The Dukite Snake.Well, mate, you’ve asked me about a fellowYou met to-day in a black and yellowChain-gang suit, with a peddler’s pack,Or with some such burden strapped to his back.Did you meet him square? No, passed you by?[1210]Well, if you had, and had looked in his eye,You’d have felt for your irons then and there;For the light of his eye is a madman’s glare.Some eight years back, in the spring of the year,He came from Scotland and settled here.[1211]A splendid young fellow he was just then,And one of the bravest and truest of men.In a year his wife came, and he showed her roundHis sandal-wood and his crops in the ground,And spoke of the future; they cried for joy,The husband’s arm clasping his wife and boy.Well, friend, if a little of heaven’s best blissEver comes from the upper world[1212]to this,It came into that manly bushman’s life,And circled him round with the arms of his wife.God bless that bright memory! Even to me,A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be,While living, an angel[1213]of God’s pure love,And now I could pray to her face above.And David—he loved her as only a manWith a heart as large as was his heart, can.I wondered how they could have lived apart,For he was her idol, and she was his heart.Friends, there isn’t much more of the tale to tell;I was talking of angels awhile since. Well,Now I’ll change to a devil—ay, to a devil![1214]You needn’t start; if a spirit of evilEver came to this world its hate to slakeOn mankind, it came as a dukite snake,Now, mark[1215]you, these dukites don’t go alone;There’s another near when you see but one;And beware you of killing that one you seeWithout finding the other; for you may beMore than twenty miles from the spot that night,When camped, but you’re tracked by the lone dukite,That will follow[1216]your trail like death or fate,And kill you as sure as you killed its mate.Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife hereThree months; ’twas just this time of the year.He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse,And was homeward bound when he saw on the grass[1217]A long red snake.[1218]He had never been toldOf the dukite’s ways; he jumped to the road,And smashed[1219]its flat head with the bullock goad.He was proud of the red skin, so he tiedIts tail to the cart, and the snake’s blood dyedThe bush on the path he followed that night.He was early home, and the dead dukiteWas flung at the door to be skinned next day.At sunrise next morning he started awayTo hunt up his cattle. A three hours’ rideBrought him back; he gazed on his home with prideAnd joy in his heart; he jumped from his horseAnd entered—to look on[1220]his young wife’s corse,And his dead child clutching its mother’s clothesAs in fright; and there, as he gazed, arose,From her breast, where ’twas resting, the gleaming headOf the terrible dukite, as if it said,“I’ve had vengeance, my foe! you took all I had!”And so had the snake: David Sloane was mad!I rode to his hut just by chance that night,And there[1221]on the threshold the clear moonlightShowed the two snakes dead. I pushed in[1222]the door;The dead were stretched[1223]on the moonlit floor;The man held the hand of his wife, his pride,His poor life’s treasure, and crouched[1224]by her side.I touched and called him; he heeded me not;So I dug her grave in a quiet spot,And lifted them both, her boy on her breast,And laid them down in the shade to rest.Then I tried to take my poor friend away,But he cried so woefully, “Let me stay[1225]Till she comes again!” that I had no heartTo try to persuade him then to partFrom all that was left to him here—her grave;So I stayed by his side that night, and saveOne heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound—O God! that wail—like the wail of a hound!’Tis six long years since I heard that cry,But ’twill ring in my ears till the day I die.Since that fearful night no one has heardPoor David Sloane utter sound or word.You have seen to-day how he always goes;[1226]He’s been given that suit of convict’s clothesBy some prison officer. On his backYou noticed a load like a peddler’s pack?Well, that’s what[1227]he lives for; when reason went,Still memory lived, for his days are spentIn searching for dukites; year by yearThat bundle of skins is growing. ’Tis clearThat the Lord out of evil some good still takes;For he’s clearing[1228]this bush of the dukite snakes.—J. Boyle O’Reilly.Gestures.[1210]H. Sw.[1211]H. O.[1212]A. O.[1213]Look up.[1214]Ind. D. O.[1215]Ind. H. F.[1216]P. D. F. Sw.[1217]D. F.[1218]Trace with finger.[1219]Sp.[1220]P. D. F.[1221]D. F.[1222]V. H. F.[1223]P. D. Sw.[1224]P. D. F.[1225]Clasp hands.[1226]H. Sw.[1227]H. O.[1228]V. H. Sw.
