Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MAILBOY'S RIDE, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MAILBOY'S RIDE, by                    
First Line: He rode from port bowen bravely
Last Line: The boy brought the royal mail
Subject(s): Heroism;pain;postal Service;story-telling; Heroes;heroines;suffering;misery;postmen;post Office;mail;mailmen


HE rode from Port Bowen bravely,
With his life held in his hands,
To carry the mails in safety
Across the wide burning sands.

Brave men who carried before him,
Blacks killed in the timber's shade:
At the first camp of the mailman,
Four graves showed where they laid.

'Twas death not to reach the camp place
Ere darkness grew o'er the land,
For there had the only water
Been found on those plains of sand.

He reached the first camp in safety,
No sign of the blacks about,
So when he had eaten his supper
He tethered his horses out.

He lay down to rest in the shelter,
But long ere the break of day
He saddled his hack and pack-horse
And started once more away.

"I think I will have a smoko,"
He said, and he slackened rein,
But his horse plunged madly forward,
And he fell with a cry of pain.

He knew that his leg was broken,
And a sharp pain in his side
Told that his ribs were injured,
With sixty miles yet to ride.

Alone on that awful desert,
No hope of succour near,
He cried to his God in heaven
As he fought with rising fear.

"Oh God, Thou hast helped Thy children
Through dangers in days gone past;
Thou knowest that on this desert
Wounded and lone I'm cast.

"And now in my time of trouble,
To whom can I turn but Thee
Who rulest the earth and the heavens,
The wind and the raging sea?

"Oh God of my fathers help me,"
He cried as he crawled in pain
To where the horses stood waiting,
And caught up the hanging rein.

Then slowly, with painful effort,
He mounted and rode away,
For he knew that within an hour
Would commence another day.

On as the morning brightened
He rode and he rode for life,
For over his aching body
Weakness and pain held strife.

On till the evening shadows
Steadied his fevered brain,
And in the darkness before him
A bright light shone on the plain.

The men at the station waiting
Cheered as they heard him come,
But the figure that stopped before them
Struck even the roughest dumb.

Then tenderly, kind as women,
They lifted the drooping lad,
With eyes closed tight, white faces,
And hearts all at once grown sad.

And through long weeks of fever
They watched by the sick boy's side,
And in his fevered ramblings
He told of that awful ride.

At night round the pleasant camp-fire
Those men still tell the tale,
How across the Australian desert
The boy brought the Royal Mail.





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