the seas ; We've anchor'd in the shelter'd bays ; We've linger'd at the quays ; We've left the luring coast o' nights That grudged us ocean-room, Or sought the twinkling beacon-lights Far-distant through the gloom. THE VOYAGERS 133 We've seen the works of varied fates, Seen all the flags unfurled ; We've drifted through the silent straits, And round and round the world. We've seen the ports of fair renown, And towns of stained repute ; We've drifted up the tracks and down In freedom absolute. And all the ocean ports o' call. In sun or starlight glow, Have heard our anchors rise and fall. Have seen us come and go. We've faced the fiercest winds that blew. We've drifted on the calms, Or fast before the gales we flew To Danger's open arms. Our fleet is but the fleet that gropes Upon the seas of Time ; Our cargoes are the doubtful hopes That rise in ev'ry clime ; Our ports of call are those of Love, And when we are denied. We take, with pennant proud above. The open seas of Pride. 134 THE VOYAGERS But when we have no quest to go, And no new tracks to roam, Like phantoms in the twihght glow Our ships come drifting home. And when the newer fleets begin The same old changeless quest. Our ships will come to anchor in The Harbour of the Blest. ELOPED ! 135 ELOPED ! Oh ! we flitted, she and I, Li a season long gone by, To discover In the realms of space a star Brightly labelled " Hymen's Car," And the angels laughed afar, Each a lover ! But we spied our star at last, Grabbed it as it floated past, Then cavorted ; And the planets shed their rays In a rich, resplendent blaze Thro' the happy, happy ways Where we sported. Ah ! but when we twain were missed (" Flirtful maid and journalist Gone eloping ! "), Then those men you should have seen On their tiny earth of green. With their cannon-like machine Telescoping I 136 ELOPED ! And they talked, and winked, and gazed In a manner most amazed, As we glided On that crazy, rocking star Thro' the Heavens bright and far. Rash and unparticular — And unguided ! And so, cosy and unstirred Soon we very plainly heard Folk beseech us Both to leave our home of blue — But we merely laughed, and threw Down a star, for they, we knew, Couldn't reach us ! And we sang in glee and scorn Till the grey and cheerless morn, When together O ! we drifted out of sight In a transcendental flight Of delirious delight Thro' the ether. But every night we'd race Thro' the starry realms of Space, And the times ELOPED ! 137 That we had gave joyful birth To a poet's mystic mirth, Often mentioned down on earth In his rhymes. So we sailed in ecstasy, And thro' gleaming nebula? Gallivanted, Till by most atrocious luck Crash ! — our little carriage struck 'Gainst a luggage-laden truck — And we canted ! But I hope her darling ma And her autocratic pa Feel forgiving ; For we clutched the air and fell Down to where the mortals dwell- But I ain't agoin' to tell Where we're living ! 138 THE END THE END (An Inscription for a Miser's Tombstone) So this is the end of your scheming — The end of your miserly plan, Of saving, and dreading, and dreaming — No further than where you began ! You lie in your sepulchre, rotten, Where worms in their sliminess crawl — Unheeded you are, and forgotten ; Aye, this is the end of it all. Other writers may slobber about you (Their ink is as cheap as their breath !) But men will be better without you, And feel a grim joy in your death. So you'll rot where the worms come to find you, Deep down in the hungering mould, And the only mementoes behind you : Your folly, your greed, and your gold. You knew not the love of a woman. The warmth and the sparkle of wine. Nor yet the regard of a true man. And never a pleasure of mine. THE END 139 You went on your life-way denying Your body its meat and its bread, And now here at last you are lying — Disgracing the living and dead. But we, to our own happy measure, Went loving and laughing along, Pervading the world with our pleasure And raising our voices in song. We had sweethearts and kin always near us When life with delight was aglow. And they came to our bosoms to cheer us Through sorrow, and sickness, and woe. Ah, dead and decaying old miser. Who grudged even Justice its due, We are gladder, and better, and wiser Altho' we were poorer than you. I'll slobber no nice things about you (I've much better use for my breath !) For the brave world is better without you — I find a grim joy in your death ! 140 GREY HAIRS GREY HAIRS I LIE upon the grasses green beneath the shady trees, My cigarette be-fingered and be-lipped ; And mine is Omar's Paradise, and Omar's couch of ease — » And all my cares into the Past have slipped ! For Kitty sits beside me, and my head is on her lap, What time I watch the blue smoke slowly thread Its way betwixt the frondage thro' a sky-back- grounded gap — While Kitty plucks the grey hairs from my head. I am done to-day with politics ; the latest point in law Is buried, for a little while at least, With my very latest poem (quite the best you ever saw !) And I wonder will they like it in the East ? A Western breeze is wandering from out across the Plains : It whispers of romances that are fled — Of Desert girls, and shanty bars, of swags, and hobble-chains — While Kitty plucks the grey hairs from my head ! GREY HAIRS 141 Above us twain the little birds are twittering in the leaves ; They never seem to have a care at all, But simply twitter all day long — and not a beggar grieves, As love-mates unto little love-mates call. They never seem to question why (" Oh, Kitty, steady there ; I am sure you plucked a couple "), but, instead, They sing through all our worry, disappointment and despair — While Kitty plucks the grey hairs from my head. That double twitch — it woke me from my smoky reverie, And I wonder if I'm really growing old. Or do grey hairs come from wisdom ? — then how clever I must be (But Kitty says I'm only growing bold !). Ah ! others used to stroke my hair when it was glossy black (I used to thank the Fates it wasn't red !) . . And those others ? — are they somewhere on an age befurrowed track — With each one plucking grey hairs from her head? 142 GREY HAIRS My cigarette lies listless now, the curling smoke is gone (Those twitterers ! they will not let me sleep !), And methodically Kitty lays her pliant fingers on The last grey hair, and vows 'tis hers to keep ! I turn and look into her eyes — and Age is but a dream That fast before her magic fingers fled ; The world is all a rainbow — and I like its colour scheme, When Kitty strokes