Well, mate, you’ve asked me about a fellowYou met to-day in a black and yellowChain-gang suit, with a peddler’s pack,Or with some such burden strapped to his back.Did you meet him square? No, passed you by?[1210]Well, if you had, and had looked in his eye,You’d have felt for your irons then and there;For the light of his eye is a madman’s glare.Some eight years back, in the spring of the year,He came from Scotland and settled here.[1211]A splendid young fellow he was just then,And one of the bravest and truest of men.In a year his wife came, and he showed her roundHis sandal-wood and his crops in the ground,And spoke of the future; they cried for joy,The husband’s arm clasping his wife and boy.Well, friend, if a little of heaven’s best blissEver comes from the upper world[1212]to this,It came into that manly bushman’s life,And circled him round with the arms of his wife.God bless that bright memory! Even to me,A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be,While living, an angel[1213]of God’s pure love,And now I could pray to her face above.And David—he loved her as only a manWith a heart as large as was his heart, can.I wondered how they could have lived apart,For he was her idol, and she was his heart.Friends, there isn’t much more of the tale to tell;I was talking of angels awhile since. Well,Now I’ll change to a devil—ay, to a devil![1214]You needn’t start; if a spirit of evilEver came to this world its hate to slakeOn mankind, it came as a dukite snake,Now, mark[1215]you, these dukites don’t go alone;There’s another near when you see but one;And beware you of killing that one you seeWithout finding the other; for you may beMore than twenty miles from the spot that night,When camped, but you’re tracked by the lone dukite,That will follow[1216]your trail like death or fate,And kill you as sure as you killed its mate.Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife hereThree months; ’twas just this time of the year.He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse,And was homeward bound when he saw on the grass[1217]A long red snake.[1218]He had never been toldOf the dukite’s ways; he jumped to the road,And smashed[1219]its flat head with the bullock goad.He was proud of the red skin, so he tiedIts tail to the cart, and the snake’s blood dyedThe bush on the path he followed that night.He was early home, and the dead dukiteWas flung at the door to be skinned next day.At sunrise next morning he started awayTo hunt up his cattle. A three hours’ rideBrought him back; he gazed on his home with prideAnd joy in his heart; he jumped from his horseAnd entered—to look on[1220]his young wife’s corse,And his dead child clutching its mother’s clothesAs in fright; and there, as he gazed, arose,From her breast, where ’twas resting, the gleaming headOf the terrible dukite, as if it said,“I’ve had vengeance, my foe! you took all I had!”And so had the snake: David Sloane was mad!I rode to his hut just by chance that night,And there[1221]on the threshold the clear moonlightShowed the two snakes dead. I pushed in[1222]the door;The dead were stretched[1223]on the moonlit floor;The man held the hand of his wife, his pride,His poor life’s treasure, and crouched[1224]by her side.I touched and called him; he heeded me not;So I dug her grave in a quiet spot,And lifted them both, her boy on her breast,And laid them down in the shade to rest.Then I tried to take my poor friend away,But he cried so woefully, “Let me stay[1225]Till she comes again!” that I had no heartTo try to persuade him then to partFrom all that was left to him here—her grave;So I stayed by his side that night, and saveOne heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound—O God! that wail—like the wail of a hound!’Tis six long years since I heard that cry,But ’twill ring in my ears till the day I die.Since that fearful night no one has heardPoor David Sloane utter sound or word.You have seen to-day how he always goes;[1226]He’s been given that suit of convict’s clothesBy some prison officer. On his backYou noticed a load like a peddler’s pack?Well, that’s what[1227]he lives for; when reason went,Still memory lived, for his days are spentIn searching for dukites; year by yearThat bundle of skins is growing. ’Tis clearThat the Lord out of evil some good still takes;For he’s clearing[1228]this bush of the dukite snakes.—J. Boyle O’Reilly.
