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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374767" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In The Benevolent</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘I’M OFF on the wallaby!’ cries Old Ben,<br>And his pipe is lit, and his swag is rolled;<br>‘There is nothing here for us old-time men,<br>But up north, I hear, they are on the gold.’<br>And he shuffles off with a feeble stride,<br>With his ragged swag and his billy black.<br>He is making tracks for the other side,<br>O’er the river deep, or the Great Divide;<br>But at night, dead beat, he travels back.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then at morn next day he is off again,<br>With an eager light in his aged eyes,<br>Tramping away on his journey vain<br>For the land of promise beyond the rise.<br>Over the range there is work to do,<br>There is roaring life at the shanty bars.<br>He will tramp the plains whilst the skies are blue,<br>And will wander the great wide bushland through,<br>And be soothed to sleep by the blinking stars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the garden gay where the old man roams<br>Pied poppies sway on their supple stalks,<br>And the fair white rose on the soft breeze foams,<br>And the pansies peep by the gravelled walks;<br>But his brow by the breeze of the hills is fanned,<br>And the clink of bells to his quick ear comes.<br>When he shades his eyes with a withered hand,<br>He sees silent rivers and ranges grand,<br>Or a still lagoon under silver gums.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Are you bound out back, Dan?’ the children cry,<br>And they peer at him through the fence, and shout<br>‘Well, it’s so long, Dan,’ as he hobbles by,<br>With his ‘Ay, ay, sonny lad—tramping out!’<br>On his back he’s bearing his house and bed,<br>As he bore them both in his manhood’s pride,<br>Pressing on each day till his strength has fled<br>By the force of a dauntless spirit led—<br>There’s a rush somewhere on the Sydney side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though his sight may fail and his limbs give way,<br>Yet no weakness touches his brave old heart,<br>And he cries each night: ‘At the break of day<br>I must strap up bluey and make a start!’<br>And they humour him; for the time is near<br>When he’ll tramp no more under changeful skies,<br>But will leave his travels and troubles here,<br>Take the track God blazed with His stars, and steer<br>To the Never Land just across the rise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edward+George+Dyson">Edward George Dyson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374767" data-title="In The Benevolent de Edward George Dyson" data-description="‘I’M OFF on the wallaby!’ cries Old Ben,
And his pipe is lit, and his swag is rolled;
‘There is nothing here for us old-time men,
But up north, I hear, they are on the gold.’
And he shuffles off with a feeble stride,
With his ragged swag..."></div>
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