The Boundary Rider (1927)
I'm far away from strife and care an outcast drifted from life's stream.And for me no more the dazzling rays of fickle fortune gleam,
At last I proved this life of mine is not the plan I once did dream.
I'm smoking by my shanty door, the laggard day is at its close.
And out beyond the miles of pain, a ball of gold, the red sun goes;
And far away they are my one time friends. and far away my foes. I wonder if they think of me, the restless one they cast away,
I do not know, but little care for changelings such as they,
But reckless fool I little knew the bitter price they'd have me pay.
For I'm out on a Western station, near the bounds of an outer rim.
The ground Is bare and a blinding glare descends from the blazing
And stretching here the great plains are, and far the rising ranges run. By day I ride by boundaries wide, the cloak of night comes down at last.
Then spangled through the cloudless blue are shining star-llke diamonds cast.
Then will I dream of times to be and days that now have passed.
O'er sandy creeks the heat waves sweeps, and round the starving cattle die.
And wlde and far drought's legions are, and every hole is dry,
On rocky range and rolling grassless plains the white bones bleaching lie. Oh, give, the toiling squatters heart to fight their bitter dark despair.
And Oh, may all the future seasons bring a ten times better fare,
And very fairest fortunes drive away the weary lines of care.
For I have seen In seasons past, and hope to God I'll see again
The emerald sheen of the grasses green on rising hill and plain,
And all the Western rivers running high with summers soaking rain. Not long ago I cursed the time I came to this forsaken land,
Where the salt bush grows and a hot wind blows across the burning sand-
But that is past, the magic spell is cast, and now I understand.
Understand the spell that calls the restless spirits roving forth,
or on black soil plains of the far out back the strong road shows his worth ;
To cattle camps by Western runs in Jungles of the wond'rous North. Though Fate my page of life has marred. I've not been one to wail,
I faced the bitter ways and hard on Northern range and lone bush trail:
I played my game as best I could but bound I was by fate to fail.
That I have failed I do not care. I had no wish to e'er succeed.
And follow the paths of commerce that lead but to a world of greed,
Where souls are sold for yellow gold. and friendless ones are spurn'd in need. Though city lights are far away, and fifty miles the nearest town,
I have my mates, the tall lithe station hands and bushmen coming down;
With bushmens' rough and ready ways and bushmens' faces bronzed and brown.
They're far upon the dry stock routes. I'll meet them as they're going through.
For well I know though far they be their roving hearts are ever true-
With kindest thoughts and straightest ways, the best of men I ever knew. The folks of town are so veneer, for self-applause they try to please.
But bushmen's ways alone can place the weary way-worn soul at ease;
And to the depths of my own heart those rough, brown bushmen hold the keys.
Oh, far away the cities are. I learn'd at last to love the plains,
For here at night the stars shine bright and peace and silence ever reigns,
The ev'nlngs breeze now fans my face, the blood of freedom's in my veins. ALAN QUEALE. Notes From the Queensland Newspaper The Townsville Daily Bulletin 16 Jul 1927 p. 14.