the black hairs in my head ! THE GIFTED PEOPLE 143 THE GIFTED PEOPLE I CAME a child in the midst of them, Where the Gifted People are, Where every word is a gleaming gem, Yea, and every thought a star. I came like one in a mystic dream, With never a thought of care, And said : " There is joy for all, I deem. And fame — with its wealth to spare ! " I touched my harp to a boyhood's song. And then, as I journeyed near. They said : "A stranger you were too long When you had a welcome here ! " The bloom of health was on my cheek. Youth's fire was in my eyes — There was no star as bright to seek In all the shimmering skies ! My heart beat fast to the music deep I had learned in Fairyland, And, tuned to the strong, impassioned sweep Was the harp I held in hand. And the Gifted People worshipped me, For I was an idol then : " You will," they said, " with your balladry. Lay siege to the hearts of men." 144 THE GIFTED PEOPLE And all day long, and all night thro', They told me of this and that. As around St. Elmo's Lights we drew, And in holy conclave sat. And the hours went by with swiftness then. As the Favoured Writers told The stories of gallant maids and men, And the splendid deeds of old. Ah, and even now the memory clings That seemed not a prophecy ; They told me well of the wondrous things In the Future Days to be. But my new-found comrades made no sign To proffer a drink or meal, Till from my place in that circle fine I ventured a meek appeal " My throat is a thirsting throat," I said, " And a foodless stomach mine ; I crave a part of your kindly bread And a glass of your gleaming wine ; For I have come from afar, I vow, Thro' the glare of field and street " (The sweat had clogged on my aching brow, While the red dust wrapped my feet). THE GIFTED PEOPLE 145 Then a silence came where the mirth had been. Aye, a silence deep as death ; The shade gave place to a golden sheen That came from the West Wind's breath. Then answered each to the Silent Call, Yea, and played each one the part That was his own in the Mystic Hall Of Literature and Art. The Painter painted a face as true To life as a face could be. And the Sketcher took his pen and drew. And lo ! 'twas the face of Me ! The Sculptor fashioned the while I gazed An image of some one near. (The golden sheen in the silence blazed From the Sky-God's chandelier.) And yet' no sign of bread saw I, Nor a hint of luxury. Then " Chief," I said, " oh, tell me why And how long such sorrows be ? " And the old chief sadly answered me : " O, you with the harp divine. Shall never descend to luxury. Nor palter with bread and wine ! 146 THE GIFTED PEOPLE " For he who enters within these walls Shall claim but his gifts alone, And tho' for meat and bread he calls He'll reap his reward in stone ! Aye, Song and Art are the thankless brides, And, tho' they are passing fair, Their table is laid where Hunger bides, And the name of their bed is Care ! " While you are young there is time to leave These haunts where the Gifted starve — Aye, to leave the men who write — and grieve. Who jingle and paint and carve. But sing us a song before we part ! " (And the summons loudly rang) : I tuned my lyre to a cheerless heart. And this was the song I sang ! THE FOLLIES 147 "THE FOLLIES" *' Them actresses an' ballet girls be the follies o' the world.'' — Mrs. Grundy. We are men of blood and sinew, and of wisdom, wit, and wile ; But our giant hearts are shattered when the agent is a smile ! And " The Follies " (heaven bless 'em !), in the thickest of the strife, Where the jolly gods have sent them, are the flavourings of Life ; With their mirthful faces beaming, and their laugh- ing eyes aglow — Fairest Follies ! — ^we shall treasure them wherever they may go ! " There's a time for love and duty " — yes, I know, but nothing loth. We have mixed the two together, and we've gaily sampled both ! Let the saintly shrink and shudder (flaunting, flippant sort o' fuss !) ; Leave the scenes of love and laughter, flee " The Follies " — yea, and us ! 148 THE FOLLIES For it really doesn't matter — this old world is very wide ; And there's room apart for sinners and the ultra- sanctified. Why should life a round of duty be — one bitter round and long — Knowing never smiles and kisses, nor the magic of a song ; Finding never inspiration in the necromantic lore Learned and loved in old Bohemia when our years were scarce a score ? Why should life be lived in shadows when the sheen is all around, And in every cast and chorus some one's darling may be found ? In our individual sorrows, thro' our national dis- tress*, They are smiling — for their gaiety is merely busi- ness. And when every case is stated, and when all the facts are known. Faith ! " The Follies " (heaven bless 'em !) may have troubles of their own. But thro' turmoil, tears, or laughter, and thro' wonder, want, and woe. We shall love them and adore them — aye, wherever we may go ! THE DROVER'S MESSAGE 149 THE DROVER'S MESSAGE An Australian Love-Song I FOLLOW the tracks that the wanderers go, Long leagues from the sounds of the sea, But back in the coastland there's some one I know Who is waiting and watching for me. And, dear, by the breezes that float from the West, And sing through the trees in the bend. To you, my heart's darling, the sweetest and best, I've a fond little message to send : I'm thinking and dreaming of you, dear, And knowing full well youHl be true, dear ; Yes, waiting remote and afar. But homeward my face I shall turn, dear. And stars at my coming shall burn, dear. Over the place where you are ! The waters meandering over the bars, Are droning their stories of love, And the light of your eyes can be seen in the stars That are keeping white vigils above. There is time and enough in these grey solitudes To grieve for one's follies — and yet I know not the spirit that hopelessly broods, Nor the pain that is born of regret. 