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The STOCKWHIP Magazine Jan 8th 1876 Vol 11 No 2 Mitchell SITE SOURCE: Bush Life The Stockman's LamentWhether stockman or not, for a moment give ear:Poor Jack's breathed his last, and no more shall we hear The crack of his whip, or his steed's lively trot; His clear 'go on for'and,' or his jingling quart-pot. Chorus For they've lain him where wattles their sweet fragrance shed, And tall gum-trees shadow the stockman's last bed. While drafting one day, he was horned by a cow, “Alas!” cried poor Jack, “'tis all up with me now; Ah! ne'er shall I sit in my saddle again, Or bound like a wallaby over the plain.” His whip, it is silent, his dogs they do mourn; His horse he is waiting his master's return. But never again will he muster or brand, Or bring in the stragglers, hand over hand. Now, stockmen, if ever, on some future day, When after a mob you may happen to stray, Tread lightly where wattles their sweet fragrance shed, And tall gum-trees shadow the stockman's last bed. |