To a Fellow-Bard Camping Out
Henry Lawson, 1910
For the sake of those few pleasant
Sunny weeks we lately spent,
Linking old times with the present,
There by ocean, tree and tent;
From the hard streets of a city,
Where the times seem out of joint,
I am sending you a ditty
For your camp on Captain's Point!
Where no jarring note may find you,
You can hunt and fish and dream,
With your forest wilds behind you
And the wealth of lake and stream;
And the glorious curve of beaches,
Like a panorama spread,
Of your grand front yard that reaches
From red Gabo to Ram's Head;
Where the fisher folk are botching
Nets that never were too strong,
And the silly shags sit watching,
Watching nothing all day long;
Free from Fortune's slings and arrows,
From all thoughts of rent or meal,
Where the islets, creeks and narrows
Teem with fish and swarm with teal.
Where no tree marked track seems lonely,
Where the best of tourists come,
And the gate is barred that only
Little cutters may get home.
Where your finest fancies now range,
And your songs ring dear and true,
And the steep and rugged Howe Range
Is a garden wall for you.
Note: botching means to patch (patching).