150 THE DROVER'S MESSAGE The hoofs of my horses shall scatter the dust Ere another brief season be past ; For the voice of My Longing is crying " You must " — And I've heard it, and heeded — at last ! But though the long miles that have crept in be- tween Have robbed me of kiss after kiss, Through the distances dreary of shadow and sheen The message I send you is this : Fm thinking and dreaming of you, dear. And knowing full well you'll be true, dear; Yes, waiting remote and afar. But homeward my face I shall turn, dear, And stars at my coming shall burn, dear. Over the place where you are ! THE RETURN 151 THE RETURN Ho back to the purple hills, Where the brumbies' hoof-falls patter On the native fern and the daffodils, Attuned to the bell-birds' clatter. Ho back to the green old valleys, Where the sheep and the cattle graze — Far away from streets and alleys. And the blue electric haze. Ho back to the sunlit plains. And the dews of early morning ; Back, back where the floods from the winter rains Give seldom a stockman warning. Ho back to the Open Spaces, Where there's room for a man to rove ! Ho back to the loved Bush places And the old life's treasure-trove ! Ho back 'neath the undimm'd stars And the moon's unsullied glories — Far away from the luring lights of bars And the homes of many storeys. Ho back to the simple teachings, To the treasured and the true ; Ho back to the soul's out-reachings — Back, back to the Bush and You ! 152 THE ROAD TO GUNDAGAI THE ROAD TO GUNDAGAI From peaceful townships shoreward, From stations south and west. From golden ranges nor'ward, To those we love the best, Perchance as dusty drovers The old road bore us by, And times between as rovers, — The Road to Gundagai. The road — the winding Road to Gundagai ; Swinging along. And singing along The road — the road — the Road to Gundagai. Where Fate and Fortune speed us Unceasingly we roam ; Where Hope and Honour lead us We fight for those at home. And now we ride, returning, By dawn and dusk and day, 'Neath crimson stars a-burning We take our homeward way. By quaint old townships dreaming, By humpy lights aglow. THE ROAD TO GUNDAGAI 153 By far-off fires a-gleaming, Through star-lit lands we go. By rills, and rocks, and ridges ; By mountain crag and crest — Home ! to the great twin bridges, And those we love the best. We signal (rovers' lore-way) The roadsteads near and far — It's whispered at the door-way : " I wonder who they are ! " By tall green crops a-waving, Through stretches long and dry, By rippling waters laving The Road to Gundagai. And now at last returning All through the golden day — At night 'neath red stars burning. We take our homeward way. Yes, now we're riding homeward,— The Kimo hills are nigh — The lazy smoke curls domeward — Hurrah ! for Gundagai ! 154 THE ROAD TO GUNDAGAI The road — the winding Road to Gundagai ; Swinging along. And singing along The road— the road — the Road to Gundagai. THE LOVES OF THEN AND NOW 155 THE LOVES OF THEN AND NOW O, THE western girlies' love we knew in the days of Auld Lang Syne ; O, the western maidens' love was true, and their eyes were large and fine ! Yet we lost them all, aye, one by one, as the sad years onward rolled. But their cheeks were kissed by the rising sun, and their hair was brown and gold ! Ah, our love was then a sacred thing, untarnished by change or chance. And you ? . . . You smiled for your Youthful King and wept for your First Romance ! Yet well you shielded your innocence — gleamed nothing of Words or Art ; But I loved those things \^dth a love intense, and so we drifted apart ! We met each night where the roadway twists, and we wandered out by the streams When my hopes were vague as the mantling mists, and our world was a world of dreams ! 156 THE LOVES OF THEN AND NOW And I lived for you while the cynics said that our love was a wasted thing ; But you were a queen by a victor's right — and I was your youthful king ! I told my love (Oh, the world was fair !) and vowed it would never change (But what could I know of The Days to Come and The Cities Beyond the Range ?) I said your eyes in their softening shades were brighter than all the stars. (Ah, but what knew I of the Mateless Maids, and the Lurers Behind the Bars ?) I said my love was a lasting love, and you kissed me in reply. While the glistening frondage waved above, and the planets swung in the sky ! And I — I believed my words that night, though the passing years have proved That the Loves of Then and the Loves of Now are a thousand times removed ! I toyed with your clustered curls, as we leaned and laughed on the boundary fence, And the hushful hours that intervened were filled with a lone suspense. THE LOVES OF THEN AND NOW 157 I said your cheeks were as gardens fair, where red roses ever bloomed (And often I kissed the blossoms there — what though they were unperfumed !). Your love was a sacred treasure then, and mine was a youthful pride ; But I felt the longing to write of men where the walks of the world are wide. And you ? . . . You shielded your innocence (and that is a woman's art) — But I loved the world with a love intense ; and so we drifted apart ! O the Western girlies' love we knew in the days of Auld Lang Syne ! O the Western maidens' love was true, and their eyes were superfine ! Yet we lost them all, aye, one by one, as our hearts grew warm — or cold — But their cheeks were kissed by the rising sun, and their hair was brown and gold ! 158 WITH THE STARS WITH THE STARS When the western winds are singing, Twilight chanties thro' the trees, And the tiny stars are swinging Into sight by twos and threes ; When there's just a dreamy shimmer And a phosphorescent glow As the lights begin to glimmer, Then I brush my boots, and go — Out a-courting, courting, courting. With the friendly stars exhorting Such as we to walk their way ; And Vm quite a joyful chappie — - Most extravagantly happy — When I speak my burning love to Linda May ! We count the constellations In the purple-tinted dome. While our very near relations Talk of wheat and wool at home ; And each night in fancies blended We go riding on a star, Through red planet pathways splendid. Where the lovers' castles are I WITH THE STARS 159 Forty million stars above us, Twenty million more below — There are souls on earth that love us, But their loves are grey and slow ! What's the use of calmly steering By the Dull and Commonplace — What's the use ? Ho ! come careering Through the starry streets of Space ! So we wander lovers' fashion Where the flaring comets, hurl'd Through the Empty Darkness, flash on Such a dull prosaic world. Oh, its dulness is alarming — But good-bye, good-bye, good-bye ! For we're gaily arm-in-arming. And our pathway's in the sky ! Yes, spooning, spooning, spooning Where the stars are honeymooning Through the mazy Milky Way, Oh ! iVs grand to he a rover All those star dominions over With an angel girlie labelled " Linda May ! " 160 BY THE WATERS BY THE WATERS Down by the dreaming waters — Blue waters deep and wide — The best of Beauty's daughters Sits, smiling, by my side. Go, keep your Eldorados, Your tinsel and your sham, But here, amidst the shadows, Pray leave me where I am. The waters, rippling, glisten For ever down the stream, And fancied fairies listen Where drooping willows dream. Below us far the boats on A stretch of silver glide ; A cadence, murm'ring, floats on To meet the homing tide. Down by the dreaming waters, Where sheen and shadows play, Myji," might-have-beens " and " oughters Are buried deep to-day. The city' lies behind me. The river runs before. And whispers sweet remind me Of Love, and nothing more. BY THE WATERS 161 Why should I grieve, be fretful, Or drudge in Mammon's name ? — I'll laugh and love, forgetful Of all I dreamed of Fame. I care not for your scoffer Who envies Youth its bliss — The whole wide world can offer No greater joy than this ! Down by the dreaming waters, For ever I'd remain ! Away from all my " oughters," From greed, and care, and pain. With not a kiss denied me (We've done with worldly sham) ; With one sweet girl beside me, Go, leave me where I am ! 