Chapter 2

But it's grand at sea this mornin', an' Creation almost speaks, Sailin' past the Bay of Islands with its pinnacles an' peaks, With the sunny haze all round us an' the white-caps on the blue, An' the orphan rocks an' breakers -- Oh, it's glorious sailin' through! To the south a distant steamer, to the west a coastin' craft, An' we see the beauty for'ard, better than if we were aft; Spite of op'ra-glasses, aft; But, ah well, they're brothers aft -- Nature seems to draw us closer -- bring us nearer fore-'n'-aft.

What's the use of bein' bitter? What's the use of gettin' mad? What's the use of bein' narrer just because yer luck is bad? What's the blessed use of frettin' like a child that wants the moon? There is broken hearts an' trouble in the gilded first saloon! We are used to bein' shabby -- we have got no overdraft -- We can laugh at troubles for'ard that they couldn't laugh at aft; Spite o' pride an' tone abaft (Keepin' up appearance, aft) There's anxiety an' worry in the breezy cabins aft.

But the curse o' class distinctions from our shoulders shall be hurled, An' the influence of woman revolutionize the world; There'll be higher education for the toilin' starvin' clown, An' the rich an' educated shall be educated down; An' we all will meet amidships on this stout old earthly craft, An' there won't be any friction 'twixt the classes fore-'n'-aft. We'll be brothers, fore-'n'-aft! Yes, an' sisters, fore-'n'-aft! When the people work together, and there ain't no fore-'n'-aft.

The Drover's Sweetheart

An hour before the sun goes down Behind the ragged boughs, I go across the little run And bring the dusty cows; And once I used to sit and rest Beneath the fading dome, For there was one that I loved best Who'd bring the cattle home.

Our yard is fixed with double bails, Round one the grass is green, The bush is growing through the rails, The spike is rusted in; And 'twas from there his freckled face Would turn and smile at me -- He'd milk a dozen in the race While I was milking three.

I milk eleven cows myself Where once I milked but four; I set the dishes on the shelf And close the dairy door; And when the glaring sunlight fails And the fire shines through the cracks, I climb the broken stockyard rails And watch the bridle-tracks.

He kissed me twice and once again And rode across the hill, The pint-pots and the hobble-chain I hear them jingling still; He'll come at night or not at all -- He left in dust and heat, And when the soft, cool shadows fall Is the best time to meet.

And he is coming back again, He wrote to let me know, The floods were in the Darling then -- It seems so long ago; He'd come through miles of slush and mud, And it was weary work, The creeks were bankers, and the flood Was forty miles round Bourke.

He said the floods had formed a block, The plains could not be crossed, And there was foot-rot in the flock And hundreds had been lost; The sheep were falling thick and fast A hundred miles from town, And when he reached the line at last He trucked the remnant down.

And so he'll have to stand the cost; His luck was always bad, Instead of making more, he lost The money that he had; And how he'll manage, heaven knows (My eyes are getting dim), He says -- he says -- he don't -- suppose I'll want -- to -- marry -- him.

As if I wouldn't take his hand Without a golden glove -- Oh! Jack, you men won't understand How much a girl can love. I long to see his face once more -- Jack's dog! thank God, it's Jack! -- (I never thought I'd faint before) He's coming -- up -- the track.

Out Back

The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought, The cheque was spent that the shearer earned, and the sheds were all cut out; The publican's words were short and few, and the publican's looks were black -- And the time had come, as the shearer knew, to carry his swag Out Back.

For time means tucker, and tramp you must, where the scrubs and plains are wide, With seldom a track that a man can trust, or a mountain peak to guide; All day long in the dust and heat -- when summer is on the track -- With stinted stomachs and blistered feet, they carry their swags Out Back.

He tramped away from the shanty there, when the days were long and hot, With never a soul to know or care if he died on the track or not. The poor of the city have friends in woe, no matter how much they lack, But only God and the swagmen know how a poor man fares Out Back.

He begged his way on the parched Paroo and the Warrego tracks once more, And lived like a dog, as the swagmen do, till the Western stations shore; But men were many, and sheds were full, for work in the town was slack -- The traveller never got hands in wool, though he tramped for a year Out Back.

