THE HORSES STAY BEHIND

In days to come we’ll wander west and cross the range again;

We’ll hear the bush birds singing in the green trees after rain;

We’ll canter through the Mitchell grass and breast the bracing wind:

But we’ll have other horses. Our chargers stay behind.

Around the fire at night we’ll yarn about old Sinai;

We’ll fight our battles o’er again; and as the days go by

There’ll be old mates to greet us. The bush girls will be kind

Still our thoughts will often wander to the horses left behind.

I don’t think I could stand the thought of my old fancy hack

Just crawling round old Cairo with a ’Gyppo on his back.

Perhaps some English tourist out in Palestine may find

My broken-hearted waler with a wooden plough behind.

No; I think I’d better shoot him and tell a little lie:—

“He floundered in a wombat hole and then lay down to die.”

May be I’ll get court-martialled; but I’m damned if I’m inclined

To go back to Australia and leave my horse behind.

Trooper Bluegum.

EVENING AMONGST THE JUDEAN HILLS

A CAMP IN THE DESERT Photos, in colour by Capt. Frank Hurley

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