162 WHEN THE PAGANS WHEN THE PAGANS COME TO TEA When my daily task of writing little yarns and verses ends, There's a glad reception waiting for my literary friends. They are mostly incarnations of Bohemian pagan- ree — So it's quite a happy function when the pagans come to tea ! I'm, of course, the host and chairman when the Fourth Estate's " at home " (Oh ! I think of Julius Caesar and his pagan men of Rome !). There are literary lasses (and their gods were drowned at sea !) Just to give a finer flavour to the pagans' humble tea. Are we sinners ? Are we scoffers at the Titan who controls ? No, my friend, we've something dearer than our puny little souls. There's a doctrine nobler, purer ; and we ardently agree How to set the world in order — ev'ry evening after teal COME TO TEA 163 And we talk of Evolution and the Socialistic Plan, Plus the Bible's dissertation on the publishing of Man. And we read the Book of Ages, writ in stream, and rock, and tree — A Vesuvius of knowledge are the pagans during tea. But the world of men is calling, with a clamour quite intense : It is calling, calling, calling for my pagan audience. Aye, it asks from one a story, from another one a song, And from each a fresh bombardment of the citadel of Wrong. So the godless lads and lasses have been drifting, one by one, From my office, where their poems and their para- graphs were done ; But then other ones have hastened, in their stead, to bide with me — And I'll never die of sadness while the pagans come to tea ! 164 THE FOLK I NEVER MEET THE FOLK I NEVER MEET There's a friend who's ever faithful to a man through thick and thin (And I called around this morning, but the party wasn't in). There's a man who's kind and helpful to a fellow when he's down (But, somehow, when you want him it's his busy day in town). There's a girl who never powders (but she died before I came, And she never left a trifle, that the world might know her name). There's a girl who never flirted (but I very much regret That I never had the pleasure of a meeting with her yet). There's a maid unschooled in scheming (but I'm driven to confess That I'd give my earthly chances for that darling girl's address). There's a ma who doesn't worry 'cause her daughter's " boy " is poor (But she must have left the country, for she isn't here, I'm sure). THE FOLK I NEVER MEET 165 There's a man, my people tell me, who was born without conceit (But you're quite beneath his notice as he swaggers down the street). There's a man who loves his neighbours even better than himself (But he died of over-kindness, and his bones are on the shelf). There's a ciu'ly-headed youngster, and he never tells a lie (If he's lucky he'll be flying with the angels bye- and-bye). There's a boy who never quarrels, and who never, never smokes (I am sorry for his mother, for I know she seldom jokes). There's a host of model people ; but I very much regret That I never had the pleasure of a meeting with them yet. But, perchance, I'll meet them later — when the pigs have learned to fly ; When the ladies cease to gossip, and the broad Atlantic's dry ! 166 THE RIDER IN THE RAIN THE RIDER IN THE RAIN The clouds were scudding from east to west, Yea, and out from the frowning hills : There came a dirge of the winds' unrest And the clash of the cosmic wills. He caught me up in his big strong arms — And his kisses were pent with pain, Then waved " farewell " to the mist-hung farms, And cantered away in the rain. He has borne my love, my hopes, and fears, Over range and river and sea ; But never once in those long slow years Has my lover come back to me. Yet now, when the light of day is dim, Lo ! enshrined in my window-pane. There glows a splendid vision of him Who cantered away in the rain. WON'T YOU BE A SOCIALIST? 167 WON'T YOU BE A SOCIALIST ? We are waiting for your answer from the darkness of the slums, Where the nights are damp and dismal, and the sunlight seldom comes ; From the hovels in the byways, and the attics owned by Greed — We are waiting — fondly waiting. Don't you hear us ? — won't you heed ? O ! wonH you he a Socialist, the same as Bill an' me ? O I worCt you join the splendid movement ? — say. We are waiting for your answer, and we're waiting anxiouslee — ! won't you come and march with us to-day ? We are waiting for your answer from a thousand factories (Ah, too long you slaved unheeding while your masters lounged at ease) ; Where the hammers crash and tinkle and the rollers swiftly spin — We are waiting for your answer hfted loud above the din. 168 WON'T YOU BE A SOCIALIST? ! won't you he a Socialist, the same as Jack an* met And march with us along the Vicfry Way ? We are waiting for your answer — and we hide impatientlee — O ! won't you he as one with us to-day ? We are waiting for your answer from the coal-pits and the mines, For the " Yes ! " to wake the echoes thro' those dreary dark confines ; Where the engines roar and rattle, and the sirens harshly call — We are waiting for your answer rising louder than them all. O ! won't you he a Socialist, the same as Tom an* me ? O ! wonH you join our ranks without delay ? We want you, for we've loved you from your cheerless infancee — So march with us ^neath FreedorrCs ifiag to-day. We are waiting for your answer from the scattered harvest fields (O ! 'tis there the soil to Labour's hands a golden payment yields !) ; We are waiting for your answer couched in stirring words like these : " We will join you — hear us marching from the mountains to the seas I " WON'T YOU BE A SOCIALIST ? 