Well, mate, you’ve asked me about a fellowYou met to-day in a black and yellowChain-gang suit, with a peddler’s pack,Or with some such burden strapped to his back.Did you meet him square? No, passed you by?[1210]Well, if you had, and had looked in his eye,You’d have felt for your irons then and there;For the light of his eye is a madman’s glare.Some eight years back, in the spring of the year,He came from Scotland and settled here.[1211]A splendid young fellow he was just then,And one of the bravest and truest of men.In a year his wife came, and he showed her roundHis sandal-wood and his crops in the ground,And spoke of the future; they cried for joy,The husband’s arm clasping his wife and boy.Well, friend, if a little of heaven’s best blissEver comes from the upper world[1212]to this,It came into that manly bushman’s life,And circled him round with the arms of his wife.God bless that bright memory! Even to me,A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be,While living, an angel[1213]of God’s pure love,And now I could pray to her face above.And David—he loved her as only a manWith a heart as large as was his heart, can.I wondered how they could have lived apart,For he was her idol, and she was his heart.Friends, there isn’t much more of the tale to tell;I was talking of angels awhile since. Well,Now I’ll change to a devil—ay, to a devil![1214]You needn’t start; if a spirit of evilEver came to this world its hate to slakeOn mankind, it came as a dukite snake,Now, mark[1215]you, these dukites don’t go alone;There’s another near when you see but one;And beware you of killing that one you seeWithout finding the other; for you may beMore than twenty miles from the spot that night,When camped, but you’re tracked by the lone dukite,That will follow[1216]your trail like death or fate,And kill you as sure as you killed its mate.Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife hereThree months; ’twas just this time of the year.He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse,And was homeward bound when he saw on the grass[1217]A long red snake.[1218]He had never been toldOf the dukite’s ways; he jumped to the road,And smashed[1219]its flat head with the bullock goad.He was proud of the red skin, so he tiedIts tail to the cart, and the snake’s blood dyedThe bush on the path he followed that night.He was early home, and the dead dukiteWas flung at the door to be skinned next day.At sunrise next morning he started awayTo hunt up his cattle. A three hours’ rideBrought him back; he gazed on his home with prideAnd joy in his heart; he jumped from his horseAnd entered—to look on[1220]his young wife’s corse,And his dead child clutching its mother’s clothesAs in fright; and there, as he gazed, arose,From her breast, where ’twas resting, the gleaming headOf the terrible dukite, as if it said,“I’ve had vengeance, my foe! you took all I had!”And so had the snake: David Sloane was mad!I rode to his hut just by chance that night,And there[1221]on the threshold the clear moonlightShowed the two snakes dead. I pushed in[1222]the door;The dead were stretched[1223]on the moonlit floor;The man held the hand of his wife, his pride,His poor life’s treasure, and crouched[1224]by her side.I touched and called him; he heeded me not;So I dug her grave in a quiet spot,And lifted them both, her boy on her breast,And laid them down in the shade to rest.Then I tried to take my poor friend away,But he cried so woefully, “Let me stay[1225]Till she comes again!” that I had no heartTo try to persuade him then to partFrom all that was left to him here—her grave;So I stayed by his side that night, and saveOne heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound—O God! that wail—like the wail of a hound!’Tis six long years since I heard that cry,But ’twill ring in my ears till the day I die.Since that fearful night no one has heardPoor David Sloane utter sound or word.You have seen to-day how he always goes;[1226]He’s been given that suit of convict’s clothesBy some prison officer. On his backYou noticed a load like a peddler’s pack?Well, that’s what[1227]he lives for; when reason went,Still memory lived, for his days are spentIn searching for dukites; year by yearThat bundle of skins is growing. ’Tis clearThat the Lord out of evil some good still takes;For he’s clearing[1228]this bush of the dukite snakes.—J. Boyle O’Reilly.
