In the Days When the World Was Wide and Other Verses Part 4

With a sad heart Trooper Campbell Rode back from Blackman's Run, Nor noticed aught about him Till thirteen miles were done; When, close beside a cutting, He heard the click of locks, And saw the rifle muzzles Were on him from the rocks.

But suddenly a youth rode out, And, close by Campbell's side: 'Don't fire! don't fire, in heaven's name!

It's Campbell, boys!' he cried.

Then one by one in silence The levelled rifles fell, For who'd shoot Trooper Campbell Of those who knew him well?

Oh, bravely sat old Campbell, No sign of fear showed he.

He slowly drew his carbine; It rested by his knee.

The outlaws' guns were lifted, But none the silence broke, Till steadfastly and firmly Old Trooper Campbell spoke.

'That boy that you would ruin Goes home with me, my men; Or some of us shall never Ride through the Gap again.

You know old Trooper Campbell, And have you ever heard That bluff or lead could turn him, That e'er he broke his word?

'That reckless lad is playing A heartless villain's part; He knows that he is breaking His poor old mother's heart.

He'll bring a curse upon himself; But 'tis not that alone, He'll bring dishonour to a name That I'D be proud to own.

'I speak to you, M'Durmer, -- If your heart's not hardened quite, And if you'd seen the trouble At Blackman's home this night, You'd help me now, M'Durmer -- I speak as man to man -- I swore to save that foolish lad, And I'll save him if I can.'

'Oh, take him!' said M'Durmer, 'He's got a horse to ride.'

The youngster thought a moment, Then rode to Campbell's side -- 'Good-bye!' the outlaws shouted, As up the range they sped.

'A Merry New Year, Campbell,'

Was all M'Durmer said.

Then fast along the ridges Two bushmen rode a race, And the moonlight lent a glory To Trooper Campbell's face.

And ere the new year's dawning They reached the home at last; And this is but a story Of trouble that is past!

The Sliprails and the Spur

The colours of the setting sun Withdrew across the Western land -- He raised the sliprails, one by one, And shot them home with trembling hand; Her brown hands clung -- her face grew pale -- Ah! quivering chin and eyes that brim! -- One quick, fierce kiss across the rail, And, 'Good-bye, Mary!' 'Good-bye, Jim!'

_Oh, he rides hard to race the pain Who rides from love, who rides from home; But he rides slowly home again, Whose heart has learnt to love and roam._

A hand upon the horse's mane, And one foot in the stirrup set, And, stooping back to kiss again, With 'Good-bye, Mary! don't you fret!

When I come back' -- he laughed for her -- 'We do not know how soon 'twill be; I'll whistle as I round the spur -- You let the sliprails down for me.'

She gasped for sudden loss of hope, As, with a backward wave to her, He cantered down the gra.s.sy slope And swiftly round the dark'ning spur.

Black-pencilled panels standing high, And darkness fading into stars, And blurring fast against the sky, A faint white form beside the bars.

And often at the set of sun, In winter bleak and summer brown, She'd steal across the little run, And shyly let the sliprails down.

And listen there when darkness shut The nearer spur in silence deep; And when they called her from the hut Steal home and cry herself to sleep.

{Some editions have four more lines here.}

_And he rides hard to dull the pain Who rides from one that loves him best; And he rides slowly back again, Whose restless heart must rove for rest._

Past Carin'

Now up and down the siding brown The great black crows are flyin', And down below the spur, I know, Another 'milker's' dyin'; The crops have withered from the ground, The tank's clay bed is glarin', But from my heart no tear nor sound, For I have gone past carin' -- _Past worryin' or carin', Past feelin' aught or carin'; But from my heart no tear nor sound, For I have gone past carin'._

Through Death and Trouble, turn about, Through hopeless desolation, Through flood and fever, fire and drought, And slavery and starvation; Through childbirth, sickness, hurt, and blight, And nervousness an' scarin', Through bein' left alone at night, I've got to be past carin'.

_Past botherin' or carin', Past feelin' and past carin'; Through city cheats and neighbours' spite, I've come to be past carin'._

Our first child took, in days like these, A cruel week in dyin', All day upon her father's knees, Or on my poor breast lyin'; The tears we shed -- the prayers we said Were awful, wild -- despairin'!

I've pulled three through, and buried two Since then -- and I'm past carin'.

_I've grown to be past carin', Past worryin' and wearin'; I've pulled three through and buried two Since then, and I'm past carin'._

'Twas ten years first, then came the worst, All for a dusty clearin', I thought, I thought my heart would burst When first my man went shearin'; He's drovin' in the great North-west, I don't know how he's farin'; For I, the one that loved him best, Have grown to be past carin'.

_I've grown to be past carin'

Past lookin' for or carin'; The girl that waited long ago, Has lived to be past carin'._

My eyes are dry, I cannot cry, I've got no heart for breakin', But where it was in days gone by, A dull and empty achin'.

My last boy ran away from me, I know my temper's wearin', But now I only wish to be Beyond all signs of carin'.

_Past wearyin' or carin', Past feelin' and despairin'; And now I only wish to be Beyond all signs of carin'._

The Gla.s.s on the Bar

Three bushmen one morning rode up to an inn, And one of them called for the drinks with a grin; They'd only returned from a trip to the North, And, eager to greet them, the landlord came forth.

He absently poured out a gla.s.s of Three Star.

And set down that drink with the rest on the bar.

'There, that is for Harry,' he said, 'and it's queer, 'Tis the very same gla.s.s that he drank from last year; His name's on the gla.s.s, you can read it like print, He scratched it himself with an old piece of flint; I remember his drink -- it was always Three Star' -- And the landlord looked out through the door of the bar.

He looked at the horses, and counted but three: 'You were always together -- where's Harry?' cried he.

Oh, sadly they looked at the gla.s.s as they said, 'You may put it away, for our old mate is dead;'

But one, gazing out o'er the ridges afar, Said, 'We owe him a shout -- leave the gla.s.s on the bar.'

They thought of the far-away grave on the plain, They thought of the comrade who came not again, They lifted their gla.s.ses, and sadly they said: 'We drink to the name of the mate who is dead.'

And the sunlight streamed in, and a light like a star Seemed to glow in the depth of the gla.s.s on the bar.

And still in that shanty a tumbler is seen, It stands by the clock, ever polished and clean; And often the strangers will read as they pa.s.s The name of a bushman engraved on the gla.s.s; And though on the shelf but a dozen there are, That gla.s.s never stands with the rest on the bar.