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THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
FAIR GIRLS AND GRAY HORSES
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2008 with funding from
IVIicrosoft Corporation
http://www.archive.org/details/fairgirlsgrayhorOOogil
FAIR GIRLS
AND GRAY HORSES
WITH OTHER VERSES
BY
WILL H. OGILVIE
AUTHOR OF "HEARTS OF GOI,D '
SYDNEY
ANGUS AND ROBERTSON
89 CASTI,EREAGH STREET
1906
Eleventh Thousand
U'ebsdale, Shoosiiiith & Co., Printers, Sjdney.
}'/3. 1 ^ .AjP r
/•
PR
To HUGH GORDON
For sake of the meet and the muster,
The hunts in the oak-scrub and plain ;
For sake of the old days, whose lustre
May never shine round us again ;
In mind of the head-rope and halter,
The mounts in the dawn and the dew,
I lay my poor gift on the altar
Of friendship, and pledge it to You !
W. H. 0.
542808
LIB SETSrAt-'5TP<*>viA:i
0/ the following verges, "Life has wreaths of each
hue," " Gold Tresses," " The Old Boat," " The World
Beyond," " Brdlade of Windy Nights," and " To the
Overlanders" are first printed in this volume. " The
Land of Dumh Despair" was published as introductory
to " Where the Dead Men Lie, and Other Poems"
by Barcroft Boake. Most of the others originally
appeared in The Bulletin, and some in The
Australasian, The Sydney Mail, The Critic
{Adelaide), The Western Champion and The
Independent (Parkes, N.S. W.), The Border
Watch {Mount Gambier, S.A.), The Australasian
Pastoralists' Review, and The Kelso Mail
{Scotland).
FAIR GIRLS AND GRAY HORSES!
Fair Girls and Gray horses ! A toast for you
Who never u-ent ivide of a fence or a kiss :
While horses are horses and eyes are blue
There is never a toast in the u-orld like tliis!
To all Fair Girls ! For the sake of one
M'hose hriglit blue eyes ivere awhile my star,
Whose hair had the rich red gold of the Sun
When his kisses fall where the leaf lips are !
To all Fair Girls '. How the red wine gleams
To the glass's rim as it gleamed that night
In the jewelled hand of my Dame of Dreams —
0, jeivelled fingers so soft and white .'
To all Fair Girls ! Turn your glasses down.
Ilere^s " Blissful bridals and long to live ! "
And if I am sligliting your eyes of brown,
Of Gipsies Bom of the Night, forgive !
FAIR GIRLS AND GRAY HORSES
To all Gray Horses ! Fill up ayain
For the sake of a gray horse dear to me ;
For a foam-fed bit and a snatching rein
And a reaching galloper fast and free !
To all Oray Horses ! For one steed's sake
Who has carried me many a journey tall
In the daivn-mists dun when the magpies wake,
In the starry haze when the night-dews fall !
To all Gray Horses ! Noiv drink you deep,
For red wine ruins no rider's nerves :
' Light work and a long, long after-sleep ! "
As each gray horse in the world deserves.
Fair Girls and Gray Horses ! To each his way,
But golden and gray are the loves to hold ;
And if gold tresses must turn to gray
Gray horses need never he tamed into gold I
CONTENTS
I'AGB
LEILA
The nodding plumes steal slowly by ; - 1
DRAY-DREAMS
0 the mountains speak of sadness ! - 3
"POUR PASSER . . ."
No sweep of hill or valley, . - . 6
GOLD TRESSES
You stand at my knee, Gold Tresses ! - 8
A BROKEN WEB
A spider floated a silken thread - - 10
THE TOWNSHIP LIGHTS
With laughter and love-spells and witch-
eyes of blue - - - - - 12
xii CONTENTS
I'AOE
THE PARTING
There were trailing roses behind her - 14
" PERHAPS TO-NIGHT ! "
" Perhaps to-night ! " came flashing
through the splendour - - - 16
TO A MISOGYNIST
You damn all ivomen as wantons nr worse 17
WHEN HORSES ARE SADDLED FOR
LOVE
The saddle-slaves of Love are we - - 19
STAR AND STAR
You have crossed my life with your fair
sweet face ; ----- 22
TO-DAY !
Hear me now ! for Time is flying, - • 24
HIS GIPPSLAND GIRL
Now, money was scarce and work was
slack ...... 26
WHISPER LOW
We have rowed together at even-fall - 29
CONTENTS xiii
PAOE
A TELL-TALE TRYST
O, who was it saddled White Star last
night, ..---- 31
GOOD-BYE, LYNETTE!
I have worked for you — toil made sweet,
love ! ------ 33
IN MULGA TOWN
We played at love in Mulga town, - 35
THE OLD BOAT
The Old Boat lies in the sand and slime 37
LOVE'S MOLOCH
How long shall we hear the sobbing 1 - 39
WHERE THE BRUMBIES COME TO
WATER
There's a lonely grave half-hidden where
the blue-grass droops above, - - 42
GOOD-BYE
Here on the broken strings of Love's
mute harp, . - ... 45
FROM THE GULF
Store cattle from Nelanjie ! The mob
goes feeding past, - • ' - - 49
xiv CONTENTS
PAOK
THE RIDING OF THE REBEL
He was the Red Creek overseer, a trusted
man and true, ----- 54
FOUR-IN-HAND
O some prefer a single, - - - 61
THE STOCKYARD LIAR
If ever you're handling a rough one - 63
THE BORDER GATE
Dawn gilds the spiders' bridges ; - - 66
OUTLAWS BOTH
Steady ! steady, my pearl ! from the crest
of the range - - - - - 69
THE COACH OF DEATH
There's a phantom-coach runs nightly
along the Western creeks ; - - 72
DARRELL
So I've taken his hundred notes in the
end, 77
OFF THE GRASS
They were boasting on the Greenhide of
their nags of fancy breed, - - - 79
CONTENTS XV
PA8K
HIS EPITAPH
On a little old bush x'acecourse at the
back of No Man's Land, - - 84
THE DINGO OF BRIOALOW GAP
For K.G. or coronet, kingdom or crown, 87
HOW THE CHESTNUT HORSE CAME
HOME
Twenty miles across the ranges there's a
patch of cane-grass clears - - 91
A DRAFT FROM TRINGADEE
Lead me down to the stockyard, Jim, to
the butt of the old box-tree ! - - 95
TAKEN OVER
The Banks are taking charge, old man ! —
/ knew how it would be ; - - . 99
THE STATION BRAND
Ho ! you in the boots and the long-necked
spurs, 103
OUT OF THE CHAINS
He has toiled in his place since the break
of day, 106
xvi CONTENTS
PAGP.
THE MAN WHO STEADIES THE LEAD
He was born in the light of red oaths - 109
HOW THE FIRE QUEEN CROSSED
THE SWAMP
The flood was down in the Wilga swamps,
three feet over the mud, - - - 113
THE NEAR SIDE LEADER
When the gear is on the horses and the
knotted trace-chains hooked ; - - 118
THE SILENT SQUADRON
Down the long dream-lanes - - - 123
THE BROKEN SHOE
Long years ago — no matter now how long
— one fierce December - - - 125
RIDERLESS
A broken bridle trailing, - - - 135
KINGS OF THE EARTH
We are heathen who worship an idol - 137
UNBROKEN !
Eyes wild with fear unspoken, - - 139
CONTENTS xvii
PABK
HOW WE WON THE RIBBON
Come and look around my office — - - 142
HABET !
Down ! And the world's war-squadron
splashes 151
THE WORLD BEYOND
A Poet stood in the red day-dawn, - - 153
NORTHWARD TO THE SHEDS
There's a whisper from the regions out beyond
the Barwon banks ; - - - - 155
LIFE'S OVERLAND
Grey-lying miles to the nor'ward of
Nor' ward, - 158
AT THE BACK O' BOURKE !
Where the mulga paddocks are wild and
wide, 161
THE SONG OF SONGS
Let others chant of battle and such
wreaths as Glory gave ; - - - 164
AT THE BEND O' THE CREEK
Here 18 roar iny flood in Winter - - 166
xviii CONTENTS
I'AOR
WEST OF THE WORLD
West of the World all red suns sleep - 169
A SCOTCH NIGHT
If you chance to strike a gathering of
half-a-dozen friends - - - - 1 70
"ABSENT FRIENDS!"
" Absent Friends ! " There are brought to
our mind again - - - - - 174
THE MARCH OF THE FLOOD
There's a whisper away on the Queens-
land side 176
"GODSPEED!"
Because we've waked the morning-stars - 1 80
A WIND FROM THE WEST
The Wind that fires the blood - - 182
ABANDONED SELECTIONS
On the crimson breast of the sunset - 184
"THE MEN WHO BLAZED THE
TRACK ! "
Since the toasts for the absent are over, - 188
VTTA BREVIS
Oui' Life is but a moment : - - - 191
CONTENTS xix
PAGE
THE TRUEST FRIEND
I had a comrade tried and true, - - 193
AULD LANG SYNE
O, it's southward from Southampton ! and
she takes the Channel gay, - - - 194
IN TOWN
Where the smoke-clouds scarcely drift - 198
BEYOND COOLGARDIE
They are fighting beyond Coolgardie,
dusty and worn and brown, - - 200
DESERTED
This is the homestead— the still lagoon - 202
THE FILLING OF THE SWAMPS
Hurrah for the storm-clouds sweeping ! - 204
BLACK SHEEP
They shepherd their Black Sheep down to
the ships, 206
THE COMING HOME
The liijht ice fulluiv throiujh a mist of tears 208
XX CONTENTS
PAOE
THE WALLABY TRACK
0 a weird, wild road is the Wallaby
Track 210
BEYOND THE BARRIER
Are you tired of the South Land, com-
rade— 212
RAINBOWS AND WITCHES
1 remember, ever so long ago, - - 215
HANDICAPPED !
Life's race for all is even-lapped - - 218
MEMORY TOWN
From dawning to dusk moves the crowd in
her street ----- 220
TO A BUNCH OF HEATHER
Was it early in the autumn, was it sunny
summer weather ? - - - - 222
THE FRONT RANK
We fight on far tracks unknown ; - - 225
THE NEW MOON
" New Moon to->iight '." you will hear thevi
say, ------- 227
CONTENTS xxi
PAOE
THE BUSH, MY LOVER
The camp-fire gleams resistance - - 229
A SPIN OF THE COIN
The Spring is warm and waking, and the
Avattle's bursting bud ; - - - 232
A DREAMER OF DREAMS
The song-thrush loves the laurel, - - 235
THE GRAVES OUT WEST
If the lonely graves are scattered in that
fenceless vast God's Acre, - - - 237
FAIRY TALES
I chanced on an old brown book to-day 239
VILLANELLE
Last night in Memory's boughs as wing, - 241
BEN HALL'S STIRRUP-IRONS
A lithe young squatter passes in the dust, 243
BALLADE OF WINDY NIGHTS
Have you learnt the soi-row of windy
nights 244
THE BUSHMAN'S FRIEND
Let the sailor tell of the roaring gale - 246
xxii CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CITY OF GRAY GRIEFS
Somewhere, hid in our hearts, a City
stands -..--. 248
CHRISTMAS NIGHT
The lamps will be lit over seas to-night, - 250
THE CRUELLEST DREAM
So here at the last I find - - - 252
BOWMONT WATER
O, we think we're happy roving ! - - 254
THE ROSE OUT OF REACH
A red rose grew on a southward wall, - 257
"SORRY TO GO!"
I watched by the homestead where moon-
beam and star ----- 259
THE LAND OF DUMB DESPAIR
Beyond where farthest drought-fires
burn, .-...- 262
TO THE OVERLANDERS
Take this farewell from one must leave - 264
FAIR GIRLS
Life has tvreatlis of each hue
But the Cypress hinds all of them ;
Wreaths of Rose and 0/ Hue,
Life has ivreaths of each hue,
Laurel wreaths for a few,
Hemlock wreaths and the yall of ihem ;
lAfe has wreaths of each hue
But the Cypress binds all of them.
LEILA
The nodding plumes steal slowly by ;
Fair women turn their heads aside ;
And yet the purest there must die
As poor Love-Leila died.
In town, a boy who never knew
Of better love than this
Is mourning Leila's eyes of blue,
And lone for Leila's kiss.
A horseman on the burning plains
A hundred miles north-west
Bends gently o'er his bridle-reins
And prays for Leila, Rest !
A man who buried all his dreams
Of Love long years ago,
Has dropped one other tear where gleams
Love-Leila's breast of snow.
LEILA
All virtuous the world appears ;
But those who turn aside
May never win such honest tears
As fell when Leila died.
DRAY-DREAMS
0 THE mouutains speak of sadness !
There is gloom ou ridge and spur ;
But they cannot dim the gladness
In my heart because of her.
All day long I feel her near me ;
To my soul her presence steals ;
"When I whisper she can hear me
Through the rolling of the wheels.
1 can see my gold -haired Freda
(By the dull world undescried)
As I steer the old brown leader
Deftly down the mountain side ;
As I chide the lazy shaf ter
Through the pine-spears on the grass,
I can hear her gentle laughter
In the green boughs as I pass.
DRAY-DREAMS
And at times I hear her singing
Softly when the west winds blow,
And the feathered pines are swinging
On the range-top to and fro :
Dreamily I drive my cattle,
Lulled to sleep above their reins
By the wheels' eternal I'attle
And the clinking of the chains.
And her songs of love have stirred me,
And I've answered from the shaft,
Till the wondering 'possums heard me
And the kookaburras laughed !
Passion reigns the wide world over :
Pi'ince and pauper own his sway ;
And a lover is a lover
Though he drive a two-horse dray !
Days are long and wheat's to carry
Now ; but when the summer's by,
Fate allowing, we shall marry,
Gold-haired Freda, you and I :
When in stress of winter weather
Flowers are dead and skies are gray,
We'll go jogging home together,
Loved and lover in a dray.
DRAY-DREAMS
Life is dull and toil unending ;
But the voice of Love is sweet,
And the tide is always tending
To the ti-yst where lovers meet ;
Life is commonplace and real,
Yet along its rock-strewn way
Each man sees his own ideal
As he dreams upon his dray !
" POUR PASSER ..."
No sweep of hill or valley,
No meadows daisy -pearled,
To break the line of mallee
That bounds our little world.
The sun begins his bondage
Behind the mallee tops.
And through their soft green frondage
The sun at evening drops . . .
So day by day is given :
And night by night ive pray,
" Help, Lord nj" Hell or Heaven,
To pass the time away .'"
A canter through the clearing
To where a white roof gleams ;
A vow, a passioned hearing,
A mockery of Love's dreams :
" POUR PASSER ..."
Clasped hands and burning kisses,
And whispers soft to say :
" There's no such way as this is
To pass the time away ! "
A gleam of snow-white shoulder,
A clasp of rounded arms ;
A month . . . and Love grown colder
Has lost his luring charms.
A careless farewell spoken
For ever and a day —
And one more hrave heart broken
To pass tlie time away !
GOLD TRESSES
You stand at my knee, Gold Tresses !
Most true of all lovers of mine,
With lips that are fashioned for kisses
And fingers that thrill where they twine ;
And bitter at heart thus early,
And weary of life am I,
And you are so happy, girlie —
The sun and the birds say, why !
Your heart is so pure. Gold Tresses !
You know of no life like mine
That is hot to the brow with kisses
And red to the lips with wine —
The hate in her courtly greetings,
The scorn of her soft replies.
The shame of her stolen meetings,
The grief of her wild good-byes.
8
GOLD TRESSES
Oh, fashion your wreaths in the sunlight
Untouched of the mist and the rain,
For Youth is the rose light, the one light
That never will gird us again ;
And ours is the load you must borrow
And ours is the path you must fare.
Who have passed by the archways of Sorrow
And knocked at the gates of Despair.
You nestle with soft arms around me,
Your face is upturned to my own.
The chains that have crippled and bound me
Lie heavy and cold as a stone ;
And out to the sunlight there surges
A passionate longing and wild —
Ah, these are the whips and the scourges
The lips and the hands of a child !
A BROKEN WEB
A SPIDER floated a silken thread
In the grey of a misty morn
To fetter a rose to a i^osebud red,
A bloom to a bloom forlorn.
The dews brought diamond gifts to leave,
The winds of dawn crooned by,
And the spider toiled with a heart to weave
A web that would fill the sky.
The sun leaned out of the lifting mist
And laughed to the silver threads,
And wherever his passionate lips had kissed
Burned beautiful blues and reds.
But the maiden came with a sunny face
And a butterfly-net in her hand.
And shattered the web in her reckless race —
Too happy to understand.
A BROKEN WEB 11
And she danced away to the garden-door
With the wreck of her hands unseen,
But a rose will swing to a rose no more
"With a silver chain between.
THE TOWNSHIP LIGHTS
With laughter and love-spells and witch-eyes of blue
A girl in the township is waiting for you.
There is nothing that thrills like a handclasp of hers,
So bridle your best horse and buckle your spurs ;
We'll wait not for moonlight, but saddle and ride
With the lights of the township our goal and our
guide.
There are glasses to empty and yarns to be spun ;
There are cards to be handled and coin to be won ;
There are light-footed dancers that wait in the hall
For the boys from the station to open the ball,
With its waltzes for wooing and lancers for love
While the lights of the township are dancing above
The day has been long in the dust and the heat,
But the way will be short with a guerdon so sweet ;
THE TOWNSHIP LIGHTS 13
The songs of the rover will shorten the miles
That the queen of our fancy makes bright with her
smiles ;
And stirrup to stirrup we'll sing as we ride
To the lights of the township that glimmer and
guide.
We'll welcome old faces, our glasses we'll fill
Till the silver moon drops on the crest of the hill ;
The words of our love to the night shall be borne,
Our song to the dawn^vind, our laughs to the morn ;
We'll dance till the sunbeams are out in the sky
And the lights of the township gleam faintly and die.
The world may despise us, and parsons disprove
That the night is for dancing and drinking and love,
But we'll saddle our horses and ride to the dance
And drink to the beauty that kills at a glance ;
We'll hold to our loves and we'll stick to our creed
As long as the lights of the township may lead !
THE PARTING
There were trailing roses behiud her
And roses tall on the lawn,
And Love for a gift had twined her
A crown of the crimson dawn ;
She pondered on Life's swift changes,
Looked westward and wondered why,
And fluttered a scarf to the ranges —
And this was the girl's good-bye.
He rode with his burden of sorrow
To the crest of the Big Divide,
And he thought of the long lone morrow
And bent to the reins and sighed ;
But turned with a great grief laden.
And looked back once to the dell.
And waved a hand to the maiden —
And this was the man's farewell.
THE PARTING 15
Her heart was untouched as the snow's is,
And cold as the white young year's ;
She could not see for her roses,
And he — for his blinding tears ;
But no worlds wait for a woven spell.
Though hope in the heart should die,
"Wliile brave men part wdth a fond farewell —
And girls with a light good-bye !
" PERHAPS TO-NIGHT ! "
" Perhaps to-night ! " came flashing through the
splendour
Of gleaming lights and gems and faces fair,
The touching hands, the whispers low and tender,
The love-lit glances and the scented air ;
And then the beauty flickered down and faded,
A shadow grew and lingered on the light,
The shadow of a sword that hung keen-bladed
Above the revellers. " Perhaps to night ! "
" Perhaps to-night ! " If Death had passed the
dancers
And clasped our hand in his before them all
We should have wept those vows and burning answers
And all the glamour of the lighted hall ;
But far from love and lover in the meadow
We wait his summons and our eyes are bright.
For nothing but a friend can be the shadow.
And nothing but a hope — " Perhaps to-night ! "
TO A MISOGYNIST
You damn all women as wantons or worse
For a lover proved false in the days gone by :
There are women to worship as well as to cxirse —
And rows will break while the sun rides hiyh !
Had you never a sister who held your hand
As you loitered together in Babyland,
Who guided your steps to the brightest bowers
Where the life-dawn flushed on the fairest flowers 1
Had you never a mother who heard you lisp
Your baby prayers at her dear old knee,
Before Love's flame like a will-o'-the-wisp
Had lured you away to the storm-tossed sea 1
Had you never a lover — before this last —
True to the dream ere the dream had passed ;
Never a token, a tress or a curl,
To bind your life to one true-heart girl 1
B 17
18 TO A MISOGYNIST
You damn all women as wantons or tvorse
For a lover proved false in the days gone by .
Say, tvas the hlame of it — all of it — hers?
We are not so immaculate, you and I.
WHEN HORSES ARE SADDLED FOR LOVE
The saddle-slaves of Love are we
Who mount by sun and moon,
No matter what the season be
So long as it be soon !
The golden and the gray light
Have seen the girth-straps drawn
For Love that rules the daylight,
The dark and dusk and dawn.
What hoof beat on the gravel !
What haste with Love to be !
What snatching at the snaffle !
What reefing, head to knee !
Now faster still and faster !
The white Moon laughs above :
She knows we have no master
Except the Lord of Love.
20 WHEN HORSES ARE SADDLED FOR LOVE
The low road keeps the river,
The high road skirts the hill —
No road so short but ever
We find a shorter still ;
And if the floods run blindly
Where Love, not Life, 's the loss,
Dame Fortune treats us kindly
And holds our hands across.
The Bush- Wind blows to meet us
As though she understands ;
The hop-bush holds to greet us
A hundred clasping hands ;
There's not a bird but sings us
A welcome in the grove :
They know 't is Love that brings us —
And all the world loves Love !
Be skies alight or leaden
Long miles bring no regret.
And if the white spurs redden
Our horses soon forget :
So toss the bars, my beauty !
And cream the reins with foam ;
It's ten moon-miles to duty.
And ten more dawn-miles home !
WHEN HORSES ARE SADDLED FOR LOVE 21
Gleam lights in the verandah ;
Flash lamps across the lawn ;
But soft the shadows yonder
Where reins are tightly di-awn.
Out there the dews are glistening ;
The leaves are scarcely stirred,
So close the Night- Wind's listening
To every whispered word !
The Moon she dips to morning ;
The lamps are burning low,
Our love belated scorning . . .
" One kiss before I go ! "
Now slowly through the starlight . . .
Slow, slow, in dreams away . . .
Till eastward gleams the far light
That leads the breaking Day.
STAR AND STAR
You have crossed my life with your fair sweet face ;
You are filling my lone heart's vacant place ;
Your whispered Avords and your arms that cling
Are a link in Love's remembering ;
For your forms are alike as the angels are,
Your faces are moulded as star and star.
I have taken your hand that is soft to take,
I have held it long for an old love's sake ;
I have played with the curls of your golden head
As I played with gold curls in a day long dead ;
And your rose-red lips I have tasted seem
Like the red-rose lips of a fading dream.
I held her once in my arms of old ;
I kissed her twice, but her lips were cold :
I clasped you close to my heart to-night,
A heaving bosom of snowdrift white ;
■22
STAR AND STAR 23
But there's never a snow could quench the fire
That burned in your passionate lips' desii'e !
With the pleading words 't is a wrong to name
You are holding your brow for the brand of shame ;
There is never a pleasure I could not prove
In the name of the passion you think is Love ;
There is never a freedom I might not take,
But ... I spare you, girl, for an old love's sake !
I could blacken the fame you hold so cheap
While moonbeams sorrow and white stars weep ;
But I drop your hand, though it give you pain —
I dream no dream on your lips again . . .
What reck if your heart, like mine, shall break ?
/ will spare your soul for Her white soul's sake !
TO-DAY !
Hear me now ! for Time is flying,
And the beating of his wings
Drowns the vows of Love undying.
Dims the light where Memory clings !
All the saddest songs of Sorrow
Are the dirges of Delay,
And our hearts may lose to-morrow
What our hands may hold to-day.
When a grave beside the river
Claims the last of Love and you,
And Death's hand has dried for ever
All our wreaths of rose and rue ;
When the winding grass above you
Hides Hope's brightest lamp away,
How are you to know I love you
If I must not speak to-day 1
24
TO-DAY ! 25
When above your silent sleeping
Pitying pine-boughs moan and toss,
And the moonbeams pale with weeping
Fling their snow-white arms across ;
When the one star that was nearest
Dims and dies a world away,
How am I to tell you, Dearest 1 . .
Let me speak my love to-day /
HIS GIPPSLAND GIKL
Now, money was scarce and work was slack
And Love to his heart crept in,
And he rode away on the Northern track
To war with the World and win ;
And he vowed by the locket upon his breast
And its treasure, one red-gold curl,
To work with a will in the farthest West
For the sake of his Gippsland girl.
The hot wind blows on the dusty plain
And the red sun burns above,
But he sees her face at his side again.
And he strikes each blow for Love :
He toils by the light of one far-off star
For the winning of one white pearl,
And the swinging pick and the driving bar
Strike home for the Gippsland girl.
2«
HIS GIPPSLAND GIRL 27
With aching wrist and a back that's bent,
With salt sweat blinding his eyes,
'Tis little he'd reck if his life were spent
In winning so grand a prize ;
And his shear-blades flash and over his hand
The folds of the white fleece curl,
And all day long he sticks to his stand
For the love of his Gippsland girl.
When the shearing's done and the sheds cut out
On Barwon and Narran and Bree ;
When the shearer mates with the rouseabout
And the Union man with the free ;
When the doors of the shanty, open wide,
An uproarious welcome hurl.
He passes by on the other side
For the sake of his Gippsland girl.
When Summer lay brown on the Western Land
He rode once more to the South,
Athirst for the touch of a lily hand
And the kiss of a rosebud mouth ;
And he sang the songs that shorten the way,
And he envied not king or earl.
And he spared not the spur in his dappled gray
For the sake of his Gippsland girl.
28 HIS GIPPSLAND GIRL
At the garden gate when the shadows fell
His hopes in the dusk lay dead ;
" Nellie 1 Oh ! Surely you heard that Nell
Is married a month ! " they said.
He spoke no word ; with a dull, dumb pain
At his heart, and his brain awhirl.
He turned his gray to the North again
For the sake of his Gippsland girl.
And he rung the board in a Paroo shed
By the sweat of his aching brow,
And he blued his cheque, for he grimly said :
" There is nothing to live for now."
And out and away where the big floods start
And the Dai'ling dust-showers whirl.
There's a drunken shearer that broke his heart
Over a Gippsland girl !
WHISPER LOW
We have rowed together at even-fall
Down the creek in the sunset glow,
Under the vines and the box-trees tall
That fringe the shores.
Di}) fn/t file oars !
Dip soft the oars and whisper low.
We have ridden away in the golden noon
Over the range where the sandals grow,
To wander home by a summer moon
On silver plains.
Draw ti(jht the reins!
Draw tight the reins and whisper low.
We have sat in the garden at close of day
Watching the light from the blossoms go.
And the darkling branches melt away
To Shadow Land.
Love, hold my hand !
Love, hold my hand and whisper low.
30 WHISPER LOW
And now we two, though the years have passed,
Live in the Love of long ago,
Love that endured, and Love that will last
As long as life.
Kiss me, my wi/e !
Kiss me, my wife, and whisper low.
A TELL-TALE TRYST
O, WHO was it saddled White Star last night.
And who was it saddled White Star 1
You can read his track to the rails and back
And down the creek ever so far.
O, moonlight is lovers' light, Somebody knows,
And witch-time the season to woo,
And down in the bend where the kurrajong grows
The tracks have been trodden by two !
O, who was it galloped White Star last night,
When gold stars jewelled the sky 1
You can see the brand of saddle and band
In sweat that is clotted and dry.
O, Somebody raced, with the world asleep,
To a tryst that Somebody knew.
And over the blue-grass fetlock-deep
The white hoofs scattered the dew !
31
32 A TELL-TALE TRYST
O, who was it fastened "White Star last night
To a bough of the kuiTajong-tree ?
The deep-set grooves of his restless hooves
Are there for the World to see.
O, Somebody left him for True Love's sake.
And Somebody left him long,
For horses may hunger and bridles break
When True Love fashions her song !
0, who was it fondled White Star last night
When Somebody whispered adieu,
And plaited the gray of his mane in a way
That never those gray locks grew ?
And who was it bent from his saddle-bow
To the plea of an upturned face.
