[133]
[Illustration: Nor’west Corner]

[135]
BEER IS ENOUGH.

Beer is enough. Let us be satisfied,
    Nor fret our hearts with longing after gin,
And bob saloons, and vanities beside,
    That lead one to the shelving edge of sin ...
For wights who sit a-row along the pave,
With crackling skins, and drooping lives to save,
                                Beer is enough.

Beer is enough. Let Love roost on his perch,
    And coo and coo his breath away at will ...
The bride in orange blooms—the ivied church—
    The two-roomed kipsy sheltered by the hill ...
Sweep them aside, and fetch the frothing bowl
To warm the cockles of one’s inmost-soul.
                                Beer is enough.

Beer is enough. Though dreamers sigh and sigh
    Of melting love, did love e’er quench a thirst?
Did ever Cupid, ’neath a brazen sky,
    Hand out a pint to taper off a burst?
Can Daphne’s lips allay the wild desire
To wade in hops, when coppers are afire?
                                Beer is enough.

[136]
Beer is enough. The brightest and the best
    Of all the gifts the gods have handed down!
A Nautch girl she! who graces all the West,
    Dressed in her picture hat, and amber gown ...
There is no canker in her love—no lees
To weight one’s ghost through dim eternities.
                                Beer is enough.

[Decoration: Mining equipment]

[137]
A BUNCH OF VIOLETS.

The loungers eyed the Wreck askance,
    —A seedy bloke was he,
Who bore upon his countenance
    A boozer’s historee—
He wore a small pea-dodger hat
    Upon his massive brow,
                And everywhere
                His sandy hair
    Spread round the rim like tow.

“Oh! Charles Adolphus,” Hebe chipped
    (The belle of Bung’s saloon)
“Old chap! you’re got me fairly hipped—
    I’m dying for a spoon!”
“Stand off! Stand off!” the boozer yelled,
    And dashed his pewter down:
                “Her eyes of grey,
                Though dimmed to-day,
    Glow warm from Sydney town!”

[138]
“Cheer up!” the barmaid cried, “Cheer up!
    You’ll be a long time dead.”
“Ah! we have drained the bitter cup,
    My girl and I,” he said;
“For she is ’neath the morning sun,
    And I am where it sets—
                On Sydney quay
                She waits for me,
    My bunch of vio-lets!”

“Girl! we were raised together, where
    The Namoi winds along—
Corn tassels were not like her hair!
    Or magpies like her song!”
—And so he waxed poetic, while
    The barmaid bent her ear
                (As women do
                To listen to
    The eloquence of beer.)

“Oh! shut your head, and do a get!”
    The irate loungers cried:
“Last month I saw your Violet
    Upon the Sydney side.
She wore a pretty rakish hat;
    A Chow on either fin;
                And loaded thus,
                She wanted us
    To fill her up with gin.”