FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   62   63   64   65   66   67   68   69   70   71   72   73   74   >>  
h was Bonypart and which was Marshall's mate. The dam went dry at Dingo Creek, and we were driven back, And none dared face the Ninety Mile when Crowbar took the track. They saw him at Dead Camel and along the Dry Hole Creeks -- There came a day when none had heard of Marshall's mate for weeks; They'd seen him at No Sunday, he called at Starving Steers -- There came a time when none had heard of Marshall's mate for years. They found old Bonypart at last, picked clean by hungry crows, But no one knew how Crowbar died -- the soul of Marshall knows! And now, way out on Dingo Creek, when winter days are late, The bushmen talk of Crowbar's ghost 'what's looking for his mate'; For let the fools indulge their mirth, and let the wise men doubt -- The soul of Crowbar and his mate have travelled further out. Beyond the furthest two-rail fence, Colanne and Nevertire -- Beyond the furthest rabbit-proof, barbed wire and common wire -- Beyond the furthest 'Gov'ment' tank, and past the furthest bore -- The Never-Never, No Man's Land, No More, and Nevermore -- Beyond the Land o' Break-o'-Day, and Sunset and the Dawn, The soul of Marshall and the soul of Marshall's mate have gone Unto that Loving, Laughing Land where life is fresh and clean -- Where the rivers flow all summer, and the grass is always green. The Poets of the Tomb The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead, 'Tis time the people passed a law to knock 'em on the head, For 'twould be lovely if their friends could grant the rest they crave -- Those bards of 'tears' and 'vanished hopes', those poets of the grave. They say that life's an awful thing, and full of care and gloom, They talk of peace and restfulness connected with the tomb. They say that man is made of dirt, and die, of course, he must; But, all the same, a man is made of pretty solid dust. There is a thing that they forget, so let it here be writ, That some are made of common mud, and some are made of GRIT; Some try to help the world along while others fret and fume And wish that they were slumbering in the silence of the tomb. 'Twixt mother's arms and coffin-gear a man has work to do! And if he does his very best he mostly worries through, And while there is a wrong to right, and while the world goes round, An honest man alive is worth a million underground. And yet, as long as sheoaks sigh and wattle-blossoms bloom, The world shall
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   62   63   64   65   66   67   68   69   70   71   72   73   74   >>  



Top keywords:

Marshall

 

Crowbar

 

furthest

 
Beyond
 
common
 

Bonypart

 
people
 

restfulness

 

connected

 

passed


vanished
 

lovely

 

friends

 

twould

 

worries

 
honest
 

wattle

 

blossoms

 

sheoaks

 
million

underground

 
forget
 

pretty

 

silence

 

mother

 

coffin

 

slumbering

 
picked
 

hungry

 

Sunday


called

 

Starving

 

Steers

 

winter

 

driven

 

Ninety

 

Creeks

 

bushmen

 

Loving

 

Laughing


Sunset

 

Nevermore

 

rivers

 

summer

 

travelled

 

indulge

 
barbed
 

Colanne

 

Nevertire

 

rabbit