While down in the bend where the kurrajongs grow
The World stood still for a space 1
O, the lover who saddled White Star last night
It is very easy to guess,
For his face is bright with a new-found light
And a joy that his eyes confess.
O, Somebody met in the moonlight snow
Someone that cared to be kissed.
And the veriest dolt in the world may know
Who rode to the moonlight tryst !
GOOD-BYE, LYNETTE!
I HAVE worked for you — toil made sweet, love !
And never I grudged an hour ;
Now the dead leaves drift at our feet, love,
That trod by the trees in flower !
The scent of the rose blows over —
Dead roses of all regret ;
And you were my only lover,
So give me your hand, Lynette !
0, Love-Star loyally leading,
You fade in the gathering gray !
O, Hopes that have long lain bleeding,
I bury you deep to-day !
If Time has left never a token
The. easier, love, to forget :
So over the old spells broken
Give me your hand, Lynette !
34 GOOD-BYE, LYNETTE !
I have sounded the deeps of sorrow ;
I have drunk to the dregs of tears ;
I shall suffer no more to-morrow,
No more than in dead past years ;
And what is our life but greeting
And parting and long regret? —
So here's to our first mad meeting !
And here's to our last, Lynette !
IN MULGA TOWN
We played at love in Mulga town,
And O, her eyes were blue !
We played at love in Mulga town,
And love's a game for two.
If three should play, alack-a-day !
There's one of them will rue,
Dear Heart !
There's one of them will rue.
Three played at love in Mulga town,
True love they could not hide ;
Three played at love in Mulga town,
Two laughed : the other sighed ;
Though two may woo the wide world through.
But one may kiss the bride.
Deal- Heart !
But one may kiss the bride.
35
36 IN MULGA TOWN
Three played at love in Mulga town,
And one's too sad to weep ;
Three played at love in Mulga town—
The creek runs dark and deep ;
So warm she flows no mortal knows
How cold her dead may sleep,
Dear Heart /
How cold her dead may sleep.
THE OLD BOAT
The Old Boat lies in the sand and slime
And the sun is springing her planks ;
She is drifting away on the river of Time
Between Eternity's banks :
We have buried the low-toned laughter
And the whispers the Old Boat heard,
But the plash of the oars comes after
And the deeps of the years are stirred.
She has sailed with a burden of Love and Hope
From under these same old shores,
With white hands holding her tiller-rope
And brown arms bent to her oars . . .
In channels too deep for charting
Lies buried the freight of our ship,
And we go no more sweet-hearting
Where Life was a pleasure trip.
38 THE OLD BOAT
A new boat rocks at our feet to-day,
A picture is crimson and gold,
The daintiest craft on the creek, they say.
But she carries no freight hke the Old ;
She swings in her painted splendour
The flood and the fall between,
But there's never a blade can send her
The way that the Old Boat's been.
You are sport of the sunlight and weather :
See, I drag you. Old Boat, to the shade !
We were comrades so often together
For love of the one little maid . . .
Should she come to the wilgas, I wonder
Would ever it cost her a tear
To see the new boat rocking under
And you in the dead leaves up here !
LOVE'S MOLOCH
How long shall we hear the sobbing 1
How long shall our hearts beat slow
To the wail of a ceaseless sorrow
That follows us to and fro,
WIkj watch from our safe rock -ramparts
The wreck of the ringless brides
On the flow of the crimson sunsets,
On the ebb of the white moon-tides 1
They walk in the weeping darkness,
They hold on a wasted arm
What Love cannot guard from hunger
Or Passion itself keep warm ;
They walk in the weeping darkness,
They clasp to their breasts of shame
The pitiful white-faced burdens
The World will refuse to name.
40 LOVE'S MOLOCH
They bend to the wee wan faces,
And scald with their burning tears
The tiny lips that will curse them
When knowledge has come with years ;
They weep to their rocking cradles
Whose labour should prove so sweet,
And the wealth of their white girl-garlands
Lies crushed at the gray World's feet.
They creep to our curtained windows ;
They stand at our doors thrice-barred ;
And their feet are torn and bleeding
Who found that their path was hard.
Their hands that we held may touch us ;
Their lips that we loved may plead ;
But never an ear will hearken,
And never a heart will heed.
They shrink from the glaring sunlight.
But down where the lamps ai-e lit
They stretch a hand to their Sorrow
And drink to the deeps of it ;
There are sins that the Night will pardon.
And smiles for the roses red . . .
0, Woe to the maiden-mothers !
And Woe to the bonds unsaid !
LOVE'S MOLOCH 41
How long shall we lead the victims ?
How long in a crimson flood
Shall the gates of our great Gomorrah
Be washed in our sisters' blood 1
How long shall they heap the altars 1
How long shall their cry be heard
Ere the fire and the brimstone teach us
That the anger of God is stirred !
WHERE THE BRUMBIES COME TO WATER
There's a lonely grave half -hidden where the blue-
grass droops above,
And the slab is rough that marks it, but we planted
it for love ;
There's a well-worn saddle hanging in the harness-
room at home
And a good old stock-horse waiting for the steps that
never come ;
Thei'e's a mourning rank of riders closing in on either
hand
O'er the vacant place he left us — he, the best of all
the band,
Who is lying cold and silent with his hoarded hopes
unwon
Where the brumbies come to water at the setting of
the sun.
WHERE THE BRUMBIES COME TO WATER 43
Some other mate with rougher touch will twist our
greenhide tliongs,
And round the fire some harsher voice will sing his
lilting songs ;
His dog will lick some other hand, and when the wild
mob swings
We'll get some slower rider to replace him in the
wings ;
His horse will find a master new ere twice the sun
goes down,
But who will kiss his light-o'-love a-weeping in the
town 1 —
His light o'-love who kneels at night beyond the long
lagoon
Where the brumbies come to water at the rising of
the moon.
We've called her hard and bitter names who chose —
another's wife —
To chain our comrade in her thi-all and wreck his
strong young life ;
We've cursed her for her cruel love that seared like
hate — and yet
We know when all is over there is one will not
forget,
44 WHERE THE BRUMBIES COME TO WATER
As she piles the white bush blossoms where her poor
lost lover lies
With the death-dew on his foi'ehead and the grave-
dark in his eyes,
Where the shadow-line is broken by the moonbeams'
silver bars,
And the brumbies come to water at the lighting of
the stars.
GOOD-BYE
Here, on the broken strings of Love's mute harp,
Across the withered flowers of all dead dreams,
Give me your hand and take my last farewell !
One glance of love ! — the last from those dear eyes !-
For out against the reddening sky, cut sharp
Rigging and spar, her head to the ocean swell.
Cruel as Death the great ship waiting lies.
One dear Good-bye !
Hush ! say not, " As a friend "-
The old, old phrase 't were bitterness to hear
Only that every word you say is sweet ;
For I have fifty friends, but not one love.
And only ask for you here at the end
As in those days when first we loved to meet
With all God's world our own, His arm above.
45
46 GOOD-BYE
One prayer for me !
jSTay ! not " That you forget ! ' —
For why should I forget the sweets of Life
Who launch into its bitterness to-day 1
But pray you rather that I keep your face
Before me always, with its blue eyes wet
With tears denying those cold words you say ;
Your clinging hands almost a mute embrace
The light of Day is growing as we stand ;
The light of Love is dying in your eyes ;
Before yon sun has drifted to his rest
In crimson splendour down the western sky
For me will fall the dark.
Dear nestling hand,
And soft white arms, and lips still unconfessed.
The white sails fill !
Heart of my Heart, Gaoil-hye !
GRAY HORSES
This worship of Horse
Is a sin and a curse,
So v)e hear in our parsons talk ;
Bid we're steering straight
For the Golden Gate,
And tie may as loell ride as walk.
Shall our frieiulship break
O'er the way we take
Since neither will/ollov) it back ?
Let him hihinp his load
Dow7i the two-chain road —
I'm going the Bridle-Track 1
FROM THE GULF
Store cattle from Nelanjie ! The mob goes feeding
past,
With half -a mile of sandhill 'twixt the leaders and the
last ;
The nags that move behind them are the good old
Queensland stamp —
Short backs and perfect shoulders that are priceless
on a camp ;
And these are Men that ride them, broad chested,
tanned, and tall.
The bravest hearts amongst us and the lightest Viands
of all :
Oh, let them wade in Wonga grass and taste the
Wonga dew,
And let them spread, those thousand head — for we've
been droving too !
50 FROM THE GULF
Store cattle from Nelanjie ! By half-a-hundred
towns,
By Northern ranges rough and red, by rolling open
downs,
By stock-routes brown and burnt and bare, by flood-
wrapped river-bends,
They've hunted them from gate to gate — the drover
has no friends !
But idly they may ride to-day beneath the scorching
sun
And let the hungry bullocks try the grass on Wonga
run;
No overseer will dog them here to " see the cattle
through,"
But they may spread their thousand head — for we've
been droving too !
Store cattle from Nelanjie ! They've a naked track
to steer ;
The stockyards at Wodonga are a long way down
from here ;
The creeks won't run till God knows when, and half
the holes are dry ;
The tanks are few and far between and water's dear
to buy :
FROM THE GULF 51
There's plenty at the Brolga bore for all his stock and
mine —
We'll pass him with a brave God-speed across the
Border line ;
And if he goes a five-mile stage and loiters slowly
thi'ough,
We'll only think the more of him — for we've been
droving too !
Store cattle from Nelanjie ! They're mute as milkers
now;
But yonder grizzled drover, with the care-lines on his
brow,
Could tell of merry musters on the big Nelanjie
plains,
With blood upon the chestnut's flanks and foam upon
the reins ;
Could tell of nights upon the road when those same
mild eyed steers
Went ringing round the river bend and through the
scrub like spears ;
And if his words are rude and rough, we know his
words are true,
We know what wild Nelanjies are — and we've been
droving too !
52 FROM THE GULF
Store cattle from Nelanjie ! Around the fire at
night
They've watched the pine-tree shadows hft before the
dancing light ;
They've lain awake to listen when the weird bush-
voices speak,
And heard the lilting bells go by along the empty
creek ;
They've spun the yarns of hut and camp, the tales of
play and work.
The wondrous tales that gild the road from Norman-
ton to Bourke ;
They've told of fortunes foul and fair, of women false
and true,
And well we know the songs they've sung — for we've
been droving too !
Store cattle from Nelanjie ! Their breath is on the
breeze ;
You hear them tread, a thousand head, in blue-grass
to the knees ;
The lead is on the netting-fence, the wings are
spreading wide.
The lame and laggard scarcely move — so slow the
drovers ride !
FROM THE GULF 5'i
But let them stay and feed to-day for sake of Auld
Lang Syne ;
They'll nevex* get a chance like this below the Border
Line;
And if they tread our frontage down, what's that to
me or you ?
What's ours to /are, by God they'll share ! for we've been
droving too !
THE RIDING OF THE REBEL
He Wcas the Red Creek overseer, a trusted man and
true,
Whose shoulder never left the wheel when there was
work to do ;
Through all the day he rode the run, and when the
lights grew dim
The sweetest wife that ever loved would wait and
watch for him.
She brought him dower of golden hair and eyes of
laughing blue,
Stout heart and cunning bridle-hand to guide the
mulga through ;
And when the mob was mustered from the box flats
far and wide
She loved to mount the wildest colts that no one else
would ride.
54
THE RIDING OF THE REBEL no
And once it chanced a wayward steed, half-mouthed
and roughly broke,
Denied the touch of gentle hand and gentler words
she spoke,
And, plunging forward like the ship that feels the
autumn gales,
He reared and lost his footing and fell backwards on
the rails.
Her husband bent above her A\dth cold terror at his
heart —
The form was still he loved so well, the Avan lips
would not part ;
And all the day in trance she lay, but when the stars
smiled down
He heard his name low-whispered and he claimed her
still his own.
And afterward he spoke his fear : " Heart's Love, if
yoic should die I . . .
Unless you take your orders from some other man
than I,
You shall never finger bridle, never mount on horse's
back.
Till the outlaw on Gleuidol is a broken lady's
hack ! "
56 THE RIDING OF THP: REBEL
There's an outlaw on Glenidol that is known through
all the West,
And three men's lives are on his head, bold riders of
the best ;
The station lads have heard the sneer that travelled
far and wide
And flung the answering challenge : " Come and
teach us how to ride !
Roll up, ye merry riders all, whose honour is to
guard !
We've mustered up the ranges and The Rebel's in the
yard ;
His open mouth and stamping foot and keen eye
flashing fire
Repeat the temper of his dam, the mettle of his
sire.
Roll up, ye merry riders all, from hut and camp and
town !
You'll have to stick like plaster when the stockyard
rails go down.
But the boss will come down handsome, as the boss
is wont to come.
To the first who brings The Rebel under spurs and
"reenhide home."
THE RIDING OF THE REBEL 57
And the stockmen heard the challenge from the
Cooper to the Bree,
And rode from hut and cattle-camp by one and two
and three
To keep their horseman's honour clean and play a
hero's part,
To best the bold Glenidol boys and break The Rebel's
heart.
And Ruddy Neil, the breaker, from the Riverine
came through
With all the latest breaking-gear, and all the wiles he
knew,
But ere the saddle was secured, before a girth was
drawn.
The Rebel's forefoot split his skull — they buried him
at dawn !
Mai-ora Mick, the half-caste, from the Flinders River
came
To give the South-the-Border boys a lesson at the
game ;
But he got a roguish welcome when he entered New
South Wales,
For The Rebel used his blood and brains to paint the
stockyard rails !
58 THE RIDING OF THE REBEL
And Mulga Jack came over from the Yuinburra
side —
The horse was never foaled, they say, that Mulga
could not ride :
With a mouth as hard as a miser's heart, a ^vill like
the Devil's own,
The Rebel made for the 8tony Range with the man
who wouldn't be thrown ;
The Rebel made for the Stony Range, where the
plain and the scrub-land meet,
And the dead boughs cracked at his shoulder-blade,
the stones leapt under his feet.
And the ragged stems of the gidyas cut and tore as
they blundered past
And Jack lay cold in the sunset gold — he had met
with his match at last.
And once again the challenge rang, the bitterer for
scorn,
And spoke the bold Glenidol boys, their jackets
mulga-torn :
" A week have we been hunting him and riding fast
and hard
To give you all another chance — The Rebel's in the
yard.'
THE RIDING OF THE REBEL 59
And the stockineu heard the challenge from the
Cooper to the Bree ;
But " I'm getting old ! " " I'm getting stiff! " or " I've
a Avife, you see ! "
Came whispered to the border : and the horse they
could not tame
Had saved Glenidol from disgrace and cleansed a
sullied name.
But ere the reddening sun went down and night on
the ranges broke
A stranger youth to the slip-rails rode, and fastened
his horse and spoke
Softly and low, yet not so low but that every man
there heard :
" I've come to tackle your outlaw colt," — and he
looked as good as his word.
He bridled The Rebel in failing light, and saddled the
colt and drew
The straps of his gearing doubly tight and looked that
his " length" was true.
He mounted The Rebel and gave the word, and the
clattering rails went down.
And the outlaw leapt at the open gate and into the
shadows brown ;
60 THE RIDING OF THE REBEL
But he settled himself to the soothing voice and the
touch of the fondling hand,
As it followed the cui've of his arching neck from
wither to forehead-band ;
His flanks were wet with the fresh-sprung sweat, his
shoulders lathered with foam,
And he bent to the bridle and played -with the bit as
he came at a canter home.
And the boys were dumb with wonder, and sat, and
the Red Creek overseer
Was first to drop from the stockyard fence and give
him a hearty cheer.
He raised his hat in answer and . . the gold hair
floated free !
And the blue eyes lit with laughter as she shouted
merrily :
" You can reach me down my bridle, give my girths
and saddle back,
For the outlaw of Glenidol is a broken lady's hack ! "
FOUR-IN-HAND
0 SOME prefer a single,
Or double not too free ;
But let the lead bars jingle —
It's Four-in-Hand for me ;
With a level road and a lively load,
Whose chorus songs shall beat
To the hoof-struck stars, and the rattling bars.
And the ring of the red roans' feet I
We'll meet some risks as we moA-e along —
And maybe more than we dream ;
But we only ask for harness strong,
And room to handle the team.
I'll give the rein, and give again.
And whirl the whip-lash free,
Till every place shall know my pace
My four red roans and me !
61
62 FOUR-IN-HAND
Our Life's too short for dreaming,
And Life's too swift for tears,
With all the wide world ffleamina:
Beyond our leaders' ears ;
The white dust whirls to blind us,
The coach top rocks and reels,
But trouble's flung behind us
Beneath our roaring wheels !
By day the sun shall light us.
The peaks of pleasure guide ;
No storms have power to smite us,
So fast we race and ride !
By night, through moon-wash spinning.
We'll mock the million stars.
With all Luck's goblins grinning
Astride our swingle-bars !
So lift the loin-cloths from the reds
And hand me up the whip ;
Let go the plunging leader's heads
And let the beauties rip !
Here's luck to shoulders foam-impearled.
And eyes where wild-fires gleam !
We'll swing the red roans round the world
Till Death reins up the team !
THE STOCKYARD LIAR
If ever you're handling a rough one
There's bound to be perched on the rails
Of the Stockyard some grizzled old tough one
Whose flow of advice never fails ;
There are plenty, of course, who aspire
To make plain that you're only a dunce.
But the most insupportable liar
Is the man who has ridden 'em once.
He -sWll tell you a tale and a rum one.
With never a smile on his face,
How he broke for old Somebody Some-one
At some unapproachable place ;
How they bucked and they snorted and squealed.
How he spurred em and flogged 'em, and how
He would gallop 'em round till they reeled —
But he's '* getting too old for it now."
63
64 THE STOCKYARD LIAR
How you're standing too far from her shoulder,
Or too jolly close to the same,
How he could have taught you to hold her
In the days when he " followed the game ;"
He will bustle, annoy and un-nerve us
Till even our confidence fails —
0 Shade of old Nimrod ! preserve us
From the beggar that sits on the rails !
How your reins you are holding too tightly,
Your girth might as well be unloosed ;
How " young chaps" don't handle them rightly,
And horses don't buck " like they used ; "
Till at last, in a bit of a passion,
You ask him in choicest " Barcoo "
To go and be hanged, in a fashion
That turns the whole atmosphei'e blue !
And the chances are strong the old buffer
Has been talking for something to say,
And never rode anything rougher
Than the shaft of old Somebody's dray ;
And the horses he thinks he has broken
Are clothes-horses sawn out of pine.
And his yarns to us simply betoken
The start of a senile decline.
THE STOCKYARD LIAR 65
There are laws for our proper protection
From murder and theft and the rest,
But the criminal wanting inspection
Is riding a rail in the West ;
And the law that the country requires
At the hands of her statesmen of sense
Is a law to make meat of the liars
That can sit a rouyh buck— on the fence !
THE BORDER GATE
Dawn gilds the spiders' bridges ;
Morn mocks the shadows' rout ;
A mile back on the ridges
They put the head-lights out ;
A red-topped coach from Nor' ward
Comes down with clacking bars :
The waking Day lies forward,
Behind — the drowsy stars !
A foe no floods can ruin,
A force no droughts abate.
The night mail from the Tuen
Swings through the Border Gate !
A still world, faint and swooning
Beneath a fevered sky ;
Before the great wheels' groaning
Slow bullocks snailing by ;
66
THE BORDER GATE 67
With dusty, cursing drivei's,
And roaring fall of whips
Comes rocking from red rivers
The cream of Queensland clips.
" Get off, there ! Cluum and Drover ! "
The brown loads creak and grate.
" Stand over, thfire ! Stand Over ! "
She clears the Border Gate !
A sunset-fired horizon
Beyond the dust-wrack dense,
A draft from Jimmy Tyson
Slow-feeding to the fence ;
A rush of long-horned leaders,
A tramp of feet below,
A ripping of red " bleeders "
And " Wuh, there ! Woh, boys ! WoH-H ! "
The posts are strong — with reason,
Which stand to such a weight ;
The finest stores this season
Crowd through the Border Gate !
The old gay life is over ;
We've left the great North Road ;
The red dust wraps the drover.
The gray dust hides the load ;
68 THE BORDER GATE
Though no more I'll go through you,
Old Gate of Memories mine !
I wave a brown hand to you
From long leagues down the line
Wherever Time shall speed me
Before the winds of Fate
I know my dreams will lead me
Back to the Border Gate !
OUTLAWS BOTH
Steady! steady, my pearl! from the crest of the
range
One last look behind us : the roofs of the town
Are lit with red fires that quiver and change
Where the sun in the westward goes royally
down !
Yonder light will return to the township again,
But we are cast out from the dwellings of men.
You — the pride of the paddock, the pick of the
yard,
The bold one that scorned to be bridled and
bound,
Whose mettle and swiftness shall now be my guard,
Whose courage and confidence girdle me round !
I — who struck for my honour, as others can tell,
The blow that was given too straightly and well !
70 OUTLAWS BOTH
Outlaws both, you and I ! Through the night and the
day,
From red flush of dawning till rise of the moon,
The sound of your hoof-beat shall echo away
By rock-ragged ranges and reedy lagoon ;
And their steeds will be swift and their trackers be
keen
If we stand to their challenge, " In name of the
Queen ! "
With our bed in the bluegrass, our tower on the
ridge.
Our kingdom the scrub-land from centre to sea,
The wild-fowl that sweep from the billabong edge
Are never so curbless of pinion as we —
With only the coast-line for bolts and for bars,
With our roof-beam the sky and our lamp light the
stars !
Ay ! they feared you of old time, the cravens that
passed
From the rails of the yard when the danger began !
And now, should they follow, they'll find at the last
There is more to be feared from a desperate man ;
And they'll know by red spurs and by foam covered
reins
They are riding the tracks of the Pride of the Plains !
OUTLAWS BOTH 71
From the roofs of the township the sun-fire has fled,
And the Night Queen will reign in her majesty
soon ;
Shall life be less dear for the sunlight that's dead ?
When the shadows are falling we'll ride by the
moon ;
And the limitless bush where the wild cattle roam
Shall lend to the outlaws a refuge and home.
THE COACH OF DEATH
There's a phantom-coach runs nightly along the
Western creeks ;
Her four black steeds step lightly, her driver never
speaks ;
The horses keep their places across the flood-worn
plains
Yet no man sees their traces, their bits or bridle-
reins ;
For welcome or for wai'ning she shows no lamp or
light,
A shadow till the morning she steals across the night.
She never wants for passengers, the back-creek settlers
say,
A price so moderate as hers the poorest purse can
payi
72
THE COACH OF DEATH 73
The lost one, missed by measure of days or maybe
weeks,
Pays lightly for the pleasure of coaching down the
creeks ;
And station-hands and squatters, alike in ease
reclined.
May praise the whirling trotters whose hoofs outstrip
the wind.
You hear no lead-bars creaking, no footfall on the
ground ;
In silence past all speaking the flying wheels go
round ;
The horses have no breeders, their driver has no name,
But he swings his reefing leaders like a man that
knows the game ;
And through the stony ranges where swift hoofs strike
no fire
They want no wayside changes, these steeds that never
tire.
They're fit to " stay " for ever, and are never short of
work ;
They run the Darling River fi'om Menindie Lake to
Bourke,
74 THE COACH OF DEATH
Where a thousand watercourses, bank-full or bound
with drought,
Have seen the silent horses go gliding in and out.
Where the stars in red battalions are marshalled in
the sky
To watch the black-maned stallions with the muffled
hoofs go by.
They fear him on the Barwon and curse him on the
Bree,
And wish his goal a far one, where'er that goal may
be ;
But ever back and forward, in silence, source to
mouth,
He runs the rivers Nor'ward and runs the rivers
South ;
When winds the wavelets feather between the flood
and fall
He holds the blacks together and hears the dead
men call.
In drifted flood- wrack sailing on every swirling
sti'eam
He hears his patrons hailing, and checks his noiseless
team ;
THE COACH OF DEATH 75
In belts of timber shady, when all the holes are
dry,
His guests are waiting ready when the phantom
wheels go b}%
For every man in good time must book for Further
Out:
It may be in the Flood-time — it may be in the
Drought !
Her load of clay-cold faces she never carries back ;
The dim wheels leave no traces, the shoeless hoofs no
track ;
But all along the river in the bends that she has
passed
The giant gum-trees shiver in a strange and icy
blast ;
The clumps of scented sandal are tainted with her
breath,
And teams are hard to handle behind the Coach of
Death.
She lifts no nmd in winter, and stirs no summer
dust.
Her pole-bars never splinter, her lock-bolts never
rust ;
76 THE COACH OF DEATH
Her parts are stout for wearing and strong her simple
gear,
She'll run without repairing from year to deathful
year,
When every coach is rotten on the Western water-
shed,
And Cobb and Co. forgotten and all their drivers
dead !
DARRELL
So I've taken his hundred notes in the end,
And now, as I turn them over,
I feel like a man who's been false to a friend,
Or has broken his troth to a lover.
And what will they pui'chase, when all is said.
For me with the world's wealth laden 1
A barrel or two of Kaludah red.
Or the favour of some light maiden !
Our wine turns gall at the gray day's birth
When the lamp of the revel paleth ;
We know what the kiss of a woman is worth-
But a good horse never faileth.
Your white arms clinging, my ringless bride,
Are bonds that the years will sever ;
But the brave hoof-thunder of Darrell's stride
Will beat in my heart for ever !
78 DARRELL
You know how little of truth there lies
In the heart of your hot caresses ;
There is danger hid in your dreamful eyes,
There is death in your winding tresses ;
And, since you would turn for a fairer face
Or a stronger arm's enfolding,
You will never hold in my heart the place
That one honest horse is holding.
The stars are fading by one and one
And the fires of the dawn are lightening
The web that a pitiless Fate has spun,
And my own cursed hand is tightening ;
Oh ! better this arm had lost its force,
This brain in the dust lain idle,
Before I bartered the grandest horse
That ever carried a bridle !
OFF THE GRASS
They were boasting on the Greenhide of tlieir nags of
fancy breed,
And stuffing them with bran and oats to run in
Gumleaf Town,
But we hadn't got a racehorse that was worth a dish
of feed,
So didn't have a Buckley's show to take the
boasters down.
For old Midnight was in Sydney and we couldn't get
him up
In time for Gumleaf Races if it had been worth our
while ;
The Chorus colt was far too light to win the Gumleaf
Cup,
And we didn't own a hackney that could finish out
the mile.
80 OFF THE GRASS
But we couldn't watch them win it while we never
had a say,
So we mustered up the horses, and we caught old
Myall King ;
He's as brave as ever galloped, but he's twelve if he's
a day,
And we couldn't help but chuckle at the humour
of the thing.
But, though shaky in the shoulders, he's the daddy of
them all ;
He's the gamest bit of horseflesh from the Snowy
to the Bree ;
One of those that's never beaten, coming every time
you call :
One of those you sometimes read about but very
seldom see.
He's the don at every muster and the king of every
camp ;
He's the lad to stop the pikers when they take you
on the rush;
And he loves the merry rattle of the stockwhip and
the tramp
Of the cockhorned mulga scrubbers when they're
breaking in the brush.
OFF THE GRASS 81
He can foot the Greenhide brumbies if they take a
mile of start,
And if they get him winded in a gallop on the
plain
He's as game as any lion, and he carries such a
heart
You can never say he's beaten, for he'll always come
again !
So we put up Jack the Stockman with his ten pounds
overweight,
And be lengthened out the leathers half-a-foot and
gave a smile :
" I don't suppose you'll see us when they're fairly in
the straight.
But we'll make the beggars travel, take my oath,
for half-a-mile ! "
And they started, and the old horse jimiped away
a length in front,
And every post they came to gave the brown a
longer lead,
Till it seemed that there was nothing else but ]Myall
in the hunt,
With his load of station honour and bis weight of
mulga feed !
F 81
82 OFF THE GRASS
Then the bay mare, Bogan Lily, started out to cut
him down ;
She had travelled out five hundred miles to win the
Gumleaf Cup,
And she couldn't well get beaten by a hack in Gum-
leaf Town
When she had to pay expenses for her owner's
journey up.
So she started out to catch the old brown camp-horse
from the Bush,
And a furlong from the finish she could nose his
rider's knee,
Then you should have heard the shouting of the Bogan
Lily push,
And the flinging of their hats up was a sight for
you to see !
