Around the Boree Log, and Other Verses

by John O'Brien

There’s many a memory bright and fair will tingle at a name—

But leave unstirred the embers there we cannot fan to flame.

For years have turned the rusted key, and time is on the jog;

Still, spend this fleeting night with me around the boree log.

[1]	Boree (sometimes accented on the last syllable) is the aboriginal name for the Weeping Myall—the best firewood in Australia except Gidgee.

CALLING TO ME

Through the hush of my heart in the spell of its dreaming

Comes the song of a bush boy glad-hearted and free;

Oh, the gullies are green where the sunlight is streaming,

And the voice of that youngster is calling to me.