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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408817" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fire At Ross's Farm</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The squatter saw his pastures wide <br> Decrease, as one by one <br>The farmers moving to the west <br> Selected on his run; <br>Selectors took the water up <br> And all the black soil round; <br>The best grass-land the squatter had <br> Was spoilt by Ross's Ground. <br> <br>Now many schemes to shift old Ross <br> Had racked the squatter's brains, <br>But Sandy had the stubborn blood <br> Of Scotland in his veins; <br>He held the land and fenced it in, <br> He cleared and ploughed the soil, <br>And year by year a richer crop <br> Repaid him for his toil. <br> <br>Between the homes for many years <br> The devil left his tracks: <br>The squatter pounded Ross's stock, <br> And Sandy pounded Black's. <br>A well upon the lower run <br> Was filled with earth and logs, <br>And Black laid baits about the farm <br> To poison Ross's dogs. <br> <br>It was, indeed, a deadly feud <br> Of class and creed and race; <br>But, yet, there was a Romeo <br> And a Juliet in the case; <br>And more than once across the flats, <br> Beneath the Southern Cross, <br>Young Robert Black was seen to ride <br> With pretty Jenny Ross. <br> <br>One Christmas time, when months of drought <br> Had parched the western creeks, <br>The bush-fires started in the north <br> And travelled south for weeks. <br>At night along the river-side <br> The scene was grand and strange -- <br>The hill-fires looked like lighted streets <br> Of cities in the range. <br> <br>The cattle-tracks between the trees <br> Were like long dusky aisles, <br>And on a sudden breeze the fire <br> Would sweep along for miles; <br>Like sounds of distant musketry <br> It crackled through the brakes, <br>And o'er the flat of silver grass <br> It hissed like angry snakes. <br> <br>It leapt across the flowing streams <br> And raced o'er pastures broad; <br>It climbed the trees and lit the boughs <br> And through the scrubs it roared. <br>The bees fell stifled in the smoke <br> Or perished in their hives, <br>And with the stock the kangaroos <br> Went flying for their lives. <br> <br>The sun had set on Christmas Eve, <br> When, through the scrub-lands wide, <br>Young Robert Black came riding home <br> As only natives ride. <br>He galloped to the homestead door <br> And gave the first alarm: <br>`The fire is past the granite spur, <br> `And close to Ross's farm.' <br> <br>`Now, father, send the men at once, <br> They won't be wanted here; <br>Poor Ross's wheat is all he has <br> To pull him through the year.' <br>`Then let it burn,' the squatter said; <br> `I'd like to see it done -- <br>I'd bless the fire if it would clear <br> Selectors from the run. <br> <br>`Go if you will,' the squatter said, <br> `You shall not take the men -- <br>Go out and join your precious friends, <br> And don't come here again.' <br>`I won't come back,' young Robert cried, <br> And, reckless in his ire, <br>He sharply turned his horse's head <br> And galloped towards the fire. <br> <br>And there, for three long weary hours, <br> Half-blind with smoke and heat, <br>Old Ross and Robert fought the flames <br> That neared the ripened wheat. <br>The farmer's hand was nerved by fears <br> Of danger and of loss; <br>And Robert fought the stubborn foe <br> For the love of Jenny Ross. <br> <br>But serpent-like the curves and lines <br> Slipped past them, and between, <br>Until they reached the bound'ry where <br> The old coach-road had been. <br>`The track is now our only hope, <br> There we must stand,' cried Ross, <br>`For nought on earth can stop the fire <br> If once it gets across.' <br> <br>Then came a cruel gust of wind, <br> And, with a fiendish rush, <br>The flames leapt o'er the narrow path <br> And lit the fence of brush. <br>`The crop must burn!' the farmer cried, <br> `We cannot save it now,' <br>And down upon the blackened ground <br> He dashed the ragged bough. <br> <br>But wildly, in a rush of hope, <br> His heart began to beat, <br>For o'er the crackling fire he heard <br> The sound of horses' feet. <br>`Here's help at last,' young Robert cried, <br> And even as he spoke <br>The squatter with a dozen men <br> Came racing through the smoke. <br> <br>Down on the ground the stockmen jumped <br> And bared each brawny arm, <br>They tore green branches from the trees <br> And fought for Ross's farm; <br>And when before the gallant band <br> The beaten flames gave way, <br>Two grimy hands in friendship joined -- <br> And it was Christmas 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=408817" data-title="The Fire At Ross's Farm de Henry Lawson" data-description="The squatter saw his pastures wide 
 Decrease, as one by one 
The farmers moving to the west 
 Selected on his run; 
Selectors took the water up 
 And all the black soil round; 
The best grass-land the squatter had 
 Was spoilt by Ross's Ground. 
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