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Project Gutenberg Australia HomeReturn to Index of Poems
When Peter Spragg first came to make
His home at Bungaree,
He said to Sal and John and Jake
(Who were his progenee):
“There’s tons of honey in the trees
That on those ridges grow,
An’ countless pollen-laden bees
Among the blossoms show.
“Abe Brown was tellin’ me to-day
That he’s got tubs of comb,
An’ lots an’ lots he’s sent away
From round about his home,
Now, we can do as good as Brown
(Or I will eat my hat),
I’ll find a nest an’ chop it down—
What’s easier than that?”
With axe and cans at morning he
And all the little Spraggs,
Went forth to scan each standing tree
In quest of sugarbags.
They caught a bee, and to it tied
A bit of thistle down,
And chasing it where’er it hied,
They imitated Brown.
They found a nest; small objects dark
Were darting in and out,
Atop a great big ironbark,
And near a broken spout.
Pete set to work with energy,
The chips began to fly;
But the wood was hard, and presently
He wished he’d passed it by.
For many hours in sun and shade,
With many a “smoke” between,
With blistered hands he rung the blade
On dry wood and on green;
But when it fell he wiped his brow,
And cheerily spoke he:
“Look out, my boys, they’re savage now;
We’ll rob them after tea.”
It must be said that Peter Spragg
Did not feel quite at ease,
For though he yearned for sugarbag,
He rather dreaded bees.
It seemed to him unwonted that
Such very useful things,
That manufactured sweets so pat,
Should be endowed with stings.
He dressed himself to meet the case,
According to his qualms;
A wire meat-cover o’er his face,
Long stockings on his arms;
Bell-bottoms tied o’er booted feet,
And with the utmost care
Was round him wrapped a winding-sheet,
That made the children stare.
Abe Brown rode up as he stepped out,
And long and loud laughed he,
Then turned his horse’s head about,
And joined the company.
With lighted fat-lamp ‘cross the land
Young Johnny led the way,
His mother held a skimmer, and
Sal bore a spoon and tray.
“Now, mind yourselves!” said Pete. “Look out!”
As they, approached the tree;
Just let the light fall on the spout
Enough for me to see.”
Abe Brown looked round, and sniffed, and spit,
“Why, man alive.” he said,
“I reckon by the smell of it,
That sugarbag is dead!”
And Peter stood in doubtful mood,
And with uplifted axe;
There was no honey ‘bout the wood,
Nor e’en a sign of wax;
And though a swarm flew up and down,
And buzzed among the trees—
I‘ll take my solemn oath,” said Brown,
“Them inseks isn’t bees!”
Pete chopped a hole into the spout,
‘Twas hollow, dry, and thin;
A hundred wing’d things darted out,
A legion hummed within;
Sal, John, and Jake drew near the nest,
With wond’ring, peering eyes;
When mockingly they cried, “I’m blest
If father’s bees ain’t files!”
While Peter eyed the gaping hole,
A weird and awful sight,
Jake lifted something with a pole,
And held it towards the light.’
“I guess,” said Brown, “that sugarbag
‘S the queerest I have seen;
You’ve been an’ robbed the blowflies, Spragg,
‘S a possum, dead an’ green!”
Old Peter stayed to hear no more,
But clutched his axe and fled,
And through the bush in anger tore
The coverings from his head.
And when he next went forth to cope
With mocking things in trees,
He took with him a telescope,
And so made sure of bees.
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