Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/312

298 Grown silent with the woods the men were all, But words were needed not to note the pall That each one knew hung o'er them. Duties now, With straying herds or swinging scythe, or plough, Were cheerless tasks: like men they were who wrought A weary toil that no repayment brought. And when the seasons came and went, and still The pall was hanging o'er them, with one will They yoked their oxen teams and piled the loads Of gear selected for the aimless roads That nature opens through the bush; and when The train was ready, women-folk and men Went over to the graves and wept and prayed, Then rose and turned away, but still delayed Ere leaving there forever those poor mounds.

The next bright sunrise heard the teamsters' sounds Of voice and whip a long day's march away; And wider still the space grew day by day