In stifling noons when his back was wrung by its load, and the air seemed dead, And the water warmed in the bag that hung to his aching arm like lead, Or in times of flood, when plains were seas, and the scrubs were cold and black, He ploughed in mud to his trembling knees, and paid for his sins Out Back.

He blamed himself in the year 'Too Late' -- in the heaviest hours of life -- 'Twas little he dreamed that a shearing-mate had care of his home and wife; There are times when wrongs from your kindred come, and treacherous tongues attack -- When a man is better away from home, and dead to the world, Out Back.

And dirty and careless and old he wore, as his lamp of hope grew dim; He tramped for years till the swag he bore seemed part of himself to him. As a bullock drags in the sandy ruts, he followed the dreary track, With never a thought but to reach the huts when the sun went down Out Back.

It chanced one day, when the north wind blew in his face like a furnace-breath, He left the track for a tank he knew -- 'twas a short-cut to his death; For the bed of the tank was hard and dry, and crossed with many a crack, And, oh! it's a terrible thing to die of thirst in the scrub Out Back.

A drover came, but the fringe of law was eastward many a mile; He never reported the thing he saw, for it was not worth his while. The tanks are full 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 looking thin and white; And Uncle's cross with worry; And poor old Blucher howls all night Since Andy left Macquarie.

Oh, may the showers in torrents fall, And all the tanks run over; And may the grass grow green and tall In pathways of the drover;

And may good angels send the rain On desert stretches sandy; And when the summer comes again God grant 'twill bring us Andy.

Jack Dunn of Nevertire

It chanced upon the very day we'd got the shearing done, A buggy brought a stranger to the West-o'-Sunday Run; He had a round and jolly face, and he was sleek and stout, He drove right up between the huts and called the super out. We chaps were smoking after tea, and heard the swell enquire For one as travelled by the name of 'Dunn of Nevertire'. Jack Dunn of Nevertire, Poor Dunn of Nevertire; There wasn't one of us but knew Jack Dunn of Nevertire.

'Jack Dunn of Nevertire,' he said; 'I was a mate of his; And now it's twenty years since I set eyes upon his phiz. There is no whiter man than Jack -- no straighter south the line, There is no hand in all the land I'd sooner grip in mine; To help a mate in trouble Jack would go through flood and fire. Great Scott! and don't you know the name of Dunn of Nevertire? Big Dunn of Nevertire, Long Jack from Nevertire; He stuck to me through thick and thin, Jack Dunn of Nevertire.

'I did a wild and foolish thing while Jack and I were mates, And I disgraced my guv'nor's name, an' wished to try the States. My lamps were turned to Yankee Land, for I'd some people there, And I was right when someone sent the money for my fare; I thought 'twas Dad until I took the trouble to enquire, And found that he who sent the stuff was Dunn of Nevertire, Jack Dunn of Nevertire, Soft Dunn of Nevertire; He'd won some money on a race -- Jack Dunn of Nevertire.

'Now I've returned, by Liverpool, a swell of Yankee brand, To reckon, guess, and kalkilate, 'n' wake my native land; There is no better land, I swear, in all the wide world round -- I smelt the bush a month before we touched King George's Sound! And now I've come to settle down, the top of my desire Is just to meet a mate o' mine called 'Dunn of Nevertire'. Was raised at Nevertire -- The town of Nevertire; He humped his bluey by the name of 'Dunn of Nevertire'.

'I've heard he's poor, and if he is, a proud old fool is he; But, spite of that, I'll find a way to fix the old gum-tree. I've bought a station in the North -- the best that could be had; I want a man to pick the stock -- I want a super bad; I want no bully-brute to boss -- no crawling, sneaking liar -- My station super's name shall be 'Jack Dunn of Nevertire'! Straight Dunn of Nevertire, Old Dunn of Nevertire; I guess he's known up Queensland way -- Jack Dunn of Nevertire.'

The super said, while to his face a strange expression came: 'I THINK I've seen the man you want, I THINK I know the name; Had he a jolly kind of face, a free and careless way, Gray eyes that always seem'd to smile, and hair just turning gray -- Clean-shaved, except a light moustache, long-limbed, an' tough as wire?' 'THAT'S HIM! THAT'S DUNN!' the stranger roared, 'Jack Dunn of Nevertire! John Dunn of Nevertire, Jack D. from Nevertire, They said I'd find him here, the cuss! -- Jack Dunn of Nevertire.