But old Myall King j^had often been as nearly beat
before,
And he steadied off a little, while the mare shot out
ahead,
Then he shook his ears and gripped the bit — you
should have heard us roar
As he came at Bogan Lily with his flanks a streak
of red !
OFF THE GRASS 83
And the little bay mare, beaten, gave him best and
threw it up,
And we heard her rider murmur as he saw the
brown horse pass
And Jack the Stockman drop his hands and win the
Gumleaf Cup —
" Beat by a hungry cripple of a camp-horse, off
the grass ! "
Then we lead him in a winner, and they cheei'ed him
from the stand,
With the black sweat running channels from his
forearm to his foot,
And the white foam on his shoulder till you couldn't
see the brand,
And the crimson bloodstains scattered over spur
and flank and boot.
So we carried off the honours of the meeting — and the
notes /
And the men on Greenhide River, when they see
our fellows pass,
Will tell you this in whispers, " You can train your
nags on oats.
But be careful when you're racing those dashed
scrubbers off the grass ! "
HIS EPITAPH
On a little old bush racecourse at the back of No
Man's Land,
Where the mulgas mark the f ui'long, and a dead log
marks the stand,
There's a square of painted railing showing white
against the loam
Where they fight for inside running as they round
the bend for home ;
Just a lonely grave and graveyard that are left to
Nature's care,
For the wild bush-flowers that brighten it were never
planted there ;
No monument or marble that will speak his praise or
blame.
No verse to tell his story and no mark to prove his
name,
81
HIS EPITAPH 85
But carved upon the white rail that is weather-worn
and thin
Is the simple, rough-hewn legend : He Alwas Rod
TO Win !
Some poor, uncared-for jockey-boy, who never earned
a name —
It's the boys who " ride to orders" who can find the
road to Fame ;
And the flowers and marble head-stones and the
wealth of gear and gold
Are the prizes of the riders who will " stop them"
when they're told !
Just a whisper at the saddling : " He's the only
danger, Dan,
That's the boy will try to beat you — stop him, any
way you can '. "
Just a crowding at the corner and a crossing in the
straight
And a plucky little horseman who is " pulling out "
too late ;
A heavy fall, a loose horse — and a lightweight carried
in — ,
A shallow grave, a railing, and : Hk Alwas Rod to
Win !
86 HIS EPITAPH
Some brave, brown-handed comrade who has learned
the rider's worth
Has carved those I'ough woi'ds o'er him for the eyes of
all the earth ;
And though few may chance to pass him as he lies in
simple state
Those few will hold him honoured by the friendship
of his mate.
And when, in Life's keen struggle, we shall fight for
inside place.
When they crowd us at the corner and we drop from
out the race,
When the ringing hoofs go forward and the cheering
greets the best,
And the prize is for the winner and the red spurs for
the rest,
May we find some true-heart comi-ade, when they've
filled the last clods in,
Who will carve these words above us : He Alwas
Rod to Win !
THE DINGO OF BRIG ALOW GAP
For K.G. or coronet, kingdom or ci'own,
The boys on Kalaugada cax'e not a rap ;
But the honour they ask for is galloping down
The red and white dingo of Brigalow Gap.
He has beaten us fairly at every exchange ;
He is hard to keep up with and harder to track ;
He knows every stone on the Brigalow Range —
The fastest and wildest and worst of the pack.
Good horses behind him with rowels we've raked :
On Began the bushcrows are feasting their fill,
And Footstep is foundered and Starlight is staked,
But the red and white dingo makes light of us still.
For him a fast gallop is nothing but fun —
Too-cunning to poison, too wary to trap,
You can't get the sight of a rifle or gun
On the red and white dingo of Brigalow Gap.
88 THE DINGO OF BRIGALOW GAP
He has tasted the Lincohis and fancies the breed,
He has tried the Kalangada culls for a change.
And we know that he'll never go short of a feed
As long as our wethers run under the range.
He's the scourge of the country, the plague of the
spot.
The curse of the owner, the bane of the boss ;
For he's got to be reckoned with, like it or not.
When the latter is squaring his profit and loss.
On the walls of the stable are trophies galore.
The goal and the guerdon of many a ride ;
And a place is reserved at the top of the door
For the honour of holding his red and white
hide ;
But the days and the weeks they go merrily by.
The skins on the stable-wall flutter and flap.
They have plenty of time to get shrivelled and dry
While they wait for the dingo at Brigalow Gap.
There are yellows and brindles and ci'ossbreds of
black,
The pride of the station, the talk of the town.
But we'd gladly give all to be out on his track.
With his stride getting short and the crows coming
down
THE DINGO OF BRIG ALOW GAP 89
His life may be safe, but, believe me ! for that
He hasn't Kalangada kindness to thank :
We tracked him two days ago over the flat,
We heard him last night at the Marathon tank ;
And we saw him to-day as he skirted the brush
A mile from the corner of Halliday's fence.
We took to him then with a cavalry rush.
And charged the thick scrub with more spirit than
sense ;
For, whenever that devil's limb leads us a dance,
We gallop to glory, whatever may hap ;
But down in the gully we got our last glance
At the red and white dingo of Brigalow Gap.
He has conquered us fairly, we're bound to confess
(We claim to be sportsmen, and know when we're
beat) ;
His triumph the greater, our credit the less
That we ride fairly well, and our horses are
fleet.
Perhaps, when the days of the dingo are done.
And the race, barring him, is extinct in the
land,
When cocky-selectors have swallowed the run,
And various fortunes have scattered our band ;
90 THE DINGO OF BRIGALOW GAP
Pei'haps, when with sorrow that scarce can be borne
He watches the last of his foemen depart ;
When the sheep-walks are furrowed and planted with
corn,
And the want of a gallop is breaking his heart ;
When his life is a burden bereft of its joys,
That old age embitters and sicknesses sap,
He'll suffer the greybeards that once were " the boys "
To catch him on foot in the Brigalow Gap !
HOW THE CHESTNUT HORSE CAME
HOME
Twenty miles across the ranges there's a patch of
cane-grass clears
Half-a-mile of tangled mulga ; hides a score of native
spears,
While the horseman sings a love-song, with no shadow
of his fate
Till the stock-horse swerves and plunges from the
cane-grass swamp — too late !
Heavy from his glossy shoulder falls a dead weight to
the ground,
And the dark blood splashes upward as the big horse
makes the bound ;
With his wld eyes great with terror and his scarlet
nostrils spread
Leaps he madly to the mulga from the dark form of
the dead ;
92 HOW THE CHESTNUT HORSE CAME HOME
Laden with the purple bloodstains, for the words he
cannot speak,
Thundei's down the crimson sunset to the homestead
by the creek ;
Loudly over range and roadway ring the hoofs their
notes of doom,
Straight as arrow to the gateway ... So the
chestnut horse came home !
What's the dustcloud down the plain. Jack 1 Yours
are younger eyes than mine ;
Comes too fast for team or buggy, and the coach
ain't due till nine.
Harry Olden 1 How he's riding ? Well, we needn't
wonder, Jack ;
When a man is newly-married he don't linger on the
track.
There's his little woman waiting over by the cottage
door :
By the Powers of Earth and Heaven ! What the
smoke's he racing for ?
I would rather lose a tenner — he must stop this
blessed game —
I would rather lose a hundred than he ride old
Kliyber lame.
HOW THE CHESTNUT HORSE CAME HOME 93
Not a horse upon the river . . . What is that
you're saying, Jack 1
Khyber making for the gateway with no rider on his
back !
Bridle bi'oken, breastplate flying, chest and shoulder
white with foam !
Stand away there ! Take the rails down ! . . .So
the chestnut horse came home !
She is standing in the garden, and the gleam of sun-
set falls
Through the pepper trees and blue gums on the white-
washed cottage walls ;
She is watching thx'ough the sunset till her eyes their
guerdon meet ;
In the still air she is listening for the stroke of
Khyber's feet ;
Now she whispers, " I can see him ; he is riding fast
to-night ! "
Eagerly her heart is beating, and her eyes have Love's
own light.
" Khyber's fond of racing homewards ! Dear old
Harry lets hiin go,
For he knows that I am waiting ; anxious when the
sun gets low.
94 HOW THE CHESTNUT HORSE CAME HOME
What's the big crowd at the slip-rails '? Harry's
coming horae in state !
If I run across the garden I shall meet him at the
gate ! " . . .
hi the silent awestruck circle, speechless lips and brows
ofgloom,
Not one man the man to tell her how the chestnut horse
came home !
A DRAFT FROM TRINGADEE
Lead me down to the stockyard, Jim, to the butt of
the old box-tree !
I would like to be there when they're yarding the
bullocks from Tringadee.
They were always beggars to rush and ring and rattle
the gidya spars.
And gave us our work to get them safe at the back
of the twelve-foot bars.
I can hear them crashing the blue grass through,
away in the river bend,
And I hear their thousand voices in one splendid
challenge blend.
Listen ! the music of stockwhips ! Nearer and nearer
they come !
How I wish I were out in the daylight fetching the
scrubbers home !
96
96 A DRAFT FROM TRINGADEE
Yesterday there has been riding, Jim ! on sandhill
and ridge and plain,
From pines into tmsted mulga, from mulga to pines
again ;
Galloping over the deadwood, Jim, and dodging the
swinging boughs ;
Wheeling the Tringa bullocks and trailing the Tringa
cows.
Yesterday, out on the camp, Jim, there has been
work, I'll swear!
Charge to be met with a stockwhip, or maybe a flank
laid bare ;
And all last night in the moonlight what drowsing
and dropping of reins !
As they dozed with the tiring cattle over the salt-
bush plains.
Now they are close to the yard, Jim ! the leaders are
steadying :
Hark ! there's a horseman galloping past to wheel
them into the wing !
That's Mick, by the roar of his stockwhip ; and Wilga
Boy by his stride ;
I can almost sft' the foam on his neck and the blood
on his rowelled side.
A DRAFT FROM TRINGADEE 97
Come a little bit closer, Jim ! you may laugh at a
blind man's fear ;
But it's one thing riding old Tempest, another thing
crouching here.
I never knew fear on the chestnut, and loved the
thick of the fight ;
But somehow it chills the heart of a man, this living
in endless night.
That's an outlaw broke from the mob, Jim ! I know
by his angry roar ;
And somebody's dropping the whip so quick he hasn't
got time to gore.
They've wheeled him back to the others : my God ! if
I could but see !
It is hard to be standing idle when they're yarding
from Ti'ingadee.
Their breath is laden with trefoil, and under their
trampling feet
At every turn oi the battle the smell of the dust is
sweet ;
Odours more dear than these to me the winds can
never bring.
Or waft me grander nmsic than the march when cattle
ring.
98 A DRAFT FROM TRINGADEE
The last of the mob is yarded, rails up, and the
stockwhip's dumb ;
It's cold and the fun is over— we may as well shuflBe
home.
Give me your arm again, Jim ! a kind mate you must
be,
To miss, for a blind old cripple, a muster at Txnngadee '
TAKEN OVER
The Banks are taking charge, old man .' — 7 knew how it
ivould be ;
The flags are flyhuj half-mast high for death of
Tringadee ;
The Boss has left ; the boys are spread to all the winds
— and so
I think we'd better get the nags and sling the packs and
go !
It's been a dear old home to us, a home we'll not
forget ;
And we've been loyal to the brand and would be
loyal yet ;
But there is strife among the crew whose captain
leaves the ship —
Tlie team won't pull together when a new hand takes
the whip.
90
100 TAKEN OVER
We've had for Boss the best of men — they know him
far and wide ;
From Sydney out to Normanton they speak his name
with pride ;
And though we search from now till doom in every
clime and land,
We'll never find a truer heart or defter bridle-
hand.
They've got some new-chum manager, and sent him
up from town
To spoil the mouth of Myall King and break old
Yanguard down ;
The horses that the Boss was proud to steer in scrub
and plain
Will never toss the bridle-bars beneath his hand
again.
They've picked their would-be stockmen from the
raw, rough Sydney push,
That never saw a bucking colt or smelt a sandal-
bush ;
And when they muster through the scrub for fats in
Hawthornden,
They'll have to let the cattle rip and muster up the
men.
TAKEN OVER 101
They'll take our places in the hut, the bunks where
we have lain,
And smoke in the verandah where we'll never sraoke
again ;
They'll take our saddles from their pegs, our bridles
from the wall.
And catch our favourite horses — ah ! we'll miss them
most of all.
They'll have no banjo music in the station-hut at
night —
They'll put the good old songs aside to swear and
drink and fight ;
They'll have no merry dancing when the off-camp
stockmen meet,
And the old boai'ds creak and rattle to the tramp of
spur-decked feet.
There'll be races in the township just the same when
we're away,
But they'll miss young Harden's pony and your finish
on the gray ;
And when they meet at settling-time, above the din
and noise
They'll be listening for our laughter, and they'll miss
the Tringa boys.
102 TAKEN OVER
And when the new-chum Tringa band goes riding
into town
To take the place of that old band the Banks have
broken down,
The girls will turn their backs on them and never
smile to greet
The men who spur our fancy hacks to prance along
the street.
The Banks are taking charge, old man '. — I knew hoiv it
woxdd he ;
The flags mag fly at lialf-moM high for death of
2'ringadee ;
It's another home in ashes, and a name dust-wrapped —
and so
We'll run the horses in to-night and sling the packs and
go!
THE STATION BRAND
Ho ! you in the boots and the long-necked spurs,
You've a nice little hackney there !
I rather fancy that bi'and of hers —
Now, what will you take for the mare 1
You need not go oflf on too wide a tack —
I'm hardly in want of a horse ;
And I'm only pricing your chestnut hack
For the sake of the brand, of course.
I don't know where you were born or bred,
But I'll give you a stranger's hand
For love of that lean, game, fiery head.
And the sake of the Tringa brand.
No, thanks ; I don't fancy exchanges.
Besides, she's a bit of a screw.
As old as the Barrier Ranges,
And shook in the shoulders, too !
103
104 THK STATION BRAND
Now, what is the use of denial 1
Much better have let things stand —
No, thank you, I want no trial :
I'm buying the Tringa brand !
I know that she'll carry me fast and far
In waterless waste or wet,
For never the T li I and a Bar
Was burnt on a bad one yet.
Do I know the brand ? Yes, I think I do ;
I've carried it, hell-fire hot.
To the stockyard fence and passed it through
For many a cleanskin lot ;
I've heard it hiss on the burning hide,
And the short, sharp whinny of pain
As they lifted it off to thrust aside
Or lay to the lines again.
Do I know the brand 1 I have watched it streak
To the front in the mustering days —
But why do I tell you— you've heard it speak,
And you know what the old brand says !
For ask of the drovers from North of Bourke,
The Kings of the Overland,
Which are the horses to stand the work :
They will tell you— the Tringa brand !
THE STATION BRAND 105
Aud question the mailmen in flood-stress met,
Flogging, down in the mud,
Which are the pearls when the plains are wet :
They will tell you — the Tringa blood !
And ask the men of the Furthest Back
What their favourite campers are
In the whirling dust when the stockwhips crack ;
And it's T R I and a Bar.
You can have your price ! — it's a lot too much
As horses are selling to-day !
But a man is a fool and acts as such
When sentiment shows the way ;
She's spavined and aged and shoulder-shook,
Yet I'm not regretting the deal.
For the old brand shows like an open book
What nothing else can reveal —
The far-off life with its witching charms
And the glamour of sun and star
In the happy days when our coat-of-arms
Was T li 1 cmd a Bar !
OUT OF THE CHAINS
He has toiled in his place since the break of day,
And the collar has left its gall ;
When others were faint in the holding clay
And heavy the burden and steep the way
He has taken the weight from all.
Where the sun falls red on the burning plains
Fx'ora the breast of a quivering sky,
As a poor reward for his honest pains
They have loosed the collar and dropped the chains
And turned him adrift to die.
Though the brown grass waves by his weary feet,
Though the river runs at his side,
He has little desire to drink or eat ;
And he crawls away in the scorching heat
With torture at every stride.
OUT OF THE CHAINS 107
And the waggons pass in the wliirling dust,
And the ring of the whip is gone,
And his hope with the human voice is lost,
And the crows come down in an eager host
With wings that l)lacken the sun.
Ere the whip-scored hide has ceased to smart
Or the aching limbs grown numb,
Ere pulses slacken and sense depart.
Ere the hammer stops in the broken heart
And sobs in the throat are dumb,
Will his thoughts return to the pastures green,
Of the bygone hours of ease"? —
To a golden noon in a summer sheen,
To a river laughing its banks between.
And the shadow of blackwood trees ? — ■
To the mouthfuls of dewy gi-ass, the rolls
On the petals of painted flowers 1 —
To the races run with his comi'ade foals.
With straggling starts and indefinite goals.
To shorten the idle hours ?
Will he cherish the memory, even now
Of the touch of a loving hand
Tliat ribboned the lock on his open brow
And fondled the neck that was proud to bow
With a rose in the forehead-band ]
108 OUT OF THE CHAINS
Will he yearn one moment to catch the tone
Of the voice he loved long since 1 —
" I never lift whip to my gallant roan ;
He works for the voice and the voice alone ;
And he draws till he drops, old Prince ! "
" I ill hi' drops /'' —the shadaws m-e 'latheriiig fast
I o CIO tain hit bal on the plain,
And out rif the darkness void nnd vast
The carrion hinh to their Joiil repast
Are Jiying in endless train.
THE MAN WHO STEADIES THE LEAD
He was born in the light of red oaths
And nursed by the drought and the flood,
And swaddled in sweat-lined saddle-cloths
And christened in spur-drawn blood ;
He never was burdened with learning,
And many would think him a fool,
But he's mastered a method of " turning "
That never was taught in a school.
His manners are rugged and vulgar,
But he's nuggets of gold in our need,
And a lightning flash in the mulga
Is the Man who Steadies the Lead !
When the stockwhips are ringing behind him
And the brumbies are racing abreast.
It's fifty to one you will find him
A furlong or two from the rest
109
110 THE MAN WHO STEADIES THE LEAD
With the coils of his whip hanging idle,
His eyes on the mob at his side,
And the daintiest touch on the bi'idle —
For this is the man who can ride !
And the stallions that break for the mallee
Will find he has courage and speed,
For he rides the best horse in the valley —
This stockman that steadies the lead.
When they're fetching in " stores" to the station
Through tangles of broken belar,
And the road is a rough calculation
That's based on the blaze of a star ;
When they're quickening through sand-ridge and
hollow
And rowels are spattered with red,
And sometimes you've only to follow
The sound of the hoof-beat ahead ;
Then we know that he's holding them nor' ward —
We trust in the man and his steed,
As we hear the old brown crashing forward
And his rider's " Wo up ! " to the lead.
And iigain in a journey that's longer.
In a different phase of the game,
Dropping down the long trail to Wodonga
With a thousand or so of the same ;
THE MAN WHO STEADIES THE LEAD 111
When the blue grass is over our rollers,
And each one contentedly rides,
And even the worst of the crawlers
Are stuffing green grass in their hides ;
He is ready to spread them or ring them
Or steady them back on the feed,
And he knows when to stop them or string them
The stockman that rides in the lead.
But when from the bend in the river
The cattle break camp in the night —
Oh, then is the season, if ever,
We value his service aright !
For we know that if some should be tardy.
And some should be left in the race.
Yet the spurs will be red on " Coolgardie "
As Someone swings out to his place.
The mulga boughs — hark to them breaking
In front of the maddened stampede !
A horse and a rider are taking
Their time-honored place in the lead !
As an honest, impartial I'ecorder
I'd fain have you all recollect
There are other brave men on the Border
Entitled to every respect ;
112 THE MAN WHO STEADIES THE LEAD
There's the man that thinks bucking a tame thing,
And rides 'em with lighted cigars ;
And the man who will drive any blamed thing
That ever was hooked to the bars . . .
Their pluck and their prowess are granted,
But all said and done, we're agreed
That the king of 'em all when he's wanted
Is the Man who Steadies the Lead !
HOW THE FIRE QUEEN CROSSED
THE SWAMP
The flood was down in the Wilga swamps, three feet
over the mud,
And the teamsters camped on the Wilga range and
swoi'e at the rising flood ;
For one by one they had tried tlie trip, double and
treble teams.
And one after one each desert-ship had dropped to
her axle-beams ;
So they thonged their leaders and pulled them round
to the camp on the sandhill's crown,
And swore by the bond of a blood-red oath to wait
till the floods went down.
There were side-rail tubs and table-tops, coaches and
bullock-drays.
Brown with the Barcoo Wonders, and Speed with
the dapple grays
114 HOW THE FIRE QUEEN
Who pulled the front of his waggon out and left the
rest in the mud
At the Cuttaburra crossing in the grip of the Ninety-
flood.
There was Burt with his sixteen bullocks, and never
a bullock to shirk,
Who twice came over the Border line with twelve-
ton-ten to Bourke ;
There was Long Dick damning an agent's eyes for
his ton of extra weight,
And Whistling Jim, for Cobb and Co., cursing that
mails were late ;
And one blasphemed at a broken chain and howled
for a blacksmith's blood,
And most of them cursed their crimson luck, and all
of them cursed the flood.
The last of the baffled had struggled back and the sun
was low in the sky,
And the first of the stars was creeping out when
Dai'eaway Dan came by.
There's never a teamster draws to Bourke but has
taken the help of Dan ;
There's never a team on the Great North Road can
lift as the big roans can :
CROSSED THE SWAMP 115
Broad-hipped beauties that nothing can stop, leaders
that swing to a cough ;
Eight blue-roans on the near side yoked, and eight
red-roans on the oif.
And Long Dick called from his pine-rail bunk :
" Where are you bound so quick '? "
And Dareaway Dan spoke low to the roans, and
aloud, " To the Swagman's, Dick ! "
" There's five good miles," said the giant, " lie to the
front of you, holding mud ;
If you never were stopped before, old man, you are
stopped by the Wilga flood.
The dark will be down in an hour or so, there isn't
the ghost of a moon ;
So leave your nags in the station grass instead of the
long lagoon ! "
But Dan stood up to the leader's head and fondled
the big brown nose :
" There's many a mile in the roan team yet before
they are feed for the crows ;
Now listen, Dick-with-the-woman's-heart, a word to
you and the rest :
I've sixteen horses collared and chained, the pick of
the whole wide West,
116 HOW THE FIRE QUEEN
And 111 cut their throats and leave them here to rot
if they haven't the power
To carry nie through the gates of Hell — with seventy
bags of flour !
The light of the stars is light enough ; they have
nothing to do but plow/li !
There's never a swamp has held them yet, and a
swamp won't stop them now.
They're waiting for flour at the Swagman's Bend ; I'll
steer for the lifting light ;
There's nothing to fear with a team like mine, and —
I camp in the bend to-night ! "
So they stood aside and they watched them pass in
the glow of the sinking sun,
With straining muscles and tightened chains —
sixteen pulling like one ;
"With jingling harness and droning wheels and bare
hoofs' rhythmic tramp.
With creaking timbers and lurching load the Fire
Queen faced the swamp !
She dipped her red shafts low in the slush as a
spoonbill dips her beak,
The black mud clung to the wheels and fell in the
wash of the Wilga creek ;
CROSSED THE SWAMP 117
Aud the big roans fought for footing, and the
spreaders threshed like flails,
And the great wheels lifted the muddy spume to the
bend of the red float-rails ;
And they cheered him out to the westward with the
last of the failing light
And the splashing hoofs and the driver's voice died
softly away in the night ;
But some of them prate of a shadowy form that guided
the leader's reins,
And some of them speak of a shod black horse that
pulled in the off-side chains —
How eveiy time that he lifted his feet the waggon
would groan aud swing.
And every time that he dropped his head you could
hear the tug-chains ring !
And Dan to the Swagman's Bend came through mud-
spattered from foot to head.
And they couldn't tell which of the roans were blue
and which of the roans were red.
Now this is the tale as I heard it told, and many
believe it true
When the teamsters say in their ofi'-hand way —
" 'Twas the Devil that pulled him through ! "
THE NEAR-SIDE LEADER
When the gear is on the horses aud the knotted
trace-chains hooked ;
When the last bale's on the waggon and the ropes
are twitched and tied ;
When the brakes are off the big wheels and the way-
bills safely booked,
You can see the old gray leader with his wise head
turned aside.
Does a memory come o'er him
Of the long stiff road befoi-e him,
With the lead-chains never slackened as he holds his
team to work.
Through the box-flats and the gidyas,
Ninety miles of plain and ridges.
To the white-railed Darling bridges aud the silver
roofs of Bourke ?
U8
THE NEAR-SIDE LEADER 11
Just a whisper from his master aud he leans upon
the weight,
Aud the twenty browns behind him touch the collar
when he moves,
Then the whip rings out a warning, and the under-
carriage grates,
And they bend their backs and lift her from the
well-worn loading grooves.
So they open up the tourney,
And she starts her long, rough journey
Over ninety miles of noonday and the e^'enings in
between,
And the station-gates have freed her,
With the station men to speed her.
And it's " Buckle down my leader, on the road you've
often been ! "
Now the red dust curls behind her, and the red dust
rolls before,
And from shafter up to leader they are sweat from
head to hip.
And the good ones take the collar and the bad ones
baulk and bore,
But the gray hoi'se strains the harder e\ery time he
hears the whip ;
120 THE NEAR-SIDE LEADER
So, by lash and lurid order,
They will swing her through the Border,
With the dust upon her loading making extra weight
to pull,
And the drunken township loafer
Staggers blindly from his sofa
Just to see the first team over with the Thurulgoona
wool.
O, the camping by the river when the sun is riding
low !
O, the shifting of the collars and the dropping of the
chains !
And the music of the big bells, as they let the horses
go
To their drinking in the river and their feeding on
the plains !
So, from camp to camp-fire, daily,
They will battle through Belalie,
Till they leave the {)lains behind them and the river
at their back.
Where the stony hills are showing-
There is panting now, and blowing,
But the gray horse keeps them going with the chains
that never slack.
THE NEAR-SIDE LEADER 121
So the toe-clips cut the roadway where a thousand
hoofs have trod,
While above the gold sun glistens and to West the
red sun flames
To the creaking of the waggon and the lurching of the
load
And the grinding of the tug-chains in the hooks upon
the hames ;
And the leader's heart thumps loudly,
But he bends his old neck proudly
As he swings them through the bridges, sticking
staunchly to his work ;
And I wish the gray could hear him
When a stranger says, " I'd spare him,
For there's not a horse comes near him in the teams
that draw to Bourke ! "
O, it's grand to bring the largest loads from Thurul-
goona side !
And it's grand to have a leader that the smallest child
knows well ;
But, if you love an honest horse, when next the ropes
are tied
You'll leave him in the bluegrass, for the gray has
earned a spell.
122 THE NEAR-SIDE LEADER
He has bonie the brunt of battle ;
He has led your lagging cattle
With the red galls on his shoulder, yet he never
shirked a start ;
And 'twere better you should brain him
Ere you burst him up and strain him,
For, just think, each trip you chain him helps to break a
tvilling heart !
THE SILENT SQUADRON
Down, the long dream-lanes
At the dead of night,
With gray mists over and mists below,
With loose-held reins
On their horses white
I watch whei-e the silent riders go.
With their heads bent low
And a hoof-stroke dumb
They never turn to the left or right.
And the shadows go
And the shadows come
But the silent squadron is deadly white.
Should a bit-bar play
Or a saddle creak
It would free the blood of an icy fear,
If a horse should neigh
Or a rider speak
It would lighten the load of my heart to hear.
124 THE SILENT SQUADRON
But the troop i-ides on
With a measured pace
And touching stirrups that make no sound,
And the stars have shone
On a comrade's face
That is twelve long years in the graveyard ground.
Here are the ends
Of the parted ways —
The long Dead March of the years to be ;
And these are the friends
Of the olden days
Taking their last ride silently.
There's an empty space —
They keep my place
In their ghostly ranks ; and I catch my breath !
Yet hand to the rein
There are better men
Riding to-night with the Steeds of Death.
