[124]
ANSWER TO “HIS LETTER FROM W.A.”
Dear Charley, I dreamt of a letter last night
With the postmark of W.A.,
And it’s wonderful, reely, how soon it came right,
And I ought to feel happy to-day—
For your letter came home from that far-away shore,
But no matter however I try,
The difference, somehow, it always seems more
And I cannot do nothing but cry.
They’re all gone to Hogan’s to see their noo plough,
But I’m stayin’ behind from the rest,
For there doesn’t seem anything happenin’ now
Like before you cleared out to the West.
The voice from the crick’s like a human in pain
And a sigh seems ter come from the trees,
And there’s somethin’ I don’t understand on the plain
With the grass wavin’ up to your knees.
You mind the moss rose that grew over our gate,
Our old gate where we whispered, “Good-bye”?
Oh, how often I go there and wonder if Fate
Has one blessing a girl’s wish could buy—
[125]
I am wearin’ a bunch in your favourite dress
With the flounces and streamers of blue,
And though pr’aps it is silly, I have to confess
I am wearin’ my heart out for you.
All the country around is as green as a leaf
And there’s never no fires or no drought,
And they say it’s old weatherwise Riley’s belief
That the seasons is goin’ to hang out;
And they say that young fellers is fools to go West
When there’s whips of good land on the run—
And the stick-at-home policy’s always the best
When the summin’-up comes to be done.
Oh, Charley! come back to your sweetheart again!
She’s as dull as a girl in a trance:
And she hasn’t been out for a flutter since then
And she don’t care a dump for a dance;
And she’s watchin’ for someone who kissed her, and cried
“But a few little months for to wait!
When the time’ll pass by, and I’ll stand by your side
Where the roses twine over the gate.”
[126]
[Illustration: Man with luggage and moneybag hastily leaving camp]
A-WHIZZING TOWARDS THE EAST.
Hurrah! at last
Ill luck is past;
My shammy weighs a ton!
A drink or two,
A shake for you,
A smile for everyone!
My number’s up—
A stirrup cup!
No Death’s head at the feast!
As off I go
With veins aglow,
A-whizzing towards the East!
[127]
Yet, wait a shake!
Yet, wait a shake!
Put on the brake,
And shut the damper down!
A kiss for you
With eyes of blue!
And you with eyes of brown!
’Tis oft declared
A joy that’s shared
Is seven-fold increased—
Then jump aboard
And trust the Lord,
A-whizzing towards the East!
The breezes tell—
The stars as well—
The tales I love to hear:
Their voices seem
As in a dream,
Those missed for many a year.
Then here with you!
My cronies true!
The nearest and the least!
I’ll clink a glass,
Then skim the grass,
A-whizzing towards the East!
With love and loot,
And youth to boot,
I’ll plough the ocean blue—
[128]
They’re waiting me
They’re waiting me
Upon the quay,
And gaze the mistland through:
Then shout afar,
“Hurrah! Hurrah!”
Like prisoners released—
With sails outspread
And “Steam ahead,”
We’re whizzing towards the East!
[Decoration: Man with swag walking away]
[129]
THE OLD FARM GATE.
There’s an all-pervading glamour and a glitter in the West;
There’s a market here for muscle or for brain:
And Success stands ever near us, with a blossom at her breast,
And a galaxy of beauty in her train!
There are prizes worth the winning, for the daring hearts and bold,
There are gauds and gear for those who work and wait,
But I’m often drifting, drifting, from the palling gleam of gold
Till I stand beside the old farm gate.
How the roses bloomed that Summer! with their petals white and red:
How the honeysuckle clustered near the porch!
The soft warm glow of sympathy around the place was shed,
For the god of sweet Contentment held the torch!
There were mountains in the distance, and a river at their base,
And when Summer evening fancies re-create
Then I go a-drifting, drifting, with a smile upon my face
Till I stand beside the old farm gate!
[130]
Ere the mocking days that hover ’twixt the dreams of then and now:
Ere the mocking days that hover ’twixt the dreams of then and now:
Ere the fevered years, that withered with their touch:
There was Hope! that never ceased to wear a flush upon her brow,
And that Hope still struggles onward—with a crutch!
But the harvest days are over, and asleep their merry men,
And I glean the ears of fantasy or Fate,
As I go a-drifting, drifting, till I find Eileen again
As I left her by the old farm gate.
[Decoration: Man leading camel]
[131]
TO THOSE WHO LOVE US MOST.
Oh, fill the sparkling crystal up
A beaker to the brim!
We sing no lays of fulsome praise
Of white-lipped seraphim:
No universal hymn of peace—
No puling, puking toast—
But clink a glass to those we love!
And those who love us most.
A love for love! a hate for hate!
Good old Mohammed’s creed—
That sears and brands the hearts and hands
Of every human breed:
We join in greetings to our foes—
No false-tongued canting host;
But drink a health to those we love!
And those who love us most!
To him whose hand would bear us down—
Whose fluent lie would mar—
We bear no hate inveterate,
No gall-tipped scimitar;
[132]
And little care, though glory crown,
Or hottest hell may roast—
But drain a glass to those we love
And those who love us most!
A white-haired woman o’er the sea—
A group within her gate,
Who bend to read the halting screed,
But half articulate—
Yet bearing on its blotted page,
From Austral coast to coast,
A word of love to those we love
And those who love us most.
To-night! oh, let no follies sway!
No gas-lit, luring eyes
Glint through the clear God’s atmosphere
That links eternities!
Wave back each wizened witch of care!
Wave back each peering ghost!
And breathe a heathen prayer for them—
“The hearts that love us most!”