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The Happy Family

Edward S. Sorenson

Low in the heat of noon from his long questing,
             Amid dry twigs and spines,
Awhile a weary traveller was resting
             “Neath lonely Queensland pines.

Across the brittle needles hopped and chorused
             The Happy Family,
And when no other sound disturbed the forest
             Bore him good company.

About him gaily with no dread of dangers,
             They chirped their roundelays,
And danced, as they had danced to other strangers
             On other sunny days.

He threw them crumbs, and as they fed and chattered
             He seemed to catch their song,
An echo of the past, when nothing mattered,
             Of times when life was long.

And harking  back to scenes of pristine glory,
             Of cattle, camp and yard,
And wantonness that in the after story
             Made recollection hard;

He spoke to them, steeped of the wilds that bound him,
             His hands across his knees,
The needles cracking on the sward around him,
             Dropped from the wilting trees.

“When murd’ring beasts invade your peaceful quarter,
             Who kill all things that fly,
And brag about the cruel, sinful slaughter,
             ‘Twill be for us ‘good-bye.’

“They’ll come along our tracks and feel the prouder
             For having bagged your sort,
And he who kills the most will yap the louder,
             All in the name of sport.

“Our ravished land, where these misguided minions
             Have stalked without dispute,
Mourns for the splendor of departed pinions,
             For voices that are mute.

“She weeps for her unborn who, by their capture,
             Are made to pay the wage—
To give some ruffian one moment’s rapture—
             A nation’s heritage.

“And side by side, in their enlightened ages,
             With this destroying brute,
He who collects for cases or for cages
             Will stand in vile repute.

“And with them, too, the ruthless poison-layers,
             Dead-strewing hill and flat,
And heartless woman who employeth slayers
             To decorate her hat.

“With these abroad, who care not what tomorrow
             For all may hold in fee,
Companions of the wand’rer, there is sorrow,
             I fear, in store for thee.

“If prayers availed, or even execrations,
             I’d make your lives divine,
And pass you on to far-off generations,
             Dear wild-wood mates of mine.

“But feed your fill while I have bread and damper,
             O Happy Family!”
And hopping round, they recompensed the camper
             With their quaint minstrelsy.

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