The Ballad of the 'Calliope'

      By the far Samoan shore,
      Where the league-long rollers pour
  All the wash of the Pacific on the coral-guarded bay,
      Riding lightly at their ease,
      In the calm of tropic seas,
  The three great nations' warships at their anchors proudly lay.

      Riding lightly, head to wind,
      With the coral reefs behind,
  Three Germans and three Yankee ships were mirrored in the blue;
      And on one ship unfurled
      Was the flag that rules the world —
  For on the old 'Calliope' the flag of England flew.

      When the gentle off-shore breeze,
      That had scarcely stirred the trees,
  Dropped down to utter stillness, and the glass began to fall,
      Away across the main
      Lowered the coming hurricane,
  And far away to seaward hung the cloud wrack like a pall.

      If the word had passed around,
      'Let us move to safer ground;
  Let us steam away to seaward' — then this tale were not to tell!
      But each Captain seemed to say
      'If the others stay, I stay!'
  And they lingered at their moorings till the shades of evening fell.

      Then the cloud wrack neared them fast,
      And there came a sudden blast,
  And the hurricane came leaping down a thousand miles of main!
      Like a lion on its prey,
      Leapt the storm fiend on the bay,
  And the vessels shook and shivered as their cables felt the strain.

      As the surging seas came by,
      That were running mountains high,
  The vessels started dragging, drifting slowly to the lee;
      And the darkness of the night
      Hid the coral reefs from sight,
  And the Captains dared not risk the chance to grope their way to sea.

      In the dark they dared not shift!
      They were forced to wait and drift;
  All hands stood by uncertain would the anchors hold or no.
      But the men on deck could see
      If a chance of hope might be —
  There was little chance of safety for the men who were below.

      Through that long, long night of dread,
      While the storm raged overhead,
  They were waiting by their engines, with the furnace fires aroar.
      So they waited, staunch and true,
      Though they knew, and well they knew,
  They must drown like rats imprisoned if the vessel touched the shore.

      When the grey dawn broke at last,
      And the long, long night was past,
  While the hurricane redoubled, lest its prey should steal away,
      On the rocks, all smashed and strewn,
      Were the German vessels thrown,
  While the Yankees, swamped and helpless, drifted shorewards down the bay.

      Then at last spoke Captain Kane,
      'All our anchors are in vain,
  And the Germans and the Yankees they have drifted to the lee!
      Cut the cables at the bow!
      We must trust the engines now!
  Give her steam, and let her have it, lads, we'll fight her out to sea!'

      And the answer came with cheers
      From the stalwart engineers,
  From the grim and grimy firemen at the furnaces below;
      And above the sullen roar
      Of the breakers on the shore
  Came the throbbing of the engines as they laboured to and fro.

      If the strain should find a flaw,
      Should a bolt or rivet draw,
  Then — God help them! for the vessel were a plaything in the tide!
      With a face of honest cheer,
      Quoth an English engineer,
  'I will answer for the engines that were built on old Thames side!

      'For the stays and stanchions taut,
      For the rivets truly wrought,
  For the valves that fit their faces as a glove should fit the hand.
      Give her every ounce of power,
      If we make a knot an hour
  Then it's way enough to steer her and we'll drive her from the land.'

      Like a foam flake tossed and thrown,
      She could barely hold her own,
  While the other ships all helplessly were drifting to the lee.
      Through the smother and the rout
      The 'Calliope' steamed out —
  And they cheered her from the Trenton that was foundering in the sea.

      Aye! drifting shoreward there,
      All helpless as they were,
  Their vessel hurled upon the reefs as weed ashore is hurled.
      Without a thought of fear
      The Yankees raised a cheer —
  A cheer that English-speaking folk should echo round the world.

Do They Know

  Do they know?  At the turn to the straight
   Where the favourites fail,
  And every atom of weight
   Is telling its tale;
  As some grim old stayer hard-pressed
   Runs true to his breed,
  And with head just in front of the rest
   Fights on in the lead;
  When the jockeys are out with the whips,
   With a furlong to go;
  And the backers grow white to the lips —
   Do you think THEY don't know?

  Do they know?  As they come back to weigh
   In a whirlwind of cheers,
  Though the spurs have left marks of the fray,
   Though the sweat on the ears
  Gathers cold, and they sob with distress
   As they roll up the track,
  They know just as well their success
   As the man on their back.
  As they walk through a dense human lane,
   That sways to and fro,
  And cheers them again and again,
   Do you think THEY don't know?

