Farewell To The W.A. Gold Fields (1909)
For years I've disported
Through mulga, and courted
Alas(s), Madame Gold, with some vigor and zest.
In love with a hoaxing,
Slow "Bowler" in coaxing
One out of his "Crease" to get "stumped" in the West.
In future when sadness,
Excitement or gladness
Appears 'twill this "Breach of Fair Promise" suggest;
A "Ghostly" condition,
A "Bush apparition,"
Of faces and places I've seen in the West.
Already 'tis stealing,
So softly appealing.
The call of the bush that will bother all rest ;
The wind-kissed trees sighing,
The mulga woods crying,
Across the wide sea, "Oh, come back to the West!"
When sailing, when crossing
The ocean, and tossing
O'er billows, or riding o'er some foaming crest;
A see-saw-like speeding,
The shore-line receding,
My last gaze will be on the hills of the West.
Farewell to the boring
Through jungle, exploring
A land in its deserts so charmingly blest ;
The goldfields a-booming,
The wild flowers a-blooming,
In Swanland, the Donland--the land of the West.
Farewell to the rarest,
The ladies, the fairest,
To whom on departure I vow and attest,
That were I more clever
In "specking" I'd never
Be leaving without a " fair haul" from the West.
Notes
From the South Australian newspaper the Southern Cross Friday 5 March 1909, p. 14.