Wanderers

As I rode in the early dawn,
While stars were fading white,
I saw upon a grassy slope
A camp-fire burning bright;
With tent behind and blaze before,
Three loggers in a row
Sang all together joyously
Pull up the stakes and go!

As I rode on by Eagle Hawk,
The wide blue deep of air,
The wind through the glittering leaves,
The flowers so sweet and fair,
The thunder of the rude salt waves,
The creeks soft overflow,
All joined in chorus to the words
Pull up the stakes and go!

Now by the tent on forest skirt,
By odour of the earth,
By sight and scent of morning smoke,
By evening camp-fires mirth,
By deep-sea call and foaming green,
By new stars gleam and glow,
By summer trails in antique lands
Pull up the stakes and go!

The world is wide, and we are young,
And sounding marches beat,
And passion pipes her sweetest call
In lane and field and street;
So rouse the chorus, brothers all,
Well something have to show
When Death comes round and strikes our tent
Pull up the stakes and go!

James Hebblethwaite

James Hebblethwaite was an English-born Australian poet, teacher, and clergyman. Emigrating to Australia in the early 1890s, he initially worked as a school teacher before becoming an Anglican clergyman. He is remembered for his vivid and evocative poetry that often reflected his deep religious faith and love for nature. His works include 'Verse from Many Springs' and 'Meadow and Bush.' He held positions in various schools and parishes across Tasmania. Hebblethwaite's poetry extended beyond religious themes to include elements of Australian landscapes and life.

James Hebblethwaite

Merrymind

James Hebblethwaite, Simple Poetry

Perdita

James Hebblethwaite, Simple Poetry

The Symbol

James Hebblethwaite, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Roaring Days

The night too quickly passes
And we are growing old,
So let us fill our glasses
And toast the Days of Gold;
When finds of wondrous treasure
Set all the South ablaze,
And you and I were faithful mates
All through the roaring days!

Then stately ships came sailing
From every harbour's mouth,
And sought the land of promise
That beaconed in the South;
Then southward streamed their streamers
And swelled their canvas full
To speed the wildest dreamers
E'er borne in vessel's hull.

Their shining Eldorado,
Beneath the southern skies,
Was day and night for ever
Before their eager eyes.
The brooding bush, awakened,
Was stirred in wild unrest,
And all the year a human stream
Went pouring to the West.

The rough bush ...

Henry Lawson

Camped by the Creek

All day a strong sun has been drinking
The ponds in the Wattletree Glen;
And now as theyre puddles, Im thinking
We were wise to head hitherwards, men!
The country is heavy to norard,
But Lord, how you rattled along!
Jacks chestnuts best leg was put forard,
And the bay from the start galloped strong;
But for bottom, Id stake my existence,
Theres none of the lot like the mare;
For look! she has come the whole distance
With never the turn of a hair.

But now let us stop, for the super
Will want us to-morrow by noon;
And as he can swear like a trooper,
We cant be a minute too soon.
Here, Dick, you can hobble the filly
And chestnut, but dont take a week;
And, Jack, hurry off with the billy
And fill it. Well camp by the creek.

Henry Kendall

The Feet Of The Young Men

Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds are loose,
Now the Smokes of Spring go up to clear the brain;
Now the Young Men's hearts are troubled for the whisper of the Trues,
Now the Red Gods make their medicine again!
Who hath seen the beaver busied?
Who hath watched the black-tail mating?
Who hath lain alone to hear the wild-goose cry?
Who hath worked the chosen water where the ouananiche is waiting,
Or the sea-trout's jumping-crazy for the fly?
He must go, go, go away from here!
On the other side the world he's overdue.
'Send your road is clear before you when the old
Spring-fret comes o'er you,
And the Red Gods call for you!
So for one the wet sail arching through the rainbow round the bow,
And for one the creak of snow-shoes on the crust;
And...

Rudyard

The Lights Of Cobb & Co

Fire lighted; on the table a meal for sleepy men;
A lantern in the stable; a jingle now and then;
The mail-coach looming darkly by light on moon and star;
The growl of sleepy voices; a candle in the bar;
A stumble in the passage of folk with wits abroad;
A swear-word from a bedroom, the shout of "All aboard!"
"Tekh tehk! Git-up!" "Hold fast, there!" and down the range we go;
Five hundred miles of scattered camps will watch for Cobb and Co.
Old coaching towns already decaying for their sins;
Uncounted "Half-way Houses," and scores of "Ten-Mile Inns;"
The riders from the stations by lonely granite peaks;
The black-boy for the shepherds on sheep and cattle creeks;
The roaring camps of Gulgong, and many a Diggers Rest;"
The diggers on the Lachlan; the huts of Farthest West;

Henry Lawson

The Old Camp-Fire

Now shift the blanket pad before your saddle back you fling,
And draw your cinch up tighter till the sweat drops from the ring:
Weve a dozen miles to cover ere we reach the next divide.
Our limbs are stiffer now than when we first set out to ride,
And worse, the horses know it, and feel the leg-grip tire,
Since in the days when, long ago, we sought the old camp-fire.

Yes, twenty years! Lord! how wed scent its incense down the trail,
Through balm of bay and spice of spruce, when eye and ear would fail,
And worn and faint from useless quest we crept, like this, to rest,
Or, flushed with luck and youthful hope, we rode, like this, abreast.
Ay! straighten up, old friend, and let the mustang think hes nigher,
Through looser rein and stirrup strain, the welcome old camp-fire.
...

Bret Harte

The Wanderlust

    The Wanderlust has lured me to the seven lonely seas,
    Has dumped me on the tailing-piles of dearth;
    The Wanderlust has haled me from the morris chairs of ease,
    Has hurled me to the ends of all the earth.
    How bitterly I've cursed it, oh, the Painted Desert knows,
    The wraithlike heights that hug the pallid plain,
    The all-but-fluid silence, - yet the longing grows and grows,
    And I've got to glut the Wanderlust again.

    Soldier, sailor, in what a plight I've been!
    Tinker, tailor, oh what a sight I've seen!
    And I'm hitting the trail in the morning, boys,
    And you won't see my heels for dust;
    For it's "all day" with you
    When you answer the cue
        Of the Wan-der-lust.

    The Wanderlust has got m...

Robert William Service