Song of the Old Boundary Rider
and full of health are the valleys of the Condamine,
the yellow maize and the green tobacco grow,
the little gardens runs the trailing passion-vine,
softly to the North the white downs flow.
nothing changes, seed-time or harvest-time,
on the skyline, mulga round the place,
round the fences I hear the bells of bullocks chime,
homely sounds come rarer than a woman's face.
is the day and lonely is the firelight,
is the heart when the trees come creeping near,
the bobock calls the very dogs are dumb with fright,
when a voice starts singing it's my own voice that I hear.
let me ride to the valley of the Condamine,
the little homesteads nestle in their green,
where the mists rise, amber where the paddocks shine,
own things round me and none to come between.
Vance Palmer, 1885 (Bundaberg) to 1959 (Melbourne)