THE BROKEN SHOE
Long years ago — no matter now how long — one fierce
December
I was travelling, weak and footsore, on a river road
Out Back ;
I was sick at heart and weary of the world, and I
remember
How my tucker-bags were empty on that long-
starvation track.
Oh, the world is wide and bitter to the outcast and
the friendless !
But you never know how bitter or how friendless it
can be
Till you see the big scrubs stretching to the west-
ward, black and endless.
And the sun-glare and the sand-drift on the silent
saltbush sea.
125
126 THE BROKEN SHOE
Where among the river timber flashed a silver roof
beside me
I turned from off the treadmill track that leads but
to the grave :
I would face the world's last welcome were it offered
or denied me :
They could take me in or scorn me — 'twas a life to
lose or save.
There wei'e hands held out to meet me, there were
pitying words and kindly,
As they bore beyond the threshold, through the roses,
my poor weight ;
And the fever fought them daily, and I lay for long
weeks blindly
Waging war against her sword-blades and the banded
squares of Fate.
Then I woke on New Year's morning to the life that
had grown dearer,
And the brown tide whipped the gum-trees and the
grass was waving green ;
And the world was not so hai-sh, it seemed, to one
pale, friendless shearer,
For I saw glad faces round me, with the sunlight in
between.
THE BROKEN SHOE 127
And a strong man, gray and rugged, and a white-
haired gentle mother,
And a daughter, sweetly beautiful, brown-eyed and
raven-haired,
Clasped hands and prayed in thankfulness, soft-voiced
with one another,
For the stranger in their household whom the
chastening Lord had spared.
Now the world is wild and wilful out beyond the
Darling timber,
And the further to the sunset is the nearer Hell, they
say;
Is it wonder, then, I cherish in my heart and aye
remember
Those who nursed me through the fever as I saw
them kneel and pray ?
When twice the floods had mustered from the creeks
above the Border,
When twice the plains had blistered in the furnace of
the drought,
When twice the laughing Spring had come and gone
in flowery order.
When the grass was green and waving, and the latest
sheds cut out ;
128 THE BROKEN SHOE
Then I sought the white-roofed homestead by the
river, lightly laden
With a few small gifts as tokens of remembrance.
It was late
When the old folk came to greet me, and I missed
the brown-eyed maiden
When they crossed the rose-grown threshold and the
pathway to the gate.
And the old man, worn and aged, had the lines of
cai'e and sorrow
Traced deeply on his forehead, aiid but few the words
he said ;
And I saw the bitter burden of a weeping, morn to-
morrow.
In the sad eyes of the woman as she raised her
drooping head.
When the stars were lit and burning, and the crickets
softly singing.
Then he led me to the garden, and he spoke in accents
strange :
And his eyes would wander vaguely, but his voice
had passion's ringing
That had lost its gentle tuning, and I wondered at
the change.
THE BROKEN SHOE 129
So he fashioned his sad story : " When the last year's
flood was Hfting,
And the dawn of every morning showed a rising of
the creek,
When we saw the wreck of homesteads daily past our
doorstep drifting —
Oh, the Lord is fierce and cruel ! " and dark anger
flushed his cheek —
" I was rowing up the river in the old boat, searching
vainly
For the few poor sheep God left me " — and his face
gi*ew dark again —
" I could hear a ' cooee' ringing down the water, loud
and plainly.
And I thanked the Lord who sent me ; I believed in
such things then.
" And I saw a man's form clinging to a branching
gum that gave him
Rest a moment, worn with waiting, cramped and
numb with cold and fear.
And I called across the water, and I prayed God I
might save him,
But I wish these hands had drowned him ere I
brought the hell fiend here !
130 THE BROKEN SHOE
" He was weak and starved with hunger, and we
nursed him — was it wonder 1
And we thanked the Lord in Heaven who had granted
us this part :
Hell's curses on him ! Pardon me he rent my
home asunder ;
He wrought my daughter's ruin, and he broke her
mother's heart.
" He was tall, and straight, and handsome, with the
soft ways of the city.
And he spoke of home and mother — what words were
these for him 1
He sang psalms and read his Bible — and we liked
him — more's the pity !
And we almost got to love him when he said he knew
our Jim.
" Our Jim, the blue-eyed giant, Mary's brother ; he
would ply her
With his tales of Jim and shearing, where his wild
life first began :
How Jim and he were comrades. But the low cur
was a liar ;
Our Jim was never mate of his — Jim's honest, and a
man !
THE BROKEN SHOE 131
" Well, we learned to like the stranger, and our eyes
were blinded fairly,
And we nursed the viper warmly who would bite us
to the bone,
And our eyes were rudely opened when one spring-
tide morning early
We woke to find the scoundrel and our fastest stock-
horse gone.
" Six hours before I saddled he was racing down the
river ;
But I took the girl's roan-chestnut that is faster than
the wind ;
No fleet-winged terror fleeter than the fiend before
me — never
Fierce wrath one-half so bitter as the man wlio rode
behind !
" Across the hill I tracked him, to the river bank and
over.
And there the cur had doubled back to save his
wretched hide ;
The watching sun had never waked to see so base a
lover,
The frightened stars had never paled to see such
vengeance ride !
132 THE BROKEN SHOE
" So I ran the tracks out west to where the Red
Spring road runs nor' ward,
Though the hardness of the surface made it dainty
work to do ;
I can track, lad, like a nigger, and I raced the
chestnut forward.
For there's not a road could bluff me off old Stock-
whip's broken shoe !
" I galloped over cane-grass swamps, now madly, now
more slowly ;
I raced across the sandhills with dark murder in my
heart.
And with the miles the fierce thoughts grew — the red
resolves unholy :
There's time for him to harbour these who gives a
six-hour start !
" The sun was noon-high in the gums when, at the
Red Spring crossing,
I saw the coward crouching by a dead tree on the
track.
I reined the horse and steadied him, and past his
game head's tossing
Took aim that asks for vengeance, but wins not
honour back.
THE BROKEN SHOE 133
" I halted but a moment ; in that moment passed
before me
The vision of his white face and his trembling, lifted
hands :
He prayed to me for mercy ; then the bitter wrath
came o'er me :
' He gave my girl no mercy, and I'll shoot him where he
stands /'
" Then a voice came whisp'ring softly, 'Mine is ven-
geance, so the Lord said . . .'
But the madness held me fettered, and I cursed Him
at the ford.
And I shouted to the blue skies, ' For a God or devil's
word said
Shall I lose my just avenging? Mine's the vengeance ;
d n the Lord ! '
"Then I felt the chestnut tremble, and he reeled and
fell beneath me,
And I knew no more that happened till I wakened in
the night,
And all the stars of heaven seemed to cluster and
enwreath me.
And the cold mnd kissed my forehead — and the man
was gone from sight.
134 THE BROKEN SHOE
" And we left our poor girl sleeping by the mulga
trees down yonder,
And the parson said ' The Lord's will ! ' as he stood
beside her grave . . .
And every word is true, lad. Tell me straight, now,
do you wonder
If I curse this Lord they speak of, who will neither
slay nor save 1 "
RIDERLESS
A BROKEN bridle trailing,
A saddle scratched and scarred —
And Brown Bee at the railing
That rings the station yard ;
No stockman sits astride her,
But, by those flanks afoam,
Wild Terror was the rider
That lashed the good mare home !
She snorts across the moonlight
Through nostrils red and wide
The challenge of the unbacked colt
To those who dare to ride ;
She snorts across the moonlight
Through nostrils wide and red
The terror of a dumb beast
That has looked upon the dead . .
136 RIDERLESS
His saddle and his bridle
We've softly laid aside,
We'll leave the rough gear idle
Till he comes hack to ride ; —
Our eyes are to the ranges,
And when the dawning pales
The hrown mare stands and whinnies
With her lean head on the rails.
KINGS OF THE EARTH
We are heathen ivho worship an idol
We keep for our pleasicre and pride,
We are slaves of the saddle and bridle,
Yet kings of the earth when we ride '.
It is over the clinging meadows
And the hedges thick and tall,
Where the frost still lies in the shadows
And the boldest ride for a fall ;
It is over the stretching upland
Where the breeze is fresh from the sea,
And veiled in spray is the stag at bay-
That battles on bended knee.
It is down by the white-flagged courses
In the shimmer of silken winsrs.
Where the thunder of galloping horses
The blood to the pulses brings :
137
138 KINGS OF THE EARTH
When your mount goes free to his fences
And leans to your gentle hold,
And the plaudits loud of the cheering crowd
Are better than gifts of gold.
It is here, in the southward, under
The rays of a sun that fall
Where the stockwhip's gathering thunder
Is music sweetest of all :
Where the " scrubbers " under the dust-clouds
Are challenged, and caught, and passed.
Though flanks may bleed ere we wheel the lead
At the wings of the yard at last.
We are heathen ivho worship an idol
We keep for our honour and pride ;
We are slaves of the saddle and Iridle,
Yet kings of the earth when vje ride /
UNBROKEN !
Eyes ^vild with fear unspoken,
Tossed manes and sweeping tails,
Our thirty head unbroken
Are safe behind the rails ;
Hard won from stony ridges
And waving blue-grass plains
By ga-shes from the gidyas,
Red spurs and foamy reins !
We woke ^^^th stars a-cluster
And rode ^\dth breaking day,
We've made a right good muster
With not one colt away ;
Oh, loth they were at leaving !
And twice they broke for home ;
And Blue Light's flanks are heaving,
And Brownlocks' white with foam.
140 UNBROKEN !
By Snowdon's son — Gray River —
The best blood in the land !
No finer draft has ever
Upheld the station brand;
They'll get no chance of hiding,
Fenced in the Mile-by-Mile ;
We won them by hard riding,
We'll hold them now by guile.
The bay colt's there from Blossom :
By Jove, the beggar's grown !
The steel-gray out of Possum —
The best the old mare's thrown !
And here's the brown from Lo-lo —
The beggar ought to race ;
What price that chap for polo
With the white streak down the face?
That big chap by the cedar,
Full brother to The Gleam,
We'll mouth him for a leader
In the boss's slashing team ;
Those browns across the corner
Will make a ripping pair ;
That chestnut out of Lorna
Takes his kicking from the mare.
UNBROKEN ! 141
Jump down there ! — what a scatter !
Get out the ropes and gear ;
We have never broken better
Than the colts we'll break this year ;
Look out the bits and rollers,
The halters and the rest —
This year they'll know our colours
On the township tracks Out West !
HOW WE WON THE RIBBON
Come and look around my office —
Floors are littered, walls are hung
With the treasures and the trophies
Of the days when I was young ;
Rusty spur and snaffle idle,
Polo stick and gun and bridle,
In a sweet confusion flung.
There's my saddle when a rover —
(That's the bridle hanging up)
Queensland-built — a Lachlan drover
Swopped me for a Kelpie pup.
By the Lord, it makes one ponder
When one thinks those spurs up yonder
Helped to win the Mulga Cup !
HOW WE WON THE RIBBON 143
There's the bar I used on "Wyndham
On the day you watched him " clear "
With the four in-hand behind him —
Yet they'll say it's too severe.
See that bunch of faded ribbon ?
It belongs to Jock McKibbon,
But he always leaves it here.
And there's just a little story
Hanging to that bunch of blue ;
I'm not claiming any glory
AVhen I spin the yarn to you —
Yarns go best when pipes are glowing ;
Here's the " Capstan " ; set her going—
And remember this is true.
Pearl of price for hunter's duty
Was the gray mare Heart's Desire,
With the Snowdon's strength and beauty
And a dash of Panic fire ;
And I never knew her failine:
At a dyke, a ditch, or paling —
She could jump her height and higher.
144 HOW WE WON THE RIBBON
Now, the rider courted throwing
Who would touch her with the spurs
When the Snowdon mare got going
With that sweeping stride of hers ;
She was restless, hot, and heady ;
She had smashed one man already,
And the fright had made her worse.
But her owner, nothing fearing,
Brave as ever man could he.
Saw the yearly Show was nearing
While he nursed a crippled knee ;
So he called me, did McKibbon :
" We've a mortgage on the ribbon —
Will you ride the mare for me 1 "
They had sent their speedy sprinters
Round the fences, one by one,
And the air was thick with splinters
Till you couldn't see the sun ;
Such a striking, swerving, baulking !
Saddles empty, riders walking !
Not a round was cleanly done.
HOW WE WON THE RIBBON 145
And the gray mare, Heart's Desire,
Stood and watched and seemed to know ;
Fretted when they galloped by her,
Tossed her lean head to and fro ;
Then they called to me, " Get ready ! "
And McKibbon whispered, "Steady . . ! '
But the crowd yelled, " Let her go ! !"
Now, beyond the" five-foot palings,
As I set the mare a-swing.
From below the grand-stand railings
Someone's child crept in the ring,
And we never saw the youngster
Till the mare was right against her
Shortening stride to make the spring
So I loosed her head and drove her
With the red spurs ripping wild ;
It was take the lot — and over —
Or God help the tiny child !
And I watched as though in dreaming
Where the snow-white dress was gleaming.
And the babe looked up and smiled !
146 HOW WE WON THE RIBBON
But I knew the mare I rode on —
Could a leap be found too far
For the quarters of old Snowdon
And the heart of Blazing Star 1
Here she had the chance to show me —
And the shod-hoofs flashed below me,
Half a yard above the bar !
Then the dust- clouds ! Had we cleared her ?
Then the light shock as we land,
Then — the crowd stood up and cheered her
On the ring fence and the stand ;
But my brain was sick and spinning
And I slung my chance of winning
As I took the mare in hand.
But they ciowded round to hold her,
And they tied the badge of blue
In a knot upon her shoulder
That they dared me to undo !
So I left the prize upon her,
And I think she won the honour
When she saved the lives of two.
HOW HE WON THE RIBBON 147
And I journey Life's gay road on,
But I linger when I pass
Where the best and gamest Snowdon
Takes her last sleep in the grass
With the wattle-boughs above her ;
And when others toast a lover
Then I pledge her in my glass.
Now, they reckon me a rider
In the showyard and the shire.
But I never faced a wider
Jump, a tougher or a higher
Since I rode for Jock McKibbon
On the day we won the ribbon
With the gray mare Heai't's Desire.
OTHER VERSES
Some take no heed of any future day
But kiss Time's hand while wearing yet his bonds,
Dreaming their yotmg full-blooded life away
Among Lifers lotus-ponds.
And some there are who gird them, shield and sword,
War dawn and noon, fyJit the red sunset down
To fall when night falls, vnth the same reward
Death's dark-hued cypress croivn.
Ah ! when Death's hand our own warm hand hath taen
Down the dark aisles his sceptre rules stipreme,
God grant the fig liters leave to fight again
And let the dreamers dream !
HABET !
Down ! And the world's war-squadron splashes
Past, loose-i^eined, iu the blood and the mire ;
Brown arms sweep and the bared steel Hashes
On to the goal of the World's desire.
Down ! By the war-steed's hot hoofs cowering,
Broken the sword arm, bent the sword,
And away to the front leap the sabres showering
Blows for the Hell-hearth, blows for the Lord !
Did he clutch at the moon for jewel
To bind on his bosom and wear 1
Did he fight with a Fate too cruel
Or follow a face too fair ?
What does it matter the reason why !
He is down ; and it's little the world will care
As it sweeps in a foam-fret by.
15J.
152 HA BET !
Down ! Weeps the moon, and he never wore ifc.
Down ! And the stars mourn into the mist.
Fate's red weal is across his forehead ;
Somebody's face has never been kissed !
Flushes the dawn, and one vulture-speck
Spires and spins in a reeling sky ; —
Down ! And it's little the World will reck
As it rides red-rowelled by.
THE WORLD BEYOND
A Poet stood in the red day-dawn,
And the dawn was more to his gifted eyes
Than a songbird's call and a flush on the lawn
When the night winds drop and the last star dies ;
For he saw the Goddess of all sweet sons
Clothed in a vesture of infinite light,
He heard the challenge of Right to Wrong,
The trumpet blast of the world-old fight.
A Painter stood in the golden noon,
And to him the world was something more
Than a sea of light in a slumbrous swoon
On the golden sands of a splendid shore ,
For out and beyond the gold and gray,
The silver cloud and the sweep of blue.
He could see the bright lights quiver and play —
The wonder of Italy, known and new.
153
154 THE WORLD BEYOND
A Lover watched in the evening light,
And the world was something greater to him
Than a day-death grand and a sunset bright,
A sweeping of shadows, a twilight dim ;
For he saw far over the drifting years
A maiden form in the sunset stand,
And his gx*ay eyes filled with a mist of tears
For the soft white sake of an unclasped hand.
And so for the wide world never in vain
Blossoms a day-dawn, a noon, or a night.
For somewhere out farther than these again
There reddens the gleam of a Hope-born light ;
And the meanest man on the round world's rim —
Poet or Painter though never he be —
Has seen for a moment with eyes grown dim
The light that was nevei' on land or sea !
NORTHWARD TO THE SHEDS
There's a whisper from the regions out beyond the
Barwon banks ;
There's a gathering of the legions and a forming of
the ranks ;
There's a murmur coming nearer with the signs that
never fail,
And it's time for every shearer to be out upon the
trail.
They must leave their girls behind them and their
empty glasses, too,
For there's plenty left to mind them when they cross
the dry Barcoo :
There'll be kissing, there'll be sorrow such as only
sweethearts know,
But before the noon to-morrow they'll be singing as
they go —
156 NORTHWARD TO THE SHEDS
For the Western creeks are calling
And the idle days are done,
With the snowy fleeces falling
And the Queensland sheds begun !
There is shortening of the bridle, there is tightening
of the girth,
There is fondling of the idol that they love the best
on earth ;
Northward from the Lachlan River and the sun-dried
Castlereagh,
Outward to the Never-Never ride the ringers on their
way.
From the green bends of the Murray they have run
their horses in.
For there's haste and there is hurry when the Queens
land sheds begin ;
On the Bogan they are bridling, they are saddling on
the Bland,
There is plunging and there's sidling— for the colts
don't understand
That the Western creeks are calling,
And the idle days are done,
With the snowy fleeces falling
And the Queensland sheds begun I
NORTHWARD TO THE SHEDS 157
They will camp below the station, they'll be cutting
peg and pole
Rearing tents for occupation till the calling of the
roll ;
And it's time the nags were driven, and it's time to
strap the pack,
For there's never license given to the laggards on the
track.
Hark the music of the battle ! it is time to bare our
swords :
Do you hear the rush and rattle as they tramp along
the boards ?
They are past the pendoors picking light-woolled
weaners one by one ;
I can hear the shear-blades clicking, and I know the
fight's begun !
LIFE'S OVERLAND
Grey-Lying miles to the norVai'd of NorVard,
Red-leaping leagues to the westward of West,
Further than keenest of sight follows forward,
Further than boldest of hearts ever guessed ;
Still ^vith its secret to Man unimparted.
Still with its beckoning wealth unattained.
Lies the dim goal that has Never been Charted,
Down the long Road that has Never been Chained.
Day after day, and from morrow to morrow.
Pointing the way where the wide road begins,
Sweep the red scorpion -scourges of Sorrow,
Lashing her children out West for their sins ;
Beefwood and whitewood, and redgum and wilga,
Lead them and goad them, and guide them and
guard,
Till hidden in tangle of sandal and mulga.
The gates to the East and the Southward are barred.
158
LIFE'S OVERLAND 159
Westward and Nor'ward ! and fainter behind them
The roll of the waggons, the roar of the whips,
The towering red dust-storms that waltz down and
wind them,
The blue mocking mirage that rise to their lips ;
Beyond the last camp of the furthest-west drover,
Beyond the last team-track, the last rotting steer,
Beyond the last foot-pad the camels crossed over.
Beyond the lone grave of the last pioneer.
Westward and Westward ! Out past the last horror
Of thirst and starvation, of lorn lives and lost.
The bleaching white bones of the boldest explorer,
The scrubs and the plains that have never been
crossed, —
Where the heat haze no lunger in mockery dances,
Where no more the sand-drift whirls brown on the blue,
AVhere the pitying Sun lays at rest his red lances.
With white flags of truce where his war banner flew.
The last birds have waked them — they sleep now no
longer !
The last dark has lifted — they take no more rest !
For the aching feet heal and the tired heart grov/s
stronger
As every league bears them a league to the West.
160 LIFE'S OVERLAND
Gold ! Did they hear her sweet voice as they started 1
Now she is dumb to them, scorned and disdained,
And their goal is a Goal that has Never been Charted ;
Their route is a Road that has Never been Chained.
Westward and — Homeward ! Brown hands at the
back of them ;
Far in the distance white hands — and the rest ;
One by one, outward, we lose the last track of them,
All the world wending its way to the West ;
One after one, till the last shall have started,
Yet no more the last than the first shall have gained
In the lore of the Goal that has Never been Charted,
Down the long Road that has Never been Chained.
AT THE BACK 0' BOURKE !
Where the mulga paddocks are wild and wide,
That's where the pick of the stockmen ride — -
At the Back o' Bvurke !
Under the dust-clouds dense and brown,
Moving Southward by tank and town.
That's where the Queensland mobs come down —
Out at t/ie Back o' Boicrke !
Over the Border to and fro,
That's where the footsore swagmen go —
At the Back o' Boiirke !
Sick and tired of the endless strife.
Nursing the bones of a wasted life
Where all the sorrows of Earth are x'ife —
Out at the Back o' Bourke !
K 161
162 AT THE BACK 0' BOURKE !
Whether the plains are deep or dry,
That's where the struggHng teams go by —
At the Back o' Bourke 1
North and Southward, in twos and threes,
Bullocks and horses down to the knees,
Waggons dipped to the axle-trees —
OiU at the Back o' Bourke !
That's the land of the lying light
And the cruel mirage dancing bright —
At the Back o' Bourke !
That's where the shambling camel train
Crosses the Western ridge and plain,
Loading the Paroo clips again
Out at the Back o' Bourke .'
That's the land of the wildest nights.
The longest sprees and the fiercest fights —
At the Back a' Bourke !
That's where the skies are brightest blue.
That's where the heaviest work's to do,
That's where the fires of Hell burn through -
Out at the Back o' Bourke !
AT THE BACK 0' BOURKE ! 163
That's where the wildest floods have birth
Out of the nakedest ends of Earth —
At the Back o' Bonrhe !
Where the poor men lend and the rich ones borrow ;
It's the bitterest land of sweat and sorrow —
But if I were free J'd he off to-murrow,
Out at the Back o' Bourkc !
THE SONG OF SONGS
Let others chant of battle and such wreaths as Glory
gave;
I would rather sing the praises of the dew that
dips the daisies,
Of the wind that stirs the wattle and the foam that
flecks the wave.
When others sing the Nation and the Flag that
sweeps the seas,
Let them leave me to deliver the old message of the
river
And the true interpretation of the wind's voice in the
trees.
For when the drums are calling men to Honour and
Renown,
Turning in their dreamy slumbers they are swayed
by softer numbers,
Music of a dewdrop falling or a dead leaf drifting
down.
164
THE SONG OF SONGS 165
And when the battle rages and the grey smoke dims
the skies,
There's a Voice that makes them listen till the
gathering teardrops glisten
And the Love that lit the ages brings the roselight to
their eyes.
AT THE BEND O' THE CREEK.
Here is roarivg Jlood in WinUr
When the slorm-Jlag flies,
And the quick-fire ligJUnings splinter
Gold from night-hlack skies,
And the rain-clouds gather, breaking
Close upon the box-tree s^haking
Like a lost soul shivering, quaking
With a fear that never dies.
Here is sandy loaste in Summer
Where the Drought has lain,
Stifling hope for every comer
From the hell-hot plain ;
When the footsore cattle quicken
At the sceut ivhere last drops thicken.
Turning hack to faint and sicken
In the dust-dry grass again.
166
AT THE BEND 0' THE CREEK 167
Where the river bends to Nor'ward,
With the dark floods done,
And the Spring flower's flaunting forward
In the first Spring sun, —
Where the angry Winter torrent
Laden with some tree's death-warrant
Left the brown stem 'thwai't the current
In the dead-branch arms lay One
Cold and still, without a motion
Save that in the tide
Rocked he as a wreck in ocean
Rocks from side to side ;
Silent as the trunk above him.
Resting where the ripples drove him
In the bed the flood-wash wove him,
With a naked bough for bride.
Halts the brown hawk for a moment
At the corpse's head,
Shakes the pearl drops from his raiment,
Heedless of the dead ;
Down the river westward winging.
Pinions broad to sunbeams flinging.
Gone ! . . . the birds take up their singing
Where they left the song unsaid.
168 AT THE BEND O' THE CREEK
Stoops the snowy crane to listen
On the sombre tree,
And her drooping feathers glisten
White as white can be ;
Down the wind the wild fowl streaming
Catch a glimpse of whiter gleaming,
Wheel aside with frightened screaming
From the horror that they see.
Life and Death, the dead and living !—
None the woe to speak ;
And the sun drops westward giving
Bloodstains to the creek ;
And the sun-fires gleam and glower
As the life-fires leap and lower.
And the river runs no slower
Though a waiting heart should break !
WEST OF THE WORLD
West of the World all red suns sleep
On a fleecy carpet of crimson cloud,
And the weary winds from the eastward creep
To their shining goal on the western steep
In the golden arms of the starry crowd-
West of the World !
West of the World all true hearts ride
To a further bourne than the best have trod,
Till they cross the last creek gleaming wide
And wave their hands from the last divide
Ere they drop their load at the feet of God -
AVest of the World !
West of the World all dead hopes drift
On the heaving heart of the hiding Day
To the clinging shadows that show no rift,
With a lingering step that is all too swift
For the eyes that follow their trackless way —
West of the World !
163
A SCOTCH NIGHT
If you chance to strike a gathering of half-a dozen
friends
When the di'ink is Highland whusky or some chosen
Border blends,
And the room is full of speirin and the gruppin' of
brown ban's,
And the talk is all of tartans and of plaidies and of
clans,—
You can take things douce and easy, you can judge
you're going right.
For you've had the luck to stumble on a wee Scotch
night !
When you're pitchfoi'ked in among them in a sweep-
ing sort of way
As '' anither mon an' brither" from the Tweed or from
the Tay ;
170
A SCOTCH NIGHT 171
When you're taken by the oxter and you're couped
into a chair
While someone slips a whusky in your tumbler un-
aware,—
Then the present seems less dismal and the future fair
and bricht,
For you've struck Earth's grandest treasure in a guid
Scots nicht !
When you hear a short name shouted and the same
name shouted back
Till you think in the confusion that they've all been
christened Mac ;
When you see a red beard flashing in the corner by
the fire,
And a giant on the sofa who is six-foot three or
higher, —
Before you've guessed the colour and before you've
gauged the height
You'll have jumped at the conclusion it's a braw
Scotch night !
When the red man in the corner puts his strong voice
to the proof
As he gives The Hundred Pipers, and the chorus lifts
-the roof ;
172 A SCOTCH NIGHT
When a chiel sings Amiie Laurie with its tender,
sweet refrain
Till the tears are on their eyelids and — the drinks
come round again ;
When they chant the stirring war-songs that would
make the coward fight, —
Then you're fairly in the middle of a wee Scotch
night !
When the plot begins to thicken and the band begins
to play ;
When every tin-pot chieftain has a word or two to
say;
When they'd sell a Queensland station for a sprig of
native heath ;
When there's one Mac on the table and a couple
underneath ;
When half of them are sleeping and the whole of
them are tight, —
You will know that you're assisting at a [hie !) Scotch
night !
When the last big bottle's empty and the dawn
creeps gray and cold.
And the last clan-tartan's folded and the last d d
lie is told ;
A SCOTCH NIGHT 173
When they totter down the footpath in a brave, un-
broken line,
To the peril of the passers and the tune of Aiild Lang
Syne ;
You can tell the folk at breakfast as they watch the
fearsome sicht,
" They have only been assisting at a braw Scots
nicht ! "
" ABSENT FRIENDS ! "
" Absent Friends ! " There are brought to our mind
again
The scent of the buddah-bush after the rain ;
The dawn in the eastward, the death of the stars,
The wet grass that reaches the cold stirrup bars ;
The beat of the horse -hoofs that waken the day ;
The jest and the laughter that shorten the way !
