Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DEATH OF HALLIGAN, by ALEXANDER FORBES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DEATH OF HALLIGAN, by                    
First Line: Ho, men pile up the firewood
Last Line: Such deeds of blood and shame.
Subject(s): Crime & Criminals; Death; Hunting; Justice; Murder; Punishment; Dead, The; Hunters


Ho, men pile up the firewood
And let the cauldron boil
Whose bright contents will soon repay
The hardy miner's toil;

For yonder glittering treasure
Long weeks they've toiled below,
Then pile the faggots higher
And set them all aglow.

The fire is quickly kindled,
The flames leap up in sport,
And 'mid the red and lurid glare
Is seen the dark retort.
Right soon the work is finished
The yellow gold is weighed,
It is the price for wretched souls
That Satan down hath paid.

Now Halligan has started
And left Rockhampton town
To visit the Alliance reef,
The gold to carry down.
To see him mount so stoutly
No human eye had guessed
That even now the shroud was drawn
High up upon his breast.

Alas, no dim presentiment
Passed through the rider's mind
That he would ne'er again behold
The home he left behind;
And as in pride of health and strength
He passed from out of door,
He little dreamed, as living man,
He'd enter there no more.

He got the gold, the cursed dross,
Through which he lost his life,
Through which his children orphans are
And widowed is his wife.
Then leaving Morinish behind,
To town he turned him back
And cantered speedily along
The old familiar track.

He came to where a darksome scrub
Extends along the road,
Where slimy frogs and crawling snakes
Take up their rank abode;

But far more noxious reptiles lurked
In yonder scrub that day,
Who with gloating eyes their victim watched
Come prancing on the way.

The pale assassins laid in wait
Behind a sheltering tree;
A shot was heard, the horseman reeled,
Then quickly turned to flee.
'Twas all too late, the ball had told,
His life-stream welled away,
And on the sod, a helpless clod,
The fated rider lay.

With crimsoned hands the felons clutched
The wages of their guilt;
Great heaven, to think for such a lure
His blood they foully spilt.
With blanching cheeks and trembling hearts
They anxious peered around,
Then took their ghastly burden up
And left the fatal ground.

What dastard fears were in their souls
Through all that frightful march,
Around them was the solemn bush,
Above the heavenly arch.
They only strove from human gaze
To screen their ruthless crime,
Nor cared that God's omniscient eye
Looked on them all the time.

Oh, how they started when a leaf
Was rustled by a bird,
How quailed their craven hearts when trees
The night-wind round them stirred.
And they rejoiced, I ween, to reach
That dark and swollen river,
Whose waves they fondly hoped would hide
The murdered man for ever.

And now their task was nearly done,
They stood upon the brink;
A sullen splash was faintly heard,
The corpse was seen to sink.

The eddies circled widely round
Where the pale stars seemed to quiver
And the blood-stained wretches turned in haste
And fled the darksome river.

But though, where scaly monsters roam
In yonder slimy bed
Poor Halligan, by murderous hand,
Had laid his gory head,
The swift Fitzroy refused to hold
The secret of his doom;
His corpse was found, in sacred ground
To find a Christian's tomb.

Now search, ye sharp detectives!
Hunt, bloodhounds of the law!
And from their sanguinary lairs
Those foul assassins draw;
And may their dreadful punishment
To all the world proclaim
That Queensland's justice will avenge
Such deeds of blood and shame.





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