My Billy (1892)
It was but a hoary swagman, and he paused with longing lookAt my old and blackened billy hanging yonder to its hook;
I have just a faint suspicion that if I had not been by
P'raps his fingers might have followed the direction of his eye.
But I said, "Dear friend and brother, yonder billy-can is mine ;
You may confiscate the washing that is hanging on the line,
You may depredate the larder, take your choice of pot and pan ;
But, I pray thee, kind sundowner, spare, oh spare, my billy can"
Yes, I'm perfectly aware, thanks, that the cover is no more,
That its sides are beet and battered, and with soot encrusted o'er ;
But as I watch that billy in the twilight faint and grey,
Distant scenes arise before me-faces that are far away.
At the camp again I wander-I can see it as I dream-
See the tents beneath the wattles, on the margin of the stream,
Hear the voices of companions calling me among the trees,
Hear the ripple of the water and the whisper of the breeze.
Oh, the splendid summer evening ! When the sun was going down,
And the shadows slowly lengthened on the grass all sere and brown.
When the hoarse-voiced jackass mocked us, and the white-winged ibis flew
Past lagoons and through the rushes, far away into the blue.
Then to camp we turned at sunset, with our silver bream or cod,
P'raps some woodduck or a spoonbill-banquet earned by gun and rod.
How we praised the simple supper (we prepared it each in turn),
And the tea ! Ye gods ! 'twas nectar. Yonder billy was our urn.
Round the camp fire we are sitting, in the ruddy, flick'ring glow,
Darkly loom the gnarled old gum trees, blacker still the shadows grow.
Fades the outline of the river, as the stars shine, one by one,
And the mopoke and the 'possum sally forth to watch the fun.
Then the smokers of the party, from their hoard of treasures bring
Black old pipes and plug tobacco, and they smoke while others sing.
How we rattle out the chorus ! How we shout forth the refrains,
Till the bush flings back the echoes of the old familiar strains ;
Or with thrilling yarns and eerie we incite the hair to rise,
And we greet the hour of midnight with excusable surprise.
But alas ! my battered comrade, thou and I alone are left,
Of those dear old-time companions I was long ago bereft.
I may camp beside the river, I may fish beside the stream,
I may sip the best Bohea, I may feast on cod and bream;
But the tea would seem insipid, and the supper tasteless be,
And my pipe, when puffed in silence, would soon lose its charm for me ;
So you see my kind sundowner"-But where is he ? He has fled,
And above my neighbour's pickets I can see his hoary head
(I have ever found it thus wise-when my yarn is barely spun,
I discover that my hearers are departing, one by one),
And I hear that ancient stranger, with fair Rosamund next door,
He is just remarking softly-only this and nothing more-
That the chap next door's gone crazy, on a rusty billy can,
And Miss Rosamund looks over, and has marked me as the man.
Oh cruel cruel maiden ! And, unkindest cut of all,
The most scornful of her glances on my treasured billy fall.
Never mind, old friend ! Take comfort. Though the stranger dub me mad,
Though the maiden fancy flaunt me, and deride thee as a fad.
Well, what care we ? Let them scorn us. Come, old friend, come down to me,
And I'll soothe my ruffled spirit with some old-time billy tea. M.R. Notes From the Victorian Newspaper The Australasian 9 Apr 1892 p. 39.