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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538465" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>From the Gulf</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Store cattle from Nelanjie! The mob goes feeding past, <br>With half-a-mile of sandhill 'twixt the leaders and the last; <br>The nags that move behind them are the good old Queensland stamp- <br>Short backs and perfect shoulders that are priceless on a camp; <br>And these are men that ride them, broad-cheated, tanned, and tall, <br>The bravest hearts amongst us and the lightest hands of all: <br>Oh, let them wade in Wonga grass and taste the Wonga dew, <br>And let them spread, those thousand head-for we've been droving tool </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Store cattle from Nelanjie! By half-a-hundred towns, <br>By northern ranges rough and red, by rolling open downs <br>By stock-routes brown and burnt and bare, by floodwrapped river-bends, <br>They've hunted them from gate to gate-the drover has no friends! <br>But idly they may ride to-day beneath the scorching sun <br>And let the hungry bullocks try the grass on Wonga run; <br>No overseer will dog them here to &quot;see the cattle through,&quot; <br>But they may spread their thousand head-for we've been droving too! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Store cattle from Nelanjie! They've a naked track to steer; <br>The stockyards at Wodonga are a long way down from here; <br>The creeks won't run till God knows when, and half the holes are dry; <br>The tanks are few and far between and water's dear to buy: <br>There's plenty at the Brolga bore for all his stock and mine- <br>We'll pass him with a brave God-speed across the Border Line; <br>And if he goes a five-mile stage and loiters slowly through, <br>We'll only think the more of him-for we've been droving too I </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Store cattle from Nelanjie! They're mute as milkers now; <br>But yonder grizzled drover, with the care-lines on his brow, <br>Could tell of merry musters on the big Nelanjie plains, <br>With blood upon the chestnut's flanks and foam upon the reins; <br>Could tell of nights upon the road when those same mild-eyed steers <br>Went ringing round the river bend and through the scrub like spears; <br>And if his words are rude and rough, we know his words are true, <br>We know what wild Nelanjies are-and we've been droving too ! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Store cattle from Nelanjie! Around the fire at night <br>They've watched the pine-tree shadows lift before the dancing light; <br>They've lain awake to listen when the weird bushvoices speak, <br>And heard the lilting bells go by along the empty creek; <br>They've spun the yarns of hut and camp, the tales of play and work, <br>The wondrous tales that gild the road from Normanton to Bourke; <br>They've told of fortunes foul and fair, of women false and true, <br>And well we know the songs they've sung-for we've been droving too! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Store cattle from Nelanjie! Their breath is on the breeze; <br>You hear them tread, a thousand head, in blue-grass to the knees; <br>The lead is on the netting-fence, the wings are spreading wide, <br>The lame and laggard scarcely move so slow the drovers ride! <br>But let them stay and feed to-day for sake of Auld Lang Syne; <br>They'll never get a chance like this below the Border Iodine; <br>And if they tread our frontage down, what's that to me or you? <br>What's ours to fare, by God they'll shared for we've been droving tool</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Henry+Ogilvie">William Henry Ogilvie</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=538465" data-title="From the Gulf de William Henry Ogilvie" data-description="Store cattle from Nelanjie! The mob goes feeding past, 
With half-a-mile of sandhill 'twixt the leaders and the last; 
The nags that move behind them are the good old Queensland stamp- 
Short backs and perfect shoulders that are priceless on a cam..."></div>
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