Read Ebook: The Bush Fire and Other Verses by Lee Ida

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Ebook has 130 lines and 15806 words, and 3 pages

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THE BUSH FIRE 1

BILL, THE GROOM 4

WHITE SEA HORSES 10

SUFFOLK 13

THE FISH-GIRL'S SONG 18

PHANTOMS OF THE SEA 20

THE WATER FROG 23

THE FOREST KING'S LAMENT 25

THE DROVER'S VISION 30

THE HOMESTEAD 34

THE BUSHMAN'S WOOING 44

THE VIOLET'S MESSAGE 49

TO A FAR DISTANT FRIEND 52

THE PROMISE 54

WHERE LILIES GROW 57

NATURE'S LESSONS 59

THE BUSH FIRE.

STOCKMAN .

Wake up, boy! the grass is burning; See the glare across the hill! Flames are nearing the "Flat Paddock," And the sheep are in there still. Dark you say! Yes, so I think it, Tho' I see the field of corn; But the lights which flicker thro' it Are not those we see at dawn. Mount the Arab! Take wet sacking! Wet it must be, mind, not dry; We must save the master's cattle, If we perish while we try.

Ride on faster, you are younger, Tie your horse to yonder tree, Break some overhanging branches One for you and one for me. Face the fire and do not shirk it, Never mind the smoke and heat; Do not heed the dead wood cracking, Or the sparks beneath your feet. Beat and blind them, crush and kill them, Till their blackened embers lie Stark in ashes, and around you, One by one in darkness die.

See the blaze is growing greater, Now it runs with many a leap To where stand the tall white gum trees, In whose limbs the parrots sleep,-- Throws its fiery arms around them; Every bird in terror flies From its home in grief forsaken, Shrieking harsh unearthly cries. Will the wind not turn to Westward, Or those great black clouds drop rain? There was thunder! no, I doubt it, But do listen once again.

Now I hear the poor sheep bleating, How they gaze from out the gloom, Like the stake-bound men we read of Who have died the martyr's doom. Just this moment they were rushing Thro' the scrub down to the plain, Parch'd and weary. Now returning, They seek refuge here again.

It was thunder! It is raining, For the cinders, hot and red, Hiss, as cool drops fall upon them Through the branches overhead.

Sweetly blows the yellow wattle 'Cross the road and up the lane, But to me the scent is sweetest Of the damp and moist'ning rain. How it plays upon the firewood, With a pattering ceaseless sound, Like some grand and glorious music Sent to soothe the saddened ground. Take my arm, boy! I feel blinded! 'Tis with joy from such a sight. Lead me home. I will thank God there For His love to me to-night.

BILL, THE GROOM.

The lights burn in the stable, and I stand in the yard, Yet thro' the open window I hear him breathing hard; They watch the bed in silence where Bill the groom lies still, For Bill the groom is surely fast going down the hill. 'Twas only yestereven, he made a solemn vow To catch and ride the chestnut; she stands outside there now, While he lies crushed and helpless upon a bed of pain; He will not see the sunset behind "The Ridge" again. The chestnut's free and easy, a trifle too thin-skinned, I know she isn't faultless, though sound in limb and wind; But I thought she'd give no trouble, for Bill said he could ride,-- Australian-born he was not, he came from t'other side. The young ones like to tell us the way they do things there, And tho' I always listen , I wonder what would happen on those great spread-out plains, If when I rode "The Nigger," I let hang loose his reins.

When Bill first said he'd ride her, I think I did say "no," We told him all about her, the way that she would go, That she had bucked and thrown us whene'er she'd got the chance. Bill leaped the fence and caught her, she led him such a dance! He put the saddle on her, it was not nearly tight, I ran across and fixed it,--and he rode out of sight. The hay-shed hid them from me, I watched them 'long the fence, The mare then walked so quietly, I thought she'd learnt some sense; I know he'd got his stirrups, and held the reins quite straight, And sat his saddle firmly as he went out the gate. I went and fed his horses, and forked their straw all round, Then something seemed to whisper that Bill was on the ground; I thought I heard him calling, but when I raised his head His face was white and fainting, he looked to me quite dead. I don't know how it happened; but there! my eyes grow dim, I helped him mount the chestnut,--and she dealt his death to him.

