Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/231

Rh You smoke? That's good; for there's plenty of weed In that wallaby skin. Does your horse feed In the hobbles? Well, he's got good feed here, And my own old bushmare won't interfere. Done with that meat? Throw it there to the dogs, And fling on a couple of banksia logs.

And now for the story. That man who goes Through the bush with the pack and the convict's clothes Has been mad for years; but he does no harm, And our lonely settlers feel no alarm When they see or meet him. Poor Dave Sloane Was a settler once, and a friend of my own. Some eight years back, in the spring of the year, Dave came from Scotland, and settled here. A splendid young fellow he was just then, And one of the bravest and truest men That I ever met: he was kind as a woman To all who needed a friend, and no man—