| PAGE | |
| [THE PORTS OF THE OPEN SEA] | |
|---|---|
| Down here where the ships loom large in | [1] |
| [THE THREE KINGS] | |
| The East is dead and the West is done, and again our course lies thus:— | [5] |
| [THE OUTSIDE TRACK] | |
| There were ten of us there on the moonlit quay, | [8] |
| [SYDNEY-SIDE] | |
| Where’s the steward?—Bar-room steward? Berth? Oh, any berth will do— | [10] |
| [THE ROVERS] | |
| Some born of homely parents | [13] |
| [FOREIGN LANDS] | |
| You may roam the wide seas over, follow, meet, and cross the sun, | [18] |
| [MARY LEMAINE] | |
| Jim Duff was a ‘native,’ as wild as could be; | [22] |
| [THE SHAKEDOWN ON THE FLOOR] | |
| Set me back for twenty summers— | [25] |
| [REEDY RIVER] | |
| Ten miles down Reedy River | [28] |
| [OLD STONE CHIMNEY] | |
| The rising moon on the peaks was blending | [31] |
| [SONG OF THE OLD BULLOCK-DRIVER] | |
| Far Back in the days when the blacks used to ramble | [35] |
| [THE LIGHTS OF COBB AND CO.] | |
| Fire lighted, on the table a meal for sleepy men, | [39] |
| [HOW THE LAND WAS WON] | |
| The future was dark and the past was dead | [45] |
| [THE BOSS OVER THE BOARD] | |
| When he’s over a rough and unpopular shed, | [48] |
| [WHEN THE LADIES COME TO THE SHEARING SHED] | |
| ‘The ladies are coming,’ the super says | [52] |
| [THE BALLAD OF THE ROUSEABOUT] | |
| A rouseabout of rouseabouts, from any land—or none— | [55] |
| [YEARS AFTER THE WAR IN AUSTRALIA] | |
| The big rough boys from the runs out back were first where the balls flew free, | [60] |
| [THE OLD JIMMY WOODSER] | |
| The old Jimmy Woodser comes into the bar, | [67] |
| [THE CHRIST OF THE ‘NEVER’] | |
| With eyes that seem shrunken to pierce | [69] |
| [THE CATTLE-DOG’S DEATH] | |
| The plains lay bare on the homeward route, | [71] |
| [THE SONG OF THE DARLING RIVER] | |
| The skies are brass and the plains are bare, | [73] |
| [RAIN IN THE MOUNTAINS] | |
| The valley’s full of misty cloud, | [75] |
| [A MAY NIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS] | |
| ’Tis a wonderful time when these hours begin, | [76] |
| [THE NEW CHUM JACKAROO] | |
| Let bushmen think as bushmen will, | [78] |
| [THE DONS OF SPAIN] | |
| The Eagle screams at the beck of trade, so Spain, as the world goes round, | [81] |
| [THE BURSTING OF THE BOOM] | |
| The shipping office clerks are ‘short,’ the manager is gruff— | [84] |
| [ANTONY VILLA] | |
| Over there, above the jetty, stands the mansion of the Vardens, | [90] |
| [SECOND CLASS WAIT HERE] | |
| On suburban railway stations—you may see them as you pass— | [96] |
| [THE SHIPS THAT WON’T GO DOWN] | |
| We hear a great commotion | [99] |
| [THE MEN WE MIGHT HAVE BEEN] | |
| When God’s wrath-cloud is o’er me | [101] |
| [THE WAY OF THE WORLD] | |
| When fairer faces turn from me, | [103] |
| [THE BATTLING DAYS] | |
| So, sit you down in a straight-backed chair, with your pipe and your wife content, | [105] |
| [WRITTEN AFTERWARDS] | |
| So the days of my tramping are over, | [108] |
| [THE UNCULTURED RHYMER TO HIS CULTURED CRITICS] | |
| Fight through ignorance, want, and care— | [111] |
| [THE WRITER’S DREAM] | |
| A writer wrote of the hearts of men, and he followed their tracks afar; | [113] |
| [THE JOLLY DEAD MARCH] | |
| If I ever be worthy or famous— | [121] |
| [MY LITERARY FRIEND] | |
| Once I wrote a little poem which I thought was very fine, | [125] |
| [MARY CALLED HIM ‘MISTER’] | |
| They’d parted but a year before—she never thought he’d come, | [127] |
| [REJECTED] | |
| She says she’s very sorry, as she sees you to the gate; | [130] |
