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C J Dennis - Old Jim Shore
Work rating: Low

He prospered in an olden day
   When down the rutted waggon track,
Thro` scenes that seem a world away,
   His bullocks lumbered forth and back;
A tall old man, deep voiced, erect
   Despite the load of years he bore,
His patriarchal beard, grey flecked,
He won from all men deep respect,
   Doyen of drivers -- old Jim Shore.

"Gee-off, Headman.  Come here, Tony.
Darkey, Redman!  Woo there, Roany."
   Goad upraised in stern pretending
   Writhed aloft, yet ne`er descending
To fulfilment of the threat.
Men have said that never yet
   Had Jim`s whip-lash marked a hide
   Of the sleek beasts that were his pride.
"Get on, Rodney!  Steady, Moonlight!"
Thro` the disk or dappled moonlight,
   Down the deep green ways of yore
   Went the team of old Jim Shore.

The times have changed; it could not last,
   The glamor of those halcyon days.
The loud exhaust, the siren`s blast
   Wake echoes now by old bush ways.
Yet oft, when dusk steals down the sky,
   I sit again by my house door
To hear a ghostly team go by,
And, mingling with the night wind`s sigh,
   That rich deep voice of old Jim Shore.

"Gee-off, Headman.  Stand up, Tony.
Darkey, Redman!  Come here Roany!"
   At the yoke I see them straining;
   Waggon timbers are complaining;
As, from some vague spirit land,
I see the driver wave a hand,
   As long ago he used to wave
   Ere the years claimed him, and the grave.
"Up there , Major!  Darby!  Drummer!"
Again, as on some long lost summer,
   The team drifts by and disappears
   Down the green aisles of vanished years.
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