169 O ! won't you he a Socialist, the same as Jim arC me ? O ! shall you there a clod for ever stay ? We are waiting for your answer — and we ask you earnestlee To take the vow of brotherhood to-day. We are waiting for your answer from a thousand shearing-sheds, For the " Aye ! " that rings with fervour and is done with childish dreads ; Where the combs and cutters glisten, and the shining gear-wheels hum. We are waiting for " We hear you, trusted brothers, and we come ! " O ! won't you be a Socialist, the same as Joe an"* me ? ! won't you strive within the bloodless fray ? We are waiting for your answer thundered irre- pressiblee — Now, won't you fall in line with us to-day ? From the source and goal of riches, and from all the shops of trade, From the hovel and the palace, from the churches where we pray'd ; From the weak, and wise, and wealthy, from the foolish and the blind. We are waiting, waiting, waiting for the answer of mankind 1 170 WON'T YOU BE A SOCIALIST ? O ! won't you be a Socialist, as evWy man should he ? O ! won't you come with us to pave the way For the little children round us, and for all Pos- teritee ? — "Now wonH you join our ranks this very day? WAITING 171 WAITING When sunsets shed their gold On the mountains far and near, He came in days of old Like some bardic cavalier. And at the trellised gate, When the nights were bright or black, I used to watch and wait For his coming down the track. He said the brightest star Was a symbol of my eyes — Save mine were brighter far Than the planets in the skies ! He said my burning lips Were like ripened cherries red (My eyes are in eclipse, All the crimson colours fled). He talked of days to be, Far away from strain and stress (I wonder where is he, In my aching loneliness). And while the blossomed boughs Swayed and murmured in the breeze. We made impassioned vows (To be broken at our ease !). 172 WAITING The way he hated wrong Made my very senses whirl. For he was big and strong, Yea, and I was but a girl ! The way he talked of love, And of lily-laden streams That mirrored stars above. Set me kissing in my dreams. My lover was a king Leading all the men I knew ; His like the slow years bring Ah, so few — so very few. For he was dark and tall. Giant-purposed, brave, and kind ; And yet, alas ! withal He has left a maid behind ! For in the days of old, King and lover rode away, And all the sunset's gold Long has turned to cheerless grey. Yet when nights are lone and late. In the starlight drear and dim, Beside the trellised gate Oft I watch and wait for him. WHEN DAD BEGINS TO SHEAR 173 WHEN DAD BEGINS TO SHEAR Oh ! when Dad begins to shear — Brightest time of all the year. He plods along till ceasin'-time from golden peep o' morn, An' still he's ploddin' on and on when other sheds have shorn ; But faith ! there's cause for wonder that he ever struggles through, When one begins to reckon up the things he has to do. Oh ! when Dad begins to shear. Let me tell you, things are queer. He's owner and he's manager, an' musters in between — He rims the bloomin' show an' tries to " Mor- ganize " the scene ; An' all day long in gapin' boots an' steamin' stinkin' moles He's tar-boy and he's picker-up, he classes and he rolls 174 WHEN DAD BEGINS TO SHEAR Oh ! when Dad begins to shear y Other sorrows disappear. He curses all things up to date, the jumbucks an' the dogs — A modern-minded Nero, he — ^in weirdly wondrous togs; A squatter born — but heaven help a squatter's pomp an' pride When sweat and yolk are oozin' out, an' will not be denied. Oh ! when Bad begins to shear — Only circus of the year ! The shearin's over, an' the wool is ready for the way — A single bale ! an' branded lest " the clip " should go astray. One secret's out ! — another yet in solemn under- tone : He owns but fifty " woollies," and he shears 'em all alone ! Oh ! when Dad begins to shear, ^Tis a pleasure to be near THE SAPLING GROVE 175 THE SAPLING GROVE In the sapling grove we wandered when our hearts and hopes were young, When my words were all unheeded, and my loves were all unsung. Then we listened to the music that was gathered from afar In the mazes of the mountains where the giant tempests are. Then I told you, little girlie, of my burning heart's desire, And I said that frozen ages hence could never quench its fire ! And I promised — aye, I promised . . . and you kissed me in return. (O, the tiny stars were jewels and the planets seemed to burn !) And you said that I would vanquish any fates that might assail. That I'd profit by the lessons of the puny men who fail. And you said that I would conquer (0, your whis- pers low and sweet !), That the joys of fame and fortune would be scat- tered at my feet. 176 THE SAPLING GROVE There the sheeny, silver sunlight through the frondage used to shine, And the purple-blossomed ivy with the grasses was a-twine. There the shadows used to linger when the clustered stars on high, Like a host of lover-legions, went for ever swinging by. I have trodden many love-ways in a hundred towns since then. Stormed many a girlish fortress with my practised tongue and pen ; But when worldly worries weary, and my heart is rent in twain. Oh ! I'm yearning for you, dearie, and the sapling grove again. FANCY FLIGHTS 177 FANCY FLIGHTS He dreamed on the banks of the Condamine, And saw on the rolling plain Grand castles built on the far-off Rhine And high on the hills of Spain. He tasted the wines of Burgundy, Then moved on his fancy's quest ; And the sights of the world were good to see From the Mountain of Everest ! As far as the flights of fancy went. And further than eyes discern, His day-dreams soared thro' the firmament Where the stars of the rovers burn. Their glory illumed his path of pain, And sailing the skies for a sign. They moved like beacons above the plain, And beyond the Condamine. In fancy he crossed the storm-strewn seas. And sleighed on the Arctic snows. And out of the garden of England's ease He gathered an English rose ; He bore the trophies of countless lands, And he treasured them ev'ry one ; From castle and shrine and corally strands They came — and his dream was done ! M 178 FANCY FLIGHTS Then a knowledge came to his wearied brain When the Starry Cross was ashine ; It came along on the rolling plain And the banks of the Condamine. It was : " Wherever a man has been, North, south, or east, or west, When all the sights of the world are seen, Australia's own are best ! " THE SINGER AND THE SONG 179 THE SINGER AND THE SONG His was the gift to raise his voice In cunning song and phrase, To make the sons of men rejoice And hope for kinder days. Through bushland vast, and smoky town. By sail, and steam, and track. His was a talent handed down From stormy ages back. He left the vain and vulgar crowd That seldom understood. And low before a shrine he bow'd, Where all was pure and good ; Then starting out, he tripp'd along To music loud and clear — It was his sweetest, gladdest song. And — no one stopped to hear ! 