The Dying Stockman (1882)
Hang up the whip, mate, and spurs as well,
And put my old saddle aside;
Turn out the poor old mare to spell;
I' ve ridden, I guess, my last-last ride.
And hang up, too, the rusty old gun;
And stand my chair in the window--so;
I'd like to look on the setting sun
And the distant ranges before I go.
I've galloped adown 'em many's the day,
For Wallarol cattle were de'ils to drive,
And de'ils to bring back, when once away;
And Spot could go, when hewere alive.
But the Wallaroi cattle are quiet now,
And Spot he is dead, and Bess is lame;
And Jack, the new stockman, can only "blow:"
I'm dashed if I think he be really game.
Here, mate, bring a light--'tis getting so dark--
Eh! what? Well, I know 'tis all for the best;
Was that a cooey? Hark, Billy, hark!
I'm coming, Death;--no, rest; this is rest.
E. COLWELL.
Notes
From the Brisbane newspaper the Queenslander Saturday 30 September 1882, p. 425.