Well, mate, you’ve asked me about a fellow
You met to-day in a black and yellow
Chain-gang suit, with a peddler’s pack,
Or with some such burden strapped to his back.
Did you meet him square? No, passed you by?[1210]
Well, if you had, and had looked in his eye,
You’d have felt for your irons then and there;
For the light of his eye is a madman’s glare.
Some eight years back, in the spring of the year,
He came from Scotland and settled here.[1211]
A splendid young fellow he was just then,And one of the bravest and truest of men.In a year his wife came, and he showed her roundHis sandal-wood and his crops in the ground,And spoke of the future; they cried for joy,The husband’s arm clasping his wife and boy.
A splendid young fellow he was just then,
And one of the bravest and truest of men.
In a year his wife came, and he showed her round
His sandal-wood and his crops in the ground,
And spoke of the future; they cried for joy,
The husband’s arm clasping his wife and boy.
Well, friend, if a little of heaven’s best blissEver comes from the upper world[1212]to this,It came into that manly bushman’s life,And circled him round with the arms of his wife.
Well, friend, if a little of heaven’s best bliss
Ever comes from the upper world[1212]to this,
It came into that manly bushman’s life,
And circled him round with the arms of his wife.
God bless that bright memory! Even to me,A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be,While living, an angel[1213]of God’s pure love,And now I could pray to her face above.And David—he loved her as only a manWith a heart as large as was his heart, can.I wondered how they could have lived apart,For he was her idol, and she was his heart.
God bless that bright memory! Even to me,
A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be,
While living, an angel[1213]of God’s pure love,
And now I could pray to her face above.
And David—he loved her as only a man
With a heart as large as was his heart, can.
I wondered how they could have lived apart,
For he was her idol, and she was his heart.
Friends, there isn’t much more of the tale to tell;I was talking of angels awhile since. Well,Now I’ll change to a devil—ay, to a devil![1214]You needn’t start; if a spirit of evilEver came to this world its hate to slakeOn mankind, it came as a dukite snake,Now, mark[1215]you, these dukites don’t go alone;There’s another near when you see but one;And beware you of killing that one you seeWithout finding the other; for you may beMore than twenty miles from the spot that night,When camped, but you’re tracked by the lone dukite,That will follow[1216]your trail like death or fate,And kill you as sure as you killed its mate.
Friends, there isn’t much more of the tale to tell;
I was talking of angels awhile since. Well,
Now I’ll change to a devil—ay, to a devil![1214]
You needn’t start; if a spirit of evil
Ever came to this world its hate to slake
On mankind, it came as a dukite snake,
Now, mark[1215]you, these dukites don’t go alone;
There’s another near when you see but one;
And beware you of killing that one you see
Without finding the other; for you may be
More than twenty miles from the spot that night,
When camped, but you’re tracked by the lone dukite,
That will follow[1216]your trail like death or fate,
And kill you as sure as you killed its mate.
Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife hereThree months; ’twas just this time of the year.He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse,And was homeward bound when he saw on the grass[1217]A long red snake.[1218]He had never been toldOf the dukite’s ways; he jumped to the road,And smashed[1219]its flat head with the bullock goad.He was proud of the red skin, so he tiedIts tail to the cart, and the snake’s blood dyedThe bush on the path he followed that night.He was early home, and the dead dukiteWas flung at the door to be skinned next day.At sunrise next morning he started awayTo hunt up his cattle. A three hours’ rideBrought him back; he gazed on his home with prideAnd joy in his heart; he jumped from his horseAnd entered—to look on[1220]his young wife’s corse,And his dead child clutching its mother’s clothesAs in fright; and there, as he gazed, arose,From her breast, where ’twas resting, the gleaming headOf the terrible dukite, as if it said,“I’ve had vengeance, my foe! you took all I had!”And so had the snake: David Sloane was mad!
Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife here
Three months; ’twas just this time of the year.
He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse,
And was homeward bound when he saw on the grass[1217]
A long red snake.[1218]He had never been told
Of the dukite’s ways; he jumped to the road,
And smashed[1219]its flat head with the bullock goad.
He was proud of the red skin, so he tied
Its tail to the cart, and the snake’s blood dyed
The bush on the path he followed that night.
He was early home, and the dead dukite
Was flung at the door to be skinned next day.
At sunrise next morning he started away
To hunt up his cattle. A three hours’ ride
Brought him back; he gazed on his home with pride
And joy in his heart; he jumped from his horse
And entered—to look on[1220]his young wife’s corse,
And his dead child clutching its mother’s clothes
As in fright; and there, as he gazed, arose,
From her breast, where ’twas resting, the gleaming head
Of the terrible dukite, as if it said,
“I’ve had vengeance, my foe! you took all I had!”
And so had the snake: David Sloane was mad!
I rode to his hut just by chance that night,And there[1221]on the threshold the clear moonlightShowed the two snakes dead. I pushed in[1222]the door;The dead were stretched[1223]on the moonlit floor;The man held the hand of his wife, his pride,His poor life’s treasure, and crouched[1224]by her side.I touched and called him; he heeded me not;So I dug her grave in a quiet spot,And lifted them both, her boy on her breast,And laid them down in the shade to rest.Then I tried to take my poor friend away,But he cried so woefully, “Let me stay[1225]Till she comes again!” that I had no heartTo try to persuade him then to partFrom all that was left to him here—her grave;So I stayed by his side that night, and saveOne heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound—
I rode to his hut just by chance that night,
And there[1221]on the threshold the clear moonlight
Showed the two snakes dead. I pushed in[1222]the door;
The dead were stretched[1223]on the moonlit floor;
The man held the hand of his wife, his pride,
His poor life’s treasure, and crouched[1224]by her side.
I touched and called him; he heeded me not;
So I dug her grave in a quiet spot,
And lifted them both, her boy on her breast,
And laid them down in the shade to rest.
Then I tried to take my poor friend away,
But he cried so woefully, “Let me stay[1225]
Till she comes again!” that I had no heart
To try to persuade him then to part
From all that was left to him here—her grave;
So I stayed by his side that night, and save
One heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound—
O God! that wail—like the wail of a hound!’Tis six long years since I heard that cry,But ’twill ring in my ears till the day I die.Since that fearful night no one has heardPoor David Sloane utter sound or word.You have seen to-day how he always goes;[1226]He’s been given that suit of convict’s clothesBy some prison officer. On his backYou noticed a load like a peddler’s pack?Well, that’s what[1227]he lives for; when reason went,Still memory lived, for his days are spentIn searching for dukites; year by yearThat bundle of skins is growing. ’Tis clearThat the Lord out of evil some good still takes;For he’s clearing[1228]this bush of the dukite snakes.—J. Boyle O’Reilly.
O God! that wail—like the wail of a hound!
’Tis six long years since I heard that cry,
But ’twill ring in my ears till the day I die.
Since that fearful night no one has heard
Poor David Sloane utter sound or word.
You have seen to-day how he always goes;[1226]
He’s been given that suit of convict’s clothes
By some prison officer. On his back
You noticed a load like a peddler’s pack?
Well, that’s what[1227]he lives for; when reason went,
Still memory lived, for his days are spent
In searching for dukites; year by year
That bundle of skins is growing. ’Tis clear
That the Lord out of evil some good still takes;
For he’s clearing[1228]this bush of the dukite snakes.
—J. Boyle O’Reilly.
Gestures.