Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A TALE OF THE BUSH, by W. J." "B. [PSEUD.]


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A TALE OF THE BUSH, by                    
First Line: It was twenty years last autumn since my comrade and I
Last Line: Seared upon my heart for ever its dread memory lives on
Alternate Author Name(s): "b., W. J.;
Subject(s): Death;deserts;food & Eating;murder;pain;suicide;travel;trees; "dead, The;suffering;misery;journeys;trips;


IT was twenty years last autumn since my comrade and I
Started westward for the Comet, after doing a heavy fly
Round Rockhampton's pubs and sing-songs and the other joyous places
Where the bushman lambs his shearing cheque and airs his little graces.

And two genuine stone-brokers we went swagging it along,
With our horses down our throats—sold to Pascoe for a song.
I may here remark that Pascoe has "gone over" years ago
But at this time ran a grog-mill on the main track to and fro—

From the Dawson and the Comet, and the farther western plains,
And took horses for "agistment", which I found out, to my pains,
Meant a bottle of bad brandy, just to close accounts, when going,
And a hope expressed that next time we'd remember what was owing.

Well, we tramped and starved together, till the Dawson lay behind,
And the stations spread out wider, and 'twas precious hard to find
Tea and sugar from one evening to hold out the following day—
Not to speak of beef and damper—as we trudged along the way.

Then it came about one sundown that we lost the bloomin' track,
And, in vain attempts to strike it, on our loss came circling back,
Until Joe (my mate), disgusted, slung his swag beneath a tree,
Saying, "Right here I doss till morning—yew kin walk all night for me."

Feeling somewhat riled at this speech—seeing that he had led the way—
The narrator spread his blankets half a dozen rods away;
And in silent, supperless, sulky, out-of-sorts condition,
Breathed a bitter prayer consigning grog, dice, women to perdition.

Then I slept, and sleeping dreamed of days that ne'er will come again,
Days whose lingering memory now is less a pleasure than a pain,
Days when life was pure and hopeful and the very stars seemed mine!
Now astronomy of this sort is, alas! not in my line.

In the daybreak I was wakened by a crash of falling timber
And a cry that to my dying day my brain will still remember.
Fast beneath the fallen gum-tree Yankee Joe imprisoned lay,
With enough of life left in him just to keep despair away.

Vain my struggles to release him. What availed my single strength
With the fallen forest giant, stretching in its mossy length?
While my comrade of past shearings bore his agony and pain
Without murmuring, without flinching, till he saw my efforts vain.

Then he spoke, "Mate, don't you leave me in this bloody bush to die
Inch by inch in misery; take and put a bullet through my eye.
God be thank'd you got a charge left in your 'shooter'; take good aim,
And from this darn jammin' free me; I for you would do the same."

Now, considering the position, you'll admit the fix was queer,
And that one thing with another I'd an awkward course to steer.
Off the track, and miles from succour, and our water nearly done,
It came forcibly upon me that my old mate's course was run.

Once again I fiercely struggled with that unrelenting tree;
Once again sank down exhausted ere the prisoner was free;
Then despairingly I cooeed while the wild bush echoed back
With a sound of mocking laughter, as if fiends were on our track.

Was it crime, or only mercy? God knows what was the intent.
One more reckless life was ended when that bullet's force was spent.
Dead beneath the fallen monarch, cenotaphed from storm or shrine;
To recall that spirit parted gladly had I yielded mine!

Hunger, thirst, despair and madness seized me as I fled away.
Succour found me naked, raving, sobbing, cursing, trying to pray.
And, though since that time of horror twenty years have come and gone,
Seared upon my heart for ever its dread memory lives on.





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