THE PLOUGH 



From Egypt behind my oxen with their stately step and slow. 

 Northward and east and west I went to the desert sand and the 



snow; 

 Down through the centuries one by one, turning the clod to the 



shower, 

 Till there's never a land beneath the sun but has blossomed 



behind my power. 



I slid through the sodden rice fields with my grunting hump- 

 backed steers, 



I turned the turf of the Tiber plain in Rome's imperial years, 

 I was left in the half -drawn furrow when Coriolanus came 

 Giving his farm for the forum's stir to save his nation's name. 



Over the seas to the north I went: white cliffs and a seaboard 



blue; 

 And my path was glad in the English grass as my stout red 



Devons drew; 

 My path was glad in the English grass, for behind me rippled 



and curled, 

 The corn that was life to the sailor men that sailed the ships of 



the world. 



And later I went to the north again, and day by day drew down 

 A little more of the purple hills to join to my kingdom brown; 

 And the whaups wheeled out to the moorland, but the gray gulls 



stayed with me, 

 Where the Clydesdales drummed a marching song with their 



feathered feet on the lea. 



Then the new lands called me westward; I found on the prairies 



wide 



A toll to my stoutest daring, and a foe to test my pride; 

 But I stooped my strength to the stiff black loam, and I found 



my labor sweet, 

 As I loosened the soil that was trampled firm by a million 



buffaloes' feet. 



Then further away to the northward; outward and outward still 

 (But idle I crossed the Rockies for there no plough will till!), 

 Till I won to the plains unending, and there on the edge of the 



snow 

 I ribbed them the fenceless wheat fields, and taught them to 



reap and sow. 



The sun of the southland called me; I turned her the rich brown 



lines, 

 Where her Parramatta peach trees grow and her green Mildura 



vines; 



I drove her cattle before me, her dust and her dying sheep, 

 I painted her rich plains golden, and taught her to sow and reap. 



From Egypt behind my oxen, with stately step and slow, 



I have carried your weightiest burden, ye toilers that reap and 



sow! 



I am the ruler, the King, and I hold the world in fee; 

 Sword upon sword may ring, but the triumph shall rest with me! 



WILL OGILVIE. 



(Reprinted from "The Australian and Other Verses," through the courtesy of the 

 publishers, Angus and Robertson, Sydney, N. 8. W., Australia). 



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