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Title: "I Dips Me Lid" to the Sydney Harbor Bridge
Author: C. J. Dennis
eBook No.: 2100361h.html
Language: English
Date first posted: 2021
Most recent update: 2021
This eBook was produced by: Walter Moore
Being Further Musings of “The Sentimental Bloke”
C. J. Dennis
“Young sir,” ’e sez . . . Like that . . . It made me feel
Romantic like, as if me dream was reel.
’Is dress was fancy, an’ ’is
style was grave.
An’ me? I ’ope I know ’ow
to be’ave
In ’igh-toned company, for ain’t I been
Instructed careful by me wife, Doreen?
“Sing small,” she sez. An’ that’s
jist wot I did.
I sounds me haitches, an’ I dips
me lid.
“Young sir,” ’e sez . . . O’ course you understand
’Twus jist a dream. But, on the other ’and,
’E seemed so reel as ’e sat
spoutin’ there
Beside me on ole Dame Macquarrie’s
Chair,
Lookin’ across the ’arbor while ’e talked —
Seemed sumpthink more that jist a ghost ’oo walked
Out o’ the past . . . “Phillip
by name,” ’e said.
A queer ole cock, wif lace, an’ wig
on ’ead.
It ’appened this way: I ’ad jist come down,
After long years, to look at Sydney town.
An’ ’struth! Was I knocked
endways? Fair su’prised?
I never dreamed! That arch that cut the
skies!
The Bridge! I never thort there could ’a’ been —
I never knoo, nor guessed — I never seen . . . .
Well, Sydney’s ’ad some knocks
since I been gone,
But strike! This shows she keeps on keepin’ on.
I’d strolled about the town for ’arf a day
Then dragged me carcase round the ’arbor way
To view the Bridge from Dame Macquarrie’s
Chair;
Then parks me frame, an’ gits to
thinkin’ there —
Thinkin’ of olden days; an’ I suppose
I must ’ave nodded orf into a doze.
Nex’ thing I knoo, ole Phillip come
an’ sat
Beside me, friendly like, an’ starts
to chat.
“Young sir,” ’e sez. “You, too, in sheer amaze
Look upon this, and hark to other days,
An’ dream of this fair city’s
early start,
In which (’e bows) I played my ’umble
part —
My ’umble part — a flagpole an’ a tent.”
“Come orf!” sez I. “You was a fine ole gent.
Reel nob. I’ve read about the things
you did.
You picked some site.” (’E
bows. I dips me lid).
“Young sir,” ’e sez. “I’ve dwelt in spirit ’ere
To watch this city waxin’ year by year:
But yesterday, from a mere staff, a tent,
Wonder on wonder as the swift years went —
A thrivin’ village, then a busy town,
Then, as a stride, a city of renown.
Oh! what a wondrous miracle of growth!
Think you not so?” “Too right,” I
sez. “My oath!”
“I’ve watched, young sir,” ’e sez. “An’ I ’ave
feared
Sometimes; feared greatly when ill days appeared.
Yet still they fought and wrought. I had
small need
To doubt the great heart of this sturdy
breed.
Black war has come. Yet, over half a world,
Their sons into that bloody fray they hurled;
And still they triumphed. Still their lodestar
shone.”
“Sure thing,” sez I. “They
kep’ on keepin’ on.”
“Young sir,” ’e sez. “The tears well in my eyes
When I behold yon arch that cleaves the skies —
That mighty span, triumphant, where we
view
My old friend Darwin’s vision now
made true:
’There the proud arch, Colossus-like, bestride
Yon glittering stream and bound the chafing tide!
’Twas so he dreamed a few short years
agone.
Spoke truly, sir; they keep on keeping
on.”
So Phillip spoke ’is piece, fair puffed wif pride.
An’ ’im an’ me dreamed by the ’arbor-side:
I, of the scene before, of years to be,
An’ of the marvels that men yet might
see;
’Im, of a lantern gleamin’ thro’ the fog
To light a tent, an’ two men, an’ a dog . . . .
Then both of us, like some queer instinct
bids,
Stands up, serloots the Bridge, an’ dips
our lids.
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