The camp-fire gleams resistance
To every twinkling star;
The horse-bells in the distance
Are jangling faint and far;
...
The hats of a man may be many
In the course of a varied career,
...
My road is fenced with the bleached, white bones
And strewn with the blind, white sand,
Beside me a suffering, dumb world moans
On the breast of a lonely land.
...
Ben Hall was out on Lachlans side
With a thousand pounds on his head;
A score of troopers were scattered wide
...
Great big lolloping lovable things!
Rolling and tumbling on every lawn,
Tearing at slippers and bones and wings-
...
Store cattle from Nelanjie! The mob goes feeding past,
With half-a-mile of sandhill 'twixt the leaders and the last;
The nags that move behind them are the good old Queensland stamp-
Short backs and perfect shoulders that are priceless on a camp;
...
These are the men with the sun-tanned faces
and the keen far-sighted eyes-
the men of the open spaces,
and the land where the mirage lies.
...
Now, money was scarce and work was slack
And love to his heart Crept in,
And he rode away on the Northern track
To war with the world and win;
...
The skies that arched his land were blue,
His bush-born winds were warm and sweet,
...
When you've ridden a four-year-old half of the day
And, foam to the fetlock, they lead him away,
...