The Passing of Gundagai

  'I'll introdooce a friend!' he said,
   And if you've got a vacant pen
  You'd better take him in the shed
  And start him shearing straight ahead,
   He's one of these here quiet men.

  'He never strikes — that ain't his game;
   No matter what the others try
  HE goes on shearing just the same.
  I never rightly knew his name —
   We always call him "Gundagai"!'

  Our flashest shearer then had gone
   To train a racehorse for a race,
  And while his sporting fit was on
  He couldn't be relied upon,
   So 'Gundagai' shore in his place.

  Alas for man's veracity!
   For reputations false and true!
  This 'Gundagai' turned out to be,
  For strife and all-round villainy,
   The very worst I ever knew!

  He started racing Jack Devine,
   And grumbled when I made him stop.
  The pace he showed was extra fine,
  But all those pure-bred ewes of mine
   Were bleeding like a butcher's shop.

  He cursed the sheep, he cursed the shed,
   From roof to rafter, floor to shelf;
  As for my mongrel ewes, he said,
  I ought to get a razor blade
   And shave the blooming things myself.

  On Sundays he controlled a 'school',
   And played 'two-up' the livelong day;
  And many a young confiding fool
  He shore of his financial wool;
   And when he lost he would not pay.

  He organised a shearers' race,
   And 'touched' me to provide the prize.
  His packhorse showed surprising pace
  And won hands down — he was The Ace,
   A well-known racehorse in disguise.

  Next day the bruiser of the shed
   Displayed an opal-tinted eye,
  With large contusions on his head.
  He smiled a sickly smile, and said
   He'd 'had a cut at "Gundagai"!'

  But just as we were getting full
   Of 'Gundagai' and all his ways,
  A telegram for 'Henry Bull'
  Arrived.  Said he, 'That's me — all wool!
   Let's see what this here message says.'

  He opened it, his face grew white,
   He dropped the shears and turned away.
  It ran, 'Your wife took bad last night;
  Come home at once — no time to write,
   We fear she may not last the day.'

  He got his cheque — I didn't care
   To dock him for my mangled ewes;
  His store account — we 'called it square'.
  Poor wretch! he had enough to bear,
   Confronted by such dreadful news.

  The shearers raised a little purse
   To help a mate, as shearers will,
  'To pay the doctor and the nurse,
  And if there should be something worse —
   To pay the undertaker's bill.'

  They wrung his hand in sympathy,
   He rode away without a word,
  His head hung down in misery.
  A wandering hawker passing by
   Was told of what had just occurred.

  'Well! that's a curious thing,' he said,
   'I've known that feller all his life —
  He's had the loan of this here shed!
  I know his wife ain't nearly dead,
   Because he HASN'T GOT A WIFE!'

       .    .    .    .    .

  You should have heard the whipcord crack
   As angry shearers galloped by,
  In vain they tried to fetch him back.
  A little dust along the track
   Was all they saw of 'Gundagai'.

The Wargeilah Handicap

  Wargeilah town is very small,
   There's no cathedral nor a club,
  In fact the township, all in all,
   Is just one unpretentious pub;
  And there, from all the stations round,
  The local sportsmen can be found.

  The sportsmen of Wargeilah side
   Are very few but very fit:
  There's scarcely any sport been tried
   But what they held their own at it
  In fact, to search their records o'er,
  They held their own and something more.

  'Twas round about Wargeilah town
   An English new-chum did infest:
  He used to wander up and down
   In baggy English breeches drest —
  His mental aspect seemed to be
  Just stolid self-sufficiency.

  The local sportsmen vainly sought
   His tranquil calm to counteract,
  By urging that he should be brought
   Within the Noxious Creatures Act.
  'Nay, harm him not,' said one more wise,
  'He is a blessing in disguise!

  'You see, he wants to buy a horse,
   To ride, and hunt, and steeplechase,
  And carry ladies, too, of course,
   And pull a cart and win a race.
  Good gracious! he must be a flat
  To think he'll get a horse like that!

  'But since he has so little sense
   And such a lot of cash to burn,
  We'll sell him some experience
   By which alone a fool can learn.
  Suppose we let him have The Trap
  To win Wargeilah Handicap!'

