In the Days When the World Was Wide [7]
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
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