There fell a spark on the upland grass —
The dry Bush leapt into flame; —
And I felt my heart go cold as death,
And Bannerman smiled and caught his breath, —
But I heard him name Her name.
Down the hill-side the fire-floods rushed,
On the roaring eastern wind; —
Neck and neck was the reckless race, —
Ever the bay mare kept her pace,
But the grey horse dropped behind.
He turned in the saddle — "Let's change, I say!"
And his bridle rein he drew.
He sprang to the ground, — "Look sharp!" he said
With a backward toss of his curly head —
"I ride lighter than you!"
Down and up — it was quickly done —
No words to waste that day! —
Swift as a swallow she sped along,
The good bay mare from Dandenong, —
And Bannerman rode the grey.
The hot air scorched like a furnace blast
From the very mouth of Hell: —
The blue gums caught and blazed on high
Like flaming pillars into the sky; . . .
The grey horse staggered and fell.
"Ride, ride, lad, — ride for her sake!" he cried; —
Into the gulf of flame
Were swept, in less than a breathing space
The laughing eyes, and the comely face,
And the lips that named HER name.
She bore me bravely, the good bay mare; —
Stunned, and dizzy and blind,
I heard the sound of a mingling roar —
'Twas the Lachlan River that rushed before,
And the flames that rolled behind.
Safe — safe, at Nammoora gate,
I fell, and lay like a stone.
O love! thine arms were about me then,
Thy warm tears called me to life again, —
But — O God! that I came alone! —
We dwell in peace, my beautiful one
And I, by the streams in the West, —
But oft through the mist of my dreams along
Rides Bannerman of the Dandenong,
With the blood-red rose on his breast.
Ethel Castilla.