Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TRAVELLING POST OFFICE, by ANDREW BARTON PATERSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TRAVELLING POST OFFICE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The roving breezes come and go, the reed - beds sweep and sway
Last Line: My letter chases conroy's sheep along the castlereagh.
Alternate Author Name(s): Paterson, 'banjo'
Subject(s): Australia; Drovers; Postal Service; Postmen; Post Office; Mail; Mailmen


THE roving breezes come and go, the reed-beds sweep and sway,
The sleepy river murmurs low and loiters on its way,
It is the land of lots o' time along the Castlereagh....

The old man's son had left the farm, he found it dull and slow,
He drifted to the great North-west, where all the rovers go.
"He's gone so long," the old man said, "he's dropped right out of mind,
But if you'd write a line to him I'd take it very kind;
He's shearing here and fencing there, a kind of waif and stray—
He's droving now with Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh.

"The sheep are travelling for the grass, and travelling very slow;
They may be at Mundooran now, or past the Overflow,
Or tramping down the blacksoil flats across by Waddiwong;
But all those little country towns would send the letter wrong—
The mailman, if he's extra tired, would pass them in his sleep.
It's safest to address the note to 'Care of Conroy's sheep',
For five and twenty thousand head can scarcely go astray;
You write to 'Care of Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh'."

By rock and ridge and riverside the western mail has gone
Across the great Blue Mountain Range to take that letter on.
A moment on the topmost grade, while open fire-doors glare,
She pauses like a living thing to breathe the mountain air,
Then launches down the other side across the plains away
To bear that note to "Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh".

And now by coach and mailman's bag it goes from town to town,
And Conroy's Gap and Conroy's Creek have marked it "Further down."
Beneath a sky of deepest blue, where never cloud abides,
A speck upon the waste of plain the lonely mailman rides.
Where fierce hot winds have set the pine and myall boughs asweep
He hails the shearers passing by for news of Conroy's sheep.
By big lagoons where wildfowl play and crested pigeons flock,
By campfires where the drovers ride around their restless stock,
And past the teamster toiling down to fetch the wool away
My letter chases Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh.





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