FROM Crow-s Nest here by Sydney town
Where crows had nests of old
I see the Range where day goes down-
The dim blue in the gold.
And sometimes wonder, half in doubt,
Has there been so much change
As pictured in the prints about
The Bush beyond the Range.

There-s motor car and all the -frills�
But none of my old mates-
The Bush seems run by Buff-lo Bills
And Hayseeds from the States.
I miss the homesteads and the scrub,
The stock and fences too,
The horse and swagmen and the pub.
That Minns and Mahoney drew.

I miss the drivers, diggers, sheep,
And-lots of things-Ah, well!
I wonder if the Kellys keep
The Carrier-s Camp Hotel-
If that still stands by hill and plain
As old man Kelly-s pride-
Or if he did pull round again
When Mary Kelly died?

And Andy Kelly took to drink,
And Barney took a horse
(And two years- hard without a blink)
And each one took his course.
And what became of Andy Mack,
Tom Browne, and Pat -O-Brine�?
It must be twenty seasons back
Since last I had a line.

I wonder if-but I forget
And wonder like a fool,
Is Bertha Lambert teaching yet
A wretched, half-time school?
I hope-ah! how the memories come,
To bother and defer,
I only hope my boyhood-s chum,
Fred Spencer, married her.

I wonder if the farms we had
Are scrub or ploughed ground now?
A fence by Harry Dare or -Dad�
Would last it, anyhow.
I wonder if the cemet-ry,
Fenced in by Dad and Dare,
Is lonely as it used to be
When they were buried there.

I wonder, and the more it seems
So far away and strange,
For I have lost, except in dreams,
The Bush beyond the Range.
I wonder too, in fear and shame,
Do they, like me, forget-
I wonder if they mind the name
Of -Henry Lawson� yet.