BUSH BALLADS AND RHYMES 



'Twas merry 'mid the blackwoods when we 

 spied the station roofs, 

 To wheel the wild scrub cattle at the 

 yard, 

 With a running fire of stockwhips and a fiery 

 run of hoofs ; 

 Oh ! the hardest day was never then too 

 hard ! 



Aye ! we had a glorious gallop after '' Star- 

 light " and his gang. 

 When they bolted from Sylvester's on the 

 fiat; 

 How the sun-dried reed-beds crackled, how 

 the flint-strewn ranges rang 

 To the strokes of '' Mountaineer" and 

 ''Acrobat"! 

 Hard behind them in the timber, harder still 

 across the heath, 

 Close beside them through the tea-tree 

 scrub we dash'd ; 

 And the golden-tinted fern leaves, how they 

 rustled underneath ! 

 And the honeysuckle osiers, how they 

 crashed ! 



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