So Past vnth Prese,nt gaily blends,
And merrily, with three times three,
We drink to " Absent Friends ! "
" Absent Friends ! " How those words in a wondrous
wise
Can conjure the lovelight in beautiful eyes ;
The sound of her voice that was tender and sweet,
The trail of her robes and the fall of her feet ;
"ABSENT FRIENDS !" 175
The moods that could move us to joy or to tears
In the Love of our youth in the long-ago years !
And each one now his greeting sends,
As earnestly, tvith three times three,
We toast our " Absent Friends ! "
" Absent Friends !" — And a home that is over the sea ;
White snow on the uplands, white rime on the tree ;
The faces we cherish, whate'er be our lot ;
The clasp of the hands will be never forgot ;
The friends of our boyhood who gather and pass
In the misty reflection of Memory's glass !
Our heart across the ocean ivends,
And loyally, with three times three,
We toast our " Absent Friends ! "
" Absent Friends ! " — The lost legion that lies in the
grave ;
The friends who were false and the friends we for-
gave, —
Whose words had the edge of the enemy's knife.
To tortui'e the heart and to poison the life ; —
The friends who lay dying and never could know
That we loved at the last as we loved long ago !
So each across his nine-cup bends,
And silently, and tear/idly,
We pledge our " Absent Friends ! "
THE MARCH OF THE FLOOD
There's a whisper away on the Queensland side
Of the Barwon a banker, the Warrego wide
Spread from range to red range ; of the siege of a
town,
Of farms that are wasted and cattle that drown.
Of a trackless road and a bridgeless sea,
And grey miles measured from tree to tree —
And the people gather at gate and rail
For the latest news by the Darling mail.
Through all the meriy daylight
Long leagues behind her fall
Till golden turns to grey light
And wedding-robe to pall ;
Above her rolling thunder
The shrieking parrots fly.
And the bush- world waits to wonder
When the Darling mail goes by !
173
THE MARCH OF THE FLOOD 177
Through all the night she spurns the ground,
Her headlights shame the stars,
The rolling dust-cloud wraps her round
From ledge to leading bars ;
And like some half-roused sleeper
Stand each gaunt-armed gum aghast,
And the shadows gather deeper
When the Darling mail goes past !
She takes the fearsome message down
By reach and point and bend.
And camp and farm and river town
Will hail her as a friend ;
For comes she not as horsemen ride
Who ride a race to win 1
What wonder if they crowd beside
When the Darling mail comes in !
And close behind is the fierce Flood King :
In the pride of his strength he comes
Where the tangled masses of drift-weed swing
Like dead men up in the gums ;
He sings the psean of curbless might,
The song of a broken chain.
And he rides himself in the foremost fight
With the scourge of a loose-held rain.
178 THE MARCH OF THE FLOOD
He throws an arm to the Southward now,
Now au arm to the golden West,
And the circled lives to the bidding bow
And are lost on his tawny breast ;
And day by day as he thunders by
There is ground to be captive led,
And night by night where the lowlands lie
Are the wings of his army spread.
There's never the stem of a bank-fed tree
For the touch of his hand too tall.
And he leaves his brand for the world to see
On the hut and the homestead wall ;
There's never a star in the midnight sky
Or a sunbeam crossing the morn
But has heard the boast of his battle-cry
And the threat of his bugle-horn.
And down where the Queen of the River lies girt with
her garland of green
The toilers have heard it and tremble, whose wealth
is the life of the Queen ;
In the hush of the evening they hear his low beat on
the shield of the shore
And stand to the dam and the earthwork : they know
it his challenge of yore !
THE MARCH OF THE FLOOD 179
And the stockmen ride out in the dawnlight by billa-
bong, runner and creek
To gather the sheep and the cattle wherever his war-
notes speak ;
And the blood will be red on the rowel, the sun will
be low in the west
Before they have left them in safety to camp on the
red hill's crest.
And so we shall live and suffer so long as the big
rains come
With their ruin and wreck for many, their danger
and death for some,
Till we go from the Culgoa and Darling to camp on a
drier shore
Whei"e the Warrego out in his warpaint shall harry
our homes no more !
"GODSPEED!"
Because we've waked the morning-stai's
Together, June to June ;
Because our spurs and stirrupbars
Have clasped the same old tune ;
Because we've drawn one honour-line
And held one cross and creed :
You will not lay your hand in mine
Without a last " God-speed ! "
Because we've ridden knee to knee
In lists against the world,
And followed up one destiny
Beneath one flag unfurled ;
Because we've lived, a little space,
One life in word and deed :
You Avill not meet me face to face
Without a last " God-speed ! "
180
"GOD-SPEED!" 181
Because one woman came between—
As women often will —
Because we thought one girl a queen ;
Because we think so still ;
Because no mortal power can say
How far may True Love lead :
You will not say " Good-bye ! " to-day —
" Good-bye ! " ^vithout " God-speed ! "
Because we've watched the shadows fall,
Together on the plains —
When all the night was musical
With bells and hobble-chains ;
Because we've gossiped round one blaze,
Agreed and disagreed :
Old Comrade, for the olden days,
You'll wish your mate " God-speed ! "
A WIND FROM THE WEST
The Wind that fires the blood
Came leaping in from Westward,
Over stone and stake and stud,
With the roar of reeling dust-\vi'ack
And the moan of lifting flood.
The Wind that knows no chains
Came in from Westward, laden
With the i).icense of the plains,
With the breath of furnace-portals,
And the reek of camel-trains —
Brought the promise of the West ;
And they hailed her through the mountains
With the honours of a guest,
For the gold that clasped her girdle
And the gold that crossed her breast.
182
A WIND FROM THE WEST 183
Oh, a Wind came in from Wesiioard, hloiving fetterless
and free,
With a ivail of weeping loomen and their childrt-.n at
their knee.
With a dirge of empty saddles from the Lachlan to the
Sea.
And the naked WeH Wind shivered, "/ have passed
them on the way —
The white bones all iincovered to the scornful gaze of
Day—
And I lorapped the red sands ruuiid them, and I kissed
them as they lay."
ABANDONED SELECTIONS
On the crimHon breast of the sunset
The Gi'ay Selections He,
And their lonely, grief-stained faces
Are turned to a pitiless sky ;
They are wrinkled and seamed with drought-fire
And wound at the throat with weeds,
They sob in the aching loneness
But never a passer heeds.
I pity you, Gray Selections,
As I pass you by in the light,
And I turn again with the shadows
To take your hand in the night ;
In homesteads and yards deserted
'Tis little the world can see,
But the wail of your endless sorrow
Throbs under the moon to me.
184
ABANDONED SELECTIONS 185
I come to you, Gray Selections,
When the crickets gather and croon,
An hour at the back of the sunset,
An hour in advance of the moon ;
How eager they are to whisper
Their tale as they hear me pass !
Twenty at once in the oak trees,
Ten at a time in the grass.
The night •^vinds are chanting above you
A dirge in the cedar trees
Whose green boughs groan at your shoulder.
Whose dead leaves drift to your knees ;
You cry, and the curlews answer ;
You call, and the wild dogs hear ;
Through gaps in the old log-fences
They creep when the night is near.
I stand by your fenceless gardens
And weep for the splintered staves ;
I watch by your empty ingles
And mourn by your white-railed graves ;
I see from your crumbling doorways
The whispering white forms pass,
And shiver to hear dead horses
Crop- cropping the long gi'ay grass.
186 ABANDONED SELECTIONS
Where paddocks are dumb and fallow
And wild weeds waste to the stars
I can hear the voice of the driver,
The thresh of the swingle-bars ;
I can hear the hum of the stripper
That follows the golden lanes,
The snort of the tiring horses.
The clink of the bucking chains.
It is night ; but I see the smoke- wreaths
Float over the dancing haze ;
I can hear the jackass laughing
When South winds rustle the maize ;
I can catch the axes' ringing,
And out on the range's crown
I can hear the red fires roaring
And the great trees thundering down.
I pity you, Gray Selections,
Your hearths as cold as a stone.
The days you must pass unaided,
The nights you must brave alone ;
But most when the wailing curlews
Call over the drear lagoon.
And out of the ring-barked timber
Comes blazing the red, red moon.
ABANDONED SELECTIONS 187
They fought for you, Gray Selections,
The battle of long dry years,
Through seedtimes of sweat and sorrow
To harvests of hunger and tears ;
You turned from the lips that wooed you,
And Justice, awake on her throne,
For sake of those brave hearts broken,
Is watching you brake your own !
THE MEN WHO BLAZED THE TRACK !"
SiNCK the toasts for the absent are over,
And duly we've pledged in our wine
Our Land, and our Friends, and our Lover,
Here's a toast for you, comrades o' mine :
7'o the jightiny haiid that icon the land
From the bitterest icastes out-hack I
From hut aud hall to the kiiigs of all —
''The Men Who Blazed the Track!"
They rode away into the forest
In mornings gold-studded with stars,
And the song of the leaders was chorused
To the clinking of rowel and bars ;
They fought for the fame of the Islands
And struck for the Width of the World,
They fashioned new roads in the silence
And flags in the fastness unfurled.
188
" THE MEN WHO BLAZED THE TRACK !" 189
Their tents in the evening would whiten
The scrub, and the flash of their fires
Leap over the shadows to brighten
The way of Ambition's desires ;
By the axe-marks we followed their courses,
For scarcely the ashes remain.
And the tracks of the men and the horses
Are hidden by dust-storm and rain.
The seasons from June to December
Are buried and born as of old,
But the peoples have ceased to remember
* Who won them the laurels they hold ;
Yet sometimes the North wind comes bringing
Those keener of hearing and sight
The music of lost axes ringing,
The beat of lost hoofs in the night.
Our pride is the path of our fathers.
Our hope's in the sons of our home,
And wherever our nation foregathers
Our nation is foremost to roam ;
But the valleys that smile to our tillage.
The hills where our banners unfold.
Were won by the men of the village
And bought with their axes of old.
190 " THE MEN WHO BLAZED THE TRACK !"
And we only ride with the flowitig tide
As we follow the blazed line back,
So we'll drink the toast of the vanguard host,
And " The Men Who Blazed the Track! "
VITA BREVIS
Our Life is but a moment :
One sheen of silk and pearls,
One dance between the daylights
With a certain girl of girls ;
One feast of burning kisses,
One blast of Passion's breath —
And Life is but a moment
That cheats the hand of Death !
Our Life is but a moment :
One sweep of silken wings,
One thunder on the greenswai'd.
One snatch of bridle rings ;
One struggle for the pride of place.
One crash of splintered rails —
And Life is but a moment
Before the sunlight fails !
191
192 VITA BREVIS
O, Life is but a moment
For holding soft white hands,
Or flying four-foot fences
While the cheering rocks the stands ;
So take Love's gift of kisses —
Or Sport's, in Love's despite —
For Life is but a moment,
And after it the Night !
THE TRUEST FRIEND
I HAD a comrade tried and true,
Shoulder to shoulder we fought life through ;
And whoever spoke liglit of his name to me
Had a foe to face and a sword to flee ;
I'd have staked my life on the grip of his hantl —
But swoi'ds get broken and troops disband !
I had a lover to fondle and prize,
With the kindest heart and the truest eyes :
I wore her scarf on the tourney ground ;
I pledged her name when the toasts went round ;
I'd have sworn to her honour before them all —
But snowdrifts tarnish and bright stars fall !
I have a mother, God bless the name !
All beauty wedded to all fair fame :
I have lined her brow with the wish unheard ;
I have wounded her heart with the careless word ;
But I know that her love to the last is sure —
For hills are steadfast and seas endure !
M 193
AULD LANG SYNE
0, it's southward fiom Southampton ! and she takes
the Channel gay,
But many a heart is bleeding as she stands across the
bay;
And it may be just a parting where we've known a
hundred more,
Yet many a heart is breaking as the tender swings
ashore ;
And the handkerchiefs are waving, ship to steamer,
line to line.
And a wail's upon the water in the words of Avid
LniKj Syne.
O, it's misty in the Channel and it's stormy in the
Bay,
And the lights are dropping backward as she leaves
them east aw^ay ;
194
AULD LANG SYNE 195
And she steadies in blue water where the sunny
islands swoon,
With the sailors singing forward, and the guests in
the saloon ;
And they'll sing the old songs over from the Gib Rock
to the Line,
But they cannot drown the music of The Dayfi of Auld
Lang Slyne !
O, she's round the Austral headlands and she's rocking
through the Rip,
While all her throbbing engines drum the triumph of
the trip ;
And it's gently through the shipping, and it's slowly
to the Quay,
And the band has started playing this, the dearest
tune to me ;
And they're streaming down the gangway with a
farewell to the brine.
And we leave her as we joined her, to the strains of
Auld, Lang Syne.
We have heard the ringing chorus shake the iron on
the roofs.
While outside the bridles jingle to the stamp of
- restless hoofs ;
196 AULD LANG SYNE
We have sped — how many comrades 1 — from the
homestead and the hall,
Watched them fading in the Unknown to the grandest
march of all ;
While some hearts were beating proudly to the lilt of
every line,
And some others nearly breaking for the sake of
Aulil Lang Syne.
We have sung it o'er the last glass when the morn
was breaking gray,
Hands crossed and double chorus in the old time-
honoured way ;
We have sung it in our exile till the heartleap and
the croon
Brought us back the brown hills' whisper and the
nodding blue-bells' tune ;
And the old, old loves are toasted in our cups of
brimming wine
While our hearts beat out the music to the words of
Anhl Lany Sijne.
It has marked us many partings, it has cost us count-
less tears.
It has brought us hopes unanswered from the dimness
of the years ;
AULD LANG SYNE 197
It is shaded with Life's sorrow, it is crossed with
broken bauds,
And the bitterness of kisses and the grief of parting
hands —
But so long as Earth has music, and so long as red
stars shine,
We shall gather and go outward to the tune of Auld
Lang Syne !
IN TOWN
Where the smoke-clouds scarcely drift
And the breezes seem to sleep,
Where the sunbeams never lift
Half the gloom of alleys deep,
Comrades ! must we languish ever.
Beat our hearts against the bars
While the vine-trees kiss the river
And the ranges greet the stars 1
There are stormy tints and tender
In the pictures that we pass —
But it's O, for day-dawn's splendour
And the dewdrops in the grass !
Though the old life fades behind us,
Though the new life leaps before.
Old-time spells are strong to bind us
Yearning for our yokes of yore ;
IN TOWN 199
In the whirl of toil and duty,
In the pride of pomp and power,
We can find no grander beauty
Than the red West's bridal dower ;
There is music in the rattle
Of the horse-hoofs down the street —
But it's O, for ringing cattle
And the thunder of their feet !
Wanton Pleasure laughs beside us
Where the life-streams ebb and flow,
Folly's cap and bells deride us,
Nodding close to Want and Woe ;
Lordly pageants round us glisten.
At our feet Life's joys are cast.
But we have no heart to listen
With the Bush-wind whispering past ;
Silver nights of love may hold us
Till we half forget the stars —
But it's O, for foam-white shoulders
And the clink of snaffle-bars !
BEYOND COOLGARDIE
They are fighting beyond Coolgardie, dusty and worn
and brown,
Leading the outward legion from dawn till the sun
goes down :
Under their blue sky-banner, standing true to their
guns,
Singly and shoulder to shoulder, brothers and sires
and sons.
They are faint in the burning noonday, and weaiy
when day is dead ;
They have never a thought of resting till Hope from
their hearts has fled ;
They are toiling — some for a sweetheart, and some for
a home and wife ;
And many are striving for riches, and some are fight-
ing for life !
200
BEYOND COOLGARDIE 201
They are dying beyond Coolgardie in sight of their
untouched prize,
With no one to break Death's tidings, and no one to
close their eyes ;
They lie in the scrub and the sand-wreath, with never
a stone to mark
The grave where the bush-crows gather and the dingo
crosses at dark.
I'hey are reading the news by the slush-lamps and under
the chandeliers,
And the icords of the dazzling message are blurred with
the readers' tears ;
They are praying, aicuy to the Eastward — mothers and
daughters and wives —
Asking no golden harvest, but only their loved ones'
lives !
DESERTED
This is the homestead -the still lagoon
Kisses the foot of the garden fence,
Shimmering under a silver moon
In a midnight silence, cold and tense ;
Vines run wild on the old verandah
Holding their arms to us standing by ;
Garden paths where we used to wander
Carry the bush-grass rank and high.
Here and there has a blossom stayed
Out of the wreck of the passing years,
But these will wither, for flowers must fade
Whose only water is sea- salt tears.
Thei'e are ghosts in the garden wildernesses
And gliding wraiths at the water-side,
Murmur of voices and rustle of di'esses —
Shadow-life that has never died.
202
DESERTED 203
The stockyard is empty and dim and drear ;
Here and there is a gap in the rails,
But I can see as we stand anear
Moving steeds when the daylight fails —
I see as I stand at the slip-rails dreaming
Merry riders that mount and meet,
Sun on the saddles gleaming, gleaming,
Red dust wrapjDing the horses' feet.
The world is silent under the stars,
And yet there comes to my ear alone
The tiny clink of the snaffle-bars
As the eager heads are upward thrown ;
And the sound of the muffled hoof -beat after
Strikes like a hammer on heart and brain.
And the faint, far echo of drifting laughter
Wakens the strength of a sleeping pain.
Come, come away from the lonely home
Softly, softly as mourners tread ;
The world is wide ; there is space to roam
Without awaking the sleeping dead.
Till the last of the scattered flowers shall wither
The last of the stockyard-rails decay,
Till the old walls crumble and fall together
The ghosts will move in the moonlight gray.
THE FILLING OF THE SWAMPS
Hurrah foi' the storm-clouds sweeping !
Hurrah for the driving rain !
The dull Earth out of her sleeping
Is wakened to life again.
There are mirrors of crystal shining
Whenever the cloud-wrack breaks,
And grass-clad banks are twining
A wreath for the fairy lakes —
Lakes that are links in an endless chain,
For the water is out in the swamps again !
Hurrah for the red-gums standing
So high on the range above !
Hurrah for the she-oaks bending
So low to the wave they love !
204
THE FILLING OF THE SWAMPS 205
Hurrah for the reed-stems slender !
Hurrah for the shade they fling
For the curve of the cygnet's splendour,
The sheen of the black duck's wing !
Hurrah for the clouds and the glorious rain —
The water is out in the swamps again !
Hurrah for the laughing water,
The songs that the streamlets sing !
WhisH ! the teal duck's mate has sought her
With a stroke of his mottled wing I
Hurrah for the deepening shallows.
The ibises eagle-eyed,
The dash of the purple swallows
To bury their breasts in the tide !
Woe ! it is woe to the Drought-King's reign !
The water is out iu the swamps again !
BLACK SHEEP
They shepherd theii* Black Sheep down to the ships,
Society's banned and cursed ;
And the boys look back as the old land dips —
Some with a reckless laugh on their lips,
And some with a prayer reversed.
Audit's Goodbye, England! and Goodbye, Love/
And maybe 'lis just as ivell
When a man /all short of his Heaven above
That lie drop to the uttermost Hell.
And the anchor lifts and the sails are set :
Now God to your help. Black Sheep !
For the gay world laughs " They will soon forget !"
But fired in the embers of old I'egret
The brand of the world bites deep.
BLACK SHEEP 207
They turn their Black Sheep over the side
To land on a stranger's shores ;
To drift with the cities' human tide,
Or wander away where the rovers ride
And the flagless legion wars.
And Hope for some is a broken staff
And for others a golden stair,
Who live for the echo of Love's low laugh
Or Somebody's face in a photograph.
Or a coil of Somebody's hair.
And some that have carried a parting gift
May kiss it and fling it away
Far over the clouds that no winds lift
To follow where our dead hopes drift
And rest where dead hopes may.
They bury the Black Sheep out in the Bush,
And buiy them none too deep
On the cattle camps and the last gold rush,
And the grasses grow over them green and lush
And the bush- winds sing them to sleep.
Aiid it's Guudbye, Slrrigyle ! and Goodbye, Strife !
And maybe 't is just as well
When a man goes down in the Battle of Life
That he shorten his road to Hell !
THE COMING HOME
7'Ae light we folloiv through a mist of tears
Is lost wheti close at hand. 0 ye who roam !
There is no pity in the passing years,
And only sadness in the coming home.
When winter storms have broke a father's strength
And Age his stamp upon the shoulders set,
When Hght in those dear eyes has failed at length
That meet our own so true and kindly yet,
There is but sadness in the coming home.
When Care has followed his relentless plough
To mark the furrows that will last for aye
Over the softness of a mother's brow.
When Time has withered all the brown locks gray.
There is but sadness in the coming home.
208
THE COMING HOME 209
When trees have taller grown and gardens changed
And meadows are not as they used to be,
When woods seem smaller where our boy feet ranged,
Slower the streams that ripple to the sea.
There is but sadness in the coming home.
When childish laughter is for ever stilled
And childish tears by touch of Time are dried.
When vacant chairs that never can be filled
Give bitter welcome to the old fireside,
There is but sadness in the coming home.
0 exiled Livs, with the dead days entwined,
0 exiled Hearts, aweary while ye roam,
Earth has no keener pain than this — to find
Your cruwn of sorrow in the coming home.
THE WALLABY TRACK
O a weird, wild road is the Wallaby Track
That is known to the bushmen only,
Stretching away to the plains out back
And the big scrubs lorn and lonely !
Dawn till dark they are passing there,
Over the hot sand thronging.
Shouldering burdens of Doubt and Despair,
Passion and Love and Longing.
There are pearls of dew on the Wallaby Track
For the maiden Day's adorning.
And blush clouds beating the night-shades back
In the van of the golden morning ;
There are glories born of the sinking sun
In the splendid Eve's lap dying,
A glitter of stars lit one by one,
And a rustle of night-wings flying.
THE WALLABY TRACK 211
There are long bright days on the "Wallaby Track
With a blue vault arching over,
And long, long thoughts that are drifting back
To the waiting wife and lover ;
There are horse-bells tinkling down the wind
With a thousand rippling changes,
And the boom of the team-bells intertwined
From the far-oif mulga ranges.
There are stars of gold on the Wallaby Track,
And silver the moonbeams glisten ;
The great Bush sings to us, out and back,
And we lie in her arms and listen ;
Our dull hearts quicken their rhythmic beat
For a wild swan's southward flying,
And gather old memories sadly sweet
From a wind-swept pine-bough's sighing.
There are lone graves left on the Wallaby Track,
And the bush-grass bends above them ;
They had no white hands to wave them back.
Perhaps — no hearts to love them !
But none the less will their sleep be sound
For the Hope and the Love denied them.
Or the ceaseless tramp on the thirsty ground
. Till all men sleep beside them.
BEYOND THE BARRIER
Are you tired of the South Land, comrade-
Of the smoke and the city's din,
And the roar of the chiding ocean
When the sobbing tide comes in 1
Would you ride to the Northward, rather,
To the skirmish posts of Earth,
Where the darkest dust-storms gather
And the wildest floods have birth 1
Are you tired of the long days idle —
The days you would fling behind
For the clasp of the tugging bridle,
The kiss of the racing wind,
Where the best camp-horse that ever drew
A hoof-slide on the plain,
Is waiting by the creek for you
Beyond the Barrier Chain 1
212
(BEYOND THE BARRIER 213
Are you tired of the revel, comrade —
The life of folly and wine,
With its one-half lived in the shadow
And one-half lived in the shine 1
Are you tired of the poison-glasses.
The lawless love and the kiss 1
Out East where the brown range passes
Do you hope for dearer than this —
For a handkerchief waved in greeting
Far off, where it waved farewell,
For the joy of a dreamed-of meeting
And the glow of an old love-spell,
Where the sweetest maid that ever knew
Love's bliss or parting's pain
Is waiting open-armed for you
Beyond the Barrier Chain I
Let us steer to the Northward, comrades !
To the Bush with her witching spells ;
To the sun-bright days and the camp-fire blaze
And the chime of the bullock bells !
Down the long, long leagues behind us
The rain shall cover our track.
And the dust of the North shall bhnd us
Or ever we follow it back.
214 BEYOND THE BARRIER
Away from the old friends, comrades !
The grasp of the strong brown hand !
The love and the life and the laughter
That brighten the brave North Land !
So long as the sunlight fills it,
So long as the white moons shine,
So long as the Master wills it,
The North is your home and mine !
RAINBOWS AND WITCHES
I REMKMBER, evei" SO long ago,
At the other side of the world away
When rain would cease on an April day,
When the mountain mists would roll and rise
And the rainbow ride in the purple skies —
How they would say to us, " Run, dear heart.
Out where you see the bright bow start,
And there you will gather a heap of gold
As much as ever your hands can hold ;
Out of the wood and beyond the gate.
Run for your fortune or you'll be late !"
How we would run ! I remember still
The dangerous dash down the garden hill ;
And many a stumble and many a slip,
Our eager eyes on the i-ainbow-dip ;
216 RAINBOWS AND WITCHES
Limbs aweary but never a rest,
Beating hearts on the hopeless quest —
For the further we raced the further passed
The rainbow goal, till we tired at last.
0 golden years', ye are past and gone
With the far-off flash of a distant dream ;
But still we are striving and struggling on,
Chasing the gold and the rainbow gleam !
I remember, ever so long ago,
At the other side of the world away
As we in our tiny white cots lay
Half in slumber and half awake,
Watching the nesting swallow take
(A moving shade on the blind so white)
His last trip home to his nest at night —
How they would say at our bedside : " Soon,
Dear little heart, the great red moon
Will climb the sky to her fleecy seat.
Stars at her shoulder and stars at her feet :
And if you should wake to-night, dear heart,
When the night and morning meet and part,
And open your window ever so wide,
You'll see where the brave broom-witches ride
RAINBOWS AND WITCHES 217
Low to the fir-tops and high to the moon
With their peaky hats and their pointed shoon
And first of them all your lover so fair,
The moon-wind tossing her red-gold hair !"
Our childish hopes they are dead lang syne ;
But I wait at night with my ivindow wide,
And many a lonely watch is mine
To see my love when the witches ride !
HANDICAPPED !
" Maybe Fate's weight-cloths are breaking his heart."
— RuDYARD Kipling.
Life's race for all is even-lapped
To watching eyes it seems ;
But how we may be handicapped
The wide world never dreams.
Ah ! well for those whose lot is cast
Where open war demands ;
But brave men fighting down the Past
Are fighting with chained hands.
The girls who loved us long ago,
Whose love has changed to scorn,
Will watching think, "How weak and slow !"
But never, " How forlorn !"
218
HANDICAPPED ! 219
Yet by the bitterness of Fate
The night we chose to part,
It was their soft hands laid the weight
Above our throbbing heart.
The memory of dark deeds done
That blot a family page ;
The father leaving to his son
Sin's ghastly heritage ;
The treason of a friend untrue,
The wild dreams better dead.
The hopes 't is madness to renew —
These are our weights of lead.
Life's race for all is even-lapped
To watching eyes it seems ;
But how we may be handicapped
The wide world never dreams.
Remember, when you cheer the best,
It was no equal start,
And some who toil behind the rest
Have leaden weights at heart !
MEMORY TOWN
From dawning to dusk moves the crowd in her street
With eyes looking upward, quick pulses that beat.
And slow feet that loiter, and duixib lips that call
Where sunshine and shadow are crossed for them all.
In mystic mosaic her pavements are set :
A stone for Sweet Thoughts, then a stone for Regret.
The walls of her houses are handsome and high,
Whose balconies break the blue line of the sky.
On one side the sun fires the columns with light.
On one side the shadow lies blacker than night.
On one side Youth's Joys from their windows look
down
To watch the wayfarers in Memory Town.
220
MEMORY TOWN 221
They laugh with low music that each understands,
And wave their white 'kerchiefs and kiss their white
hands.
They fling their gay garlands, white roses and red ;
But Care gallops past us and tramples them dead.
On the other side stand the Gray Griefs of the years,
The hands on the railings are wet with their tears.
With sad eyes and wistful they lean and look down
On the lone hearts that loiter in Memory Town.
They bind no white garland, and weave no red
wreath,
But strew the dark cypress that whispers of Death.
So sunlight and shadow are crossed in the crown
That the old years have wrought us in Memory Town.
