I-ve followed all my tracks and ways,from old bark school to Leicester Square,
I-ve been right back to boyhood-s days, and found no light or pleasure there.
But every dream and every track-and there were many that I knew-
They all lead on, or they lead back, to Bourke in Ninety-one, and two.
No sign that green grass ever grew in scrubs that blazed beneath the sun;
The plains were dust in Ninety-two, that baked to bricks in Ninety-one.
On glaring iron-roofs of Bourke, the scorching, blinding sandstorms blew,
And there was nothing beautiful in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.

Save grit and generosity of hearts that broke and healed again-
The hottest drought that ever blazed could never parch the hearts of men;
And they were men in spite of all, and they were straight, and they were true,
The hat went round at trouble-s call, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.

They drank, when all is said and done, they gambled, and their speech was rough-
You-d only need to say of one--He was my mate!- that was enough.
To hint a bushman was not white, nor to his Union straight and true,
Would mean a long and bloody fight in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.

The yard behind the Shearers- Arms was reckoned best of battle grounds,
And there in peace and quietness they fought their ten or fifteen rounds;
And then they washed the blood away, and then shook hands, as strong men do-
And washed away the bitterness-in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.

The Army on the grand old creek was mighty in those days gone by,
For they had sisters who could shriek, and brothers who could testify;
And by the muddy waterholes, they tackled sin till all was blue-
They took our bobs and damned our souls in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.

By shanty bars and shearing sheds, they took their toll and did their work-
But now and then they lost their heads, and raved of hotter hells than Bourke:
The only message from the dead that ever came distinctly through-
Was--Send my overcoat to hell--it came to Bourke in Ninety-two.

I know they drank, and fought, and died-some fighting fiends on blazing tracks-
I don-t remember that they lied, or crawled behind each others- backs;
I don-t remember that they loafed, or left a mate to battle through-
Ah! men knew how to stick to men in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.

They-re scattered wide and scattered far-by fan-like tracks, north, east, and west-
The cruel New Australian star drew off the bravest and the best.
The Cape and Klondyke claim their bones, the streets of London damned a few,
And jingo-cursed Australia mourns for Ninety-one and Ninety-two.

For ever westward in the land, Australians hear-and will not heed-
The murmur of the board-room, and the sure and stealthy steps of greed-
Bourke was a fortress on the track! and garrisons were grim and true
To hold the spoilers from Out Back, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.

I hear it in the ridges lone, and in the dread drought-stricken wild-
I hear at times a woman-s moan-the whimper of a hungry child:
And-let the cynics say the word: -a godless gang, a drunken crew--
But these were things I never heard in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.


They say that things have changed out there, and western towns have altered quite:
They don-t know how to drink and swear, they-ve half forgotten how to fight;
They-ve almost lost the strength to trust, the faith in mateship to be true-
The heart that grew in drought and dust in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
We-ve learned to laugh the bitter laugh since then-we-ve travelled, you and I;
The sneaking little paragraph, the dirty trick, the whispered lie
Are known to us-the little men-whose souls are rotten through and through-
We called them scabs and crawlers then, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.

And could I roll the summers back, or bring the dead time on again;
Or from the grave or world-wide track, call back to Bourke the vanished men,
With mind content I-d go to sleep, and leave those mates to judge me true,
And leave my name to Bourke to keep-the Bourke of Ninety-one and two.