A Bushie Looks Back (1933)
From On The Track (By "Bill Bowyang.")
I'm a bushman, I confess it,Just a man of no account,
But the bush, may dear God bless it,
Is a place that does amount. Thru' the days of youth I've squandered
Down the long and lonely years,
All the weary miles I've wandered
With my share of love and tears. I have learned to love the ridges,
I have learned to love the plain,
Now that I have "burned my bridges,"
I can ne'er go back again. But at night when I am sitting
On my chair before the fire,
And the wife is slowly knitting,
There is nought that I desire. Then I dream of open spaces,
And I shed a silent tear
When I see again old faces,
Dearest friends of yester-year. Dream of nights when I was dossing
On the grass beneath the trees,
Where the creek at Clancy's Crossing
Murmured magic melodies. And I hear the North wind bringing
Music thru' the tall belars,
And the stockmen softly singing
To the herd beneath the stars. Now my life is nearly over,
I am gray and I am bent.
I'm a bushman, I'm a rover,
But my roving days are spent W. L. RYLAND. Notes
From the Queensland Newspaper the Townsville Daily Bulletin July 1833 Page 3.
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