With my "Pilly-willy-winky-winky popp!
[Oh, it's any tune that comes into my head!]
So I keep 'em moving forward till they drop;
So I play 'em up to water and to bed.

In the silence of the camp before the fight,

When it's good to make your will and say your prayer,
You can hear my strumpty-tumpty overnight,

Explaining ten to one was always fair.
I'm the Prophet of the Utterly Absurd,
Of the Patently Impossible and Vain -
And when the Thing that Could n't has occurred,
Give me time to change my leg and go again.

With my "Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tum-pa tump!"

In the desert where the dung-fed camp-smoke curled.

There was never voice before us till I led our lonely chorus,
I the war-drum of the White Man round the world!

By the bitter road the Younger Son must tread,
Ere he win to hearth and saddle of his own,
'Mid the riot of the shearers at the shed,

In the silence of the herder's hut alone

In the twilight, on a bucket upside down,

Hear me babble what the weakest won't confess

I am Memory and Torment - I am Town!

I am all that ever went with evening dress!

With my "Tunk-a tunka-tunka-tunka-tunk!"

[So the lights- the London Lights- grow near and
plain !]

So I rowel 'em afresh towards the Devil and the Flesh,
Till I bring my broken rankers home again.

In desire of many marvels over sea,

Where the new-raised tropic city sweats and roars,
I have sailed with Young Ulysses from the quay
Till the anchor rumbled down on stranger shores.

He is blooded to the open and the sky,

He is taken in a snare that shall not fail, He shall hear me singing strongly, till he die, Like the shouting of a backstay in a gale.

99

With my "Hya! Heeya! Heeya! Hullah! Haul!' [Oh the green that thunders aft along the deck!] Are you sick o' towns and men? You must sign and sail again,

For it 's" Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit and trek!"

Through the gorge that gives the stars at noon-day clear-
Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our wheel
Round the bluff that sinks her thousand fathom sheer
Down the valley with our guttering brakes asqueal:
Where the trestle groans and quivers in the snow,
Where the many-shedded levels loop and twine,
Hear me lead my reckless children from below
Till we sing the Song of Roland to the pine.

With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!"

[Oh the axe has cleared the mountain, croup and crest!]

And we ride the iron stallions down to drink,

Through the cañons to the waters of the West!

And the tunes that means so much to you alone
Common tunes that make you choke and blow your nose,
Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the groan
I can rip your very heartstrings out with those;
With the feasting, and the folly, and the fun-
And the lying, and the lusting, and the drink,

And the merry play that drops you, when you 're done,
To the thoughts that burn like irons if you think.

With my

"Plunka-lunka-lunka-lunka-lunk!"

Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past,

Ere the wit that made you win gives you eyes to see your sin

And the heavier repentance at the last!

Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof

I have told the naked stars the Grief of Man! Let the trumpets snare the foeman to the proof

I have known Defeat, and mocked it as we ran!
My bray ye may not alter nor mistake

When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things,
But the Song of Lost Endeavour that I make,
Is it hidden in the twanging of the strings?

With my

"Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp!"

[Is it naught to you that hear and pass me by?] But the word—the word is mine, when the order moves the line

And the lean, locked ranks go roaring down to die!

The grandam of my grandam was the Lyre

[O the blue below the little fisher-huts!]

That the Stealer stooping beachward filled with fire,
Till she bore my iron head and ringing guts!
By the wisdom of the centuries I speak

To the tune of yestermorn I set the truth-
I, the joy of life unquestioned - I, the Greek
I, the everlasting Wonder Song of Youth!

With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!"
[What d'ye lack, my noble masters?
lack?]

What d'ye

So I draw the world together link by link:
Yea, from Delos up to Limerick and back!

THE EXPLORER

1898

"THERE'S

HERE'S no sense in going further it's the edge of cultivation,"

So they said, and I believed it broke my land and sowed

my crop

Built my barns and strung my fences in the little border station Tucked away below the foothills where the trails run out and stop.

Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated - so: "Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges

"Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!"

So I went, worn out of patience; never told my nearest neighbours

Stole away with pack and ponies — left 'em drinking in the

town;

And the faith that moveth mountains did n't seem to help my labours

As I faced the sheer main-ranges, whipping up and leading down.

March by march I puzzled through 'em, turning flanks and dodging shoulders,

Hurried on in hope of water, headed back for lack of grass; Till I camped above the tree-line-drifted snow and naked boulders

Felt free air astir to windward - knew I'd stumbled on the Pass.

"Thought to name it for the finder: but that night the Norther found me

Froze and killed the plains-bred ponies; so I called the camp Despair

(It's the Railway Cap to-day, though). Then my Whisper waked to hound me: "Something lost behind the Ranges. Over yonder! Go you

there!"

Then I knew, the while I doubted knew His Hand was certain

o'er me.

Still it might be self-delusion

died

scores of better men had

I could reach the township living, but . . . He knows what

terrors tore me

But I did n't . . . but I did n't. I went down the other side.

Till the snow ran out in flowers, and the flowers turned to aloes, And the aloes sprung to thickets and a brimming stream ran by;

But the thickets dwined to thorn-scrub, and the water drained to shallows,

And I dropped again on desert- blasted earth, and blasting sky. . . .

I remember lighting fires; I remember sitting by them;

I remember seeing faces, hearing voices through the smoke; I remember they were fancy for I threw a stone to try 'em. "Something lost behind the Ranges" was the only word they spoke.

I remember going crazy. I remember that I knew it
When I heard myself hallooing to the funny folk I saw.

Very full of dreams that desert: but my two legs took me through

it...

And I used to watch 'em moving with the toes all black and

raw.