We brought him in and laid him upon his bed to rest, And night and day we've waited, just hoping for the best, And done our utmost for him--the family are away,-- The doctor says he cannot see out another day; Tho' living's mostly trouble, my life I'm sure I'd give, If I could bring back yesterday, and let poor Billy live. He's waking now, they tell me, but not for long, poor lad, If he but had his mother, 'twould make his end less sad.

For years they have been parted, yet strange enough it seems, Last night she came in spirit to calm his troubled dreams. They say she is in England, across the ocean blue: I know she here was watching her boy the long night through. Don't say it all was fancy! I'm not a bushman raw; Bill saw her when she entered, first in the open door, He followed every footstep until she reached his bed, And caught her hand and held it, as she stroked his tired head. And when she rose to leave us, the light, a narrow streak, Crept underneath the windows, and tears stole down her cheek; Her face was drooping lowly, it looked so pained and sad, As once her glances rested upon the sleeping lad.

He asks about his horses, and wants to bid good-bye To "Colonel" and to "Captain," to "Mill" and "Marjorie," And even to the chestnut! he says it was his fault, She only bucked just once or twice, and when she seemed to halt, He pulled against the bridle, then up she reared in air And fell right over on him--he lay beneath her there. Come, wheel his bed among them and turn them in their stalls, 'Tis hard if he can't see them before his strength quite falls.

They seem to know he's going--they lick his outstretched hand, And as he speaks they whinny, the sight is really grand! But when he sees the chestnut , I never thought a youngster could be one half as good, He pats her, and he pets her, and strokes her bright red mane; The beast I'm sure is sorry she's caused him all this pain .

And there, among the horses, he said he heard a call, Tho' everyone kept silent and solemn thro' it all. His voice once broke the stillness, "That's not the stable bell? The angels call me, mother!"--I caught him as he fell; We did not try to raise him; I saw it was no use; The horses they were standing, with halters swinging loose, To watch our every movement: we took his bed inside, And now I know they're grieving because poor Bill has died.

WHITE SEA HORSES.

Glad sea horses! Sad sea horses! Rear the head, and toss the mane, Spread out wide in bands together. Face the boundless deep again! Grand white horses! Stand, white horses! Just one moment calm and still, In the bright and sparkling sunshine! None would dream your wrath would kill.

Great sea horses! Stately horses! When you gallop still be kind: Where is strength to curb your fury, Where are reins your mouths to bind? Urging onward, surging onward, Wild your onset, fierce and free! Proudly rides a ship to battle O'er the line 'twixt sky and sea.

Wait, white horses! Bait, white horses! While you don those trappings new; Now your noble chests are wrapt in Sumptuous folds of green-fringed blue. Tall white horses! Small white horses! Can it be in peace or war, Thus you madly race the ocean Till you reach the sand-strewn bar?

Champing horses! Ramping horses! Mid the roaring, mid the noise, Ere your fetlocks churn the billows, Proudly they uplifted poise. Darting horses! Parting horses! They have broken loose away, Flinging far behind their traces, As they plunge among the spray!

Racing horses! Pacing horses! When you speed with foam-shod feet, Does, unseen, some ghost or spirit Prick your flanks with spurrings fleet? Vain sea horses! Strain, sea horses, With the sinews you possess, Dashing high, above the waters, Heads which never knew distress!

Fighting horses! Biting horses! Open mouths and nostrils wide, Arching necks and tangled forelocks, Snapping jaws on either side. Fierce wild horses! Pierce wild horses! As the ship doth glide along, They have struck athwart the bulwarks Blow on blow, dealt loud and strong.

