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es of the saltbush plain -- The shining plain that is said to be The dried-up bed of an inland sea, Where the air so dry and so clear and bright Refracts the sun with a wondrous light, And out in the dim horizon makes The deep blue gleam of the phantom lakes. At dawn of day we would feel the breeze That stirred the boughs of the sleeping trees, And brought a breath of the fragrance rare That comes and goes in that scented air; For the trees and grass and the shrubs contain A dry sweet scent on the saltbush plain. For those that love it and understand, The saltbush plain is a wonderland. A wondrous country, where Nature's ways Were revealed to me in the droving days. We saw the fleet wild horses pass, And the kangaroos through the Mitchell grass, The emu ran with her frightened brood All unmolested and unpursued. But there rose a shout and a wild hubbub When the dingo raced for his native scrub, And he paid right dear for his stolen meals With the drover's dogs at his wretched heels. For we ran him down at a rattling pace, While the packhorse joined in the stirring chase. And a wild halloo at the kill we'd raise -- We were light of heart in the droving days. 'Twas a drover's horse, and my hand again Made a move to close on a fancied rein. For I felt the swing and the easy stride Of the grand old horse that I used to ride In drought or plenty, in good or ill, That same old steed was my comrade still; The old grey horse with his honest ways Was a mate to me in the droving days. When we kept our watch in the cold and damp, If the cattle broke from the sleeping camp, Over the flats and across the plain, With my head bent down on his waving mane, Through the boughs above and the stumps below On the darkest night I could let him go At a racing speed; he would choose his course, And my life was safe with the old grey horse. But man and horse had a favourite job, When an outlaw broke from a station mob, With a right good will was the stockwhip plied, As the old horse raced at the straggler's side, And the greenhide whip such a weal would raise, We could use the whip in the droving days. . . . . . 'Only a pound!' and was this the end -- Only a pound for the drover's friend. The drover's friend that had seen his day, And now wa
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