The Stockman
I'll away to the West again, where the best
Of the stockmen are heading again
To find their employment, hard times, or enjoyment,
On river bank, creek, or on run.
For the steers and the heifers (on the plains where the zephyrs
Blow perfume from heather and wattle)
Are mud fat ; with their coats shining, 'neath the wilgas they're reclining.
They must be yarded with the rest of the cattle.
To be drafted and branded, and perhaps overlanded
To Sydney, to Melbourne, or Bourke,
But 'tis joy to the drover, for all the way over
'Tis pleasure intermingled with work
The young ones keep breaking from the mob as we're taking
Them over the plain to the yard ;
But the stockwhips are ringing, on their flanks they fall stinging,
To keep them together you need to ride hard.
At last we've them penned in, and the old stock we're sendin'
Back to their haunts in the hills.
The dogs they keep barking at the steers as we're marking
Them--with excitement the stockman it fills.
Now, the cattle are branded, the run is full-handed,
So back to the East I'll return,
From the scent of the wattle, the roar of the cattle,
And the sizz of the brands as they burn.
I'll away from the West again, where the best
Of the stockmen were mustering the run,
And travel the track, from the scorching " way back,"
To the pity of pleasure and fun.
Stuart Town, 16/1/,'07. BRONSWING.
Notes
From the NSW newspaper the Wellington Times Thursday 24 January 1907