The Bush Fire and Other Verses

Wake up, boy! the grass is burning;

See the glare across the hill!

Flames are nearing the “Flat Paddock,”

And the sheep are in there still.

Dark you say! Yes, so I think it,

Tho’ I see the field of corn;

But the lights which flicker thro’ it

Are not those we see at dawn.

Mount the Arab! Take wet sacking!

Wet it must be, mind, not dry;

We must save the master’s cattle,

If we perish while we try.

Ride on faster, you are younger,

Tie your horse to yonder tree,

Break some overhanging branches

One for you and one for me.

Face the fire and do not shirk it,

Never mind the smoke and heat;

Do not heed the dead wood cracking,

Or the sparks beneath your feet.

Beat and blind them, crush and kill them,

Till their blackened embers lie

Stark in ashes, and around you,

One by one in darkness die.

See the blaze is growing greater,

Now it runs with many a leap

To where stand the tall white gum trees,

In whose limbs the parrots sleep,—

Throws its fiery arms around them;

Every bird in terror flies

From its home in grief forsaken,

Shrieking harsh unearthly cries.

Will the wind not turn to Westward,

Or those great black clouds drop rain?

There was thunder! no, I doubt it,

But do listen once again.

Now I hear the poor sheep bleating,

How they gaze from out the gloom,

Like the stake-bound men we read of

Who have died the martyr’s doom.

Just this moment they were rushing

Thro’ the scrub down to the plain,

Parch’d and weary. Now returning,

They seek refuge here again.