In the Days When the World Was Wide [32]
when you see me on the street, And you think that I'm too common for your toney friend to meet, So that I, in passing closely, fail to come within your view -- Then be blind to me for ever: I'm a prouder man than you!
If your character be blameless, if your outward past be clean, While 'tis known my antecedents are not what they should have been, Do not risk contamination, save your name whate'er you do -- `Birds o' feather fly together': I'm a prouder bird than you!
Keep your patronage for others! Gold and station cannot hide Friendship that can laugh at fortune, friendship that can conquer pride! Offer this as to an equal -- let me see that you are true, And my wall of pride is shattered: I am not so proud as you!
The Song and the Sigh
The creek went down with a broken song, 'Neath the sheoaks high; The waters carried the song along, And the oaks a sigh.
The song and the sigh went winding by, Went winding down; Circling the foot of the mountain high, And the hillside brown.
They were hushed in the swamp of the Dead Man's Crime, Where the curlews cried; But they reached the river the self-same time, And there they died.
And the creek of life goes winding on, Wandering by; And bears for ever, its course upon, A song and a sigh.
The Cambaroora Star
So you're writing for a paper? Well, it's nothing very new To be writing yards of drivel for a tidy little screw; You are young and educated, and a clever chap you are, But you'll never run a paper like the CAMBAROORA STAR. Though in point of education I am nothing but a dunce, I myself -- you mayn't believe it -- helped to run a paper once With a chap on Cambaroora, by the name of Charlie Brown, And I'll tell you all about it if you'll take the story down.
On a golden day in summer, when the sunrays were aslant, Brown arrived in Cambaroora with a little printing plant And his worldly goods and chattels -- rather damaged on the way -- And a weary-looking woman who was following the dray. He had bought an empty humpy, and, instead of getting tight, Why, the diggers heard him working like a lunatic all night: And next day a sign of canvas, writ in characters of tar, Claimed the humpy as the office of the CAMBAROORA STAR.
Well, I cannot read, that's honest, but I had a digger friend Who would read the paper to me from the title to the end; And the STAR contained a leader running thieves and spielers down, With a slap against claim-jumping, and a poem made by Brown. Once I showed it to a critic, and he said 'twas very fine, Though he wasn't long in finding glaring faults in every line; But it was a song of Freedom -- all the clever critic said Couldn't stop that song from ringing, ringing, ringing in my head.
So I went where Brown was working in his little hut hard by: `My old mate has been a-reading of your writings, Brown,' said I -- `I have studied on your leader, I agree with what you say, You have struck the bed-rock certain, and there ain't no get-away; Your paper's just the thumper for a young and growing land, And your principles is honest, Brown; I want to shake your hand, And if there's any lumping in connection with the STAR, Well, I'll find the time to do it, and I'll help you -- there you are!'
Brown was every inch a digger (bronzed and bearded in the South), But there seemed a kind of weakness round the corners of his mouth When he took the hand I gave him; and he gripped it like a vice, While he tried his best to thank me, and he stuttered once or twice. But there wasn't need for talking -- we'd the same old loves and hates, And we understood each other -- Charlie Brown and I were mates. So we worked a little `paddock' on a place they called the `Bar', And we sank a shaft together, and at night we worked the STAR.
Charlie thought and did his writing when his work was done at night, And the missus used to `set' it near as quick as he could write. Well, I didn't shirk my promise, and I helped the thing, I guess, For at night I worked the lever of the crazy printing-press;
If your character be blameless, if your outward past be clean, While 'tis known my antecedents are not what they should have been, Do not risk contamination, save your name whate'er you do -- `Birds o' feather fly together': I'm a prouder bird than you!
Keep your patronage for others! Gold and station cannot hide Friendship that can laugh at fortune, friendship that can conquer pride! Offer this as to an equal -- let me see that you are true, And my wall of pride is shattered: I am not so proud as you!
The Song and the Sigh
The creek went down with a broken song, 'Neath the sheoaks high; The waters carried the song along, And the oaks a sigh.
The song and the sigh went winding by, Went winding down; Circling the foot of the mountain high, And the hillside brown.
They were hushed in the swamp of the Dead Man's Crime, Where the curlews cried; But they reached the river the self-same time, And there they died.
And the creek of life goes winding on, Wandering by; And bears for ever, its course upon, A song and a sigh.
The Cambaroora Star
So you're writing for a paper? Well, it's nothing very new To be writing yards of drivel for a tidy little screw; You are young and educated, and a clever chap you are, But you'll never run a paper like the CAMBAROORA STAR. Though in point of education I am nothing but a dunce, I myself -- you mayn't believe it -- helped to run a paper once With a chap on Cambaroora, by the name of Charlie Brown, And I'll tell you all about it if you'll take the story down.
On a golden day in summer, when the sunrays were aslant, Brown arrived in Cambaroora with a little printing plant And his worldly goods and chattels -- rather damaged on the way -- And a weary-looking woman who was following the dray. He had bought an empty humpy, and, instead of getting tight, Why, the diggers heard him working like a lunatic all night: And next day a sign of canvas, writ in characters of tar, Claimed the humpy as the office of the CAMBAROORA STAR.
Well, I cannot read, that's honest, but I had a digger friend Who would read the paper to me from the title to the end; And the STAR contained a leader running thieves and spielers down, With a slap against claim-jumping, and a poem made by Brown. Once I showed it to a critic, and he said 'twas very fine, Though he wasn't long in finding glaring faults in every line; But it was a song of Freedom -- all the clever critic said Couldn't stop that song from ringing, ringing, ringing in my head.
So I went where Brown was working in his little hut hard by: `My old mate has been a-reading of your writings, Brown,' said I -- `I have studied on your leader, I agree with what you say, You have struck the bed-rock certain, and there ain't no get-away; Your paper's just the thumper for a young and growing land, And your principles is honest, Brown; I want to shake your hand, And if there's any lumping in connection with the STAR, Well, I'll find the time to do it, and I'll help you -- there you are!'
Brown was every inch a digger (bronzed and bearded in the South), But there seemed a kind of weakness round the corners of his mouth When he took the hand I gave him; and he gripped it like a vice, While he tried his best to thank me, and he stuttered once or twice. But there wasn't need for talking -- we'd the same old loves and hates, And we understood each other -- Charlie Brown and I were mates. So we worked a little `paddock' on a place they called the `Bar', And we sank a shaft together, and at night we worked the STAR.
Charlie thought and did his writing when his work was done at night, And the missus used to `set' it near as quick as he could write. Well, I didn't shirk my promise, and I helped the thing, I guess, For at night I worked the lever of the crazy printing-press;