TO A BUNCH OF HEATHER
Was it early in the autumn, was it sunny summer
weather ?
Were the white mists on the Carter when they
plucked you on the moor 1
Were the mountain dews upon you in the morning,
Sprig of Heather,
When they took you from your sisters for the long
lone Southern tour?
Did you hide from those who sought you 1 Did you
think the white hand cruel
That could choose you from a thousand as the
brightest and the best,
That could bind you as a token, richer far than any
jewel,
For a love- word to the Southland from the old home
in the west 1
TO A BUNCH OF HEATHER 223
Did you hear the Nor' winds singing in the white
sails — you so tightly
Stringed and covei-ed, pressed and withered, little
exile from the blue ?
Did you hear the throbbing engines, and the sirens
hooting nightly 1
Did you hear the crashing water and the bow-blade
breaking through ?
Did you feel the home-love tremble when I took you
in my fingers 1
Did you wonder any longer why they plucked you
from the moors ?
Did you know you brought the music of a million
wild-bee singers ?
Did you guess that for the mountains yearned another
heart than yours 1
Did you know that you were laden with a lost year's
joy and sorrow 1
Did you know that you were royal with the rainbow
and the rain 1
Lying — oh ! so worn and withered — in my brown
hand, did you boiTow
For a moment from the touching all I felt of pride —
and pain ?
224 TO A BUNCH OF HEATHER
You are fading, little love-word, as the morning stars
are paling :
Will it bring you back the purple of the hill-side
where you grew
If I lay you in the window 1 Can it be like me
you're ailing
For a sight of mountain moorland, little exile from
the blue 1
THE FRONT RANK
We fight on far tracks unknown ;
We ride the way of the rover,
Each with a Hne of his own ;
Our banner the bhie sky over,
Our bugle the bushwind's tone.
We chai'ge where no red squares kneel.
We ride with no helmets glitt'ring.
We carry no gleaming steel ;
But our reins are foam to the bit-ring.
Our spurs are red to the heel.
We war by the watching stars.
No women look to our wounded,
No white hands bandage our scars :
For us no medals ax'e rounded —
No ribbons or clasps or bars.
3 2?5
226 THE FRONT RANK
Swordless and swift we go ;
Oui' brown arms bared to the slaughter
Our hearts with the quest aglow ;
We battle and ask no quarter,
Our faces turned to the foe.
At last in the smoke of the years
Far from where camp and tent lie,
From clashing of shields and spears.
We slip to the earth so gently
That scarcely a comrade hears.
We slip to the earth and lie
Clay cold in the golden grasses.
White faces turned to the sky ;
And the last of our longings passes,
The last of our dreams goes by.
But the drums beat, year to year,
And men from the wings close round us.
And men ride up from the rear
To win — where no smile has crowned us,
Or lose — where it costs no tear !
THE NEW MOON
" NEW Moon to-night ! " you will hear them say,
Turning their eyes to the glint of gold ;
But this, as you know, is their quaint little way —
For the Moon she is centuries old !
She swings like a boat in the darkening sky,
A boat that is gilded from stem to stern,
And " Turn your money !" the old wives cry —
But every moon we have less to turn.
Yet saint and sinner and baron and boor.
In log-built cabin or marble hall,
Happy go-lucky and rich and poor —
The brave little Moon has a smile for all.
Her cargo has listed astern, this trip.
And her bows are above the foam,
But she ploughs away down in the mists, a ship
- That is eager enough for home.
227
228 THE NEW MOON
Alone in the drift of the leagueless heights
Her course to the west she steers,
Rail-high with the lore of a million nights
And the legends of all the years.
" New Moon to-night !" so the people say ;
But the winds that cross her and croon
They have sung in her silvery sails all day,
And they know her the old, old Moon.
And the pine-trees listen and toss their heads
And laugh in a splendid scorn,
For the old Moon sailed by their cradle-beds
Before the speakers were born.
" ISew Moon to-night ! " So the 'people say,
Lifting their eyes to the curve of gold ;
But this, as you know, is their quaint little ivay-
For the Moon she is centuries old !
THE BUSH, MY LOVER
The camp-fire gleams resistance
To every twinkling star ;
The horse-bells in the distance
Are jangling faint and far ;
Through gum-boughs lorn and lonely
The passing breezes sigh ;
In all the world are only
My star-crowned Love and I.
The still night wraps Macquarie ;
The white moon, drifting slow.
Takes back her silver glory
From watching waves below ;
To dalliance I give over
Though half the world may chide,
And clasp my one true Lover
Here on Macquarie side.
230 THE BUSH, MY LOVER
The loves of earth grow olden
Or kneel at some new shrine ;
Her locks are always golden —
This brave Bush-Love of mine ;
And for her star-lit beauty,
And for her dawns dew-pearled,
Her name in love and duty
I guard against the world.
They curse her desert places !
How can they understand
Who know not what her face is
And never held her hand 1 —
Who may have heard the meeting
Of boughs the wind has stirred,
Yet missed the whispered greeting
Our listening hearts have heard.
For some have travelled over
The long miles at her side,
Yet claimed her not as Lover
Nor thought of her as Bride :
And some have followed after
Through sun and mist for years,
Nor held the sunshine laughter,
Nor guessed the raindrops tears.
THE BUSH, MY LOVER 231
If we some white arms' folding,
Some warm, red mouth should miss —
Her hand is ours for holding,
Her lips are ours to kiss ;
And closer than a lover
She shares our lightest breath.
And droops her great wings over
To shield us to the death.
And if her droughts are bitter,
Her dancing mirage vain —
Are all things gold that glitter 1
What pleasure but hath pain?
And since among Love's blisses
Love's penalties must live,
Shall we not take her kisses
And, taking them, forgive 1
The winds of Dawn are roving
The river-oaks astir . .
What heart were lorn of loving
That had no Love but her ?
Till last red stars are lighted
And last winds wander West,
Her troth and mine are plighted —
The lover I love best !
A SPIN OF THE COIN
The Spring is wai'm and waking, and the wattle's
bursting bud ;
And the longing of the rovpr makes a fevei' in the
blood ;
The gi'ass is growing swiftly in the sheltered river
bends,
And the Bush, our old coy lover, waits to kiss us and
make friends ;
And the yearning is upon us to be somewhere and
away,
If it's but to tilt at windmills, as a careless Quixote
may.
And since it matters little if we ride to North or
South,
To the reeling desert dust-showers or the rocking
harbour mouth.
A SPIN OF THE COIN 233
Let's toss our last half-sovereign — and the spinning
coin shall say :
If it's heads, we start to-morrow ; if it's tails, we start
to-day ;
And heads shall be for Sydney Heads, fair wind and
ocean tide,
And tails for tailing weaners on the Diamantina
side !
For Spring is close and coming : you can hear her
rustling wings
And her thousand -throated murmur — never music
like the Spring's !
Her hand is in the rover's and her hps to his are
pressed ;
She is all a-fire and eager, and she will not let us
rest
Till our hand's upon the bridle and our foot's upon
the bar,
And our face is to the freedom of the storm-wind and
the star !
Long luck to every rover — to the west of Sydney
side,
With the blue Sea for a lover or the brov/n Bush for
. a bride !
234 A SPIN OF THE COIN
If they mount with merry laughter, may they never
taste of woe !
If they take the track in sorrow, may they gladden as
they go !
There's a free lance down the Lachlan with their
roving ranks will join
At the bidding of the Springtide and the spinning of
a coin !
A DREAMER OF DREAMS
The song- thrush loves the laurel,
The stone chat haunts the broom,
But the seagull must have room
Where the white drift spins ashore
And the winds and waters quarrel
With the old hate evermore.
You clear with scythe or sabre
A pathway for your feet,
I move in meadow sweet
By the side of silent streams,
And you are lord of labour
And I am serf of dreams.
You fill the red wine flagon
And drink and ride away
To the toil of each new day.
But I quaif till dawn be pale
To the knight or dame or dragon
Of a dream-spun fairy tale.
236 A DREAMER OF DREAMS
You win your chosen maiden
With a bracelet for her wrist ;
Lightly courted, lightly kissed,
She is yours for weal or woe,
But my heart goes sorrow-laden
For a dream-love long ago.
Let our pathways part for ever,
I am all content with mine —
For when lips are tired of wine
As the long-dead dreamers tell,
There are poppies by the river.
There is hemlock in the dell.
THE GRAVES OUT WEST
If the lonely graves are scattered in that fenceless
vast God's Acre,
If no church bells chime across them, and no mourners
tread between —
Yet the souls of those sound sleepers go as swiftly to
their Maker,
And the ground is just as sacred, and the graves ai'e
just as green.
If we chant no solemn dirges to the virtue of their
living.
If we sing no hymn words o'er them-^in the glory of
the stars
They can hear a grander music than was ever ours for
giving,
God's choristers invisible — the winds in the belars.
237
238 THE GRAVES OUT WEST
If we set them up no marble, it is none the less we
love them :
If we carved a million columns would it bring them
better rest 1
If no gentle hands have fashioned snow-white wreaths
to lay above them,
God has laid His own wild flowers on the lonely
graves out West.
FAIRY TALES
I CHANCED on an old l^rown book to-day
All stained and yellow with dust and age,
But the beats of a boy's heart, stilled for aye,
Are heard at the turning of every page.
For the old brown book was the day's desire
When sweet princesses and knights in mail
And guardian dragons with tongues of fire
Were marshalled to fashion a fairy tale.
I laughed at the little Tin Soldier then.
And cried for the Maiden with Heart Ice-cold ;
But now they are different, maids and men,
And the lustre is gone from their garb of gold.
I am reading to-day as a man may read.
By no spell bidden or charm beguiled ;
For the gem is a pebble, the flower a weed,
Till it wake to worth in the heart of a child.
239
240 FAIRY TALES
I turn the pages ; the old loves pass,
But I dream in their dear delight no more ;
I watched them once through a rose hued glass,
I am standing now at an oaken door.
I put them aside with a sigh, a frown,
For the folk seem foolish, the wonders tame.
And I understand as I lay them down
That the stories can never be quite the same.
But I'd give the worth of the books I've read,
The books of the world with their wondrous lore,
Just to go back to the days long dead
With a heart for a fairy tale once more !
VILLANELLE
Last night in Memory's boughs aswing,
When none but I had heart to hear,
A wee bi'own mavis tried to sing.
But, ah ! the wild notes would not ring-
As once they rang — so loud and clear !
Last night in Memory's boughs aswing.
I saw the rowan-clusters cling,
And far away and yet so near
A wee brown mavis tried to sing.
Almost I found a long-lost Spring,
Almost the loves I held so dear,
Last night in Memory's boughs aswing
For joys that had their blossoming
Beyond the grief of each gray year
A wee brown mavis ti'ied to sing ;
241
242 VILLANELLE
But the dew wrapped him, glistening,
And every dew-drop told a tear
Last night in Memory's boughs aswing,
While, throbbing heart and drooping wing,
And chill claws grasping at his bier,
A wee brown mavis tried to sing.
But I shall know when hailstorms sting,
And not forget when leaves are sere,
Last night in Memory's boughs aswing
A wee brown mavis tried to sing.
BEN HALL'S STIRRUP-IRONS
A LITHE young squatter passes in the dust,
His buckles gleaming and his bars aglance ;
But laden with long years of old romance
The quaint old stirrups covered with red rust !
The troops are scattered and the dark days dead
When robber bands made wild the Lachlan side ;
No hunted outlaws to the mountains ride,
A thousand pounds of blood-fee on their head :
And only these quaint stirrups hand us down
The thrilling story no one halts to hear
Of long ^vild rides below the trusted stars.
And that last mournful journey to the town —
The lifeless form bound to the saddle-gear,
The blood-drops falling on the stirrup-bars.
243
BALLADE OF WINDY NIGHTS
Have you learnt the sorrow of windy nights
When lilacs down in the garden moan,
And stars are flickering faint, wan lights.
And voices whisper in wood and stone 1
When steps on the stairway creak and groan,
And shadowy ghosts take an hour of ease
In dim-lit galleries all their own 1
Do you know the sorrow of nights like these 1
Have you lain awake on the windy nights
Slighted by sleep and to rest unknown.
When keen remorse is a whip that smites
With every gust on the window blown 1
When phantom Love from a broken throne
Steps down through the Night's torn tapestries.
Sad eyed and wistful, and ah ! so lone 1
Do you know the sorrow of nights like these 1
BALLADE OF WINDY NIGHTS 245
Have you felt a touch on the windy nights —
The touch of a hand not flesh nor bone,
Bvit a mystical something, pale, that plights
With waning stars and with dead stars strown 1
Or heai'd grey lips with the fire all flown
Pleading again in a lull o' the breeze —
A long life's wreck in a short hour shown 1
Do you know the sorrow of nights like these ?
Ah, the lohirlwind reaped where a ivind is sown,
And the phantom Love in theniijht one sees !
Ah, the touching hand and the pleading tone I
Do ijou know the sorrow of nights like these /
THE BUSHMAK'S FRIEND
Let the sailor tell of the roaring gale
Or the blue waves' rippling laughter,
Let the soldier sing of the sabre swing
Or the laurels of glory after ;
There's a melody in the changeful sea,
There's a charm in the l)attle thunder,
But sweeter than those, the bushman knows,
Is the bound of a good horse under.
You can hear his feet on the sandhill beat
That the dew of the morning lies on,
As he strides away at the dawn of day
Ere the sun has topped the horizon ;
You can hear them pass through the rustling grass
With a beautiful rhythmic measure.
As he pulls at the rein on the open plain
With a share in his master's pleasure.
THE BUSHMAN'S FRIEND 247
You can feel him fight for a faster flight
With an eagerness never grown idle,
As you firmly sit with a hold of the bit
And a strong hand on the bridle ;
You can feel him creep, then plunge with a leap
Like the forward drive of a shallop
When she carves the stream with a gust abeam,
As he changes step in the gallop.
You can tell by his ears that the hoofs he hears
Of the brumbies that cross from the I'iver :
How the foam-flakes flit as he mouths the bit !
How the beautiful nosti'ils quiver !
How he rears and bounds at the nearer sounds
As the mob goes thundering by him !
How he'd lay to his speed and challenge the lead
If his master would only try him !
Let this one stand where the sails are fanned
By a favouring breeze behind him ;
Let that one sip at the cannon's lip
Such joys as the battle can find him ;
This moral to each I'll venture to teach,
Though loth in life's journey to guide him —
A man may have ivorse than an honest horse
And the health and the heart to ride him !
THE CITY OF GRAY GRIEFS
Somewhere, liid in our hearts, a City stands
Gray-mossed with all the sorrow of the years.
And broken-arched with Love's unclasping hands
And mortared stone to stone with bitter tears.
Here at each corner of the silent streets,
By every fountain in the empty squares.
Each one of us his stilled Sorrow meets
Beneath the mouldering arches, unawares.
From dawn till day-death, white beneath the sun.
Hand in cold hand go past our sheeted dead,
Pale with regret for deeds of ours undone.
Weary with longing for our words unsaid.
Here the dim Sins held close in buried days.
With the loud sandals of Remembrance shod.
Make hollow echo on the grass-grown ways,
Calling the vengeance of an unknown God.
•24S
THE CITY OF GRAY GRIEFS 249
Here the lost chances of a ruined life
From shrivelled lips let loose a mocking tongue,
Or turn and stab with a relentless knife
The souls that scorned them when the world was
young.
Here the hot kisses of a cruel love,
The lustful kisses, burn like heated brands ;
Here is no rest ; no Lethe to remove
The snowy fetters of the clinging hands.
Fades the red sun from minaret and dome
Mght after weeping night ; and still beneath
The gray-grown Griefs in long procession come.
Death's messengers without the peace of Death.
CHRISTMAS NIGHT
The lamps will be lit over seas to-night,
And the feast of the year be spread,
And the girls will gather with faces bright
And the wine will sparkle red ;
And hands will close on the glass's stem.
And over the Christmas cheer
The boys will be drinking " Long life to them !"
On the happiest day of the year.
And spite of the sorrow that hides for shame
In the brown locks streaked with gray,
Though a father may frown at a whispered name
Yet a mother will have her way ;
For a son's disgrace is a sword to smite,
But Time is a balm to heal,
And in many a home in the North to-night
They will drink to their ne'er-do-weel.
CHRISTMAS NIGHT 251
The township streets will be full to-night
With the bushmen from far and near
Who have ridden to share in the wild delight
Of the merriest day in the year ;
And men will come from the dusty street
And stand at the crowded bar,
And maybe a memory soft and sweet
Will float to some heart from far —
A flashing of lights in a lordly home,
And a glitter of lifted hands
As they drink to the health of the boys who roam
In those different distant lands.
And there in the midst of a noisy host,
In a sorrow that none can feel,
Will be fashioned, it may be, a silent toast
In the heart of some ne'er do-weel.
THE CRUELLEST DREAM
So here at the last I find
I am holding again your hand,
And why you are cruel no more, but kind,
I scarcely can understand ;
But I know that the earth is ablaze with roses,
I know that the lilies make paths for our feet,
And as long as your hand on my own hand closes
I know that you love me, sweet !
I hear as of old your voice
That is speaking my name so low, so low,
Till all things living rejoice
And all things gladden that grow j
And I know that the skies are a dazzling blue
And the face of the earth is fair,
And I know that the birds are calling you true
In songs that are everywheie.
THE CRUELLEST DREAM 253
I am kissing you ovei* and over,
I am holding you close to my heart,
As of old we are lover and lover
And live in a world apart . . .
I hear no longer your sweet voice calling,
But oiily the wail of the tvind instead;
I have lost yow face in the shadows falling —
Darling ! the cruellest dream is dead.
BOWMONT WATER
O, WE think we're happy roving !
But the stars that crown the night,
They are only ours for loving
When the moon is lost to sight !
And my hopes are fleeting forward
With the ships that sail the sea,
And my eyes are to the Nor 'ward
As an exile's well may be,
And my heart a shrine has sought her
Where the lights and shadows play,
At the foot of Bowmont Water,
Bowmont Water — far away.
O, it's fair in summer weather
When the red sun dropping low
Sets a lustre on the heather
And the Cheviot peaks aglow ;
254
BOWMONT WATER 255
When the hares come down the meadows
In the gloaming clear and still,
And the flirting lights and shadows
Play at hidies on the hill ;
When the wild duck's mate has sought her
And the speckled hill-trout play
At the foot of Bowmont Water,
Bo^vmont Water — far away.
0, it's grand when Winter's creeping
And the rime is on the trees,
And the giant hills are sleeping
With the gray clouds on their knees;
When the autumn days are ended
And the glens are deep with snow,
And the grips are dark and splendid
Where the mountain eagles go :
Then the strath is a king's daughter.
In her purple robes and gray,
At the foot of Bowmont Water,
Bowmont Water — far away.
We have wandered down the valley
In the days of buried time,
Seen the foxgloves dip and dally.
Heard the fairy blue-bells chime ;
256 BOWMONT WATER
Seen the briei' I'oses quiver
When the West-wind crossed the dell,
Heard the music of the river
And the tale it had to tell,
Where the melody Love taught her
Is the laverock's only lay,
At the foot of Bowmont Water,
Bowmont Water — far away.
I have tried the spots, in order,
Where the brightest sunbeams fall,
But the land upon the Border
Is my own land after all.
And I would not take the glory
Of the whole world's golden sheen
For the white mists down the corrie
And the naked scaurs between ;
And my heart a shrine has sought her
That will last her little day — •
At the foot of Bowmont Water,
Bowmont Watei* — far away.
THE ROSE OUT OF REACH
A EKD rose grew on a southward wall,
There was never a rose on the tree so tall ;
Though roses twined at my lingei'ing feet
Roses and roses, scented sweet,
And roses bent to my love-lit eyes,
Roses flaming in wanton guise,
And roses swung at my shoulder height.
Damask and crimson and golden and white,
With a curse for all and a frown for each
I longed for the rose beyond my reach.
The gold sun shone in the summer days,
The wee buds opened a hundred ways ;
Winds of the morning, whispering sweet,
Tossed the blown roses down at my feet.
Dainty petals for lover's tread.
Ruby and ivory — brown and dead !
Q 257
258 THE ROSE OUT OF REACH
But morning to nooning, noon to night,
One rose only glowed in my sight —
Silently, all too rapt for speech,
I worshipped the rose beyond my reach.
I stormed her tower on the southward wall
To drop fatigued from the bastions tall ;
Thorns made sport of me, red as the rose
A hundred wounds ran blood at their blows ;
The soft little roses red and white
Changed to the bitterest foes in spite.
Scourged my face with their stinging wands,
Mocked my toil and my bleeding hands
Till I learned at last what they strove to teach
The great red rose was beyond my reach.
And so I watched in the autumn days :
" Summer is dead," so I mused agaze ;
" The cold mists creep when the night is nigh,
Day after day the roses die.
Storms of winter will gather soon,
Frosts will follow the coming moon —
Here if I wait where the blooms are cast
My love will drop to my arms at last !" .
But wild winds laden with death for each
Blew the red petals beyond my reach.
« SORRY TO GO ! "
I WATCHED by the homestead where moon-beam and
star
Made a glory of night-time and danced with the
dew,
And the bush wind that whispered from ranges afar
Set a-tremble the kurrajong leaves as it blew :
And down by the river,
With white waves aflow,
I bade a farewell to the homestead for ever,
And sighed to the night- world, " I'm sorry to go,"
" Sorry to go" —
And echo came answering, " Sorry to go ! "
I saddled old Dauntless at grey of the dawn
For a last swinging gallop on Moondarra plain ;
He circled and plunged till the girth-straps wei'e
drawn.
And snatched at the snaffle and reached at the
rein ;
Ql 269
260 "SORRY TO GO!"
And swiftly behind us
We left the red glow
Of the sunrise that spread her pink mantle to wind
us,
And magpies awaking sang, " Sorry to go,"
" Sorry to go " —
The bush-birds came mocking me, " Sorry to
go!"
I called to my lover, a chain from her gate ;
She came to the vine-tree to bid me good-bye,
With white arms to weave me a necklet of state
And red lips to smother the sound of a sigh ;
Oh, kisses rained warmly !
Oh, tears that must flow !
To-morrow the sorrow Avhere head and white arm
lie,
To-night the low whisper — " I'm sorry to go,"
" Sorry to go " —
Heart to heart answering, " Sorry to go ! '
I held for a moment an old comrade's hand
Burnt brown with the sun-fire and roughened and
scarred ;
I saw at the touching the whips and the brand,
The camp and the muster, the steers in the yard ;
"SORRY TO GO! " 261
And since I have clasped them
In weal and in woe,
To the toil of the world that has roughened and
rasped them
I leave the brown hands ; crying " Sorry to go,"
*' So7-rij to go " —
"Good-bye!" and "God -speed!" and . . .
" Sorry to go ! "
THE LAND OF DUMB DESPAIR
Beyond where farthest drought-fires burn,
By hand of Fate it once befell,
I reached the realm of No-Return
That meets the March of Hell.
A silence crueller than Death
Laid fetters on the fateful air ;
She holds no hope : she fights for breath.
The Land of Dumb Despair !
Here fill their glasses, red as blood.
The victims of fell Fortune's frown ;
They drink their wine as brave men should
And fling the goblets down.
They crowd the boai'd, red wreaths of rose
Across their foreheads drooped and curled.
But in their eyes the gloom that knows
The grief of all the world.
2b2
THE LAND OF DUMB DESPAIR 263
The poison lies behind their wine
So close, the trembling hands that take
Might well be doubted to divine
Which draught such thirst would slake.
The bows beside their hands are strung ;
The blue steel glitters, bare of sheath ;
'Tis wonder tired Life drags among
So many ways to Death !
They may not whisper, one to one,
The stories of their fancied fall :
The words that ring beneath the sun
Would faint in such a pall.
In silence, man by man, they reach
For cup, for arrow, or for sword.
And still the grey World fills the breach
Each leaves beside the board.
L'ENVOI
TO THE OVERLANDERS
Take this farewell from one must leave
The rowel and the rein
Before the blue Canoblas weave
Their snow-white hoods again ;
Before the winter suns have kissed
The lips of Autumn dead,
Before they call the next year's list
At Nocoleche shed ;
Before the pines on Lightning Ridge
Have bowed to six new moons,
Before the floods to Tarrion Bridge
Back up the dry lagoons.
In vain the luring West-wind sighs —
For Home's across the sea,
And Northward round the Leu win lies
The next long trip for me !
TO THE OVERLANDERS 266
In leisure and in labour
We've /aced the world afield,
With saddle /or a sahre
And brave heart for a shield ;
We've /ought the long dry weather.
We've heard the wiM floods wake,
We've battled through together
For the old game's royal sake.
We have heard the tug-chains ring in the swamps
When the thundering whipstrokes fall ;
We have watched the stars on the droving camps
Come out by the gum-trees tall ;
We have lingered long by the low slip-rails
Where maybe a light love waits,
When shadows creep and the red sun sails
Low down by the stockyard gates ;
We have stirred perhaps by the lone watch-fires
The ashes of old regret,
The loves unwon and the lost desires,
And the hopes that are hard to forget.
The tracks we've travelled over
Were hungry tracks and hard ;
Long days v)e've flayed the rover,
Dark nights we've kept our guard ;
266 TO THE OVERLANDERS
But chained in silver glories
The Bush our hearts has stirred.
And told the starlight stories
That no one else has heard.
The gray-white dawns will wake you and the gold
noons watch you pass
Behind the roving Queensland mobs knee-deep in
Nebine grass ;
You will cross the old tracks Nor'wai^d, you will run
the old roads West,
And I shall follow with my heart dream-droving
with the rest,
And often in the sleepless nights I'll listen, as I
lie,
To the hobble-chains clink-clinking, and the horse-
bells rippling by.
I shall hear the brave hoofs beating, I shall see the
moving steers
And the red glow of the camp-fii'es as they flame
across the years.
And my heart will fill with longing just to ride for
once again
In the forefront of the battle where the men who
fight are Men ;
TO THE OVERLANDERS 267
And when beyond the Ocean we are pledging toasts
in wine,
I shall give " The Overlanders ! " in that far-off land
of mine.
The Brave West ! Here's totvard her !
The "■plant's" gone out before:
Their heads are to the Border
B^it I'll go out no more ;
We've fought the long dry tceather ;
We've faced the blinding tvet ;
And we were mates together
And I shall not forget !
Websdale, Shoosmith and Co., Printers, Sydney
Xovemhe.r. 1906.
SELECTED LIST OF BOOKS
PUBLISHED BY
Angus & Robertson
PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITY
89 CA8TLEREAGH STREET, SYDNEY
FAIR GIRLS AND GRAY HORSES,
WITH OTHER VERSES.
By Will H. Ogilvie. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, gilt
top, with portrait ("Snowy River" Series),
5s. {post free 5s. 5d.).
The Argus: "There is a faculty for rhythmical versification
display eel on every page, a true and sympathetic eye for Nature
in her many garbs, a certain careless gaiety of touch in the
lighter poeins, and many ballads which strike a simple and
genuine note of feeling. ... In lines full of freshness and
vigour Mr. Ogilvie seizes upon the picturesque aspects of bush
life. Passing by the monotony and the dreary details, he sings
of the sights and sounds of the camp and the cattle trail in a
strain which inclines his readers to doubt the assertion that
melancholy ever brooded over the Australian Bush."
New Zealand Mail : ' ' There is all the buoyancy, the lustiness
of youth, the joie-de-vivre of the man who rejoices in the fresh
air 'and the fine, free, up-country life — all this there is in Mr.
Ogihde's verse, and much more that is eminently sane and
healthy, a characteristic production of a wholesome mind. ' '
Queenslander : "Within the covers of 'Fair Girls and Gray
Horses' lie some delicious morsels to tempt all palates. There
is for the asking, the stirring swing and rhythm of his galloping
rhymes, the jingle of bit and bridle, the creak of well-worn
saddles, the scent of gum and wattle, the swift, keen rush of
the bush wind in the face of ' The Man Who Steadies the Lead. '
. . . . Picture after picture starts out of his pages to
gladden the hearts of the men out back."