180 SWEETHEARTS STILL SWEETHEARTS STILL So, Sweetheart Once, you thought our love was but a passing phase — A transient thing that would not stay to haunt us all our days. You thought that living love like ours, that never knew alloy, Could fade and die because we quaJEfed the wanton wine of joy ! Can eyes that saw the rainbow tints — and saw them, oh ! so plain — Turn from the lights that lit our land to Darkness once again ? Can feet that trod the Primrose Path — no matter where it led — Go back to trudge the Proper Way amongst the living dead ? Can arms that stretched imploringly — ^that pas- sionately clung, Droop by your sides like leaden limbs while still your heart is young ? Can burning kisses, that your lips imprinted on mine own, Forgotten be because the chance to kiss again has flown ? SWEETHEARTS STILL 181 I went my way — the same old way that pagans went before, Because I knew to linger meant to love you more and more ! Because the flow'r that Youth has plucked must only droop and die, I said not " Au re voir," my dear, but " Once for all, Good-bye." The tears were shining on your cheeks ; my heart had turned to lead — But oh ! the star that bade me go shone brightly overhead 1 You snuggle in another's arms ; but ever in your dreams That wanton, wayward, wand'ring star like Elmo's beacon gleams ! We had our loves, our early loves, that faded with the past, But when we met, the love we knew might well have been our last ! For thro' the later loves it burns, and sears them with its flame. Till all your wedding robes become the scarlet cloaks of shame ! But go your way, who loved me once, and take this for a sign 182 SWEETHEARTS STILL That tho' our muffled voices call, and all the Fates combine To draw us each to each again in dark forbidden ways, I shall in silence pay the debt the flaunter ever pays— The awful debt of loneliness, when in another's arms The love I had and flung away expends its sacred charms. 'Twere better had we never met — and yet that little while Was worth a million years of love in Orthodoxy's style ! ?Twas worth what we have suffered since, in silence, and alone ! 'Twas worth what we shall suffer yet — to all but us unknown ! 'Twas worth it all — ^ten score of times ! and yet — and yet, to-day I almost wish the Fateful Roads had turned some other way ! No, Mine of Old, our love was not a lightly-passing phase — A transient thing that could not stay to haunt us all our days. SWEETHEARTS STILL 183 We loved — and oh ! such love as ours would never brook alloy, Nor fade and die because we quaffed the wanton wine of joy. Ah, Sweetheart Once, your memory provokes the old mad thrill . . . You'll go your way, and I'll go mine — but we are sweethearts still! 184 EXILES' LAND •\^\i|ili// .^%?>:sr"^^^ I EXILES' LAND Strange land of a weird aggregation of more or less tangible hells. Where the zephyrs at even come laden with only the camel-teams' smells, And shadowless, slumbering silence, unchallenged, eternally dwells. Here in the heart of the Distance no old city custom controls Men who have followed Life's mazes to shifting, indefinite goals — Men who have gambled their fortunes, and men who have squandered their souls ! Here on the pads of the camels, afar from the sirens of Bourke, Journeys the Silent Procession unceasingly questing for work — White men and brown men and black men — ^native and Afghan and Turk. , EXILES' LAND 185 Where only the wrecks and the failures — the utterly fast and the slow ; Where, grieving, the exiles dishonoured of Eastern Society go — The home of " Unfortunate Beggar," " Mysterious Fellow " and Co. ! Here in the land where Mahommed has fashioned a roadway afar, Through spaces nocturnal where only the sand and the spinifex are. And pilots his ship of the desert all night by the glint of a star. And out on the path to the Sunrise run ribbons of steel for a sign That yours are the mirth and the music, the revelry, women and wine ; But sandscape and silence and sorrow — ah, these I shall write of as mine ! Infinitudes drear, where are buried the loves that were false from the first ; Dominions of mad recollections that torture like vipers accurst ; Environed by numberless sheols of sleeplessness, hunger and thirst. 186 EXILES' LAND Strange land of a weird aggregation of more or less tangible hells. Where the zephyrs at daybreak come laden with only the camel-teams'' smells, And shadowless, slumbering silence, unchallenged, eternally dwells. THE CAMELS 187 THE CAMELS You in the seaside cities, you where the rivers flow, What know you of the camels, and what of the tracks they go ? But Dulla Kander knows them, taking his charges forth, Bound for the No Man's Deserts far in the empty North. Shadow ships of the Silence, slaves in an alien land. What are their thoughts, I wonder, out on the Seas of Sand ? Out on the Border Stations, out on the Open Waste — Are they loathing the Brown Men — tools of the White Men's haste ? Ah, lean grey exiled creatures ! — that to the Greeds belong Only because they're helpless, only because they're strong ! And they shall hump their burdens under the blazing sky, Out on the Pads for ever until the day they die. 188 THE CAMELS Trudging the Great Lone Pathway, journeying to and fro, Driven by Brown and Brindle — profiting White and Co. Grim grey ghosts of the Deserts, haunting a lorn lone land, What are their thoughts, I wonder, granting they understand ! THE PILGRIMAGE 189 THE PILGRIMAGE Out where the " willy-willy " churns To dust the desert sand ; Out where the sun with hell-rays burns And tortures all the land ; Out where the Sand and Silence mate, Can one amongst ye gauge The Reason and the Ultimate Of Abdul's pilgrimage ? And are his lonely dreams as brown As dreams of ours are white ? Does Fond Eyes in an Afghan town Gaze down the star-hung night ? And where the blood-red sun has set In purples and in pinks, Behold ... a turban'd silhouette : The Shadow of the Sphinx ? 