The City Bushman
   It was pleasant up the country, City Bushman, where you went,
[Aug. -- 1892]

Eurunderee
   There are scenes in the distance where beauty is not,
[Aug. -- 1891]

Mount Bukaroo
   Only one old post is standing --
[Dec. -- 1889]

The Fire at Ross's Farm
   The squatter saw his pastures wide
[Apr. -- 1891]

The Teams
   A cloud of dust on the long white road,
[Dec. -- 1889]

Cameron's Heart
   The diggings were just in their glory when Alister Cameron came,
[July -- 1891]

The Shame of Going Back
   When you've come to make a fortune and you haven't made your salt,
[Oct. -- 1891]

Since Then
   I met Jack Ellis in town to-day --
[Nov. -- 1895]

Peter Anderson and Co.
   He had offices in Sydney, not so many years ago,
[Aug. -- 1895]

When the Children Come Home
   On a lonely selection far out in the West
[Dec. -- 1890]

Dan, the Wreck
   Tall, and stout, and solid-looking,

A Prouder Man Than You
   If you fancy that your people came of better stock than mine,
[June -- 1892]

The Song and the Sigh
   The creek went down with a broken song,
[Mar. -- 1889]

The Cambaroora Star
   So you're writing for a paper?  Well, it's nothing very new
[Dec. -- 1891]

After All
   The brooding ghosts of Australian night
     have gone from the bush and town;

Marshall's Mate
   You almost heard the surface bake, and saw the gum-leaves turn --
[July -- 1895]

The Poets of the Tomb
   The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead,
[Oct. -- 1892]

Australian Bards and Bush Reviewers
   While you use your best endeavour to immortalise in verse
[Feb. -- 1894]

The Ghost
   Down the street as I was drifting with the city's human tide,
[Aug. -- 1889]

In the Days When the World was Wide and Other Verses

In the Days When the World was Wide

The world is narrow and ways are short, and our lives are dull and slow,
For little is new where the crowds resort, and less where the wanderers go;
Greater, or smaller, the same old things we see by the dull road-side --
And tired of all is the spirit that sings
  of the days when the world was wide.

When the North was hale in the march of Time,
  and the South and the West were new,
And the gorgeous East was a pantomime, as it seemed in our boyhood's view;
When Spain was first on the waves of change,
  and proud in the ranks of pride,
And all was wonderful, new and strange in the days when the world was wide.

Then a man could fight if his heart were bold,
  and win if his faith were true --
Were it love, or honour, or power, or gold, or all that our hearts pursue;
Could live to the world for the family name, or die for the family pride,
Could fly from sorrow, and wrong, and shame
  in the days when the world was wide.

They sailed away in the ships that sailed ere science controlled the main,
When the strong, brave heart of a man prevailed
  as 'twill never prevail again;
They knew not whither, nor much they cared --
  let Fate or the winds decide --
The worst of the Great Unknown they dared
  in the days when the world was wide.

They raised new stars on the silent sea that filled their hearts with awe;
They came to many a strange countree and marvellous sights they saw.
The villagers gaped at the tales they told,
  and old eyes glistened with pride --
When barbarous cities were paved with gold
  in the days when the world was wide.

'Twas honest metal and honest wood, in the days of the Outward Bound,
When men were gallant and ships were good -- roaming the wide world round.
The gods could envy a leader then when `Follow me, lads!' he cried --
They faced each other and fought like men
  in the days when the world was wide.

They tried to live as a freeman should -- they were happier men than we,
In the glorious days of wine and blood, when Liberty crossed the sea;
'Twas a comrade true or a foeman then, and a trusty sword well tried --
They faced each other and fought like men
  in the days when the world was wide.

The good ship bound for the Southern seas when the beacon was Ballarat,
With a `Ship ahoy!' on the freshening breeze,
  `Where bound?' and `What ship's that?' --
The emigrant train to New Mexico -- the rush to the Lachlan Side --
Ah! faint is the echo of Westward Ho!
  from the days when the world was wide.

South, East, and West in advance of Time -- and, ay! in advance of Thought
Those brave men rose to a height sublime -- and is it for this they fought?
And is it for this damned life we praise the god-like spirit that died
At Eureka Stockade in the Roaring Days
  with the days when the world was wide?

We fight like women, and feel as much; the thoughts of our hearts we guard;
Where scarcely the scorn of a god could touch,
  the sneer of a sneak hits hard;
The treacherous tongue and cowardly pen, the weapons of curs, decide --
They faced each other and fought like men
  in the days when the world was wide.

Think of it all -- of the life that is!  Study your friends and foes!
Study the past!  And answer this:  `Are these times better than those?'
The life-long quarrel, the paltry spite, the sting of your poisoned pride!
No matter who fell it were better to fight
  as they did when the world was wide.

Boast as you will of your mateship now -- crippled and mean and sly --
The lines of suspicion on friendship's brow
  were traced since the days gone by.
There was room in the long, free lines of the van
  to fight for it side by side --
There was beating-room for the heart of a man
  in the days when the world was wide.

     .    .    .    .    .

With its dull, brown days of a-shilling-an-hour
  the dreary year drags round:
Is this the result of Old England's power?
  -- the bourne of the Outward Bound?
Is this the sequel of Westward Ho! -- of the days of Whate'er Betide?
The heart of the rebel makes answer `No!
  We'll fight till the world grows wide!'

The world shall yet be a wider world -- for the tokens are manifest;
East and North shall the wrongs be hurled that followed us South and West.
The march of Freedom is North by the Dawn!  Follow, whate'er betide!
Sons of the Exiles, march!  March on!  March till the world grows wide!

Faces in the Street

They lie, the men who tell us in a loud decisive tone
That want is here a stranger, and that misery's unknown;
For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet
My window-sill is level with the faces in the street --
    Drifting past, drifting past,
    To the beat of weary feet --
While I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.

And cause I have to sorrow, in a land so young and fair,
To see upon those faces stamped the marks of Want and Care;
I look in vain for traces of the fresh and fair and sweet
In sallow, sunken faces that are drifting through the street --
    Drifting on, drifting on,
    To the scrape of restless feet;
I can sorrow for the owners of the faces in the street.

In hours before the dawning dims the starlight in the sky
The wan and weary faces first begin to trickle by,
Increasing as the moments hurry on with morning feet,
Till like a pallid river flow the faces in the street --
    Flowing in, flowing in,
    To the beat of hurried feet --
Ah!  I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.