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