CONTENTS IV. v. iTI. VII. VIII. Page SbVlNGlN DOUGLAS Theres a breeze about the mountain, it is singin in the trees . . . I I il LONELY MAN LVhen Im out anlong the fellows, with the work to hold my mind, . . . I7 A MORNING SONG - The thrush is in the wattle tree, an, 0, you pretty dear . . . 25 A FREAK OF SPRING At any other time of year . . . THE VISION Of things that roam about the bush I aint got many fears, . . . 39 OLD BOB BLAIR I got so down to it last night . . . THE IVOOER I nearly fell fair in my tracks. . . . RED ROBIN Hi, its a funny world This mornin when I woke . . . 65 viii CONTENTS Page IX. h4URRAYS RIDE I seldom get to hatin men, nor had much cause to hate . . . 71 X. THE REAPF. R IN THE BUSH He was lyin on his bunk, . . . XI. FLAMES Its human nature for a bashful bloke . . . 83 XII. GREY THRUSH Grey thrush was in the wattle tree, an Oh, you pretty dear . . . 91 I. SWINCIN DOUGLAS Swingin Douglas HERES a breeze about the mountain, it is singin in the trees T A song to mock the little men who clioose to live at ease, Or play at toil or pleasure where their fellows crowd and push But put my good axe in my hand and leave me in the bush-And its Hey, boy ibo, y Heave it in the wood Oh, the green bush is around us, and the smell of it is good. The great bush is before us, and a giants task to do, And hearty men and hefty men alone may see it thro. So its Ho, boys Hey, boys Swing it with a will For the saws are howlin hungry for logs, down at the mill. The hope for man is honest work, an out-0-doors his place, The good brown earth beneath him an the clean breeze in his, face - The work for mall is with his hands, his muscles strong as steel, When health an strength within him make him feel as he should feel. Doug-las-the Bushmans axe, so called after a famous tnaker. Oh, its Hey, boys Shake her up Twenty logs to get The tail-ropes fouled a saplin an the boss is in a sweat. Hes swearin like a trooper, for theyre falling grubby wood The boy has broke the whistle-string, which isnt for his good. But its Ho, boys Slog along Watch her when she goes An ringin down the gully runs the echo of the blows. High above us, on the hill-top, where the tall trees rake the sky, The cockatoos are craaking and the crimson parrots cry. From below us, where the sawdust by the mill is gleamin brown, Comes the dronin of the twin-saws while the boys are breakin down. An its Ho, boys Let her go Watch her, i ow she sways An the loggin truck goes lurchin down the crazy wooden ways, With the driver at the brake-ropeoh, that truckie has a nerve An he howls a merry Hoop-la as she swings around a curve. Then its Hey, boys Plug ahead Feed the greedy mill We have fed her logs in dozens, but shes shriekin for em still. When you test the strength thats in you, oh, its good to be alive In the green bush, the clean bush, an with your fellows strive.. . Theres Simon, of the sniggin gang, in trouble with his log, An he slews her with a cant-hook as she wallows in a bog. But its Hey, boys. Steady, boys Haul away the slack An the shackled giants snakin down the deeply-furrowed track. Now the boss he swears to heaven that the timbers all bewitched, An Simon toils like seven men to get the tackle hitched. An its Ho, boys l Right away Slew her at the nose An the old winch coughs an clatters every time the whistle blows...