Glasgow Daily Mail: "A volume which deserves a hearty
welcome is this collection of Australian verse. ... It has
a spirit and lyrical charm that make it very enjoyaljle, ' '
I
THE AUSTRALIAN GOLFER.
By D. G. SouTAR, Amateur Cliampion of Austra-
lasia. 1903; Amateur Cliampion of New South
Wales, 1903-4; Open Champion of Austra-
la'-ia, 1905. AVith Tti plates and 13 diagrams.
Demy 8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top, 10s. 6d. {post
free'lls. 3d.).
The Australasian : ' ' He has spared no trouble or expense
in making the book first-class. There are nearly 70 pictures of
golfers in every stage of making the various shots. This is one
])oiut in which Soutar's book excels other books. They usually
give the positions at the commencement and the finish of the
shots, and also at the top of the swing, but Soutar traces the
shot all the way round. He also gives little details apt to be
overlooked, but which are very valuable. ' '
Sydney Morning Herald : ' ' Mr. Soutar 's book will be highly
appreciated as affording a sort of finishing touch to practical
instruction, and a valuable guide to the subtleties of the game
as practised in Australia. And, for those players who live away
from centres of population, and who are without the aid of
professionals or players who have learnt from professionals, ' The
Australian Golfer' should be indispensable."
Extract from Preface: "My principal difficulty in compil-
ing this treatise has been in deciding what to leave out, for
there is an ever-present danger of embarrassing the beginner
with too much detail, and I feel strongly that whatever success
may have attended my efforts at coaching in person, has been
largely due to the fact that I have always tried to avoid an
insistence upon minor details at first. But, in dealing with the
game on paper, one has to avoid the other danger of leaving out
important details — or, rather, details which become important
when tho pupil has reached a certain stage in his golfing educa-
tion. For this reason I have given considerable care to the
preparation of a set of diagrams showing exactly how one
ought to stand, and hold the club for each separate shot, and
these, in conjunction with the photographs — which were taken
especially for this book — should enable the student, not only to
lay the foundation of a correct style and swing, Vjut to correct
any faults he may have already developed in this direction. The
value of the diagrams, as compared with all others which have
come under my notice, lies in the fact that they give the angle
at which the club is held in each instance, as well as the position
of the feet, and this is an imjiortant detail, for it is quite
possible to neutralise the effect of correctness in the latter
respect by stooping too much over the ball, or the reverse. ' '
2
AN ANTHOLOGY OF AUSTRALIAN VERSE.
Edited by Bertram Stevens. Foolscap 8vo.,
limp calf, extra gilt, gilt top, with silk
marker, 3s. 6d. ; cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. {postage
3d.).
This volume contains the best verse written by Australians,
or inspired by Australian scenery and conditions of life. The
Editor has explored every available source, exercising at the
same time great discrimination.
Mr. Will H. Ogilvie, in the course of an interesting letter,
says: — "Congratulations are due to your Editor for his selec-
tion. ... At last we shall get away from the 'humorously
absurd' attitude; at last we shall get something of the true
spirit of Australian poetry."
Sydney Morning Herald : ' ' There is evidence in the selec-
tions and in the introduction that he has made a diligent and
careful study of the whole field of Australian poetry. We have
only to thank both editor and publishers for a beautiful little
book full of beautiful things."
The Argus : " It represents an achievement to which the most
patriotic Australian may point with legitimate pride."
The Age : ' ' He deserves to be sincerely complimented for the
admirable fashion in which he has brought what must have been
an arduous task to fruition. ' '
Brisbane Courier: "One of the most charming things of the
kind ever given to Australia. ' '
The Kegister (Adelaide): "This precious parcel of Austra-
lian song. ' '
The Australasian: "A delightful pocket companion."
Town and Country Journal: "A charming little volume to
read and to handle."
The Leader: "The work of selection has been well done, and
the editor may be complimented on the discretion and critical
taste he has displayed. ' '
Launceston Examiner : ' * The book is one that should be in
the library of every Australian. ' '
London: Macmillan and Co., Ltd.
AN OUTBACK MARRIAGE : a story of Australian Life.
By A. B. Paterson, author of "The Man from
Sno^\^ River," and "Rio Grande's Last
Race." Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. {post
free 4s.).
"Rolf Boldrewood," on reading this story in serial form,
wrote: — "The dialect is simply delicious, and the general de-
scriptions of outback life most original and effective."
[Just published.
DOT AND THE KANGAROO.
By Ethel C. Pedley. With 6 plates by F. P.
Mahony. Crown 8vo., cloth, extra gilt, 3s. 6d.
{post free 3s. lid.).
Sydney Morning Herald: " 'Dot and the Kangaroo' is with-
out doubt one of the most charming books that could be put into
the hands of a child. It is admirably illustrated by Frank P.
Mahony, who seems to have entered thoroughly into the spirit
of this beautiful journey into the animal world of Australia.
The story is altogether Australian. . . . It is told so simply,
and yet so artistically, that even the ' grown-ups ' amongst us
must enjoy it. ' '
Daily Telegraph : ' ' The late Miss Ethel Pedley was a
musician to the core. But towards the close of her life she
made one step aside into the domain of a sister art, which re-
sulted in a book for children, entitled 'Dot and the Kangaroo' —
a charming story of the ' Alice in Wonderland ' order. . . .
Dot, the small heroine, is lost in the bush, where she is fed and
ministered to by a helpful kangaroo, who introduces her gradu-
ally to quite a little circle of acquaintances. We hob-nob,
through Dot, with our old friends the opossum, the native bear,
the platypus, the bower-bird, not to speak of the emu sheep-
hunters and the cockatoo judge. There is a most exciting fight
between a valiant kookooburra and a treacherous snake. Alto-
gether, Miss Pedley 's story is told in a way to entrance our
small readers, who generally revel in tales where animals are
invested with human attributes. ' '
THE SECRET KEY, AND OTHER VERSES
By George Essex Evans. CroT\Ti 8vo., cloth gilt,
gilt top, with portrait ("Snowy River"
Series), 5s. {post free 5s. 6d.)
[Just puhlished.
THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER,
AND OTHER VERSES.
By A. B. Paterson. Thirty-fifth thousand.
With photogravure portrait and vignette
title. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s.
(post free os. 5d.).
The Literary Tear Book: "The immediate success of this
book of bush ballads is without parallel in Colonial literary
annals, nor can any living English or American poet boast so
wide a public, always excepting Mr. Eudyard Kipling."
Spectator: "These lines have the true lyrical ciy in them.
Eloquent and ardent verses. ' '
ATHEy^EUM : "Swinging, rattling ballads of ready humour,
ready pathos, and crowding adventure. . . . Stirring and
entertaining ballads about great rides, in which the lines gallop
like the very hoofs of the horses. ' '
The Times: "At his best he compares not unfavourably with
the author of 'Barrack-Eoom Ballads.' "
Mr. A. Patchett Martin, in Literature (London): "In
my opinion, it is the absolutely un-English, thoroughly Aus-
tralian style and character of these new bush bards which has
given them such immediate popularity, such wide vogue, among
all classes of the rising native generation. ' '
Westmixster Gazette: "Australia has produced in Mr. A.
B. Paterson a national poet whose bush ballads are as distinc-
tively characteristic of the country as Burns 's poetry is charac-
teristic of Scotland. ' '
The Scotsman: "A book like this ... is worth a dozen
of the aspiring, idealistic sort, since it has a deal of rough
laughter and a dash of real tears in its composition. ' '
Glasgow^ Herald : ' ' These ballads . . . are full of such
go that the mere reading of them makes the blood tingle. . . .
But there are other things in Mr. Paterson 's book besides mere
racing and chasing, and each piece bears the mark of special
local knowledge, feeling, and colour. The poet has also a note
of pathos, which is always wholesome. ' '
Literar? World: "He gallops along with a by no means
doubtful music, shouting his vigorous songs as he rides in pur-
suit of wild bush horses, constraining us to listen and ai)plaud
by dint of his manly tones and capital subjects. . , . We
turn to Mr. Paterson 's roaring muse with instantaneous grati-
tude. ' '
London: MacmUlan and Co., Limited.
RIO GRANDE'S LAST RACE, AND OTHER VERSES.
By A. B. Paterson. Fifth thousand. Crown
8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s. {post free 5s. 5d.).
Spkctator : ' ' There is no mistaking the vigour of Mr. Pater-
son 's verse ; there is no difficulty in feeling the strong human
interest which moves in it. ' '
Daily Mail: "Every way worthy of the man who ranks with
the first of Australian poets. ' '
Scotsman: "At once naturalistic and imaginative, and racy
without being slangy, the poems have always a strong human
interest of every-da_y life to keep them going. They make a
book which should give an equal pleasure to simple and to
fastidious readers. ' '
Bookman: "Now and again a deeper theme, like an echo
from the older, more experienced land, leads him to more serious
singing, and proves that real poetry is, after all, universal. It
is a hearty book. ' '
Daily Chronicle : ' ' Mr. Paterson has powerful and varied
sympathies, coupled with a genuine lyrical impulse, and some
skill, which makes his attempts always attractive and usually
successful. ' '
Glasgow Herald: "These are all entertaining, their rough
and ready wit and virility of expression making them highly
acceptable, while the dash of satire gives point to the humour."
British Australasian: "He catches the bush in its most
joyous moments, and writes of it with the simple charm of an
unaffected lover."
The Times: "Will be welcome to that too select class at
home who follow the Australian endeavour to utter a fresh and
genuine poetic voice."
Manchester Courier: "Mr. Paterson now proves beyond
question that Australia has produced at least one singer who
can voice in truest poetry the aspirations and experiences
peculiar to the Commonwealth, and who is to be ranked with the
foremost living poets of the motherland. ' '
St. James 's Gazette : ' ' Fine, swinging, stirring stuff, that
sings as it goes along. The subjects are capital, and some of
the refrains haunt one. There is always room for a Iwok of
unpretentious, vigorous verse of this sort."
The Argus: "These ballads make bright and easy reading;
one takes up the book, and, delighted at the rhythm, turns page
after page, finding entertainment upon each. ' '
London: Macmillan and Co., Limited.
THE POETICAL WORKS OF
BRUNTON STEPHENS.
New edition, with pliotogra\^ire portrait. Crown
8vo., clotli gilt, gilt top, 5s. (post free 5s. 5d.).
See also CommoniveaJth Series, page 14.
The Times : ' ' This collection of the works of the Queensland
poet, who has for a generation deservedly held a high place in
Australian literature, well deserves study. ' '
Daily News : "In turning over the pages of this volume,
one is struck by his breadth, his versatility, his compass, as
evidenced in theme, sentiment, and style. ' '
The Athen jeum : ' ' Brunton Stephens, . . . well known
to all those who are curious in Australian literature, as being,
on the whole, the best of Australian poets."
St. James ' Gazette : ' ' This substantial volume of verse con-
tains a great deal that is very fresh and pleasing, whether grave
or gay."
Manchester Guardian : ' ' He shows a capacity for forceful
and rhetorical verse, which makes a fit vehicle for Imperial
themes. ' '
Speaker: "We gladly recognise the merit of much that
appears in ' The Poetical Works of Mr. Brunton Stephens. '
. . . . In the more ambitious pieces (and in these the author
is most successful) he models himself on good masters, and his
strains have power and dignity."
Publishers' Circular: "Having greatly enjoyed many of
the poems in the handsome edition of Mr. Brunton Stephens'
works, we strongly advise such readers of poetry in the old
country as are unacquainted -n-ith his contributions to English
literature to procure the volume as soon as possible."
A BUSH GIRL'S SONGS.
By 'Rena Wallace. With portrait. Crown
8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s. {post free 3s. 4d.).
Daily Telegraph: "There is passion as well as melody in
'A Bush Girl's Songs'; and there is thought also — real thought,
that underlies the music of the verse, and gives the writer some-
thing definite to comnnmieate to her readers on the great
universal subjects that arc the province of true poetry, as
distinct from mere verse. One cannot help remarking with
pleasure the prevailing note of hopefulness, a sunshiny charm,
that is felt throughout all this fresh young writer's work."
HOW HE DIED, AND OTHER POEMS.
By John Farrell. "With Memoir, Appreciations,
and photopravure portrait. Crown 8vo.,
cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s. {j^ost free 5s. 4d.).
Melbourne Age: "Farrell's contributions to the literatnre
of this country were always distinguished by a fine, stirring
optimism, a genuine sympathy, and an idealistic sentiment,
which in the book under notice find their fullest expression."
New Zealand Mail: "Of the part of Mr. Farrell's work con-
tained in this volume it is not necessary to say more than that
it has long since received sincere commendation, not only from
other Australian writers, but from men eminent in letters in
England and America. ' '
The World 's News : " It is a volume which no Australian
reader can afford to be without. John Farrell was a \-igorous
writer, one, too, in whom the poetic spirit was very strong, and
he had the gift of expressing himself in terse language. Had
he written nothing else than 'Australia to England,' his name
would live for all time. ' '
PARSIFAL : A Romantic " Mystery" Drama.
By T. HiLHOUSE Taylor. With Preface by J.
C. Williamson. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.
{post free 3s. 9d.).
Extract from Preface : " . . . . 1 thought that in
capable hands a play could be written worthy of the grandeur
of the subject and its magnificent scenic surroundings.
I sought out my old friend, the Eev. T. H. Taylor, for whose
literary ability I have great admiration, and endeavoured to
interest him in this subject. He took the matter up with
enthusiastic zeal and religious fervour, making a deep study of
the subject, and not confining himself in any way to Wagner's
opera for the material; the result being a play which seems to
me to be tnily poetic and intensely dramatic. ' '
Daily Telegraph: "The author has produced a drama which
not only contains many passages of poetic beauty, but provides
ample scope for the great spectacular scenes that are necessary
(o the effective staging of this form of drama."
Town and Country Journal : * ' Mr. Taylor has performed
his diflScult task in a scholarly, sympathetic, and conscientious
manner. ' '
8
WHEN THE WORLD WAS WIDE,
AND OTHER VERSES.
By Henry Lawson. With photogravure por-
trait and vignette title. Crown 8vo., cloth
gilt, gilt top, 5s. {post free 5s. 5d.).
The Academy: "These ballads (for such they mostly are)
abound in spirit and manhood, in the colour and smell of Aus-
tralian so.il. They deserve the popularity -n-hich they have won
in Australia, and which, we trust, this edition will now give them
in England. ' '
The Speaker: "There are poems in 'In the Days When the
"World was Wide' which are of a higher mood that any yet
heard in distinctively Australian poetrj-. "
Literary World: "Not a few of the pieces have made us
feel discontented with our sober surroundings, and desirous of
seeing new birds, now landscapes, new stars; for at times the
blood tingles because of Mr. Lawson 's galloping rhymes."
- Newcastle Weekly Chronicle: "Swinging, rhythmic
verse. ' '
Sydney Morning Herald: "The verses have natural vigour,
the writer has a rough, true faculty of characterisation, and
the book is racy of the soil from cover to cover. . . . The
wTiter of these' lines looks at things as they are. He pictures
the country in drought and rain, the life of the bush, the types
that are bred there, the words they say, and the thoughts they
think. The highest praise that can be given these pictures is
to recognise their fidelity. ' '
Ne-\v Zealand Mail: "This is emphatically a book to buy,
to read, and to re-read with ever-recurring pleasure. ' '
Sydney Bulletin: "How graphic he is, how natural, how
true, how strong. ' '
WINSLOW PLAIN.
By Sarah P. McL. Greene, author of "Flood-
Tide," "Vesty of the Basins," &c. Crown
8vo., cloth gilt, with portrait, 3s. 6d. {post
free 4s.).
Daily Telegraph: "It is brimful of actuality set with deli-
cate embroidery of imagination and of humour. It is perNraded
y>y boys prankish, irresistible, genuine."
The Age: "The studies of New England life and character
presented to us in 'Winslow Plain' are fresh, vigorous, and
original. ' '
9
WHEN I WAS KING, AND OTHER VERSES.
By Henry Lawson. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.
(post free 4s.).
Also in two imrts, entitled "When I Was King," and "The
Elder Son." See page 14.
Spectator (London) : "A good deal of humour, a great deal
of spirit, and a robust philosophy are the main characteristics
of these Australian poets. Because they write of a world they
know, and of feelings they have themselves shared in, they are
far nearer the heart of poetry than the most accomplished de-
votees of a literary tradition. ' '
Sydney Morning Herald: "He is known wherever the
English language is spoken; he is the very god of the idolatry
of Australian buslimen ; ... he has written more and is
better known than any other Australian of his age. . . .
There is a musical lilt about his verses which makes these dwell
in the memory, and there is in them also a revelation of truth
and strength. . . . 'When I was King' contains work of
which many a craftsman in words might well be proud . . .
lines that Walt Whitman — ^a master of rhythm when he liked,
and a worshipper of it always — would have been proud to claim
as his own. ' '
Brisbane Daily Mail: "The present volume is new and yet
old — there is the same vigorous speech, ringing phrase, swinging
rhythm, and big human heart pulsing through these poems as
in his other works. There is, too, a freshness, a dramatic
power, and an intensity of expression which shows Mr. Lawson
at his best. ' '
Daily Telegraph: "Not only is this fine, rousing invocation
and good poetry; not only does it display Mr. Lawson on the
slogan-note he raises so clearly and holds so well; it renders no
more than due credit to the indomitable people of rural Aus-
tralia, whose lot . . . exhales the hope and trust in country
without which there is no real patriotism. ' '
Brisbane Observer: "Henry Lawson is among the few quot-
able Australian writers of verse. There is about his work a
[)icturcsqueness and a flavour so typically Australian as to make
it easily understood and specially acceptable."
VESTY OF THE BASINS.
By Sarah P. McL. Greene, author of "Winslow
Plain," "Flood-Tide," &c. Crown 8vo.,
cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. {post free 4s.).
10
VERSES, POPULAR AND HUMOROUS.
By Henry Lawson. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt,
3s. 6d. (post free 4s.).
For cheaper edition see Commomvealth Series, page Id.
Francis Thompson, in The Daily Chronicle: "He is a
writer of strong and ringing ballad verse, who gets his blows
straight in, and at his best makes them all tell. He can vignette
the life he knows in a few touches, and in this book shows an
increased power of selection."
New York Evening Journal: "Such pride as a man feels
when he has true greatness as his guest, this newspaper feels
in introducing to a million readers a man of ability hitherto
unknown to them. Henry Lawson is his name. ' '
Academy : ' ' Mr. Lawson 's work should be well known to our
readers, for we have urged them often enough to make acquaint-
ance with it. He has the gift of movement, and he rarely offers
a loose rhyme. Technically, short of anxious lapidary work,
these verses are excellent. He varies sentiment and humour very
agreeably. ' '
The Book Lover: "Any book of Lawson 's should be bought
and treasured by all who care for the real beginnings of Aus-
tralian literature. As a matter of fact, he is the one Australian
literary product, in any distinctive sense. ' '
The Bulletin: "He is so very human that one's humanity
cannot but welcome him. ... To the perpetuation of his
value and fame, many pieces in * Verses : Popular and Humorous '
will contribute.
JOE WILSON AND HIS MATES.
By Henry Lawson. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt,
3s. 6d. (post free 4s.).
For cheaper edition see Commonwealth Series, page 14.
The Athex^um (London): "This is a long way the best
work Mr. Lawson has yet given us. These stories are so good
that (from the literary point of view, of course) one hopes
they are not autobiographical. As autobiography they would
be good; as pure fiction they are more of an attainment."
The Academy : " It is this rare convincing tone of this
Australian writer that gives him a great value. The most
casual 'newspapery' and apparently artless art of this Aus-
tralian writer carries with it a truer, finer, more delicate com-
mentary on life than all the idealistic works of any of our
genteel school of writers."
11
WHILE THE BILLY BOILS.
By Henry Lawson. With eight illustrations and
vignette title, by F. P. Mahony. Crown 8vo.,
cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. {post free 4s.).
For cheaper edition see Commonwealth Series, page Id.
The Academy: "A book of houest, direct, .sympa/thetic,
humorous Avriting about Australia from within is worth a librarj'
of travellers' tales. . . . The result is a real book — a book
in a hundred. His language is terse, supple, and richly
idiomatic. He can tell a yarn with the best."
The Scotsman: "There is no lack of dramatic imagination
in the construction of the tales; and the best of them contrive
to construct a strong sensational situation in a couple of pages.
But the chief charm and value of the book is its fidelity to the
rough character of the scenes from which it is drawn. ' '
Literature: "A book which Mrs. Campbell Praed assured
me made her feel that all she had written of bush life was pale
and ineffective. ' '
The Spectator: "It is strange that one we would venture
to call the greatest Australian writer should be practically un-
known in England. Mr. Lawson is a less experienced writer
than Mr. Kipling, and more unequal, but there are two or three
sketches in this volume which for vigour and truth can hold
their own with even so great a rival. Both men have somehow
gained that power of concentration which by a few strong strokes
can set place and people before you with amazing force."
The Times: "A collection of short and vigorous studies and
stories of Australian life and character. A little in Bret Harte 's
manner, crossed, perhaps, with that of Guy de Maupassant. ' '
British Weekly: "Many of Mr. Lawson 's tales photograph
life at the diggings or in the bush with an incisive and remorse-
less reality that grips the imagination. He silhouettes a swag-
man in a couple of pages, and the man is there, alive."
FLOOD TIDE.
By Sarah P. McL. Greene, author of ''Vesty of
the Basins," "Winslow Plain," &e. Cloth
gilt, 3s. 6d. {'post free is.).
The Times (Minneapolis): "For gentle humour that steals
away all the cares and worries of living, I can commend this
book. ' '
12
ON THE TRACK AND OVER THE SLIPRAILS.
By Henry Lawson. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt,
3s. 6d. {post free is.).
For cheaper edition see CommonweaWi Scries, page 14.
Daily Chronicle: "Will well sustain the reputation its
author has already won as the best writer of Australian short
stories and sketches the literary world knows."
Pall Mall Gazette: "The volume now received will do
much to enhance the author's reputation. There is all the
quiet irresistible humour of Dickens in the description of 'The
Darling River,' and the creator of 'Truthful James' never did
anything better in the way of character sketches than Steelmau
and Mitchell. ' '
Glasgow Herald : ' ' ^Ir. Lawson must now be regarded as
facile princeps in the production of the short tale. Some of
these brief and even slight sketches are veritable gems that
would be spoiled by an added word, and without a word that
-can be looked i;pon as superfluous."
Sydney Morning Herald: "It is not too much to say for
these sketches that they show an acquaintance with bush life
and an insight into the class of people which is to be met with
in this life that are hardly equalled in Australia. ... In a
few words he can paint for you the landscape of his pictures
or the innermost recesses of his bushman 's soul. ' '
Melbourne Punch: "Often the little stories are wedges cut
clean out of life, and presented with artistic truth and vivid
colour. ' '
THE WORKS OF HENRY LAWSON
Three volumes of verse and three of prose sketches,
all uniformly bound in green cloth, with gilt
titles, enclosed in a handsome cloth-covered
case of same colour, with hinged lid. 25s. per
set.
Contents.
Verse : In the Days when the World was Wide.
When I was King, and other Veraes.
Vei"ses, Popular and Humorous.
Prose : W^hile the Billy Boils.
On the Track and Over the Sliprails.
Joe Wilson and His Mates,
13
THE COMMONWEALTH SERIES.
Crown 8vo., picture cover, Is. each (postage 3d.).
The Old Bush Songs. Edited hy A. B. Paterson
When I was King : New Verses. By Henry Lawson
The Elder Son: New Verses. By Henry Lawson
Joe Wilson : Stories. By Henry Lawson
Joe Wilson's Mates: Stories. By Henry Lawson
On the Track : Stories. By Henry Lawson
Over the Sliprails : Stories. By Henry Lawson
Popular Verses. By Henry Lawson
Humorous Verses. By Henry Lawson
While the Billy Boils: Stories. — First Series.
By Henry Lawson
While the Billy Boils : Stories. — Second Series
By Henry Lawson
My Chinee Cook, and other Humorous Verses.
By Brunt on Stephens
History of Australasia: From the Earliest Times
TO THE Inauguration of the Commonwealth.
By A. W. Jose
History of Australian Bushranging.
By CJwrles White
Part I.— The Early Days.
Part II.— 1850 to 1862.
Part III.— 1863 to 1869.
Part IV.— 1869 to 1878.
*^* Far press notices of these boolxis see the cloth-hound editions
on pages 7, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, and 23 oj this catalogue,
14
THE OLD BUSH SONGS.
Collected and edited by A. B. Paterson, author
of "The Man from Snowy River," "Rio
Grande's Last Race," &c. Fifth thousand.
CrowTi 8vo., cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. {post free
2s. 9d.).
For cheaper edition see Commonwealth Series, page 14.
Daily Telegraph: "Eude and rugged these old bush songs
are, but they carry in their vigorous lines the very impress of
their origin and of their genuineness. . . . Mr. Paterson
has done his work like an artist. ' '
THE SPIRIT OF THE BUSH FIRE :
Australian Fairy Tales.
By J. M. Whitpeld. Second thousand. With 32
illustrations by G. W. Lambert. Cro^^^l 8vo.,
cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. {post free 3s.).
Sydney Morning Herald: "It is frankly written for the
young folks, and the youngster will find a delight in Miss Whit-
f eld's marvellous company."
Daily Telegraph : " It is pleasant to see author and artist
working together in such complete harmony. "We have had so-
called 'Australian' fairy tales before, but the sprites and gnomes
and mermaids have been merely stray visitors from English
shores, old acquaintances of an old-world childhood, dressed to
suit alien surroundings. Miss Whitf eld's fairies are native to
the soil. ' '
THE MAKING OF SHAKESPEARE.
AND OTHER PAPERS.
By Henry Gullett, President of the Shakespeare
Society of New South AVales. Demy 8vo.,
2s. 6d. {post free 2s. 8d.).
COMMERCIAL EDUCATION IN EUROPE.
By E. R. Holme, B.A., Lecturer in English.
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. {post free
2s. 9d.).
15
THE ANNOTATED CONSTITUTION OF THE
AUSTRALIAN COMMONWEALTH.
By Sir John Quick and R. R. Garran, C.M.G.
Royal 8vo., cloth gilt, 21s.
The Times: "The Annotated Constitution of the Australian
Commonwealth is a monument of inrliistry. . . . Dr. Quick
and Mr. Garran have collected with patience and enthusiasm
every sort of information, legal and historical, which can throw
light on the new measure. The book has evidently been a labour
of love. ' '
The Scotsman: "Students of constitutional law owe a
welcome, and that in a scarcely less degree than lavryers do who
are likely to have to interpret the laws of the Australian Consti-
tution, to this learned and exhaustive commentary
The book is an admirable working text-book of the Constitu-
tion. ' '
Daily Chronicle: "Here is the new Constitution set out and
explained, word by word — how each phrase was formulated, where
they all came from, why they were put in, the probable diffi-
culties of interpreting or administering each clause, with such
help as can be given by considering similar difficulties in other
Constitutions; eveiy point, in fine, in which lawyers' skill or
the zeal of enthusiasts can discern the elements of interest."
Glasgow Herald: "Will at once take rank as a standai'd
authority, to be consulted, not only by students of constitutional
history and political science, but also by all those who, in the
active fields of law, politics, or commerce, have a practical in-
terest in the working of the new federal institutions of Aus-
tralia. ' '
HISTORY OF AUSTRALIAN BUSHRANGING.
By Charles White. In two vols. Crown 8vo.,
cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. each {postage 6d. each).
See also Commonwealth Series, page 14.
Year Book of Australia : ' ' The bushrangers have long since
left the stage of Australian history, but their evil deeds live
after them, and are likely to do so for many years to come.
Having collected all the published details relating to the career
of the Tasmanian as well as the Australian gangs, Mr. White
has reduced them to a very readable narrative, which may fairly
be termed a history. In this shape it forms a valuable contri-
bution to the general history of the country, especially as a
picture of social life in the past."
Queenslander : ' ' Mr. White has supplied material enough
for twenty such novels as ' Robbery Under Arms. ' ' '
16
THE LAW OF LANDLORD AND TENANT IN
NEW SOUTH WALES.
By J. H. Hammond, B.A., LL.B., and C. G. W.