'I'd know his walk,' the stranger cried, 'though sobered, I'll allow.' 'I doubt it much,' the boss replied, 'he don't walk that way now.' 'Perhaps he don't!' the stranger said, 'for years were hard on Jack; But, if he were a mile away, I swear I'd know his back.' 'I doubt it much,' the super said, and sadly puffed his briar, 'I guess he wears a pair of wings -- Jack Dunn of Nevertire; Jack Dunn of Nevertire, Brave Dunn of Nevertire, He caught a fever nursing me, Jack Dunn of Nevertire.'

We took the stranger round to where a gum-tree stood alone, And in the grass beside the trunk he saw a granite stone; The names of Dunn and Nevertire were plainly written there -- 'I'm all broke up,' the stranger said, in sorrow and despair, 'I guess he has a wider run, the man that I require; He's got a river-frontage now, Jack Dunn of Nevertire; Straight Dunn of Nevertire, White Jack from Nevertire, I guess Saint Peter knew the name of 'Dunn of Nevertire'.'

Trooper Campbell

One day old Trooper Campbell Rode out to Blackman's Run, His cap-peak and his sabre Were glancing in the sun. 'Twas New Year's Eve, and slowly Across the ridges low The sad Old Year was drifting To where the old years go.

The trooper's mind was reading The love-page of his life -- His love for Mary Wylie Ere she was Blackman's wife; He sorrowed for the sorrows Of the heart a rival won, For he knew that there was trouble Out there on Blackman's Run.

The sapling shades had lengthened, The summer day was late, When Blackman met the trooper Beyond the homestead gate. And if the hand of trouble Can leave a lasting trace, The lines of care had come to stay On poor old Blackman's face.

'Not good day, Trooper Campbell, It's a bad, bad day for me -- You are of all the men on earth The one I wished to see. The great black clouds of trouble Above our homestead hang; That wild and reckless boy of mine Has joined M'Durmer's gang.

'Oh! save him, save him, Campbell! I beg in friendship's name! For if they take and hang him, The wife would die of shame. Could Mary or her sisters Hold up their heads again, And face a woman's malice Or claim the love of men?

'And if he does a murder 'Twere better we were dead. Don't take him, Trooper Campbell, If a price be on his head; But shoot him! shoot him, Campbell, When you meet him face to face, And save him from the gallows, And us from that disgrace.'

'Now, Tom,' cried Trooper Campbell, 'You know your words are wild. Though he is wild and reckless, Yet still he is your child; So bear up in your trouble, And meet it like a man, And tell the wife and daughters I'll save him if I can.'

. . . . .

The sad Australian sunset Had faded from the west; But night brings darker shadows To hearts that cannot rest; And Blackman's wife sat rocking And moaning in her chair. 'I cannot bear disgrace,' she moaned; 'Disgrace I cannot bear.

'In hardship and in trouble I struggled year by year To make my children better Than other children here. And if my son's a felon How can I show my face? I cannot bear disgrace; my God, I cannot bear disgrace!

'Ah, God in Heaven pardon! I'm selfish in my woe -- My boy is better-hearted Than many that I know. And I will face the world's disgrace, And, till his mother's dead, My foolish child shall find a place To lay his outlawed head.'

. . . . .

With a sad heart Trooper Campbell Rode back from Blackman's Run, Nor noticed aught about him Till thirteen miles were done; When, close beside a cutting, He heard the click of locks, And saw the rifle muzzles Were on him from the rocks.

But suddenly a youth rode out, And, close by Campbell's side: 'Don't fire! don't fire, in heaven's name! It's Campbell, boys!' he cried. Then one by one in silence The levelled rifles fell, For who'd shoot Trooper Campbell Of those who knew him well?

Oh, bravely sat old Campbell, No sign of fear showed he. He slowly drew his carbine; It rested by his knee. The outlaws' guns were lifted, But none the silence broke, Till steadfastly and firmly Old Trooper Campbell spoke.

'That boy that you would ruin Goes home with me, my men; Or some of us shall never Ride through the Gap again. You know old Trooper Campbell, And have you ever heard That bluff or lead could turn him, That e'er he broke his word?

'That reckless lad is playing A heartless villain's part; He knows that he is breaking His poor old mother's heart. He'll bring a curse upon himself; But 'tis not that alone, He'll bring dishonour to a name That I'D be proud to own.

