Old and worn my Bushland spurs
Hang above my desk to-day.
Memory, on that broom of hers,
Witchlike bears my heart away,
Over seas that restless roll,
'Neath forgotten stars that shine,
To a dim and distant goal
In a land that once was mine.
There I wake where Dawn has trod,
Bind again those friends of steel,
As the happy morning god
Binds the sunlight on his heel,
Taking back on golden plains
Youth set free of Time's reproofs.
Laughter loosening the reins,
Joy that speeds the lifting hoofs.
Gathering from the morning mist
Come the comrades loved of old,
Brown of cheek and red of wrist,
And with hearts of royal gold,
Iron-thighed and lithe and lean,
Toilers of the rope and brand,
Men who know what friendships mean
And the worth of hand on hand.
Through the drowsy Bush we ride
(Lonely, worn Australian spurs l) -
Half the world can ne'er divide
These our exiled hearts from hers I
From her gum-trees' chequered shade,
From her rivers brown and low,
From the call our hearts obeyed
Long, and long, and long ago!
Better far that yonder wall
Keep my old Australian spurs,
If it be the Bushland call
Now no more our troop bestirs;
But if gay they gather yet
Where the scrub-line meets the blue,
When your broom is Southward set,
Witch, take back my heart with you!
