Ive followed all my tracks and ways,from old bark school to Leicester Square,
Ive been right back to boyhoods days, and found no light or pleasure there.
But every dream and every trackand there were many that I knew
They all lead on, or they lead back, to Bourke in Ninety-one, and two.
No sign that green grass ever grew in scrubs that blazed beneath the sun;
The plains were dust in Ninety-two, that baked to bricks in Ninety-one.
On glaring iron-roofs of Bourke, the scorching, blinding sandstorms blew,
And there was nothing beautiful in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
Save grit and generosity of hearts that broke and healed again
The hottest drought that ever blazed could never parch the hearts of men;
And they were men in spite of all, and they were straight, and they were true,
The hat went round at troubles call, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
They drank, when all is said and done, they gambled, and their speech was rough
Youd only need to say of oneHe was my mate! that was enough.
To hint a bushman was not white, nor to his Union straight and true,
Would mean a long and bloody fight in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
The yard behind the Shearers Arms was reckoned best of battle grounds,
And there in peace and quietness they fought their ten or fifteen rounds;
And then they washed the blood away, and then shook hands, as strong men do
And washed away the bitternessin Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
The Army on the grand old creek was mighty in those days gone by,
For they had sisters who could shriek, and brothers who could testify;
And by the muddy waterholes, they tackled sin till all was blue
They took our bobs and damned our souls in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
By shanty bars and shearing sheds, they took their toll and did their work
But now and then they lost their heads, and raved of hotter hells than Bourke:
The only message from the dead that ever came distinctly through
WasSend my overcoat to hellit came to Bourke in Ninety-two.
I know they drank, and fought, and diedsome fighting fiends on blazing tracks
I dont remember that they lied, or crawled behind each others backs;
I dont remember that they loafed, or left a mate to battle through
Ah! men knew how to stick to men in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
Theyre scattered wide and scattered farby fan-like tracks, north, east, and west
The cruel New Australian star drew off the bravest and the best.
The Cape and Klondyke claim their bones, the streets of London damned a few,
And jingo-cursed Australia mourns for Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
For ever westward in the land, Australians hearand will not heed
The murmur of the board-room, and the sure and stealthy steps of greed
Bourke was a fortress on the track! and garrisons were grim and true
To hold the spoilers from Out Back, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
I hear it in the ridges lone, and in the dread drought-stricken wild
I hear at times a womans moanthe whimper of a hungry child:
Andlet the cynics say the word: a godless gang, a drunken crew
But these were things I never heard in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
They say that things have changed out there, and western towns have altered quite:
They dont know how to drink and swear, theyve half forgotten how to fight;
Theyve almost lost the strength to trust, the faith in mateship to be true
The heart that grew in drought and dust in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
Weve learned to laugh the bitter laugh since thenweve travelled, you and I;
The sneaking little paragraph, the dirty trick, the whispered lie
Are known to usthe little menwhose souls are rotten through and through
We called them scabs and crawlers then, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
And could I roll the summers back, or bring the dead time on again;
Or from the grave or world-wide track, call back to Bourke the vanished men,
With mind content Id go to sleep, and leave those mates to judge me true,
And leave my name to Bourke to keepthe Bourke of Ninety-one and two.