Easter
Monday in the city - Rattle,
rattle, rumble, rush;
Tom and Jerry, Nell and Kitty, All
the down-the-harbour “push,”
Little thought have they, or pity, For
a wanderer from the bush.
Shuffle,
feet, a merry measure, Hurry,
Jack and find your Jill,
Let her - if it give her pleasure - Flaunt
her furbelow and frill,
Kiss her while you have the leisure, For
tomorrow brings the mill.
Go ye
down the harbour, winding ‘Mid
the eucalypts and fern,
Respite from your troubles finding, Kiss
her, till her pale cheeks burn,
For to-morrow will the grinding Mill-stones
of the city turn.
Stunted
figures, sallow faces, Sad
girls striving to be gay
In their cheap sateens and laces. Ah!
how different ‘tis to-day
Where they’re going to the races - Yonder
- up Monaro way!
Light
mist flecks the Murrumbidgee’s Bosom
with a silver stain,
On the trembling wire bridge is Perched
a single long legged crane,
While the yellow, slaty ridges Sweep
up proudly from the plain.
Somebody
is after horses - Donald,
Charlie or young Mac -
Suddenly his arm he tosses, Presently
you’ll hear the crack,
As the symbol of the cross is Made
on ‘Possum’s steaming back.
Stirling
first! the Masher follows, Ly-ee-moon
and old Trump Card,
Helter skelter through the shallows Of
the willow-shaded ford,
Up the lane and past the “gallows,” Driven
panting to the yard.
In the
homestead, what a clatter; Habits
black and habits blue,
Full a dozen red lips patter: “Who
is going to ride with who?”
Mixing sandwiches and chatter, Gloves
to button, hair to “do,”
Horses
stamp and stirrups jingle, “Dash
the filly! won’t she wait?”
Voices, bass and treble, mingle, “Look sharp, May, or we’ll be
late;”
How the pulses leap and tingle As
you lift her featherweight!
At the thought
the heart beats quicker Than
an old Bohemian’s should,
Beating like my battered ticker (Pawned
this time, I fear, for good).
Bah! I’ll go and have a liquor With
the genial “Jimmy Wood.”