190 ABDUL'S LOVE ABDUL'S LOVE Abdul Kander Mahommed, first of that chosen name, Out to the City of Sunset inexplicably came. Tool of the Brown Men's serfdom, butt of the White Men's hate. Cursed he the White Men's customs, mourned he the Brown Men's fate. Lily and Rose of the Sunset, lost to her absent swain, Fell in love with Mahommed, home from the Pads again. (If a Brown Man loves a White Girl what shall the White Girl do, If the White Girl loves the Brown Man, and a White Man hates the Two ?) There was grief in the City of Sunset, there was joy in the Brown Men's camp That night when the young moon silvered the plains where the camels tramp ; But the ghosts of the White Man's vengeance with Abdul came to abide": His^' camels'^ strayed in the darkness, and of some strange sickness diedj ABDUL'S LOVE 191 Yet out on the Great Lone Pathway, when the strange red sun goes do^vn, Abdul dreams of his sweetheart — and her dreams are Brown, so Brown ! ... I write of the things that hurt me, of the sad true things — and oh ! For the sake of the White Man's Sister the Lean Brown Men must go. 192 THE DESERT'S DAUGHTER THE DESERT'S DAUGHTER A HUNDRED miles on either side lies grey forbidding sand ; A single maid to sanctify a vast and lonely land. No mountains in her vision reared their battle- ments of blue — The eerie plains that die in haze are all she ever knew. No shining seas have lapped for her, no limpid streams have purled — An exile of the exiles, and an outcast of the world ! Her father keeps the Half-way Bore. The Desert is the urn That holds the ashes of his hopes. Strong-willed and taciturn, Full jealously he fondles her (ah, often has she smiled ; For she, a woman rosy ripe, to him is yet a child). And, foolish as a father is, how can he be aware That all her longings grope for that which is a woman's share ? The sun each morning crawls above the far out- stretching plain THE DESERT'S DAUGHTER 193 To glare athwart the brassy skies — to sink and rise again. Last week a drover di'ifted through with hint of sea and town, Enhsted for a Queensland run to bring its cattle down. And then two shearers cycled by (she watched them tearful-eyed In silence through her window pane . . . then bowed her head and cried). And then a camel caravan went lurching past the door — She guessed the secrets of The Pads from out her camel lore. Lone ghosts were they of Mystery, but she had learned to know The magnitude and hopelessness of where the camels go. And Abdul Khan — she hated him who sought her for his wife ; Yet Abdul was the only man who ever crossed her life. She heard at times of life and love — but oh ! so far away — Beyond the Desert's outer rim, and past the blur- ring grey. 194 THE DESERT'S DAUGHTER She heard of joy and laughing hours, and blazing streets and bars — But they were further than her hopes— and further than the stars. For oh ! the Desert hemmed her in — ^no Ishmael big and brave Had ever come to clutch her from her cradle and her grave. She knew no girlhood ; it was lost in haze and dust and heat ; She never knew how strange was Love — how bitter, and how sweet. She never knew the passion-thrills when lips to lips are pressed — And yet that day the shearers passed she vaguely, vaguely guessed ! She felt the surge of womanhood and dumb mater- nal schemes That lay behind her loneliness — and deeper than her dreams. She peoples Time and Space with men, brave hearted, iron-limbed ; But always when she pictures them her eyes grow dulled and dimmed. The lonesome Pads have borne them by (and some were hopeless clods) — THE DESERT'S DAUGHTER 195 But Love is blind where Love is lorn — she knows that they were gods ! Yea, splendid gods who break her heart when Distance builds its bar — Poor little lonely prisoner who worships from afar ! Where flesh and blood are far removed can still the spirit be ? Ah, yes — and he of whom she dreams is Love's Affinity. She knows the tender yearnings that a virile man- hood brings — For it is knocking at her heart, and tugging at the strings. And though she dreams by dark and day, how might he understand ? — Her Dream Incarnate dwells across a thousand miles of sand ! She feels the hurt of Emptiness — and will till Time has stilled The voices of her heritage and cravings unfulfilled. She feels the pang, and knows it is the wanton ache of Life — Perpetuation's muffled voice, that stabs her like a knife. Hers is the Love Unsatisfied that is her pride and shame. 196 THE DESERT'S DAUGHTER (She pictured him by shade and sheen . . . but only Abdul came /) Some day, perchance, when Hope has waned, and fevered cities tire, I'll wander out and make her love the star of my desire. Where seldom bird is known to sing, and scarce a flower to bloom (But in those lonely lands our hearts will each have beating room). And yet — and yet a Brown Man's hate is oft a red-stained knife . . . For Abdul was the only man who ever crossed her Hie, .... THE CULGOA'S CALL 197 THE CULGOA'S CALL At the Brewarrina (N.S.W.) Police Court Peter Flood was charged with maliciously wounding Jimmy Jimmy at Culgoa River, near the Holm- wood Hotel, with intent to do grievous bodily I harm. Both prosecutor and accused are aboriginal natives of New South Wales. The accused was committed for trial to the Bourke Quarter Sessions. Why don't we let them battle as the darkies used to do In the rapture-laden ages long ago ? Why don't we let them wallow, if they've got a liking to, In the heart-blood of their honoured friend, the foe? Why don't we let them revel with the nulla and the spear ? Why have we sneaked their boomerang away ? Why have we dulled their ardoiu: with the 'baccy and the beer ? Why have we made them what they are to-day ? There is happiness in hatred, there is glory in the strife ; There is envy, there is malice, there is wrong ; There is death — and desolation — but it is the lust of Life — With the laurels to the cunning and the strong ! 