OLD FRIENDS.
Gum trees! Here in the Dutchman's land?
(You'll lie of a kangaroo)
Seen them?—Yes—Well, I'll understand
The truth when I see them too.
Lord!—There they are, by the old brick wall,
Shiny and green and high,
Best of the sights we've seen at all
Is this, to a Cornstalk's eye.
Back, by the creeks in the far-off plains;
Over the ranges blue;
Out in the West where it never rains;
We whispered "good-bye" to you.
We left you alone on the high clay banks,
On a fringe round the dry lagoon,
Where your white trunks gleam by its empty bed
In the pale, soft summer noon.
It's carry me back to the Castlereagh,
Or pack me along to Bourke;
On the Wallaby-track to the west of Hay—
Wherever there's sheds or work.
It's cattle on camp or colts to brand;
It's brumbies about the Peel—
It's all we've here of our own good land,
And this is the way we feel.
Oh, hurry the show, and give us a lead,
And march us beyond the Vaal,
For the lambing's near, and the ewes will breed
And it's close up time to "tail,"
And we've shearing them, and the wool to load,
And the ships are at Circ'lar Quay—
So loot it along the red Veldt road,
A sight for Oom Paul to see.
And when we are back on the Murray lands,
Or up in Mouaro hills,
You may collar the Fonteins, and Drifts, and Rands,
And the Boers will pay the bills.
But we'll be back where the gum-tops wane,
Or the Myall hangs and droops;
With a good veranda round the house,
And none of your dirty stoops.
So hurry it up, for we've work to do
In a far better land than here.
We will swap the veldt and the parched Karoo,
For the plain and ranges clear.
But we'll never forget, in the days to come,
The friends that we've left behind—
For the Dutchman who planted yon tall, white Gum
Was a little bit more than kind.
J. H. M. A.