THE SONG OF THE “OVERLAND”

Wanganui Herald, Volume LII, Issue 15678, 2 December 1918, Page 8

THE SONG OF THE “OVERLAND”

Far as the naked eye can, scan Behold a vast and tideless shore, Whose heat can scarce be borne by man, Whose depth too mighty to explore. From East to West, from North , to South, The same curs’d growth of burning sand. And the same curse uttered in every mouth. In the realm of the “Overland!” The stunted bushes are few and bare; The birds are fewer that sit and sing; The withered grass and the leaves are there That never have known a showery Spring; The sun is red in the sky, and stops Till your lungs are choked and can’t expand; And the oamel groans with his load and drops On the march of the '’Overland!” The river beds and the creeks are dry; The twigs they crackle beneath your tread; The wild cattle look with a languid eye, And thousands about you lying dead. They fight at the water beds to be first, Till they cannot strive or stand; ’Tis a terrible thing to die of thirst On a ranch of the “Overland!” The ante and the lizards are still alive. The black snake glides to his don. The emu and ostrich seem to thrive, And the wallaby’s found in the glen. The blackman follows the self same track, With a spear in his slimy hand. As his ancestors did some aeons back. On the stretch of the “Overland." Tet some men love it, in spite of all The loneliness —peril and wild. They stick to it—work it—what’er befall They are used to it since a child. The weariest day is never too long. Nor the odds that they can’t withstand. They are made of steel, are the toilers strong Thai live on the "Overland.” Their homes are picturesque, seen among The wattles, ironbarks, and gums; They are far away from the slanderous tongue; They are far away from the slums. The vice and the pace of a city life Are not in their features seann’d. They live aloof from the stress and strife On the crest of the “Overland.” They have their, pleasures as we have ours When toil for the day is done. And the station hands for a few short hours Come trooping in, one by one. 1 There’s Finix, the “ring” of the shearing shed; There’s Kelly to tally and brand; There’s Kily that boasts on his grey he can head Any beast on the “Overland.” They gather around the log-fire glow, tVith the yams O’Connor brings. While many a song of the long ago The tenor McGlusky sings. Till Hall stands up as he would when moved With his eyes brim full and bland. Tells how he buried the girl ho loved And made for the “Overland.” They are all bush boys of the ancient school, Hale, hearty, easy, and Square. Except stray “tofis” that have played the fool And buried their shadow there. But the boys don’t care what a man has been; What he is, they understand ; If a man “makes good” the past’s not seen Out there on the ‘‘Overland.” “Luck,” good "Bush Boys” all Squatter, drove, -. Whether you’re bo.° r i’oombafall, Or simply the chs?/- that’s down. Ton made Australia what it is; Bright, prosperous, free, and grand. No greater tribute I give than this: “The Boys of the Overland.” May the rain descend, let there he no dearth Till the grass in the valley grows; Till the parched and barren places of earth. Shall blossom like the rose. May the hell birds sing at the day’s decline. May the wild flowers kies your hand; May the sweetest dreams of a dream be tbine, When you sleep on the “Overland.” A.J.P.