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And being no reader or roamer；
He hasn't Euripides much in the head；
And let it be carefully； tenderly said；
He never has analysed Homer。
He can roar out a song of the twopenny kind；
But； knowing the beggar so well； I'm inclined
To believe that a ‘‘par'' about Kelly；
The rascal who skulked under shadow of curse；
Is more in his line than the happiest verse
On the glittering pages of Shelley。
You mustn't； however； adjudge him in haste；
Because a red robber is more to his taste
Than Ruskin； Rossetti； or Dante！
You see； he was bred in a bangalow wood；
And bangalow pith was the principal food
His mother served out in her shanty。
Page： 40
His knowledge is this … he can tell in the dark
What timber will split by the feel of the bark；
And rough as his manner of speech is；
His wits to the fore he can readily bring
In passing off ash as the genuine thing
When scarce in the forest the beech is。
In girthing a tree that he sells ‘‘in the round；''
He assumes； as a rule； that the body is sound；
And measures； forgetting to bark it！
He may be a ninny； but still the old dog
Can plug to perfection the pipe of a log
And ‘‘palm it'' away on the market。
He splits a fair shingle； but holds to the rule
Of his father's； and； haply； his grandfather's school；
Which means that he never has blundered；
When tying his shingles； by slinging in more
Than the recognized number of ninety and four
To the bundle he sells for a hundred！
Page： 41
When asked by the market for ironbark red；
It always occurs to the Wollombi head
To do a ‘‘mahogany'' swindle。
In forests where never the ironbark grew；
When Jim is at work； it would flabbergast you
To see how the ‘‘ironbarks'' dwindle。
He can stick to the saddle； can Wollombi Jim；
And when a buckjumper dispenses with him；
The leather goes off with the rider。
And； as to a team； over gully and hill
He can travel with twelve on the breadth of a quill
And boss the unlucky ‘‘offsider。''
He shines at his best at the tiller of saw；
On the top of the pit； where his whisper is law
To the gentleman working below him。
When the pair of them pause in a circle of dust；
Like a monarch he poses … exalted； august …
There's nothing this planet can show him！
Page： 42
For a man is a man who can ‘‘sharpen'' and ‘‘set；''
And he is the only thing masculine yet
According to sawyer and splitter …
Or rather according to Wollombi Jim；
And nothing will tempt me to differ from him；
For Jim is a bit of a hitter。
But； being full up； we'll allow him to rip；
Along with his lingo； his saw； and his whip …
He isn't the classical ‘‘notion；''
And； after a night in his ‘‘humpy；'' you see；
A person of orthodox habits would be
Refreshed by a dip in the ocean。
To tot him right up from the heel to the head；
He isn't the Grecian of whom we have read …
His face is a trifle too shady。
The nymph in green valleys of Thessaly dim
Would never ‘‘jack up'' her old lover for him；
For she has the tastes of a lady。
Page： 43
So much for our hero！ A statuesque foot
Would suffer by wearing that heavy…nailed boot …
Its owner is hardly Achilles。
However； he's happy！ He cuts a great ‘‘fig''
In the land where a coat is no part of the ‘‘rig'' …
In the country of damper and ‘‘billies。''
Page： 44
MOONI
（Written in the Shadow of 1872）
AH； to be by Mooni now！
Where the great dark hills of wonder；
Scarred with storm and cleft asunder
By the strong sword of the thunder；
Make a night on morning's brow！
Just to stand where Nature's face is
Flushed with power in forest places …
Where of God authentic trace is …
Ah； to be by Mooni now！
Page： 45
Just to be by Mooni's springs！
There to stand； the shining sharer
Of that larger life； and rarer
Beauty caught from beauty fairer
Than the human face of things！
Soul of mine from sin abhorrent
Fain would hide by flashing current；
Like a sister of the torrent；
Far away by Mooni's springs。
He that is by Mooni now；
Sees the water…sapphires gleaming
Where the River Spirit； dreaming；
Sleeps by fall and fountain streaming
Under lute of leaf and bough …
Hears； where stamp of storm with stress is；
Psalms from unseen wildernesses
Deep amongst far hill…recesses …
He that is by Mooni now。
Page： 46
Yea； for him by Mooni's marge
Sings the yellow…haired September；
With the face the gods remember
When the ridge is burnt to ember；
And the dumb sea chains the barge！
Where the mount like molten brass is；
Down beneath fern…feathered passes；
Noonday dew in cool green grasses
Gleams on him by Mooni's marge。
Who that dwells by Mooni yet；
Feels； in flowerful forest arches；
Smiting wings and breath that parches
Where strong Summer's path of march is；
And the suns in thunder set？
Housed beneath the gracious kirtle
Of the shadowy water myrtle；
Winds may hiss with heat； and hurtle …
He is safe by Mooni yet！
Page： 47
Days there were when he who sings
（Dumb so long through passion's losses）
Stood where Mooni's water crosses
Shining tracts of green…haired mosses；
Like a soul with radiant wings；
Then the psalm the wind rehearses …
Then the song the stream disperses
Lent a beauty to his verses；
Who to…night of Mooni sings。
Ah； the theme … the sad； grey theme！
Certain days are not above me；
Certain hearts have ceased to love me；
Certain fancies fail to move me
Like the affluent morning dream。
Head whereon the white is stealing；
Heart whose hurts are past all healing；
Where is now the first pure feeling？
Ah； the theme … the sad； grey theme！
Page： 48
Sin and shame have left their trace！
He who mocks the mighty； gracious
Love of Christ； with eyes audacious；
Hunting after fires fallacious；
Wears the issue in his face。
Soul that flouted gift and Giver；
Like the broken Persian river；
Thou hast lost thy strength for ever！
Sin and shame have left their trace。
In the years that used to be；
When the large； supreme occasion
Brought the life of inspiration；
Like a god's transfiguration
Was the shining change in me。
Then； where Mooni's glory glances；
Clear； diviner countenances
Beamed on me like blessed chances；
In the years that used to be。
Page： 49
Ah； the beauty of old ways！
Then the man who so resembled
Lords of light unstained； unhumbled；
Touched the skirts of Christ； nor trembled
At the grand benignant gaze！
Now he shrinks before the splendid
Face of Deity offended；
All the loveliness is ended！
All the beauty of old ways！
Still to be by Mooni cool …
Where the water…blossoms glister；
And； by gleaming vale and vista；
Sits the English April's sister
Soft and sweet and wonderful。
Just to rest beyond the burning
Outer world … its sneers and spurning …
Ah！ my heart … my heart is yearning
Still to be by Mooni cool！
Page： 50
Now； by Mooni's fair hill heads；
Lo； the gold green lights are glowing；
Where； because no wind is blowing；
Fancy hears the flowers growing
In the herby watersheds！