Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE OLD COOLGARDIE ROAD, by DORHAM DOOLETTE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE OLD COOLGARDIE ROAD, by                    
First Line: A flitting shadow follows
Last Line: Back to her breast again!
Alternate Author Name(s): Prodigal, The
Subject(s): Animals; Grief; Horses; Nostalgia; Roads; Sorrow; Sadness; Paths; Trails


A FLITTING shadow follows
The rushing night express;
Dawn shades the eastern hollows
And wakes the wilderness.
And there across the valley
One fleeting moment showed,
Between the clump of mallee,
The old Coolgardie road!

No clouds of dust betoken
The old-time roaring days;
It keeps a peace unbroken
Throughout its winding ways.
But when at noontide hour
The warm white sunlight streams
Through crimson gums in flower,
The old road lives in dreams.

Once more the dawn is lifting,
One cold white star looks down,
The dawn-fire smoke goes drifting
To blur the boulder brown.
A sleepy song comes creeping,
Faint horsebells break our rest;
And, lo! the day is sweeping
Night's shadow to the west!

Across the rise come striving—
Their ponies' feet a-spin—
The shouting blackboys driving
The headlong brumbies in.
Ho! sling the packbags over!
Ho! mind the stallion's heels!
The dim road calls the rover,
And swift the daylight steals.

With many a swamper's swag on,
And many a billy black,
The sandalwooding wagon
Creaks off along the track.
With rusty chains a-jingle,
And swingle-bars a-row,
In sturdy file and single,
The Northam scrubbers go.

See how they strain at leaving!
Their metalled harness gleams
On splendid shoulders heaving,
The crack Victorian teams!
No more with wool-bales weighted
They'll cross the border runs;
They travel, costlier-freighted,
Beneath Westralian suns!

Foam flakes the leaders hardy,
Sweat clots the reeking four—
This morning in Coolgardie
Some seasoned heads are sore;
Last night some cheques were breaking,
Too big to feel the loss—
The Hill End boys are making
A record to the Cross.

And Castieau's raking roanies
Could give their dust to most,
What though the Bayley ponies
Were headed for the coast!
And though from past Goongarrie
Where crusted salt-lakes blaze
Bound westwards like old Harry
Come Northmore's rushing bays!

Clear lined against the sunlight,
Their saddles all a-sway,
With loads that seldom run light
The camels pick their way.
While down the stony pass here
The lusty horsemen ride
To water and green grass here
Along Boorabin's side!

How swift the seasons leap on!
'Tis barely twelve years back
Since Henning drove his sheep on
Hunt's winding wagon track.
He gives his Paris lady
Gems that are fair to see—
Has he forgot the shady
Noon spells on Karalee?

To some, wealth past all dreaming,
To some, the nameless grave;
To some, for their redeeming
Your careless gold you gave.
The countless feet that wore you
With cursing and with mirth,
No more will travel o'er you;
They tread the ends of earth.

The brown grass waves its tassels
Where once your ruts ran deep,
And where we built our castles
The wild-vine tendrils creep.
No more our wheels will wake you,
Old road, you wait in vain;
The desert soon will take you
Back to her breast again!





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