  And here, I must explain to you
   That, round about Wargeilah run,
  There lived a very aged screw
   Whose days of brilliancy were done:
  A grand old warrior in his prime —
  But age will beat us all in time.

  A trooper's horse in seasons past
   He did his share to keep the peace,
  But took to falling, and at last
   Was cast for age from the Police.
  A publican at Conroy's Gap
  Then bought and christened him The Trap.

  When grass was good, and horses dear,
   He changed his owner now and then
  At prices ranging somewhere near
   The neighbourhood of two pound ten:
  And manfully he earned his keep
  By yarding cows and ration sheep.

  They brought him in from off the grass
   And fed and groomed the old horse up;
  His coat began to shine like glass —
   You'd think he'd win the Melbourne Cup.
  And when they'd got him fat and flash
  They asked the new-chum — fifty — cash!

  And when he said the price was high,
   Their indignation knew no bounds.
  They said, 'It's seldom you can buy
   A horse like that for fifty pounds!
  We'll refund twenty if The Trap
  Should fail to win the handicap!'

  The deed was done, the price was paid,
   The new-chum put the horse in train:
  The local sports were much afraid
   That he would sad experience gain,
  By racing with some shearer's hack,
  Who'd beat him half-way round the track.

  So, on this guileless English spark
   They did most fervently impress
  That he must keep the matter dark,
   And not let any person guess
  That he was purchasing The Trap
  To win Wargeilah Handicap.

  They spoke of 'spielers from The Bland',
   And 'champions from the Castlereagh',
  And gave the youth to understand
   That all of these would stop away,
  And spoil the race, if they should hear
  That they had got The Trap to fear.

  'Keep dark!  They'll muster thick as flies
   When once the news gets sent around
  We're giving such a splendid prize —
   A Snowdon horse worth fifty pound!
  They'll come right in from Dandaloo,
  And find — that it's a gift to you!'

       .    .    .    .    .

  The race came on — with no display,
   Nor any calling of the card,
  But round about the pub all day
   A crowd of shearers, drinking hard,
  And using language in a strain
  'Twere flattery to call profane.

  Our hero, dressed in silk attire —
   Blue jacket and a scarlet cap —
  With boots that shone like flames of fire,
   Now did his canter on The Trap,
  And walked him up and round about,
  Until the other steeds came out.

  He eyed them with a haughty look,
   But saw a sight that caught his breath!
  It was!  Ah John!  The Chinee cook!
   In boots and breeches!  Pale as death!
  Tied with a rope, like any sack,
  Upon a piebald pony's back!

  The next, a colt — all mud and burrs!
   Half-broken, with a black boy up,
  Who said, 'You gim'me pair o' spurs,
   I win the bloomin' Melbourne Cup!'
  These two were to oppose The Trap
  For the Wargeilah Handicap!

  They're off!  The colt whipped down his head,
   And humped his back and gave a squeal,
  And bucked into the drinking shed,
   Revolving like a Cath'rine wheel!
  Men ran like rats!  The atmosphere
  Was filled with oaths and pints of beer!

  But up the course the bold Ah John
   Beside The Trap raced neck and neck:
  The boys had tied him firmly on,
   Which ultimately proved his wreck,
  The saddle turned, and, like a clown,
  He rode some distance upside down.

  His legs around the horse were tied,
   His feet towards the heavens were spread,
  He swung and bumped at every stride
   And ploughed the ground up with his head!
  And when they rescued him, The Trap
  Had won Wargeilah Handicap!

  And no enquiries we could make
   Could tell by what false statements swayed
  Ah John was led to undertake
   A task so foreign to his trade!
  He only smiled and said, 'Hoo Ki!
  I stop topside, I win all 'li!'

  But never, in Wargeilah Town,
   Was heard so eloquent a cheer
  As when the President came down,
   And toasted, in Colonial Beer,
  'The finest rider on the course!
  The winner of the Snowdon Horse!'

  'You go and get your prize,' he said,
   'He's with a wild mob, somewhere round
  The mountains near The Watershed;
   He's honestly worth fifty pound,
  A noble horse, indeed, to win,
  But none of US can run him in!

  'We've chased him poor, we've chased him fat,
   We've run him till our horses dropped,
  But by such obstacles as that
   A man like you will not be stopped,
  You'll go and yard him any day,
  So here's your health!  Hooray!  Hooray!'

