A Song of the North

Says Mr H. S. Gullett in last night’s “Herald”:—“As the population has in- creased and the demand for land has be- come keener, the small holder, pushing out with his plough, has ousted the pastoralist from most of the land close to railways which is suited for occupation in small holdings. One day this penetration by the farmer will reach the Northern Territory.”

The grand-dad sez when ’e was young
This is the song they always sung.
“Go nor’ad! Go nor’ad!”
An’ when me dad took up the lay
’E did it best an’ pegged away—
“Go for’ad! Go for’ad!”

That was the song of olden days;
But now we change to other ways,
And sing our little ditties
In cities—in cities.

Wot do we sing? Is it, “Push forth
And let us struggle further North”?
Is it the song of pioneers
Who faced the wild and knew no
fears—
The strong men—The strong men?
Nay, friends, we’re growing weaker as
The cocktail gets us, an’ the jazz
Makes prancin’ puppets of our youth.
The pace needs grit, an’ that’s the
truth,
We’re wrong, men! We’re wrong, men!

Our fathers ’ad the will to strive;
Our grand-dads they were men alive
To wot reel pioneer’in meant.
They knew they ’ad a continent
For white men—for white men.
But us—we ’ang about an’ laze,
An’ ’ug the cities all our days
An’ skite, men. Yes, skite, men.

Friends, is our white race goin’ down,
Just fallin’ to the joys of town?
Oh, ’ark to me! The tale is true;
An’ I am just as bad as you—
A leaner—a leaner.

I’ve seen the sturdy men out back;
Aye; an’ I’ve walked the dusty track.
But since I’ve come to city ways
I’ve grown, some’ow, reel weak, them
days,
An’ meaner—yes, meaner.

Friends, can’t we just recall the years
An’ hark back to them pioneers.
Take off our coats an’ plug along
And once again take up the song
“Go nor’ad! Go nor’ad!”
Is orl the sap gone out of us?
An’ are we goin’ to miss the bus?
Ah, brothers! I am hopin’ still
We’ll take that song up with a will—
“Go for’ad! Go for’ad!”