Song Of The Old Bullock-driver Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AA BCBCDEDEDFDFGHGH DFDFCICI JKJKLMLM JMJMNGOG CGCGNJOJ PJPJGFGF

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A
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Far back in the days when the blacks used to rambleB
In long single file neath the evergreen treeC
The wool teams in season came down from CoonambleB
And journeyed for weeks on their way to the seaC
Twas then that our hearts and our sinews were strongerD
For those were the days when the bushman was bredE
We journeyed on roads that were rougher and longerD
Than roads where the feet of our grandchildren treadE
With mates who have gone to the great Never NeverD
And mates whom I ve not seen for many a dayF
I camped on the banks of the Cudgegong RiverD
And yarned at the fire by the old bullock drayF
I would summon them back from the far RiverinaG
From days that shall be from all others distinctH
And sing to the sound of an old concertinaG
Their rugged old songs where strange fancies were linkedH
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We never were lonely for camping togetherD
We yarned and we smoked the long evenings awayF
And little I cared for the signs of the weatherD
When snug in my hammock slung under the drayF
We rose with the dawn were it ever so chillyC
When yokes and tarpaulins were covered with frostI
And toasted the bacon and boiled the black billyC
Where high on the camp fire the branches were tossedI
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On flats where the air was suggestive of possumsJ
And homesteads and fences were hinting of changeK
We saw the faint glimmer of appletree blossomsJ
And far in the distance the blue of the rangeK
And here in the rain there was small use in floggingL
The poor tortured bullocks that tugged at the loadM
When down to the axles the waggons were boggingL
And traffic was making a marsh of the roadM
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Twas hard on the beasts on the terrible pinchesJ
Where two teams of bullocks were yoked to a loadM
And tugging and slipping and moving by inchesJ
Half way to the summit they clung to the roadM
And then when the last of the pinches was bestedN
You ll surely not say that a glass was a sinG
The bullocks lay down neath the gum trees and restedO
The bullockies steered for the bar of the innG
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Then slowly we crawled by the trees that kept tallyC
Of miles that were passed on the long journey downG
We saw the wild beauty of Capertee ValleyC
As slowly we rounded the base of the CrownG
But ah the poor bullocks were cruelly goadedN
While climbing the hills from the flats and the valesJ
Twas here that the teams were so often unloadedO
That all knew the meaning of counting your balesJ
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And oh but the best paying load that I carriedP
Was one to the run where my sweetheart was nurseJ
We courted awhile and agreed to get marriedP
And couple our futures for better or worseJ
And as my old feet grew too weary to drag onG
The miles of rough metal they met by the wayF
My eldest grew up and I gave him the waggonG
He s plodding along by the bullocks to dayF

Henry Lawson



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