The Crossing

The number of traffic accidents in Melbourne city streets continues to increase. It is to be fervently hoped that the new traffic regulations will serve speedily to reduce the total.

Good-bye, old friend, good-bye. I’m going over.
These days one needs must take a sporting chance.
Do you remember how we hailed white Dover
After the storm, that night we crossed from France?
’Twas nought beside this trip. But it upholds me,
Recalling risks we’ve taken, you and I.
And now, before the avalanche enfolds me,
Give me your hand, and wish me luck. Good-bye!

Ay, lad; dread dangers we have faced together;
By Arctic icefield and in torrid zone
We’ve waged grim battles; holding Death in tether;
But this last venture I must face alone.
Forgive me if my eyes grow wet, old cobber.
I’m not the one for sentiment, you know;
And you and I were never prone to slobber,
But—press my hand again before I go.
If the dark angel, marking me, should hover,
Tell her—you know, pal, who it is I mean—
Tell her my last, long, sentient thought was of her,
And forget the dear, lost might-have-been.

Tell her—but there, my foolish voice grows husky.
Do I turn soft? Nunno! Ne’er be it said!
Tho’ eyes are wet and make the light seem dusky,
Head up! Chest out! And stern gaze straight ahead!
Yet I would ask once more, do you remember
The winter you and I faced frozen death
High up on Labrador that chill December,
Half fainting in the blizzard’s icy breath?
Again, that hour we were nigh burnt to cinders
In the great forest fire on Devil’s Ridge?
Farewell! . . . I now cross Swanston Street to Flinders,
Then, if luck holds, on! On to Princes Bridge!