Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CORNEY'S HUT, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CORNEY'S HUT, by                    
First Line: Old corney built in deadman's gap
Last Line: Upon the dog that mourned his master
Subject(s): Animals;death;dogs;funerals;solitude; "dead, The;burials;loneliness;


OLD Corney built in Deadman's Gap
A hut, where mountain shades grow denser,
And there he lived for many years,
A timber-getter and a fencer.
And no one knew if he'd a soul
Above long sprees or split-rail fences,
Unless, indeed, it was his dog
Who always kept his confidences.

There was a saw-pit in the range,
'Twas owned by three, and they were brothers
And visitors to Corney's hut—
'Twas seldom visited by others.
They came because, as they averred,
"Old Corney licked—a gent infernal";
"His yarns," if I might trust their word,
"Would make the fortune of a journal."

In short, the splitter was a "cure"
Who brightened up their lives' dull courses
And so on Sunday afternoons,
At Corney's hut they'd hang their horses.
They'd have a game of cards and smoke
And sometimes sing, which was a rum thing—
Unless, in spite of legal folk,
The splitter kept a drop of something.

If, as 'twas said, he was a swell
Before he sought these sombre ranges,
'Twixt mother's arms and coffin gear
He must have seen a world of changes.
But from his lips would never fall
A hint of home, or friends, or brothers,
And if he told his tale at all,
He must have told it as another's.

Though he was good at telling yarns,
At listening he excelled not less so,
And greatly helped the bushman's tales
With "Yes," "Exactly so," or "Jes so."
In short the hut became a club
Like our Assembly Legislative
Combining smokeroom, hall, and pub,
Political and recreative.

Old Corney lived and Corney died,
As we will, too, on some tomorrow,
But not as Corney died we hope,
Of heart-disease, and rum, and sorrow.
(We hope to lead a married life,
At times the cup of comfort quaffing;
And when we leave this world of strife
We trust that we may die of laughing.)

On New Year's Eve they found him dead—
For rum had made his life unstable—
They found him stretched upon his bed,
And also found, upon the table,
The coloured portrait of a girl—
Blue eyes of course. The hair was golden,
A faded letter and a curl,
And—well, we said the theme was olden.

The splitter had for days been dead
And cold before the sawyers found him,
And none had witnessed how he died
Except the dog who whimpered round him;
A noble friend, and of a kind
Who stay when other friends forsake us,
And he at last was left behind
To greet the rough bush undertakers.

This was a season when the bush
Was somewhat ruled by time and distance,
And bushmen came and tried the world,
And "gave it best" without assistance.
Then one might die of heart-disease,
And still be spared the inquest horrors,
And when the splitter laid at ease
So, also, did his sins and sorrows.

"Ole Corney's dead," the bushmen said;
"He's gone at last, an' ne'er a blunder."
And so they brought a horse and dray
And tools to "tuck the old cove under".
The funeral wended through the range
And slowly round its rugged corners;
The reader will not think it strange
That Corney's dog was chief of mourners.

He must have thought the bushmen hard
And of his misery unheeding,
Because they shunned his anxious eyes
That seemed for explanation pleading.
At intervals his tongue would wipe
The jaws that seemed with anguish quaking;
As some strong hand impatiently
Might chide the tears for prison breaking.

They reached by rugged ways at last
A desolate bush cemetery,
Where now (our tale is of the past),
A thriving town its dead doth bury,
And where the bones of pioneers
Are found and thrown aside unheeded—
For later sleepers, blessed with tears
Of many friends, the graves are needed.

The funeral reached the bushmen's graves,
Where these old pioneers were sleeping,
And now while down the granite ridge
The shadow of the peak was creeping,
They dug a grave beneath a gum
And lowered the dead as gently may be,
As Corney's mother long before
Had laid him down to "hush-a-baby".

A bushman read the words to which
The others reverently listened,
Some bearded lips were seen to twitch,
Some shaded eyes with moisture glistened.
The boys had brought the splitter's tools,
And now they split and put together
Four panels such as Corney made,
To stand the stress of western weather.

"Old Corney's dead, he paid his bills,"
(These words upon the tree were graven),
"And oft a swagman down in luck
At Corney's mansion found a haven."
But now the bushmen hurried on,
Lest darkness in the range should find them;
And strange to say they never saw
That Corney's dog had stayed behind them.

If one had thrown a backward glance
Along the rugged path they wended,
He might have seen a darker form
Upon the damp cold mound extended.
But soon their forms had vanished all,
And night came down the ranges faster,
And no one saw the shadows fall
Upon the dog that mourned his master.





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