| [O’HARA, J.P.] | |
| James Patrick O’Hara, the Justice of Peace, | [134] |
| [BILL AND JIM FALL OUT] | |
| Bill and Jim are mates no longer—they would scorn the name of mate— | [138] |
| [THE PAROO] | |
| It was a week from Christmas-time, | [142] |
| [THE GREEN-HAND ROUSEABOUT] | |
| Call this hot? I beg your pardon. Hot!—you don’t know what it means. | [146] |
| [THE MAN FROM WATERLOO] | |
| It was the Man from Waterloo, | [151] |
| [SAINT PETER] | |
| Now, I think there is a likeness | [155] |
| [THE STRANGER’S FRIEND] | |
| The strangest things, and the maddest things, that a man can do or say, | [158] |
| [THE GOD-FORGOTTEN ELECTION] | |
| Pat M‘Durmer brought the tidings to the town of God-Forgotten: | [162] |
| [THE BOSS’S BOOTS] | |
| The shearers squint along the pens, they squint along the ‘shoots;’ | [168] |
| [THE CAPTAIN OF THE PUSH] | |
| As the night was falling slowly down on city, town and bush, | [174] |
| [BILLY’S ‘SQUARE AFFAIR’] | |
| Long Bill, the captain of the push, was tired of his estate, | [181] |
| [A DERRY ON A COVE] | |
| ’Twas in the felon’s dock he stood, his eyes were black and blue; | [185] |
| [RISE YE! RISE YE!] | |
| Rise ye! rise ye! noble toilers! claim your rights with fire and steel! | [187] |
| [THE BALLAD OF MABEL CLARE] | |
| Ye children of the Land of Gold, | [190] |
| [CONSTABLE M‘CARTHY’S INVESTIGATIONS] | |
| Most unpleasantly adjacent to the haunts of lower orders | [196] |
| [AT THE TUG-OF-WAR] | |
| ’Twas in a tug-of-war where I—the guvnor’s hope and pride— | [205] |
| [HERE’S LUCK!] | |
| Old Time is tramping close to-day—you hear his bluchers fall, | [208] |
| [THE MEN WHO COME BEHIND] | |
| There’s a class of men (and women) who are always on their guard— | [211] |
| [THE DAYS WHEN WE WENT SWIMMING] | |
| The breezes waved the silver grass, | [214] |
| [THE OLD BARK SCHOOL] | |
| It was built of bark and poles, and the floor was full of holes | [216] |
| [TROUBLE ON THE SELECTION] | |
| You lazy boy, you’re here at last, | [220] |
| [THE PROFESSIONAL WANDERER] | |
| When you’ve knocked about the country—been away from home for years; | [222] |
| [A LITTLE MISTAKE] | |
| ’Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum ‘trap’ | [225] |
| [A STUDY IN THE “NOOD”] | |
| He was bare—we don’t want to be rude— | [228] |
| [A WORD TO TEXAS JACK] | |
| Texas Jack, you are amusin’. By Lord Harry, how I laughed | [231] |
| [THE GROG-AN’-GRUMBLE STEEPLECHASE] | |
| ’Twixt the coastline and the border lay the town of Grog-an’-Grumble | [237] |
| [BUT WHAT’S THE USE] | |
| But what’s the use of writing ‘bush’— | [242] |
VIGNETTES BY FRANK P. MAHONY
| Portrait of the Author | [facing title page] |
| The Lights of Cobb and Co. | [title page] |
| My Literary Friend | [ page xvi.] |
“Once I wrote a little poem which I thought was very fine,
And I showed the printer’s copy to a critic friend of mine,
First he praised the thing a little....”
[page 125.]
THE PORTS OF THE OPEN SEA
Down here where the ships loom large in
The gloom when the sea-storms veer,
Down here on the south-west margin
Of the western hemisphere,
Where the might of a world-wide ocean
Round the youngest land rolls free—
Storm-bound from the world’s commotion,
Lie the Ports of the Open Sea.
By the bluff where the grey sand reaches
To the kerb of the spray-swept street,
By the sweep of the black sand beaches
From the main-road travellers’ feet,
By the heights like a work Titanic,
Begun ere the gods’ work ceased,
By a bluff-lined coast volcanic
Lie the Ports of the wild South-east.