Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A MAN PROSPECTING, by J. E. LIDDLE Poet's Biography First Line: A man prospecting for the gold Last Line: He weakened, raved, and soon he died. Alternate Author Name(s): Kodak; Liddle, John Edward Subject(s): Aborigines, Australian; Death; Deserts; Food & Eating; Gold Mines & Miners; Insanity; Pain; Dead, The; Madness; Mental Illness; Suffering; Misery | ||||||||
A MAN prospecting for the gold One of the many gone astray Into the wilds to find untold And unknown wealth upon his way. First, well equipped, he moved along In sweet contentment and at ease; Sometimes he hummed a snatch of song When plodding through the belts of trees. That night his horses went astray And left him sleeping in the dead Of a dark moonless night, away From his encampment where he laid. At early dawn he startled, woke, No single horse-bell could he hear; On him a stern presentiment broke: 'Twas down the creek they'd disappear. Should he turn back? should he proceed? A deadly venture should he fail; All, all his courage he might need Yet at that thought he did not quail. The creeks were drying very fast And there were rarely little pools; He, after days, came to the last Not yet e'en then his ardour cools. Too late he turned along the creek; He dug damp places there to find The precious water he did seek; Dread thoughts were preying on his mind. That night he lay: he could not sleep His throat was burning hot and dry, His tongue more swollen; could he keep Himself quite cool in agony? His mind insane: then inside out He quickly turned his shirt and pants: His tucker he flung all about For all the swarming flies and ants. Awhile he tried to turn his boots They him resisted: were too dried: He cursed and called them worse than brutes And angry flung them both aside. He felt his watch, thought something queer: Flat on a log close at his side He laid it with a glaring leer: What did he then at once decide? He with his miner's pick let drive With all his force into its face; He cursed it, as if t'were alive, Swore it had brought on him disgrace. Right through the watch into the log In which the pick-point firmly stuck; His utmost force was in that slog, A most determined blow he struck. That grand new watch from U.S.A. Came to a very serious end; The watch holed through he flung away; Not fit to use, nor fit to mend. His pick and shovel, all his swag, His billy-can and dish and gun, He flung away: he would not drag Them with him longer'twas not fun. The strangest freaks the madman took, He grabbed his hat, looked wild and grim: Picked, chopped the crown out, and it shook, Then pulled his head through to the brim. Off with his shirt: changed back to front, Then turned his trousers right around; He thought to do a circus stunt And danced about where scrubs abound. He felt too lively for restraint: Then, tore all off, flung them away, Until he weary grew and faint; Exhausted 'mong the scrubs he lay. Some natives saw him: pitied him Now perishing with want and thirst; To their encampments hurried him, Gave him some meat and water first. They somewhat feared the madman wretch, They led him to a low bush shade Where he might lie asleep and stretch His weary limbs: their laws forbade To injure such at any time, They had been taught it was unwise To hurt a madman: it was a crime Near every tribe would recognize. He might or might not live too long, On the rough foods they did provide He could not eat it: 'twas all wrong; He weakened, raved, and soon he died. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARTHENOPHIL AND PARTHENOPHE: MADRIGAL 14 by BARNABE BARNES SONNETS IN SHADOWS: 1 by ARLO BATES IN PRAISE OF PAIN by HEATHER MCHUGH THE SYMPATIZERS by JOSEPHINE MILES LEEK STREET by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR |
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