AMONGST THE RICKS OF HAY.

When Western roads are rough and long, and days are hot and dry: When mulga branches cast no shade against the brazen sky: I throw “Matilda” by the pad and let my fancy play— A-skipping o’er the fields once more, amongst the ricks of hay. Oh, here they come! there’s Joe and Dan! and May, and Kate, and Min.! The old swing gate flies open wide to let the rompers in: For I am friends with all the lot, and trusty chums are they, And all a-troop for hide-a-hoop amongst the ricks of hay. We mashers dress in father’s pants— our sweethearts’ trilbies bare— For we are jolly farmer’s kids with hayseeds in our hair! And Joe Tresize takes after Kate, and I takes after May, And Dan and Min. like whirlies spin amongst the ricks of hay. And when the rush and romp are o’er we go in twos and twos— And oh! the undermining arts we simple urchins use; And oh, the saucy tricks and ways of Kate, and Min., and May! While life’s begun and hearts are won amongst the ricks of hay. Then safe behind the sheltering wing these friendly ricks afford, We swear we’re “deep as deep” in love! we are “as true as Gord”! And linked together Jack and Jill, beneath the moonlight grey, With hearts ablaze, we spoon our ways amongst the ricks of hay. Alas! just then a startling voice through dream and mistland broke: “A dozen weary mulga miles to Jerry Hogan’s soak!” A fig for that! The miles fly past to spryer steps and gay— I’ve spent a boyish hour or two amongst the ricks of hay.