Andy's Return

With pannikins all rusty, And billy bent and black, And clothes all torn and dusty, That scarcely hide his back; With sun crack'd saddle-leather, And knotted greenhide rein, And face burn'd brown with weather, Our Andy's home again!

His unkempt hair is faded Through sleeping in the wet; He's looking old and jaded; But he is hearty yet. With eyes sunk in their sockets, But merry as of yore; With big cheques in his pockets, Our Andy's home once more!

With tales of flood and famine, On distant northern tracts, And shady yarns, "baal gammon!" Of dealings with the blacks; From where the skies hang lazy Above the northern plain — From regions dim and hazy Our Andy's home again!

Old Uncle's bright and cheerful; He wears a smiling face. And Aunty's never tearful Now Andy's round the place. Old "Blucher" barks for gladness; He broke his rusty chain, And leapt in joyous madness When Andy came again.

His toil is nearly over; He'll soon enjoy his gains. Not long he'll be a drover, And cross the lonely plains. We'll happy be for ever When he'll no longer roam, But by some deep, cool river Will make us all a home.