       .    .    .    .    .

  The day wound up with booze and blow
   And fights till all were well content,
  But of the new-chum, all I know
   Is shown by this advertisement —
  'For Sale, the well-known racehorse Trap,
  He won Wargeilah Handicap!'

Any Other Time

  All of us play our very best game —
   Any other time.
  Golf or billiards, it's all the same —
   Any other time.
  Lose a match and you always say,
  'Just my luck!  I was 'off' to-day!
  I could have beaten him quite half-way —
   Any other time!'

  After a fiver you ought to go —
   Any other time.
  Every man that you ask says 'Oh,
   Any OTHER time.
  Lend you a fiver!  I'd lend you two,
  But I'm overdrawn and my bills are due,
  Wish you'd ask me — now, mind you do —
   Any other time!'

  Fellows will ask you out to dine —
   Any other time.
  'Not to-night, for we're twenty-nine —
   Any other time.
  Not to-morrow, for cook's on strike,
  Not next day, I'll be out on the bike —
  Just drop in whenever you like —
   Any other time!'

  Seasick passengers like the sea —
   Any other time.
  'Something . . I ate . . disagreed . . with me!
   Any other time
  Ocean-trav'lling is . . simply bliss,
  Must be my . . liver . . has gone amiss . .
  Why, I would . . laugh . . at a sea . . like this —
   Any other time.'

       .    .    .    .    .

  Most of us mean to be better men —
   Any other time:
  Regular upright characters then —
   Any other time.
  Yet somehow as the years go by
  Still we gamble and drink and lie,
  When it comes to the last we'll want to die —
   Any other time!

The Last Trump

  'You led the trump,' the old man said
   With fury in his eye,
  'And yet you hope my girl to wed!
  Young man! your hopes of love are fled,
   'Twere better she should die!

  'My sweet young daughter sitting there,
   So innocent and plump!
  You don't suppose that she would care
  To wed an outlawed man who'd dare
   To lead the thirteenth trump!

  'If you had drawn their leading spade
   It meant a certain win!
  But no!  By Pembroke's mighty shade
  The thirteenth trump you went and played
   And let their diamonds in!

  'My girl!  Return at my command
   His presents in a lump!
  Return his ring!  For understand
  No man is fit to hold your hand
   Who leads a thirteenth trump!

  'But hold!  Give every man his due
   And every dog his day.
  Speak up and say what made you do
  This dreadful thing — that is, if you
   Have anything to say!'

  He spoke.  'I meant at first,' said he,
   'To give their spades a bump:
  Or lead the hearts, but then you see
  I thought against us there might be,
   Perhaps, a fourteenth trump!'

       .    .    .    .    .

  They buried him at dawn of day
   Beside a ruined stump:
  And there he sleeps the hours away
  And waits for Gabriel to play
   The last — the fourteenth — trump.

Tar and Feathers

      Oh! the circus swooped down
      On the Narrabri town,
  For the Narrabri populace moneyed are;
      And the showman he smiled
      At the folk he beguiled
  To come all the distance from Gunnedah.

      But a juvenile smart,
      Who objected to 'part',
  Went in 'on the nod', and to do it he
      Crawled in through a crack
      In the tent at the back,
  For the boy had no slight ingenuity.

      And says he with a grin,
      'That's the way to get in;
  But I reckon I'd better be quiet or
      They'll spiflicate me,'
      And he chuckled, for he
  Had the loan of the circus proprietor.

      But the showman astute
      On that wily galoot
  Soon dropped, and you'll say that he leathered him —
      Not he; with a grim
      Sort of humorous whim,
  He took him and tarred him and feathered him.

      Says he, 'You can go
      Round the world with a show,
  And knock every Injun and Arab wry;
      With your name and your trade,
      On the posters displayed,
  The feathered what-is-it from Narrabri.'

      Next day for his freak,
      By a Narrabri beak,
  He was jawed with a deal of verbosity;
      For his only appeal
      Was 'professional zeal' —
  He wanted another monstrosity.

      Said his worship, 'Begob!
      You are fined forty bob,
  And six shillin's costs to the clurk!' he says.
      And the Narrabri joy,
      Half bird and half boy,
  Has a 'down' on himself and on circuses.