Early on a soft spring morning As the dawn climbs up the sky, With its radiant light adorning Hill and tree-top, here am I, Urging on my phantom horses Where no road has ever run, And the laughing river courses Merrily from shade to sun. Ere the earliest sun-shafts peeping Paint the gum-trees’ furthest tip, I arouse the bush from sleeping With the cracking of my whip. First a long-drawn swish ascending, Then, as it swells to the crack, Like an echo at its ending, Promptly my hen twitters back. Crest erect and proud tail spreading, Perched upon a myrtle-tree. I am coachman at a wedding In a cockade and livery. For now wed with soft embraces Ardent sun and blushing earth; While my team tugs at the traces To the kookaburra’s mirth. You may hear the coach wheels rumbling Over stones upon the road In the mountain waters tumbling By my trackless bush abode. Tumbling by green banks and ferny. Who’s awake? The hour grows late, Who begins the glad day’s journey? All aboard! The horses wait.