The Bush Beyond The Range
From Crow’s Nest here by Sydney town Where crows had nests of old I see the Range where day goes down The dim blue in the gold. And sometimes wonder, half in doubt, Has there been so much change As pictured in the prints about The Bush beyond the Range. There’s motor car and all the frills But none of my old mates The Bush seems run by Buff’lo Bills And Hayseeds from the States. I miss the homesteads and the scrub, The stock and fences too, The horse and swagmen and the pub. That Minns and Mahoney drew. I miss the drivers, diggers, sheep, And lots of things Ah, well! I wonder if the Kellys keep The Carrier’s Camp Hotel If that still stands by hill and plain As old man Kelly’s pride Or if he did pull round again When Mary Kelly died? And Andy Kelly took to drink, And Barney took a horse (And two years’ hard without a blink) And each one took his course. And what became of Andy Mack, Tom Browne, and Pat O’Brine? It must be twenty seasons back Since last I had a line. I wonder if but I forget And wonder like a fool, Is Bertha Lambert teaching yet A wretched, half-time school? I hope ah! how the memories come, To bother and defer, I only hope my boyhood’s chum, Fred Spencer, married her. I wonder if the farms we had Are scrub or ploughed ground now? A fence by Harry Dare or Dad Would last it, anyhow. I wonder if the cemet’ry, Fenced in by Dad and Dare, Is lonely as it used to be When they were buried there. I wonder, and the more it seems So far away and strange, For I have lost, except in dreams, The Bush beyond the Range. I wonder too, in fear and shame, Do they, like me, forget I wonder if they mind the name Of Henry Lawson yet.