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Mopoke

When night had shrouded Wonga Hill,
The mopoke called below;
Not here and there and oft as will
The bird that bushmen know.

But always at a certain hour
(The which was rather late).
And only from the sheoak bow’r
Below the paddock gate.

Mopoke! Mopoke! and no one knew
‘T had nary tail nor bill,
But two sweet lips, and never grew
A solitary quill.

She was the chick of Eben Carr
(Of base unfeathered clan),
Who was a most particul-ar
And sanctimonious man.

No ardent youth, whate’er his worth,
Found favour in his sight;
Nor might his gentle lamb go forth
Un-chaperoned at night.

Though Ruby had been guarded well,
She “knew a thing or two,”
And did not openly rebel,
As many maidens do.

She worked amain from morning light
(Whene’er occasion rose),
And, weary at the fall of night,
She early sought repose.

None heard the lifting window sash
(‘Twas soaped to make it slide),
Nor saw the momentary flash
Of something white beside;

Nor heard the muffled footsteps down
The trackless hillside pass,
The flutter of an ebon gown,
The rustle in the grass.

But Eb, who on the v’randah sat,
Beside his spouse, to smoke,
Anon would hear and marvel at
The mellow-voiced “mo-poke!”

Ne’er over twice nor under smote
Upon his ears the cry;
And if there was an answ’ing note,
‘Twas echo made reply.

And this is where fair Ruby erred,
She was much too precise;
His curiosity was stirred
When ‘twouldn’t mopoke thrice;

And when it was so regular
In hour and night and place,
It woke desire in Eben Carr
To look it in the face.

He went at last, and squatting by,
He held the moon in line,
That he might see that mopoke fly,
And know ‘twas genu-ine.

And as he watched, with stealthy tread,
Came Rube—but nary fowl;
Asked to explain, his daughter said.
“I came to see the owl!”

She tried to hold her bolting heart,
And stood aside in fear;
But Eben, skilled in devil’s art,
Inclined a friendly ear.

She tarried by at his request,
And measured time with sighs—
With rank rebellion in her breast,
Resentment in her eyes.

And soon, as though by witchery.
From where she never knew,
Into the wailing sheoak tree
A real podargus flew.

“Mopoke! Mo-poke!” it gaily cried
(She could have screwed its neck),
But Eben smiled, and, satisfied,
Turned on the homeward trek.

Just then the beau impetuous
Broke through the greenery—
O trammelled love! O feathered one;
O Ruby! and O ME!

“What now, young man!” old Eben cried,
“Why in my paddock prowl?”
The silent mate, aghast, replied,
“I came to see the owl!”

Old Eben coughed his thorax free,
He rubbed his cranium;
He stared and frowned, and finally
Ejaculated “Hum!”

Nor ‘fore Rube’s pink auricular
Did he in anger ban;
He was a most particular
And sanctimonious man.

With knitted brows he joined his kith,
Demurely standing by,
And marched her up the hillock with
A twinkle in her eye.

But still possessed of doubts, he went
And watched Podargus’ Bow’r
On after nights in shadows bent.
Through many a lonely hour.

And while he watched, a tiny light
Flashed twice on Wonga Hill;
And then two lovers kissed “Good-night”
Across the window sill.

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