The Shanty

Goodbye to the old bush shanty
   With the sawdust on the floor,
Where the "boss" in shirt sleeves scanty
   Lounged by the bar-room door,
Where the drinks were warm and heady
And the meals were rough and ready
And the "boys," on feet unsteady,
   Rolled up to "have one more";
And the hungry traveller met the scoff
Of the kitchen slattern: "Meals is off!"

Goodbye to the ancient beer-shop.
   Farewell to the old bush pub,
A boozing ken and a queer shop
   Where they gave small heed to "grub";
Storied in song and fable;
Where the flies swarmed in from the stable,
And the slave of the ill-found table --
   That slippered kitchen drub --
Intoned in strains of hopeless grief:
"Wattle you 'ave? There's cole corn-beef."

For a new house stands in the clearing
   With a host, keen and alert,
In place of the lounger sneering
   At "toffs," in his beer-stained shirt,
And a waitress, trim of pattern,
Has outsed the gloomy slattern;
And nobody grieves at that turn;
   For they've said farewell to dirt,
Corn-beef is "off," and the boozer barred
Where the bowser stands by the stable-yard.

There are few to mourn its going,
   Or claim romance has fled
Since the "stingo" ceased from flowing
   In the bar in the old bark shed,
When the boss "lambed-down" the shearer
In a deadlier day and drearer;
For a kindler age draws nearer,
   And the old bush shanty's dead,
And motors glide where the swagman strode
And the bullocky cursed down the dusty road.