the Christmas Day
And I must rise and go,
For I have a mighty way to ride
To the land of the Esquimaux.
âAnd itâs there I must load my sledges up,
With the reindeers four-in-hand,
That go to the north, south, east, and west,
To every Christian land.â
âTae the Esquimaux,â said the dour good wife,
âYe suit my husband well!
For when he gets up on his journey horse
Heâs a bit of a liar himselâ.â
Then out with a laugh went the bonny wee man
To his old horse grazing nigh,
And away like a meteor flash they went
Far off to the northern sky.
When the children woke on the Christmas morn
They chattered with might and mainâ
Wiâ a sword and gun for little son Jack,
And a braw new doll had Jane,
And a packet oâ nails had the twa Emus;
But the dour gude wife gat nane.
Australian Town and Country Journal , 1906
42
The Shearerâs Wife
Louis Esson
The darkâbut drudginâs never done;
Now after tea inside the door
I patch anâ darn from set oâ sun,
Till hands git stiff and eyes grow sore,
While Dickâs outback.
And times I lie awake oâ nights
Anâ watch the moon throw tricksy lights
Anâ shadows skeer with creepy sights
Out in the ranges black.
Before the glare oâ dawn I rise
To milk the sleepy cows, anâ feed
The chooky-hens I dearly prize:
I set the bunny traps, then knead
The weekly bread.
Thereâs hay to stook, anâ spuds to hoe,
Anâ ferns to cut in the scrub below,
Anâ I lay out palinâs row on row
To make a new cow-shed.
The poorness of this Savage Bush
Has crushed us since we came from town,
(To-night Iâm dreaminâ through the hush:
My eyes are bright, my hairâs still brown,
And Iâm Young Lil.
âWeâll have a farm,â Dick used to say,
âWhere weâll be happy all the day,â
But now Iâm wrinkled, worn, anâ grey,
And Dickâs a shearer still.)
Blurred runs the track whereon he comes,
And tired am I with labour sore;
Tired oâ the bush, anâ cows, anâ gums,
Tiredâanâ I want to think no more.
What tales he tells
The moon is lonesome in the sky,
The bush is lone, and lonesome I
But Stare as the red dust clouds whirl by,
And start at the cattle bells.
The Bulletin , 1907
43
A Snake Yarn
WT Goodge
âYou talk of snakes,â said Jack the Rat,
âBut blow me, one hot summer,
I seen a thing that knocked me flatâ
Fourteen foot long or more than that.
It was a regâlar hummer!
Lay right along a sort of bog,
Just like a log!
âThe ugly thing was lyinâ there
And not a sign oâ movinâ,
Give any man a nasty scare;
Seen nothinâ like it anywhere
Since I first started drovinâ.
And yet it didnât scare my dog.
Looked like a log!
âI had to cross that bog, yer see,
And bluey I was humpinâ;
But wonderinâ what that thing could be
A-lyinâ there in front oâ me
I didnât feel like jumpinâ.
Yet, though I shivered like a frog,
It seemed a log!
âI takes a leap and lands right on
The back of that there whopper!â
He stopped. We waited. Then Big Mac
Remarked: âWell, then, what happened, Jack?â
âNot much,â said Jack, and drained his grog.
âIt was a log!â
The Bulletin , 1899
44
Song of the Artesian Waters
Banjo Paterson
Now the stock have started dying, for the Lord has sent a drought;
But weâre sick of prayers and Providenceâweâre going to do without;
With the derricks up above us and the solid earth below,
We are waiting at the lever for the word to let her go.
Sinking down, deeper down;
Oh, weâll sink it deeper down.
As the drill is plugging downward at a thousand feet of level,
If the Lord wonât send us water, oh, weâll get it from the devil;
Yes, weâll get it from the devil deeper down.
Now, our engineâs
K. Sterling
Jacquie Rogers
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley
Shiloh Walker
Elizabeth Moynihan
Mary Balogh
Tara Fox Hall
Jonathan Maberry
Jane Hunt
James Kakalios