[Editor: This poem by Barcroft Boake was published in Where the Dead Men Lie and Other Poems (1897).]
’Twixt the Wings of the Yard
Hear the loud swell of it, mighty pell-mell of it!
Thousands of voices all blent into one:
See ‘hell for leather’ now trooping together, now
Down the long slope of the range at a run!
Dust in the wake of ’em: see the wild break of ’em!
Spear-horned and curly, red, spotted and starred:
See the lads bringing ’em, blocking ’em, ringing ’em,
Fetching ’em up to the wings of the yard!
Mark that red leader now: what a fine bleeder now!
Twelve hundred at least if he weighs half a pound!
None go ahead of him. Mark the proud tread of him!
See how he bellows and paws at the ground!
Watch the mad rush of ’em! raging and crush of ’em!
See when they struck how the corner-post jarred!
What a mad chasing and wheeling and racing and
Turbulent talk ’twixt the wings of the yard!
Harry and Teddy, there! let ’em go steady there!
Some of you youngsters will surely get pinned.
What am I saying? I’ve had my last day in
The saddle: I might as well talk to the wind.
Why should I grieve at all? soon I must leave it all —
Leave it for ever; and yet it seems hard
That I should be lingering here ’stead of fingering
Handle of whip ’twixt the wings of the yard.
Hear the loud crack of the whips on the back of the
Obstinate weaners who will not go in! —
Sharp fusilade of it till, half afraid of it,
Echo herself shuts her ears at the din.
They’ll say when it’s over now that I’m in clover now —
Happy old pensioner! yet it seems hard,
E’en on the brink of the grave, when I think of the
Times out of mind that I rode to that yard.
Hark to the row at the rails! there’s a cow at the
Charge: how she laughs all their lashes to scorn!
Mark how she ran ag’in little Tom Flanagan!
Lucky for him that it wasn’t her horn:
He’d make no joke of it had he a poke of it.
There she comes back! but he’s put on his guard:
Greenhide descending now, sharp reports blending now,
Flogging her back up the wings of the yard.
The breeze brings their bellowing, soft’ning it, mellowing,
Till it sounds like a spent giant in pain —
Steals up the valley on, sounding a rally on
Sonorous hills that return it again.
Useless my whining now! useless repining now!
’Twon’t make me any less battered and scarred:
Though I’ve grown grey at it — oh, for a day at it!
Oh, for an hour ’twixt the wings of the yard!
Oh, how I yearn for those times! how I burn for those
Days when my weapons, the whip and the spur,
The double-reined bridle, were not hanging idle! …
But I’m old, and as useless as Stumpy — that cur:
No good for heeling now, he has a feeling now
Not unlike mine — that it’s woefully hard
We should be lying here, groaning and sighing here,
Watching the cattle come up to the yard.
Life has no salt in it. See how I halt in it! —
I, who once rode with the first of the flight —
Watching and waiting now, feebly debating now
Whether the close will bring darkness or light;
Half my time pondering, back through life wandering,
Groaning to see how that life has been marred —
Seeing the blots in it, all the bad spots in it,
Mustering, bringing past sins to the yard.
Shall I be able to show a clean waybill to
God, when he rounds up and drafts off his own —
When, at the mustering, millions of clustering
Souls come to judgement before the white throne?
Is the Lord’s hand on me? Have I his brand on me?
When I go up will the passage be barred?
Am I a chosen one? must the gates close on one?
Shall I be left ’twixt the wings of his yard?
Source:
Barcroft Boake, Where the Dead Men Lie and Other Poems, Sydney (NSW): Angus and Robertson, 1897, pp. 80-83
Also published in:
The Bulletin (Sydney, NSW), 17 October 1891, p. 19, column 1 [by “Surcingle”]
Relevant notes from the “Notes to poems” section in this book:
18. ’TWIXT THE WINGS OF THE YARD, p. 80. — Printed in The Bulletin, October 17, 1891. Signed ‘Surcingle.’
