PAROO RIVER by HENRY HERTZBERG LAWSON

IT was a week from Christmas-time,
As near as I remember,
And half a year since, in the rear,
We'd left the Darling timber.
The track was hot and more than drear;
The day dragged out for ever;
But now we knew that we were near
Our camp—the Paroo River.

With blighted eyes and blistered feet,
With stomachs out of order,
Half-mad with flies and dust and heat
We'd crossed the Queensland border.
I longed to hear a stream go by
And see the circles quiver;
I longed to lay me down and die
That night on Paroo River.

The "nose-bags" heavy on each chest
(God bless one kindly squatter!),
With grateful weight our hearts they pressed—
We only wanted water.
The sun was setting in a spray
Of colour like a liver—
We'd fondly hoped to camp and stay
That night by Paroo River.

A cloud was on my mate's broad brow,
And once I heard him mutter:
"What price the good old Darling now?—
God bless that grand old gutter!"
And then he stopped and slowly said
In tones that made me shiver:
"It cannot well be on ahead—
@3I think we've crossed the river."@1

But soon we saw a strip of ground
Beside the track we followed,
No damper than the surface round,
But just a little hollowed.

His brow assumed a thoughtful frown—
This speech did he deliver:
"I wonder if we'd best go down
Or up the blessed river?"

"But where," said I, " 's the blooming stream?"
And he replied, "We're at it!"
I stood awhile, as in a dream,
"Great Scott!" I cried, "is @3that@1 it?
Why, that is some old bridle-track!"
He chuckled, "Well, I never!
It's plain you've never been Out Back—
This @3is@1 the Paroo River!"

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