"He ought to be home," said the old man, "without there's something amiss.
He only went to the Two-mile — he ought to be back by this.
He would ride the Reckless filly, he would have his wilful way;
And, here, he's not back at sundown — and what will his mother say?
"He was always his mother's idol, since ever his father died;
And there isn't a horse on the station that he isn't game to ride.
But that Reckless mare is vicious, and if once she gets away
He hasn't got strength to hold her — and what will his mother say?"
The old man walked to the sliprail, and peered up the dark'ning track,
And looked and longed for the rider that would never more come back;
And the mother came and clutched him, with sudden, spasmodic fright:
"What has become of my Willie? Why isn't he home tonight?"
Away in the gloomy ranges, at the foot of an ironbark,
The bonnie, winsome laddie was lying stiff and stark;
For the Reckless mare had smashed him against a leaning limb,
And his comely face was battered, and his merry eyes were dim.
And the thoroughbred chestnut filly, the saddle beneath her flanks,
Was away like fire through the ranges to join the wild mob's ranks;
And a broken-hearted woman and an old man worn and grey
Were searching all night in the ranges till the sunrise brought the day.
And the mother kept feebly calling, with a hope that would not die,
"Willie! where are you, Willie?" But how can the dead reply;
And hope died out with the daylight, and the darkness brought despair,
God pity the stricken mother, and answer the widow's prayer!
Though far and wide they sought him, they found not where he fell;
For the ranges held him precious, and guarded their treasure well.
The wattle blooms above him, and the bluebells blow close by,
And the brown bees buzz the secret, and the wild birds sing reply.
But the mother pined and faded, and cried, and took no rest,
And rode each day to the ranges on her hopeless, weary quest.
Seeking her loved one ever, she faded and pined away,
But with strength of her great affection she still sought every day.
"I know that sooner or later I shall find my boy," she said.
But she came not home one evening, and they found her lying dead.
And stamped on the poor pale features, as the spirit homeward pass'd,
Was an angel smile of gladness — she had found the boy at last.
In a published book
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Banjo is always a winner...
...he wrote Waltzing matilda. so he is known world wide. I have seen a film of this particular poem and it is a real tragic story. Banjo loved the Aussie bush and he has written many stories but this is probably one of the saddest.
Such an artist, with such talent, like Rembrandt to painting, so is Paterson to poetry.
I like to learn his poems verbatim and say them to myself when I am driving along the Aussie roads. -
Wonderful
From guest Cameron Crowe (contact)
My favourite Aussie poem of all time. Seconded only by "Clancy of the overflow". -
great but sad
It was easy to read. Although sad it kept my interest because it rhythms flowed easy. I enjoyed it. -
This poem is enchanting
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This one moved me to tears. A powerful write that captured the pathos of the situation.
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Banjo strikes again!!!
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lovely
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Brings to life the range the ranch the people, so well written, though one expects the tragedy right from the start it doesnt make the horror of it any less
Away in the gloomy ranges, at the foot of an ironbark,
The bonnie, winsome laddie was lying stiff and stark;
For the Reckless mare had smashed him against a leaning limb,
And his comely face was battered, and his merry eyes were dim
these words bring home the loss and sadness and futility of it all,
For the ranges held him precious, and guarded their treasure well.
The wattle blooms above him, and the bluebells blow close by,
And the brown bees buzz the secret, and the wild birds sing reply.
natures beauty woven together with the tragedy so beautifully painting pictures of the range the reader can immendiatelysee.
the mothers pain is expressed so brilliantly too
And the mother kept feebly calling, with a hope that would not die,
"Willie! where are you, Willie?" But how can the dead reply;
And hope died out with the daylight, and the darkness brought despair,
God pity the stricken mother, and answer the widow's prayer!
For me it is this line that was the saddest of all
And a broken-hearted woman and an old man worn and grey
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Banjo's unique style - his work, to me is the epitome of Australia.Th e stoic qualities of the pioneers here is reflected so well in a lot of his poetry. This story of the bereft Mother really touches me, and as a Mother I can relate to the feeling portrayed here. Never giving up hope of seeing her Son once again.
A very sad tale, and possibly based on fact.
~Von~ -
omg this is so beautiful. I never read anything like it. There's no words to describe how good this is
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