CHAPTER XIII.
SOME LITERARY REMAINS.
The late Mr. Palmer had some skill as a versifier, although the exigencies of his arduous life in the pioneering days would not permit of his adding the extra finish to the lines which, more often than not, were as he himself phrased it, “strung together as the result of sleepless hours passed during the nights while camping out on a large cattle run in the west.” A few of his efforts are here preserved:—
THE GIDYA TREE.
(Acacia Homœophylla.)
Where roll the great plains to the west, Near a homestead pleasant to see, With far-stretching limbs and spreading crest, Grows a grand old acacia tree. Nor winter winds, nor sun’s fierce heat Can change its staunch solidity, For many a century’s storms have beat On this great, grey, gidya tree.
At early morn, their joyous lay, The butcher-birds sing in melody. And merrily pass the hours away, All under the gidya tree. The grey doves in its shade rejoice, From eyes of kites they’re free, And call their loves in plaintive voice, From under the gidya tree.
In scarlet bloom, the mistletoe swings, From its branches droopingly; And all around its odour flings, Right under the gidya tree. The milk-plant twines its length along, As if ’twould hidden be; Creeping its way ’mong the leaves so strong, Of this ancient gidya tree.
The panting cattle gladly come, And sheltered fain would be, From burning heat of noonday sun, Camped under the gidya tree. Like the shade from a great rock cast O’er the land so soothing lay; All Nature seeks some rest at last, Far under the gidya tree.
When life is o’er and troubles past, How sweet that rest will be, For weary ones who come at last, Safe under the gidya tree. “Nunc dimittis,” my work is done, And soon from care set free; That peace I wish will soon be won, Deep under the gidya tree.