New Zealand Verse/What used to be
XLIII.
What used to be.
Hill an’ ridge an’ barren river, all the station ridin’,
Mobs o’ cattle, flanks a-quiver, in the ti-tree hidin’;
Cloudin’ dust, an’ red sun flarin’; ’member how we caught ’em,
Wheeled ’em (thousand eyes a-glarin’); ’long the sidin’ brought ’em!
Ride! Rouse ’em up across the hill-tops!
Bring ’em down the gullies in the dawn;
For the boys are set an’ goin’, an’ there’s half the herd a-lowin’—
Whoo-oop! through the yellow of the dawn!
Mobs o’ cattle, flanks a-quiver, in the ti-tree hidin’;
Cloudin’ dust, an’ red sun flarin’; ’member how we caught ’em,
Wheeled ’em (thousand eyes a-glarin’); ’long the sidin’ brought ’em!
Ride! Rouse ’em up across the hill-tops!
Bring ’em down the gullies in the dawn;
For the boys are set an’ goin’, an’ there’s half the herd a-lowin’—
Whoo-oop! through the yellow of the dawn!
Gleamin’ horns like lines o’ lances—an’ the mob stampedin’;
Why did you—yer knew the chances—head them, never heedin’
Why did you—yer knew the chances—head them, never heedin’
Crowdin’ brutes that tossed an’ rolled yer—stamped yer inter clay?
So I’ll never more behold yer, never hear yer say—
“Hi! Ring ’em in along the tussock;
Swing ’em where the gates are set an’ wide—
But the clackin’ hoofs are thunder, an’ ye’re done if yer git under—
Steady! where the gates are yawnin’ wide!”
So I’ll never more behold yer, never hear yer say—
“Hi! Ring ’em in along the tussock;
Swing ’em where the gates are set an’ wide—
But the clackin’ hoofs are thunder, an’ ye’re done if yer git under—
Steady! where the gates are yawnin’ wide!”
Wish I’d died wi’ yer that mornin’ when yer bed we made yer;
Left yer to the night an’ dawnin’ with the scrub ter shade yer
Yer was friend more close than brother—now ye’re sleepin’ far—
’N’ I’ll not ride wi’ any other where the long downs are.
Now, yer’ll be ridin’ in the mountings,
Though the cattle will not turn to see yer pass;
There’s no sod or stone will hold yer when the shoutin’ whips have told yer—
“Ride! the mob is breakin’ in the Pass!”
Left yer to the night an’ dawnin’ with the scrub ter shade yer
Yer was friend more close than brother—now ye’re sleepin’ far—
’N’ I’ll not ride wi’ any other where the long downs are.
Now, yer’ll be ridin’ in the mountings,
Though the cattle will not turn to see yer pass;
There’s no sod or stone will hold yer when the shoutin’ whips have told yer—
“Ride! the mob is breakin’ in the Pass!”
Hill an’ scrub an’ lone gray river—only things I’m lovin’—
I will serve no more for ever (Hey! the column’s movin’,
Hear the blessed bugles blowin’)—you’ll be on the track
With the boys—them all unknowin’—bring the cattle back.
Ah! slow em’ down across the shingle;
Trail ’em up the cuttin’ in the dark,
There was nothin’ feared or tried me wi’ your knee beside me;
Ah-h! the crawlin’ homeward in the dark!
I will serve no more for ever (Hey! the column’s movin’,
Hear the blessed bugles blowin’)—you’ll be on the track
With the boys—them all unknowin’—bring the cattle back.
Ah! slow em’ down across the shingle;
Trail ’em up the cuttin’ in the dark,
There was nothin’ feared or tried me wi’ your knee beside me;
Ah-h! the crawlin’ homeward in the dark!