198 THE CULGOA'S CALL There are depths no man can fathom, there are gains no god can give, There are quests that never yet have known an end — And the strength to die undaunted is in truth the strength to hve — And the savage is the basis where they blend ! We have come between their hatreds with the paltry pipe of peace (Lo ! they chuckle at those quarrels of our own) ; We have poured the Burning Water down their throats to give surcease To their liberty — the freedom which has flown ! Oh ! the vastness of the desert and the grandeur of the hills (Oh ! the fetterdom our people have devised) — But we shriek in exultation, and our very being thrills, When Peter Flood and Co. are " civilized ! " They are hemmed by creed and custom ; and the Wild's unwritten law Has been honoured (and dishonoured) in the breach ; But by the ancient lessons of the Flipper, Wing and Paw THE CULGOA'S CALL 199 They have learned the things no school can ever teach ! We have pointed out the pathway to the realms of Paradise (Lucky darkies ! — or they never would have known !) Yet ungrateful Pete and Jimmy — to our very pained surprise — Are returning to a heaven of their own ! For methinks the blue hills call them, and the river's lapping song Echoes sweetly in their hearing night and day : " Come back to me, oh Peter . . . Jimmy Jimmy, you were wrong When you let the Pale Men beckon you away. Here's my croon for you to answer, here's my call as old as Noah, Here's a lullaby to lure you back to me ! Oh ! return to me, your mother, the disconsolate Culgoa ! Ere I shed my tears of anguish in the sea." 200 SMILING EYES OF THE SUNSET SMILING EYES OF THE SUNSET This is the song of a piebald love — of a love that is White and Brown; This is the tale that] the Lean Men tell when the Camel Teams come down. It is made of the queer romances that never a seer foresaw — Further West than the Pre-Ordained, and further West than the Law ! He loved as the White Men taught him — so ever the story ran (Brother indeed to Apollo was cynical Hoogli Khan) ; Not for naught had he journeyed, and guided the White Bull's reins Over and over and over — ever across the Plains. For he was son of the Ganges (and the Ganges is dark and deep), And he was soft as the shadows that out from the mulga creep. Smiling Eyes of the Sunset longed for the thrills that come To Smiling Eyes of the Sunrise ever by rules of thumb. SMILING EYES OF THE SUNSET 201 Daily and weekly and yearly the hunger throbbed in her soul ; But no one came to her calling — only the Brown Men stole Ever towards the Sunset out from the Town of Her Dreams, Where the nights are laden with incense, and the Star of Illusion gleams. And Hoogli Khan of the Camels, under the hazy skies, Squeezed her hands in the gloaming, and gazed in her dreaming eyes ; For his were the ways of the Ganges, silent, and dark and deep. And his were the ways of the Desert, out where the camels creep. And because his words were as honey — honey without its sting — She was Queen of the Desert — and Hoogli Khan was her King ! White Skin, Handsome and Nameless, bound for the Border Lands, Passing, gazed on her beauty, and felt the touch of her hands. A thousand miles from his True Love, by virtue of Whip and Spur 202 SMILING EYES OF THE SUNSET And Saddle and Pack and Pathway, plighted his troth to her. Then out on the Border Stations, where he who loves goes mad. Dreamed of his first-found sweetheart — and Smiling Eyes of the Pad. But out on the Great Lone Pathways, as back by the shining seas A woman's love is a feather, fluttered by every breeze. And Hoogli came — and he pleaded when the weird red sun went down Till Smiling Eyes of the Sunset painted her future Brown, And, unbeknown to her people, when the midnight hazes rose She mounted the White Bull Camel, because the Brown Man chose. But White Skin, Handsome and Nameless, with the Pride of Race in his veins. Heard of the strange elopement, and hastened over the Plains. The Young Moon broadened and strengthened, and the Old Moon sickened and died SMILING EYES OF THE SUNSET 203 Ere he of the White Vendetta draggled his steed beside . . . Only three in the Desert . . . only two tracks in the Sand — And only another secret added to No-Man's Land ! And thus is the story ended — the tale that the Brown Men tell, Where he who loves is murdered, and he who lives does well. It is made of the queer romances that never a seer foresaw — Further West than the Pre-Ordained — and Further West than the Law. . . . But out on the Great Lone Pathways, where the wind thro'' the Mulga moans, The crows are quarking a chorus over a Brown Man's hones. 204 TO A DESERT QUEEN TO A DESERT QUEEN Those nights ! The stars athwart a brassy sky, And over all The drear, outstretching desert, far and nigh, There hung a pall Of haze and smoke and breathless summer heat And ghostly dust that slowly rose And circled round our feet. I was the only king that you had seen For many a day ; For Abdul was the only one, I ween. Who came your way. And I, who came with Youth and Hope aglow — What wonder that you gave me all. And let me kiss you so ! Ah, at your trembling heart you felt the pull Of Love, perchance . . . Dull days of prose, but oh ! the nights were full Of weird romance : The hallowed moon that silvered all the plain — The Altar of Your Sacrifice, The Cradle of Your Pain. TO A DESERT QUEEN 205 Romance, indeed ! There was but little there Before I came ; But they who know the Desert of Despair Will hold their blame, And pardon you, where mournful miles obsess. Where sand and silence interblend With love and loneliness. The fields are green to-day whereon I tread ; The Pads are far Beyond the range, where memory — a dread, Regretful star — ■ Soars out across the twilight on its quest To you, who gave your soul to me, Because you loved me best. Ah ! could the rover of the Desert stay To make supreme, And crystallize in happiness alway. Some girlhood's dream. Aye, would the East no longer call him back. But leave him West to tend the blooms That droop on Sunset Track. PLACE ME THERE 207 PLACE ME THERE When Fve done my little best, Comrades, let me lie at rest ; Aye, to sleep beside the stream, Where the mirrored planets gleam. And the water-lilies afloat {EvWy one a fairy boat !). Where the wistful willows weep Let me sleep, and sleep, and sleep ; Where the bush-birds sweetly sing. And the gums are blossoming ; Where the daisies in the grass Nod to all the winds that pass ; Where the country children come And the wild bees softly hum; Comrades, lay me there in peace When my soul has found release. Place me miles and miles away From the fever and the fray Of the roaring, restless town. With its air of smoky brown — Home {it seems to me, at least) Of the Burden and the Beast. * « * 208 PLACE ME THERE Yea; and nothing more I ask] When Fve done my earthly task, And no other thing I crave For my time beyond the grave . , Place me there, and let me be In a dreamless ecstasy. Printed by Butler and Tanner, Froms and London UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 20to-7,'67(H3149s4) -uM^ioung Research Library PR9619.3 .C273I L 009 505 498 7 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 001 409 597 J ' '■■""■I'tq-iiitmFtHirtit it n ii ifinmBniiy^wi ) [ \. / f r-'K