Mad white horses! Bad white horses! Has the vessel spoilt your chase? How you turn aside to lash it, In a passionate embrace! Splashing horses! Crashing horses! Soon you frolic left and right, Angels guard storm-beaten sailors Who encounter you to-night!

SUFFOLK.

AN EVENING IN AUTUMN.

Gray shadows speed the fading day, And creeping mists assert their sway; They rise arrayed in varied hue, From sober black to faintest blue, As smoke mounts o'er a slumbering fire, Or lingers round some funeral pyre. Across the fields and in the wood, Where pheasant nestles o'er her brood, No sound is heard; the lifeless trees Scarce move their branches in the breeze, And fallen leaves lie curled and damp Where glow-worm shows his tiny lamp. Soon too with day the shadowed light Will folded sleep, in arms of night. Upon the marsh and up the hill Wild rabbits scamper with a will. The crimson sun so warm and red Now sunken lies, in regal bed, And tinted clouds float gently by, Like rose-leaves o'er a painted sky. The bending river wends its way, Through meadows green where oxen stray; It stretches out its lengthy arm, Which twists and turns past heath and farm. Here, wild fowl often make their nest, And plover, too, with golden crest, From off its banks will fly or run Amid the reeds at setting sun. The village wrapt in sweet content Reviews, ere night, the day well spent; And cotters lean without their door To talk with friends the season o'er. Beyond the sward, smooth lies the beach Whence mighty waters onward reach, And to the shore still rippling send Sweet murmurings that do not end. So softly do the wavelets move, They seem to breathe but words of love As if they feared or trembled, lest They hurt one shell upon its breast; Or cast one pebble on the sand, Lest it should know their strength of hand. Thus fades the day before my sight While nature waits the coming night.

MORNING.

Dark broke the daylight, cold and gray, And sea-birds flecked the foaming spray, Above the deep. The waves now dashed, And rolling huge, so heavily lashed Their watery fleece against the strand. But yesterday, with loving hand, They laved its face with warm caress, And softly on its cheek did press. The glowing sun, which blessed that day, Now frowning clouds hid far away. No tinted rays could burst the veil, Which falling thick in showers of hail, And stinging sleet, that blew so fierce, The smallest floweret seemed to pierce; And tossed aside the golden sheaf, Or cut like steel each tiny leaf. The breeze arose, but not to jest, Or soothe those fears which breathe unrest; It sprang up strong--not lightly gay-- Nor deigned with one rose-leaf to play; But rushing madly to the wood, Uprooted trees as there they stood, Then threw them down among the gorse, And crushed the ferns with cruel force. When, whistling by the sea-girt dale, It caused the fisherwife to pale; And made the worn-out rafters quake, The sleepers suddenly awake. The busy smacksmen set their sail, And trim their boats to ride the gale; While aged seamen creep in sight To glean the dangers of the night. They long to join the gallant band, Though wan of face and weak of hand, And gaze upon the angry sea, Which stirs the fading memory To bring some peril past to each, A lesson new, their age to teach, When walking back to humble cot, Each ache and ailment is forgot. And in their homes the threadbare tale Of wreck and rescue will not fail The hours to enliven thro' the day, And chase aside the shadows gray, Which, round their lives' uncertain sea, Now deepen where the warnings be Of one last voyage which must be made Ere sailings be for ever stayed.

NOON.

At noon's sweet hour came peace once more, Wide open Nature laid her store Of fragrant flowers--the birds sang gay, To blot the sins of dawn away. The sea herself, though foaming still, Acknowledged then a stronger will, Altho' at night the mourner's tear Fell thick and fast. Yet ever here Tears dew the sorrow-stricken eyes, While grief sits by to foster sighs. Men only learn in Heaven above The wisdom of our Father's love.

THE FISH-GIRL'S SONG.

Clang! Clang! Clang! I set my basket down; The bells hang high in the belfry tower, And tell the folk 'tis the evening hour, Through in and out the town.

Clang! Clang! Clang! O hush my wooden shoon! When gently I swing the sacred door, And kneel me down on the marble floor To beg a heavenly boon.

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