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Project Gutenberg Australia HomeReturn to Index of Poems
Though elsewhere, Australia, I’m destined to roam,
And “So long” to your headlands I say,
Though far beyond coo-ee, across the sea foam,
I wither in exile away,
My fancy will often hie back to the days
Of stockwhip and rowel and brand;
To the camps and the tracks that are marked with a blaze,
On the trees of my dear native land.
I’ll still hear the thuds of the grey kangaroo
Thro’ ironbark, bloodwood, and gum;
The click of the shears, and when shearing is thro’,
See the shearerman humping his drum;
Hear the screaming of curlews, the dingo’s lone howl,
That mock the corroboree band,
The call of the mopoke, when other night fowl
Cry far from my own native land.
I’ll still see the cattle pour down from the spurs,
Hear the clatter of horns as they pass,
The thunder of hoofs in the rush that occurs,
And the swish of the long, bladey grass;
The steadying cry of the stockman who guards
With a stockwhip alive in his hand
The wings of the mob to the mustering yards
On the runs of my wild native land.
Come memories thronging of coaching with Cobb,
Of travel out-back with the teams;
Of selections and stations, of many a mob
We’ve hustled across flooded streams.
The jingling of bells on the horses at night,
Attuned to the songs in demand;
The call of the swan and the widgeon in flight,
‘Neath the stars of my own native land.
In the glory of sunset the Leuwin is pinked,
Reviving the mem’ries of gold,
Of windlass and cradle, of nuggets that clinked
In the panning-off dishes of old;
And the breezes come perfumed of forest and fire—
O spectacle awful and grand.
Illumining mountain and valley and mire—
As we speed from my loved native land.
Farewell to your cities, broad harbours, and bays,
To your merry bush maidens and men;
To your rivers of beauty, the fountain that plays
In wooded dark mountain and glen;
To the hut and the tent where the ‘possums make free,
And the emus inquisitive stand,
To the many delights and the laughter we see
In the bush of my warm native land.
Australia, of all, from the north to the south,
Has cradled the one I’d call wife—
For the thrill of a kiss from her sweet little mouth
I’d barter ten years of my life.
Tho’ miles upon leagues of dark billows divide,
And may years into ages expand,
Will her thoughts in the jungles afar off abide,
And mine in my own native land.
Farewell, then, to all ‘neath the bright Southern Cross.
Farewell to green valleys and dells.
On Australia’s blue seas I may never more toss,
Nor hear the sweet chime of her bells;
But the link of true hearts will be drawn o’er the main,
Uniting as though hand in hand;
So we twain shall be one tho’ we meet ne’er again
On the shores of our own native land.
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