Davidson, B.A., LL.B., Barristers-at-Law.
Demy 8vo., cloth gilt, 25s. (i^ost free
25s. lOd.).
Sydney Morning Herald: " ... a valuable contribu-
tion to legal literature. . . . The authors have incorporated
the various Statutes in force in the State, annotating them with
care, precision, and judgment. The notes and references have
relation, not only to decisions in this and the other States of
the Commonwealth, but also to English decisions under Statutes
held to be in force in New South Wales. . . . The value of
the work, which bears evidence of close and careful research, is
enhanced by the fact that hitherto there has been no text-book
which completely embraced the subject."
Daily Telegraph: "It must be said that the joint authors
have done thsir work in an able and thorough way, the 560
pages which the book contains being replete with matters of
moment to those desirous of ascertaining the state of the law
on rather a complicated subject. . . . The whole of the
local law of landlord and tenant is presented in a concise form
to the i^rof ession and the general public. ' '
THE LAND AND INCOME TAX LAW OF
NEW SOUTH WALES.
By M. M. D'Arcy Irvine, B.A., Solicitor of the
Supreme Court. Demy 8vo., cloth gilt, 42s.
{post free 43s.).
The Sydney Morning Herald: "We have here a complete
review of the direct taxation scheme of the State for the last
ten years; an authoritative review which gives the law itself
and its interpretation. . . . Mr. D 'Arcy Irvine iloes not
inflict upon us the long descriptions of the road to a decision
which some judges find it necessary or expedient to make. He
gives us the decision, the one important matter, and little
else."
Daily Telegraph : ' ' The author has done his work in a most
thorough way, and has produced what should be a valuable con-
tribution to local legal literature. Moreover, the subject is
dealt with in such a perspicuous style, that a layman, by perusal
of it, should have no difiSculty in ascertaining exactly where he
stands mth regard to the Acts bearing upon this form of taxa-
tion."
17
THE JUSTICES' MANUAL AND POLICE GUIDE :
A synopsis of offences punishable by indictment and on
sumniarv conviction, definitions of crimes, meanings of
legal phrases, hint . on evidence, procedure, police duties,
&c
Compiled by Daniel Stephen, Senior-Sergeant of
Police. Second edition, revised in accordance
with State and Federal Enactments to the end
of 1905, and enlarged by the inclusion of a
concise summary of Commercial Law. Crown
8vo., cloth gilt, 6s. (post free 6s. 6d.).
Sydney Morning Herald: "Justices of the peace ami others
concerned in the administration of the law will find the value
of this admirably-arranged work. . . . "We had nothing l3ut
praise for the first edition, and the second edition is better than
the first. ' '
Town and Country Journal: "The author has put together
a vast amount of useful and generally practical information
likely to be interesting, as well as valuable, to justices of the
peace, policemen, and all others concerned in the administration
of the law."
Sydney Mah.: "A well got up handbook that should prove
of decided value to a large section of the community. . . .
Primarily intended for justices of the peace and policemen, it
is so handily arranged, so concise, and so comprehensive, that
it should appeal to everyone who wants to know just how he
stands in regard to the law of the land."
Sydney Wool and Stock Journaj.: "The book practically
makes every man his own lawyer, and enables him to see at a
glance what the law is upon any given point, and will save
more than its cost at the first consultation."
Sydney Stock and Station Journal: "To speak of a work
of this kind as being interesting would doubtless cause surprise;
but it is most certainly a very interesting work. We strongly
recommend it. ' '
COOKERY BOOK OF GOOD AND TRIED
RECEIPTS
Compiled for the 'Vi?omen's Mlcsionary Association
Ninth edition, enlarged, completing the 75th
thousand. Crown 8vo., cloth, Is. {post free
Is. 3d.).
18
IRRIGATION WITH SURFACE AND SUBTER
RANEAN WATERS, AND LAND DRAINAGE.
By W. Gibbons Cox, C.E. With 81 illiLstrations
and a coloured map of Australia. Crown 8vo.,
cloth gilt, Gs. (post free 6s. 6d.).
The Australasian: "The work under notice, which has
special reference to the utilisation of artesian and sub-artesian
water, is the most valuable contribution to the literature on
the subjects dealt with that has yet appeared in Australia."
Sydney Morning Herald : ' ' The chief value of the book will
be, perhaps, for the individual irrigationist. The author goes
into detail on most phases of small schemes. . . . He takes
various crops and fruit trees separately, and gives a lot of
sound information on the question. The sinking of wells, the
erection of reservoirs, ditches, checks, and grading are all con-
sidered. "
Sydney Daily Telegraph: "A valuable addition to Austra-
lian agricultural literature. . . . The major portion of the
'book is concerned with irrigation, both by surface and subter-
ranean waters, and each subject is carefully elaborated with the
aid of numerous illustrations. . . . The book will, no doubt,
materially assist the inland farmer in settling many vexed prob-
lems. ' '
Sydney Mail : ' ' Mr. Cox discusses extensively the artesian
water supply of Australia, and he avoids as much as possible
technicalities in his descriptive matter. This makes the reading
of his work both interesting and pleasurable, to say nothing of
the educational value of it. ... I can thoroughly recom-
mend Mr. Cox's book."
Melbourne Age: "He has gone thoroughly into his subject
from the strictly utilitarian viewpoint, and his carefully gleaned
facts and figures, as well as his manifold instructions as to the
correct way to irrigate and drain, should be of substantial
assistance to the farmer. . . . Altogether the volume covers
the subject in a markedly adequate fashion."
Sydney Wool and Stock Journal : ' ' Altogether it is by far
the most comprehensive work on this important subject that has
yet come under our notice, and should be in the hands of all
pastoralists who desire during seasons of plenty to prepare for
the times of adversity, which, unfortunately, are bound to recur
sooner or later. ' '
Farmer and Settler: "Avoiding technicalities, he sets out,
in a manner which the ordinary reader can easily follow, the
sources from which water may be drawn, how to properly apply
it to the different classes of soil, with due regard to climate and
the amount of land to be irrigated, and the proper construction
of necessary appliances."
19
THE PLANTS OF NEW SOUTH WALES:
An Analytical Key to the Flowering Plants (except Grasses
and Rushes) and Ferns of the State, set out in an original
method, with an up-to-date list of native and introduced
flora.
By W. A. Dixon, F.I.C, F.C.S. With Glossary
and 49 diagrams. Foolscap 8vo., cloth gilt,
6s. {post free 6s. 5d.).
DxMLY Telegraph (Sydney): "The author has succeeded in
bringing his subject within the comprehension of the ordinary
observer. In a concise introductory note, Mr. Dixon points
out the difficulty of identifying plants by the use of scientific
treatises, and substitutes a system based on the use of more
easily observed characters. ' '
Sydney Moening Herald: "The book is interesting as well
as ingenious. It is a valuable contribution to the botanic litera-
ture of Australia. ' '
Town and Country Journal: "The immense amount of
careful research necessary to produce such a work can hardly
be over-estimated, and Mr. Dixon has arranged it in such a form
as to be easily accessible to all seeking information on the sub-
ject to which it is devoted. A complete index also assists in
rendering reference easy."
SIMPLE TESTS FOR MINERALS.
By Joseph Campbell, M.A., F.G.S., M.I.M.E.
Fourth edition, revised and enlarged (com-
pleting the ninth thousand). With illustra-
tions. Cloth, round corners, 3s. 6d {post
free 3s. Del.).
Ballarat Star: "This is an excellent little work, and should
be in the hands of every scientific and practical miner. ' '
Bendigo Evening Mail : ' ' Should be in every prospector 's
kit. It enables any intelligent man to ascertain for himself
whether any mineral he may discover has a commercial value."
BuNDABERG Star: "A handy and useful book for miners and
all interested in the mining industry. ' '
Newcastle Morning Herald : ' ' The book is a thoroughly
practical one. ' '
Wyalong Star : ' ' Now it will be possible for miners and
prospectors to test any mineral which has a commercial value."
20
THE GEOLOGY OF SYDNEY AND THE
BLUE MOUNTAINS :
A popular introduction to the study of Australian Geology
By Rev. J. Milne Currax, late Lecturer in
Chemistry and Geology, Teehnioal College,
Sydney. Prescribed by the Department of
Public Instruction, N.S.W., for First and
Second Class Teachers' Examinations. Sec-
ond edition. With a Glossary of Scientific
Terms, a Reference List of commonly-occur-
ring Fossils, 2 coloured maps, and 83 illus-
trations. CroAvn 8vo., cloth gilt, 6s. {post
free 6s. 6d.).
Xatltie: "This is, strictly speakiug, au elementary manual
of geology. The general plan of the work is good; the book
IS well printed and illustrated with maps, photographic pictures
of rock structure and scenery, and figures of fossils and roek
sections. ' '
Saturday Eevieav: "His style is animated and inspiring, or
clear and precise, as occasion demands. The people of Sydn'?y
are to be congratulated on the existence of such a guide to their
beautiful country." :v|
Sydxey Morning Herald : ' ' Though the book deserves to be
made a University text, it will have another distinction, perhaps
more agreeable to the author — that of being a means by which
the intelligence of many a reader will be directed to that science
of the earth, the materials and the monuments of which are
beneath our feet continually."
Daily Telegraph: "Mr. Curran more than justifies his claim
to an indejjendent method of presenting his gathered stores of
knowledge. The style, simple, clear, and enticing, leaves nothing
to be desired; and even a child's eye, caught in some trick of
familiar, if involuntary, association by pictures, must pause in
the responsive desire to know all about it. ' '
Town and Country Journal: "There has always been a
painful sense of distance in the study of geology as taught in
our schools. ... To get a real grip of the science, it is
absolutely necessary that the student should see something for
himself, and the author endeavours to bring the science home
to Australian students by basing this popular introduction to
the study of it on the material literally at his doors. ' '
The Argus : "Asa handbook for schools in which it is
desired to interest the advanced classes in the study of nature,
the volume has great value."
21
THE GROWTH OF THE EMPIRE :
A Handbook to the History of Greater Britain.
By Arthur W. Jose, author of " A Short History
of Australasia." Prescribed by the Depart-
ment of Public Instruction, N.S.W., for First
and Second Class Teachers' Certificate Exami-
nations. Second edition. With 14 maps.
'Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 4s. 6d. {post free
'5s.).
Morning Post: "This book is published in Sydney, but it
deserves to be circulated throughout the United Kingdom. The
picture of the fashion in which British enterprise made its
way from settlement to settlement has never been drawn more
vividly than in these pages. Mr. Jose's style is crisp and
pleasant, now and then even rising to eloquence on his grand
theme. His book deserves wide popularity, and it has the rare
merit of being so written as to be attractive alike to the young
student and to the mature man of letters."
Literature: "He has studied thoroughly, and writes vigor-
ously. . . . Admirably done. . . . We conmiend it to
Britons the world over."
Saturday Eeview: "He writes Imperially; he also often
writes sympathetically. . . . We cannot close Mr. Jose's
creditable account of our misdoings without a glow of national
pride. ' '
Yorkshire Post: "A brighter short history we do not know,
and this book deserves, for the matter and the manner of it,
to be as well known as Mr. McCarthy's 'History of Our Own
Times.' "
The Scotsman : ' ' This admirable work is a solid octavo of
more than 400 pages. It is a thoughtful, well-written, and
well-arranged history. There are 14 excellent maps to illus-
trate the text."
The Spectator: "He certainly possesses the faculty of pre-
senting a clear summary, and always appears to hold the scales
fairly. . . . We can heartily commend both the subject and
style of this able and most admirably arranged history of the
British Empire. ' '
Glasgow Herald: "An excellent specimen of the vigorous
work produced by the School of History at Oxford."
London: John Murray.
22
HISTORY OP AUSTRALASIA
From the Earliest Tlnias to the Inauguration of the
Commonisealth
By Arthur W. Jose, author of "The Growth of
the Empire." The chapter on Federation
revised by R. R. Garran, C.M.G. Prescribed
by the Department of Public Instruction,
N.S.W., for Second and Third Class Teachers'
Certificate Examinations. Second edition,
revised and enlarged, completing the twelfth
thousand. AVith 6 maps and 64 portraits and
illustrations. Crown 8vo., cloth, Is. 6d. ;
paper cover, Is. {postage 4d.).
Daily Telegraph : ' ' There was ample room for a cleverly
condensed, clear, and yet thoroughly live account of these
colonies such as Mr. Jose now presents us with. ' '
Sydney Morning Herald : ' ' Possibly we have not yet reached
the distance in point of time from the events here recorded to
permit the writing of a real history of Australasia ; but Mr.
Jose has done good work in the accumulation and orderly
arrangement of details, and the intelligent reader will derive
much profit from this little book."
The Book Lover : ' ' The ignorance of the average Australian
youth alx)ut the brief history of his native land is often deplor-
able. . . . 'A Short History of Australasia,' by Arthur W.
Jose, just provides the thing wanted. Mr. .Jose's previous his-
torical work was most favourably received in England, and this
story of our land is capitally done. It is not too long, and it
is brightly written. Its value is considerably enhanced by the
useful maps and interesting illustrations."
Victorian Education Gazette: "The language is graphic
and simple, and there is much evidence of careful work and
acquaintance with original documents, which give the reader
confidence in the accuracy of the details. The low jjrice of
the book leaves young Australia no excuse for remaining in
ignorance of the history of their native land. ' '
ToAVN and Country Journal: "The language is graphic and
simple, and he has maintained the unity and continuity of
the story of events, despite the necessity of following the sub-
ject along the seven branches corresponding with the seven
separate colonies. ' '
23
CALENDAR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY.
Demy 8vo., linen, 2s. 6d. ; paper cover, Is. (postage
8d.) [Piiblished annually, in May.
MANUAL OF PUBLIC EXAMINATIONS HELD BY
THE UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY.
Demy 8vo., paper cover, Is. (post free Is. 3d.).
[PuhUnhed annually, in Augu^st, and dated the year
following tliat in which it is issued.
TABLES FOR QUALITATIVE CHEMICAL ANALYSIS.
Arranged for the use of students by A. Li\ter-
siDGE, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S., Professor of
Chemistry in the University of Sydney.
Second edition, Royal 8vo., cloth gilt, 4s. 6d.
(post free 4s. 9d.).
Chemical News : ' ' Altogether the book is a useful, thoroughly
workable text-book, and one that is likely to find considerable
favour with teachers of chemistry. There is a complete index,
and the price is very reasonable. ' '
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE INFINITESIMAL
CALCULUS.
By H. S. Carslaw, M.A., D.Sc, F.R.S.E., Pro-
fessor of Mathematics in the University of
Sydney. Demy 8vo., cloth gilt, 5s. (post free
5s. 3d.).
The Times : ' ' Concise lucidity is the key-note of the book.
. . . . Professor Carslaw may be congratulated upon hav-
ing produced an admirable book, which should be useful to
young engineers and science students, both during and after
their college courses."
ABRIDGED MATHEMATICAL TABLES.
By S. H. Barraclough, B.E., M.M.E., Assoc. M.
Inst. C.E. Demy 8vo., cloth, Is. (post free
Is. Id.). Logarithms, &c., published separ-
ately, price 6d. (post free 7d.).
24
BRUSHWORK FROM NATURE,
With Design.
By J. E. Branch, Superintendent of Drawing,
Department of Public Instruction. Pre-
scribed b}' the Department of Public Instruc-
tion, N.S.W., for Teachers' Examinations.
^\^ith 19 coloured and 5 other plates. Demy
4to., decorated cloth, 7s. 6d. (post free
8s. 3d.).
CIVICS AND MORALS.
By Percival R. Cole, ]\I.A., Frazer Scholar in
IModern History, University ^Medallist in
Logic and Mental Philosophy, late Lecturer
in the Training College, Fort-street, Sydney.
Second edition, revised and enlarged. Cro-uoi
8vo., cloth, 2s. (post free 2s. 3d.). Also in
two parts : — Part I. — Classes I. and II. ; Part
II. — Classes III., IV., and V. ; cloth. Is. each
{post free Is. 2d. each).
N.S.W. Educational Gazette: "In our issue of March, 1905,
■we announced with approval the appearance of the first edition
of this useful and practical -work, and anticipated a wide appre-
ciation on the part of our teachers. The issue of a new edition
within seven months of the original publication amply verifies
this prediction. . . . "We note the addition of supplementary
lessons on Simple Proverbs, Vote by Ballot, the State Govern^
ment of New South Wales, and the Federal Government of
Australia. There can be no doubt that a book which so closely
interprets the spirit of the New Syllabus will find a place in
every Public School in this State."
THE AUSTRALIAN LETTERING BOOK.
Containing the Alphabets most useful in Mapping,
Exercise Headings, &c., with practical appli-
cations, Easy Scrolls, Flourishes, Borders,
Corners, Rulings, &c. New edition, re\'ised
and enlarged, cloth limp, 6d. {post free 7d.).
•25
COMMERCIAL ARITHMETIC.
By G. E. Bench, B.A. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d.
{post free 2s. lOd.).
SOLUTIONS OF TEACHERS' ALGEBRA PAPERS,
Set at First and Second Class Teachers' Examina-
tions from 1894 to 1901 (inclusive), by W.
L. Atkins, B.A. Crown 8vo., cloth, 2s. 6d.
SOLUTIONS OF TEACHERS' ARITHMETIC PAPERS,
Set at First, Second, and Third Class Teachers'
Examinations from 1894 to 1901 (inclnsive),
by J. M. Taylor, M.A., LL.B. Crown 8vo.,
cloth, 2s. 6d.
ELEMENTARY GEOMETRY : THEORETICAL AND
PRACTICAL
By C. Godfrey, M.A., and A. W. Siddons, M.A.
Prescribed by the Department of Public In-
struction, N.S.W., for First, Second, and
Third Class Teachers' Examinations. Com-
plete edition (Books I.-IV.), crown 8vo., cloth
gilt, 3s. 6d. {jjost free 4s.). Vol. I. (Books I.
and II.), 2s. Vol. II. (Books III. and IV.),
2s. {postage 3d.). Answers in separate vol-
ume, price 4d. {post free 5d.). Key, 6s.
{jDOst free 6s. 3d.).
THE METRIC SYSTEM OF WEIGHTS AND
MEASURES, AND DECIMAL COINAGE
By J. ]\I. Taylor, M.A., LL.B. With Introduc-
tory Notes on the Nature of Decimals, and con-
tracted methods for the Multiplication and
Division of Decimals. Crown 8vo., 6d. {post
free 7d.). Answers, 6d,
26
GEOGRAPHY OF NEW SOUTH WALES
By J. M. Taylor, M.A., LL.B. Prescribed by the
Department of Public Instruction, N.S.W.,
for Third Class and Pupil Teachers' Certifi-
cate Examinations. New edition, revised.
With 37 illustrations and 6 folding maps.
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (post free
3s. lOd.).
Sydney Morning Herald: "Something more than a school
book ; it is an approach to an ideal geography. ' '
Eevieav of Reviews: "It makes a very attractive handbook.
Its geography is up-to-date; it is not overburdened with details,
and it is richly illustrated with geological diagrams and photo-
graphs of scenery reproduced with happy skill. ' '
THE AUSTRALIAN OBJECT LESSON BOOK
Part I. — For Infant and Junior Classes. Second
edition, with 43 illustration.^. Crown 8vo.,
cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. ; paper cover, 2s. 6d. {post-
age id. ) .
N.S.W. Educational Gazette: "Mr. Wiley has wisely
adopted the plan of utilising the services of specialists. The
eeries is remarkably complete, and includes almost everything
with which the little learners ought to be made familiar.
Throughout the whole series the lessons have been selected with
judgment and with a due appreciation of the capacity of the
pupils for whose use they are intended."
THE AUSTRALIAN OBJECT LESSON BOOK
Part II. — For advanced classes. Second edition,
with 113 illustrations. Crown 8vo., cloth
gilt, 3s. 6d. ; paper cover, 2s. 6d. {postage
dd.).
Victorian Education Gazette: "Mr. Wiley and his col-
leagues have provided a storehouse of useful information on
a great number of topics that can be taken up in any Australian
school. ' '
N.S.W. Educational Gazette: "The Australian Object
Lesson Book is evidently the result of infinite patience and deep
research on the part of its compiler, who is also to be commended
for the admirable arrangement of his matter. ' '
27
ENGLISH GRAMMAR, COMPOSITION, AND
PRECIS WRITING
By James Conway, Headmaster at Cleveland-
street Superior Public School, Sydney. Pre-
scribed by the Department of Public Instruc-
tion, N.S.W., for First and Second Class
Teachers' Certificate Examinations, 1907.
New edition, revised and enlarged. Crown
8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. {post free 3s. lOd.).
A SMALLER ENGLISH GRAMMAR, COMPOSITION,
AND PRECIS WRITING
By James Conway. Prescribed by the Depart-
ment of Public Instruction, N.S.W., for Third
Class Teachers' Examinations, 1907. New
edition, revised and enlarged. Crown 8vo.,
cloth, Is. 6d. (post free Is. 9d.).
N.S.W. Educational Gazette: "The abridgmeut is very
well done. One recognises the hand of a man who has had
long experience of the difficulties of this subject."
CAUSERIES FAMILIERES ; op FRIENDLY CHATS
By Mrs. S. C. Boyd. Second edition, revised and
enlarged, containing granunatical summaries,
exercises, a full treatise on pronunciation,
French-English and English-French Vocabu-
lary, and other matter for the use of the
teacher or of a student without a master.
Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. {post free
3s. lOd. ) . Abridged edition for pupils. Pre-
scribed for Applicant Pupil Teachers' Exami-
nation, 1907. Crown 8vo., cloth. Is. 6d.
{post free Is. 8d.).
The London Spectator: "A most excellent and practical
little volume, evidently the work of a trained teacher. It com-
bines admirably and in an entertaining form the advantages of
the conversational with those of the grammatical method of
learning a language."
28
GUIDE TO THE MUSICAL EXAMINATIONS.
Held by the N.S.W. Department of Public In-
struction for Teachers and Pupil Teacners in
all grades. By G. T. Cotterill, Headmaster
at Paddington Superior Public School. Part
I.— The Papers set in 1898, 1899, and 1900,
and answers thereto. Crown 8vo., cloth, 2s.
(post free 2s. 2d.). Part II. — The Papers
set in 1901, and answers thereto. Crowai
8vo., sewn, Is. {post free Is. Id.).
N.S.W. Educational Gazette: "We would earnestly urge
upon teachers and pupil teachers intending to sit for examina-
tion the wisdom of mastering the principles so clearly enunciated
in these valuable text -books. ' '
A NEW BOOK OF SONGS FOR SCHOOLS AND
SINGING CLASSES
By PIuGO Alpen, Superintendent of Music, De-
partment of Public Instruction, New South
Wales. 8vo., paper cover, Is. {post free
Is. 2d.).
THE AUSTRALIAN PROGRESSIVE SONGSTER
By S. ]\IcBuRNEY, Mus. Doc, Fellow T.S.F. Col-
lege. Containing graded Songs, Eounds and
Exercises in Staff Notation, Tonic Sol-fa and
Numerals, with JMusical Theory. Price 6d.
each part; combined. Is. {postage Id. each
part).
No. 1. — For Junior Classes.
No. 2. — For Senior Classes.
AUSTRALIAN SONGS FOR AUSTRALIAN CHILDREN
By Mrs. Maybanke Anderson. All the songs
are set to music, while to some of them appro-
priate calisthenic exercises are given. Demy
4to., picture cover, Is. {post free Is. Id.).
29
GEOGRAPHY OF AUSTRALIA AND
NEW ZEALAND.
Revised edition, with 8 maps and 19 illustrations.
64 pages. 6d. (post free 7d.).
GEOGRAPHY OF EUROPE, ASIA, AFRICA,
AND AMERICA.
Revised edition, with 18 relief and other maps,
and 17 illustrations of transcontinental views,
distribution of animals, &c. 88 pages. 6d.
(post free 7d.).
GEOGRAPHY OF NEW SOUTH WALES.
With 5 folding maps. 48 pages. 6d. (post free
7d.).
PRACTICAL GEOMETRY.
For Classes II. and III. Y/ith Diagrams. 2d.
For Classes IV. and V. With Diagrams. 4d.
PRACTICAL AND THEORETICAL GEOMETRY.
Books I. and II. Price 6d. each.
THE AUSTRALIAN CATHOLIC SCHOOL SERIES.
History of Australia and New Zealand for Catho-
lic Schools, 117 pages. 4d.
Pupil's Companion to the Australian Catholic
First Reader, .32 pages. Id.
Pupil's Companion to the Australian Catholic
Second Reader, 64 pages. 2d.
Pupil's Companion to the Australian Catholic
Third Reader, 112 pages. 3d.
Pupil's Companion to the Australian Catholic
Fourth Reader, 160 pages. 4d.
30
AUSTRALIAN SCHOOL SERIES.
Grammar and Derivation Book, 64 pages. 2d.
Test Exercises in Grammar for Third Class, First
Year, 64 pages. 2d. Second Year, 64 pages. 2d.
Table Book and Mental Arithmetic, 48 pages. Id.
Chief Events and Dates in English History. Part
I. From 55 B.C. to 1485 a.d., 50 pages. 2d.
Chief Events and Dates in English History. Part
II. From Henry VII. (1485) to Victoria (1900),
64 pages. 2d.
History op Australia, 80 pages. 4d. Illustrated.
Geography. Part I. Australasia and Polynesia, 64
pages. 2d.
Geography. Part II. Europe, Asia, America, and
Africa, 66 pages. 2d.
Euclid. Book I. With Definitions, Postulates,
Axioms, &c., 64 pages. 2d.
Euclid. Book II. With Definitions and Exercises on
Books I. and II., 32 pages. 2d.
Euclid. Book III. With University "Junior"
Papers, 1891-1897, 60 pages. 2d.
Arithmetic and Practical Geometry — Exercises
for Class II., 50 pages. 3d.
Arithmetic — Exercises for Class III., 50 pages. 3d.
Algebra. Part I., 64 pages. 4d. Answere, 4d.
Algebra. Part II. To Quadratic Equations. Con-
tains over 1,200 Exercises, including the Univer-
sity Junior, the Public Service, the Sydney
Chamber of Commerce, and the Bankere' Institute
Examination Papers to 1900, &c., 112 pages. 4d.
Answei-s, 4d.
31
THE AUSTRALIAN COPY BOOK.
Approved by the Departments of Public Instruc-
tion in New South Wales, Queensland, and
Tasmania, by the Public Service Board of
New South Wales, and by the Chief Inspector
of Catholic Schools. In 10 carefully-graded
numbers, and a book of Plain and Ornamental
Lettering, Mapping, &c. (No. 11). Price 2d.
each. Numerals are given in each number.
A.C.B. Blotter (fits all sizes), Id.
THE AUSTRALIAN PUPIL TEACHERS'
COPY BOOK.
A selection of pages from the Australian Copy
Book, arranged for use of Pupil Teachers.
48 pages. Price 6d.
CHAMBERS' GOVERNMENT HAND COPY BOOK
Approved by the Department of Public IiLstruc-
tion. In 12 carefully-graded numbers and
a book for Pupil Teachers (No. 1-3). 2d. each.
The letters are coBtinuonsly joined to each other, so that the
pupil need not lift the pen from the beginning to the end
of each word. The spaces between the letters are wide, each
letter thus standing out boldly and distinctly by itself. The
slope is gentle, but sufficient to prevent the pupil from acquiring
a back hand. The curves are well rounded, checking the ten-
dency to too great angularity.
ANGUS AND ROBERTSON'S PENCIL
COPY BOOK.
Approved by the N.S.W. Department of Public
Instruction. In nine numl^ers. Id. each.
No. 1, initiatory lines, curves, letters, figures;
2 and 3, short letters, easy combinations,
figures; 4, long letters, short words, figures;
5, long letters, words, figures; 6, 7, and 8,
capitals, words, figures; 9, short sentences,
figures.
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
Los Angeles
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.
V^ pro 2 0 19TS
■ 8 1978
FormL9-25w-9,'47(A5G18)444
THE LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CilLiFOKNXA
LOS ANGELES
^
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0344f
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAGILIT
AA 000 375 220 i