In the Days When the World Was Wide | Page 9

and the grass is high in the mulga off the track, Where the bleaching bones of a white man lie?by his mouldering swag Out Back.
For time means tucker, and tramp they must,?where the plains and scrubs are wide,?With seldom a track that a man can trust, or a mountain peak to guide; All day long in the flies and heat the men of the outside track With stinted stomachs and blistered feet?must carry their swags Out Back.
The Free-Selector's Daughter
I met her on the Lachlan Side --?A darling girl I thought her,?And ere I left I swore I'd win?The free-selector's daughter.
I milked her father's cows a month,?I brought the wood and water,?I mended all the broken fence,?Before I won the daughter.
I listened to her father's yarns,?I did just what I `oughter',?And what you'll have to do to win?A free-selector's daughter.
I broke my pipe and burnt my twist,?And washed my mouth with water;?I had a shave before I kissed?The free-selector's daughter.
Then, rising in the frosty morn,?I brought the cows for Mary,?And when I'd milked a bucketful?I took it to the dairy.
I poured the milk into the dish?While Mary held the strainer,?I summoned heart to speak my wish,?And, oh! her blush grew plainer.
I told her I must leave the place,?I said that I would miss her;?At first she turned away her face,?And then she let me kiss her.
I put the bucket on the ground,?And in my arms I caught her:?I'd give the world to hold again?That free-selector's daughter!
`Sez You'
When the heavy sand is yielding backward from your blistered feet, And across the distant timber you can SEE the flowing heat; When your head is hot and aching, and the shadeless plain is wide, And it's fifteen miles to water in the scrub the other side -- Don't give up, don't be down-hearted, to a man's strong heart be true! Take the air in through your nostrils, set your lips and see it through -- For it can't go on for ever, and -- `I'll have my day!' says you.
When you're camping in the mulga, and the rain is falling slow, While you nurse your rheumatism 'neath a patch of calico;?Short of tucker or tobacco, short of sugar or of tea,?And the scrubs are dark and dismal, and the plains are like a sea; Don't give up and be down-hearted -- to the soul of man be true! Grin! if you've a mate to grin for, grin and jest and don't look blue; For it can't go on for ever, and -- `I'll rise some day,' says you.
When you've tramped the Sydney pavements till you've counted all the flags, And your flapping boot-soles trip you, and your clothes are mostly rags, When you're called a city loafer, shunned, abused, moved on, despised -- Fifty hungry beggars after every job that's advertised --?Don't be beaten! Hold your head up! To your wretched self be true; Set your pride to fight your hunger! Be a MAN in all you do! For it cannot last for ever -- `I will rise again!' says you.
When you're dossing out in winter, in the darkness and the rain, Crouching, cramped, and cold and hungry 'neath a seat in The Domain, And a cloaked policeman stirs you with that mighty foot of his -- `Phwat d'ye mane? Phwat's this??Who are ye? Come, move on -- git out av this!'?Don't get mad; 'twere only foolish; there is nought that you can do, Save to mark his beat and time him -- find another hole or two; But it can't go on for ever -- `I'll have money yet!' says you.
. . . . .
Bother not about the morrow, for sufficient to the day?Is the evil (rather more so). Put your trust in God and pray! Study well the ant, thou sluggard. Blessed are the meek and low. Ponder calmly on the lilies -- how they idle, how they grow. A man's a man! Obey your masters! Do not blame the proud and fat, For the poor are always with them, and they cannot alter that. Lay your treasures up in Heaven -- cling to life and see it through! For it cannot last for ever -- `I shall die some day,' says you.
Andy's Gone With Cattle
Our Andy's gone to battle now?'Gainst Drought, the red marauder;?Our Andy's gone with cattle now?Across the Queensland border.
He's left us in dejection now;?Our hearts with him are roving.?It's dull on this selection now,?Since Andy went a-droving.
Who now shall wear the cheerful face?In times when things are slackest??And who shall whistle round the place?When Fortune frowns her blackest?
Oh, who shall cheek the squatter now?When he comes round us snarling??His tongue is growing hotter now?Since Andy cross'd the Darling.
The gates are out of order now,?In storms the `riders' rattle;?For far across the border now?Our Andy's gone with cattle.
Poor Aunty's