Clancy Of The Overflow........
I had written him a letter which I had,
for want of better Knowledge,
sent to where I met him
down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him,
so I sent the letter to him,
Just `on spec',
addressed as follows,
`Clancy, of The Overflow'.
& an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(& I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it,
& verbatim I will quote it:
`Clancy's gone to Queensland droving,
& we don't know where he are.'
In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of ClancyGone a-droving
`down the Cooper' where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing,
Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.
& the bush hath friends to meet him,
& their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes & the river on its bars,
& he sees the vision splendid
of the sunlit plains extended,
& at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.
I am sitting in my dingy little office,
where a stingyRay of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
& the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating,
spreads its foulness over all
& in place of lowing cattle,
I can hear the fiendish rattle of the tramways & the 'buses making hurry down the street,
& the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully & faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.
& the hurrying people daunt me,
& their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush & nervous haste,
With their eager eyes & greedy,
& their stunted forms & weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow,
they have no time to waste.
& I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come & go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal
--But I doubt he'd suit the office,
Clancy, of `The Overflow
