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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408747" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Song of the Old Bullock-Driver</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far back in the days when the blacks used to ramble<br>In long single file ’neath the evergreen tree,<br>The wool-teams in season came down from Coonamble,<br>And journeyed for weeks on their way to the sea,<br>’Twas then that our hearts and our sinews were stronger,<br>For those were the days when the bushman was bred.<br>We journeyed on roads that were rougher and longer<br>Than roads where the feet of our grandchildren tread. <br>With mates who have gone to the great Never-Never,<br>And mates whom I’ve not seen for many a day,<br>I camped on the banks of the Cudgegong River<br>And yarned at the fire by the old bullock-dray.<br>I would summon them back from the far Riverina,<br>From days that shall be from all others distinct,<br>And sing to the sound of an old concertina<br>Their rugged old songs where strange fancies were linked. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We never were lonely, for, camping together,<br>We yarned and we smoked the long evenings away,<br>And little I cared for the signs of the weather<br>When snug in my hammock slung under the dray.<br>We rose with the dawn, were it ever so chilly,<br>When yokes and tarpaulins were covered with frost,<br>And toasted the bacon and boiled the black billy,<br>Where high on the camp-fire the branches were tossed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On flats where the air was suggestive of ’possums,<br>And homesteads and fences were hinting of change,<br>We saw the faint glimmer of appletree blossoms<br>And far in the distance the blue of the range;<br>And here in the rain, there was small use in flogging<br>The poor, tortured bullocks that tugged at the load,<br>When down to the axles the waggons were bogging<br>And traffic was making a marsh of the road. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Twas hard on the beasts on the terrible pinches,<br>Where two teams of bullocks were yoked to a load,<br>And tugging and slipping, and moving by inches,<br>Half-way to the summit they clung to the road.<br>And then, when the last of the pinches was bested,<br>(You’ll surely not say that a glass was a sin?)<br>The bullocks lay down ’neath the gum trees and rested —<br>The bullockies steered for the bar of the inn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then slowly we crawled by the trees that kept tally<br>Of miles that were passed on the long journey down.<br>We saw the wild beauty of Capertee Valley,<br>As slowly we rounded the base of the Crown.<br>But, ah! the poor bullocks were cruelly goaded<br>While climbing the hills from the flats and the vales;<br>’Twas here that the teams were so often unloaded<br>That all knew the meaning of ‘counting your bales.’ </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, oh! but the best-paying load that I carried<br>Was one to the run where my sweetheart was nurse.<br>We courted awhile, and agreed to get married,<br>And couple our futures for better or worse.<br>And as my old feet grew too weary to drag on<br>The miles of rough metal they met by the way,<br>My eldest grew up and I gave him the waggon —<br>He’s plodding along by the bullocks to-day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</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=408747" data-title="Song of the Old Bullock-Driver de Henry Lawson" data-description="Far back in the days when the blacks used to ramble
In long single file ’neath the evergreen tree,
The wool-teams in season came down from Coonamble,
And journeyed for weeks on their way to the sea,
’Twas then that our hearts and our sinews we..."></div>
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