. Selected poems; . ide Roimd fifteen hundred head. And west of named and numbered days The shearers walk and ride.Jack Cornstalk and the Neer-do-well And Greybeard side by side;They veil their eyes from moon and stars. And slumber on the sand—Sad memories sleep as years go round In Never-Never Land. O rebels to society! The Outcasts of the West—O hopeless e3^es that smile for me, And broken hearts that jest!The pluck to face a thousand miles, The grit to see it through!The Communism perfected Till man to man is True! The Arab to the desert sand. The Finn to fens and snow.The Flax-stick dreams
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. Selected poems; . ide Roimd fifteen hundred head. And west of named and numbered days The shearers walk and ride.Jack Cornstalk and the Neer-do-well And Greybeard side by side;They veil their eyes from moon and stars. And slumber on the sand—Sad memories sleep as years go round In Never-Never Land. O rebels to society! The Outcasts of the West—O hopeless e3^es that smile for me, And broken hearts that jest!The pluck to face a thousand miles, The grit to see it through!The Communism perfected Till man to man is True! The Arab to the desert sand. The Finn to fens and snow.The Flax-stick dreams of Maoriland, While seasons come and go.Whatever stars may glow or burn Oer lands of East and West, The wandering heart of man will turn To one it loves the best. 110 THE NEVER-NEVER LAND Lest in the city I forget True mateship, after all, My water-bag. and billy yet Are hanging on the wall.And I, to save my soul, again Would tramp to sunsets grandWith sad-eyed mates across the plain In the Never-Xever Land. 1902. After the War [HE big rough boys from the runs out back were firstwhere the balls flew free, And yelled in the slang of the Outside Track: By God, its a Christmas spree!Its not too dusty—and Wool away!—stand clearo the blazin shoots !Sheep O! Sheep O!—Well cut out to-day—Look out for the bosss boots!What price the tally in camp to-night!—What price the boys Out Back!Go it, you tigers, for Right or Might and the pride of the Out-side Track !—Needle and thread!—I have broke my comb!—Now ride, you flour-bags, ride!Fight for your mates and the folks at home! Heres one for the Lachlan-side!Those men of the West would sneer and scoff at the gates of hell ajar, And often the sight of a head cut off was hailed by a yell forTar! I heard the Push in the Red Redoubt, grown wild at a luckless shot:Look out for the bloomin shell, look out!—Gorblimy, but thats red-hot! 112 AFTER THE WAR Its Bill the Slogger—poor bloke—hes done. A chunk of the shell was his;I