Bush Verses

The Bridle Track

There's a bridle track on the Gippsland hills, that leads to the Crooked River,

It links with the past and the present days, the days that are gone forever;

'Tis seen, at times, through the undergrowth, in the wilderness of mazes,

Where, pointing its windings by stream and spur, the gum trees still bear the blazes.

The trees that were blazed by the pioneers, by mountain and peak and hollow,

In the pregnant days of a nations birth, where children unborn might follow;

In fancy, one hears the ringing of the axe, that startled the mating thrushes;

And the bush still echoes the sound of feet, to the early gold-field rushes.

In a silhouette on the sky-line dim, where the top-most heights defined them,

One visions the stalwarts who blazed the track, and the crowds that tramped behind them,

So thrilled with spirit and grit of yore, these links from the past restore me,

I turn from the pictures of old Romance, to the modern scene before me.

Down the bridle track in the glen below, that winds through the smiling valley,

A holiday crowd in a limousine pass gaily with joyous sally;

With never a thought of the days that were, the songs from their young hearts springing,

Re-echo along the old gold track, to blend with the thrushes singing.

From the distance comes on the passing breeze, the music of mirth and laughter,

That rings from the young bride's old loved home, and ripples from every rafter;

In the glad abandon of care-free youth, the pathways of pleasure treading,

One senses the rhythm of quivering feet, that dance at a school-mate's wedding.

From the young life filled with the joys of May again I turn to December,

For the old bush road is a living thing, to those who like me, remember;

Down the long lone track to the golden West that leads to the silent river,

From the bridle track on the Gippsland hills, the diggers have passed for ever.

By Wm Jas Wye