'I speak to you, M'Durmer, -- If your heart's not hardened quite, And if you'd seen the trouble At Blackman's home this night, You'd help me now, M'Durmer -- I speak as man to man -- I swore to save that foolish lad, And I'll save him if I can.'

'Oh, take him!' said M'Durmer, 'He's got a horse to ride.' The youngster thought a moment, Then rode to Campbell's side -- 'Good-bye!' the outlaws shouted, As up the range they sped. 'A Merry New Year, Campbell,' Was all M'Durmer said.

. . . . .

Then fast along the ridges Two bushmen rode a race, And the moonlight lent a glory To Trooper Campbell's face. And ere the new year's dawning They reached the home at last; And this is but a story Of trouble that is past!

The Sliprails and the Spur

The colours of the setting sun Withdrew across the Western land -- He raised the sliprails, one by one, And shot them home with trembling hand; Her brown hands clung -- her face grew pale -- Ah! quivering chin and eyes that brim! -- One quick, fierce kiss across the rail, And, 'Good-bye, Mary!' 'Good-bye, Jim!'

_Oh, he rides hard to race the pain Who rides from love, who rides from home; But he rides slowly home again, Whose heart has learnt to love and roam._

A hand upon the horse's mane, And one foot in the stirrup set, And, stooping back to kiss again, With 'Good-bye, Mary! don't you fret! When I come back' -- he laughed for her -- 'We do not know how soon 'twill be; I'll whistle as I round the spur -- You let the sliprails down for me.'

She gasped for sudden loss of hope, As, with a backward wave to her, He cantered down the grassy slope And swiftly round the dark'ning spur. Black-pencilled panels standing high, And darkness fading into stars, And blurring fast against the sky, A faint white form beside the bars.

And often at the set of sun, In winter bleak and summer brown, She'd steal across the little run, And shyly let the sliprails down. And listen there when darkness shut The nearer spur in silence deep; And when they called her from the hut Steal home and cry herself to sleep.

. . . . .

{Some editions have four more lines here.}

_And he rides hard to dull the pain Who rides from one that loves him best; And he rides slowly back again, Whose restless heart must rove for rest._

Past Carin'

Now up and down the siding brown The great black crows are flyin', And down below the spur, I know, Another 'milker's' dyin'; The crops have withered from the ground, The tank's clay bed is glarin', But from my heart no tear nor sound, For I have gone past carin' -- _Past worryin' or carin', Past feelin' aught or carin'; But from my heart no tear nor sound, For I have gone past carin'._

Through Death and Trouble, turn about, Through hopeless desolation, Through flood and fever, fire and drought, And slavery and starvation; Through childbirth, sickness, hurt, and blight, And nervousness an' scarin', Through bein' left alone at night, I've got to be past carin'. _Past botherin' or carin', Past feelin' and past carin'; Through city cheats and neighbours' spite, I've come to be past carin'._

Our first child took, in days like these, A cruel week in dyin', All day upon her father's knees, Or on my poor breast lyin'; The tears we shed -- the prayers we said Were awful, wild -- despairin'! I've pulled three through, and buried two Since then -- and I'm past carin'. _I've grown to be past carin', Past worryin' and wearin'; I've pulled three through and buried two Since then, and I'm past carin'._

'Twas ten years first, then came the worst, All for a dusty clearin', I thought, I thought my heart would burst When first my man went shearin'; He's drovin' in the great North-west, I don't know how he's farin'; For I, the one that loved him best, Have grown to be past carin'. _I've grown to be past carin' Past lookin' for or carin'; The girl that waited long ago, Has lived to be past carin'._

My eyes are dry, I cannot cry, I've got no heart for breakin', But where it was in days gone by, A dull and empty achin'. My last boy ran away from me, I know my temper's wearin', But now I only wish to be Beyond all signs of carin'. _Past wearyin' or carin', Past feelin' and despairin'; And now I only wish to be Beyond all signs of carin'._

The Glass on the Bar

Three bushmen one morning rode up to an inn, And one of them called for the drinks with a grin; They'd only returned from a trip to the North, And, eager to greet them, the landlord came forth. He absently poured out a glass of Three Star. And set down that drink with the rest on the bar.