Editor’s notes:
The Trove site has two URLs for the same poem: (1), (2).
The word “fusilade” appears to be an alternate spelling of “fusillade”; although only the latter spelling has been located in various modern dictionaries, a search of historical newspapers on the Trove website gives 15,911 results for “fusilade” and 30,388 results for “fusillade”.
ag’in = (vernacular) against (can also mean: again)
blent = blended (past tense of “blend”)
chosen one = (in the context of Heaven) a soul who has been chosen to enter Heaven; someone who has been deemed worthy enough to enter Heaven
din = a loud noise which continues for a significant amount of time, especially an unpleasant noise
Echo = in Greek mythology, a mountain nymph who lived on Mount Cithaeron (in central Greece)
See: 1) “Echo: Greek mythology”, Encyclopaedia Britannica
2) “Echo (mythology)”, Wikipedia
e’en = (archaic) a contraction of “even”
’em = (vernacular) a contraction of “them”
flogging = whipping; the act of using a flog (whip) to whip someone; beating with a stick, strap, whip, etc.
fusilade = (also spelt: fusillade) a number of shots fired, or things thrown, simultaneously or in a rapid and continuous succession (especially used regarding the shooting of firearms; but can also be used regarding a range of items, e.g. bottles, eggs, missiles, road metal, rockets, stones); a lot of noise, creating a similar effect to that of a firearm fusillade; a number of things occurring simultaneously or in a rapid and continuous succession (e.g. “a fusillade of interjections”, “a fusillade of questions”, “a fusillade of rallying cries”)
gates = (in a religious context, or in the context of Heaven) the Gates of Heaven
greenhide = a greenhide whip; a long-lashed stockwhip and lariat made from plaited greenhide (greenhide, also known as rawhide, is animal hide which has not been tanned)
in clover = affluent, rich, wealthy; to be in a financially well-off situation (used in the phrase “live my life in clover”)
leader = the best animal (especially the best animal of a team, group, or mob); the leading animal of a team, group, or mob
mark = notice, pay attention to
on the brink of the grave = close to death
pell-mell = to move fast in a confused or disorderly manner; disorganised; a disorderly place or situation
row = a noisy argument, conflict, disturbance, or fight; an argument or dispute; a loud noise, commotion, or uproar
soft’ning = (vernacular) softening
sonorous = making a sound (or capable of making a sound) which is pleasantly deep, full, resonant, rich; language or verse which is high-sounding, imposing, impressive, powerful, rich; grandiloquent, high-flown, wordy
spent = exhausted, fatigued, drained of power, lacking energy, very tired, worn-out (can also mean: consumed, depleted, used up)
’stead = (vernacular) instead
steal = to move quietly, stealthily, surreptitiously, or unobtrusively (especially regarding entering or leaving a place or area); to creep; to move about in a furtive or secretive manner; to move in a gradual or slow manner
’twixt = (vernacular) a contraction of “betwixt” (i.e. between) (can be spelt with or without an apostrophe: ’twixt, twixt)
’twon’t = (vernacular) a contraction of “it won’t” (“it will not”)
wake = at the rear of something, behind something, after something (in a physical, chronological, or other sense, e.g. “in the wake of the cattle”, “in the wake of the horses”, “in the wake of the floods”, “in the wake of war”, “in the wake of Winter”, “in the wake of Cleopatra”, “in the wake of Flinders”, “in the wake of Mussolini”, “in the wake of electricity”, “in the wake of progress”, “in the wake of prosperity”, “in the wake of fashion”, “in the wake of fortune”)
waybill = a document attached to goods being sent by a commercial carrier (e.g. by ship, train, or truck) which includes details of the goods, route, and charges regarding that piece of cargo
weaner = a young animal which has recently been weaned (i.e. which is no longer feeding on milk from its mother), especially regarding animals weaned within that year
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