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THE SQUIRE'S BROTHER.

I.

You, sitting in your ancient hall, before a beech-log fire,
Think that the elder should have all—of course you do—you're squire;
I, sitting on a three-rail fence, beneath a Queensland sun,
Think that the law shows little sense to give the younger none.
Nell wouldn't know me, I suppose, were she to see me now
Thus lolling in a linen blouse and bearded to the brow;
I didn't wear a flannel shirt when I was courting her,
Or buck-skin pants engrained with dirt and shiny as a spur.
I daresay that she pictures me in patent leather boots,
A tall white hat (an L and B), and one of Milton's suits—
That was the Charlie whom she knew before the old man died;
I wonder if she'd take this view if she were by my side.
How beautiful she looked that night!—she seldom looked so fair;
And how the soft wax candle-light show'd up her auburn hair!
She was a bit inclined to tease, to stand on P's and Q's,
To “Keep your distance, if you please,” until I told my news.
Then she rose up and took my hand and look'd me in the face;
And when in turn her face I scann'd, I saw a tell-tale trace
Extending from the brave blue eyes along the dimpled cheek,
The while she told in simple sighs the tale she would not speak.
She never let me kiss before, but now she gave her mouth
So frankly, that I almost swore I would forswear the South—
The sunny South of prospect vast—and hug the barren North,
Had she not bid me hold it fast, and, weeping, sent me forth.
44

So here I am—a pioneer, working with my own hands
Harder than any labourer upon my brother's lands,
Far from the haunts of gentlement in this outlandish place;
I wonder if I e'er again shall see a woman's face.
I couldn't stand it, but for this, that, when I first came out,
I used to see the carriages in which men drove about,
Who tended sheep themselves of old 'neath Caledonia's rocks,
And now were lords of wealth untold, and half a hundred flocks.
I laid this unction to my heart, that, if a Scottish hind
Could play so manfully his part, I should not be behind:
And so I slave and stay and save, and squander nought but youth:
Nell sometimes writes and calls me brave, and knows but half the truth.
Do you suppose that old Sir Hugh, who won your lands in mail,
Show'd half the valour that I do in sitting on this rail?
He tilted in his lordly way, and stoutly, I confess;
But I stand sentry all the day against the wilderness.
There isn't much poetical about an old tweed suit,
And nothing chivalrous at all about a cowhide boot;
Yet oft beneath a bushman's breast there lurks a knightly soul,
And bushmen's feet have often press'd towards a gallant goal.
So here I am, and, spite of hope, I hope in long years more
That I shall save sufficient up to seek my native shore.
And so I slave and stay and save, and squander nought but youth;
And if Nell said that I was brave she only told the truth.

II.

And is it true, or do I dream? is this the dear old hall?
These the old pictures? Yes! I seem to recognize them all.
That is my father in his pink upon his favourite hack,
I wonder what would Nellie think if she knew I were back?
That is my brother—he is changed, and heavier than he was
When years ago the park he ranged with me on “Phiz” and “Boz.”
His figure is a trifle full, his whiskers edged with grey;
And yet at Oxford he could pull a good oar in his day.
45

The photo in that frame is Nell—why, I gave Dick that frame;
And doesn't the old pet look well? I swear she's just the same
As when I left her years ago to cross the southern foam.
I wonder if they've let her know that I'm expected home.
How well the artist coloured it; he caught the sunny shades
That ever and anon would flit across her auburn braids.
But no!—that isn't quite the blue that shone in Nellie's eyes;
Their light was nearer in its hue to our Australian skies.
White suits her best—she wore a white of some soft silky weft
Upon that memorable night, the night before I left;
Just such a graceful flowing train then rippled as she moved;
I'd like to see her once again, the lady that I loved.
I wonder what I'm staring at; this is a real dresscoat;
A veritable white cravat is tied about my throat.
I've had a dress-suit on before, and yet, I'm sure, I feel
Just like an awkward country boor ask'd to a Sunday meal.
I can't bear sitting here alone, it seems so strange and sad,
Now that my father there is gone, and I'm no more a lad.
'Twas here he nursed me on his knee in that old high-backed chair;
I'd give ten thousand down to see the old man sitting there.
What was that footstep?—not old John's? his boots have such a creak;
I'd almost swear I knew the tones, and heard a woman speak;
The steps come nearer, and the door—what is it stirs my heart?
Why should a footstep on the floor cause every nerve to start?
A lady scanning with her eye a letter in her hand,
Bending her way unconsciously almost to where I stand.
I think I know that writing well: of course—why it's my own,
And she who reads it thus is Nell.—Together and alone!

III.

A lady in her bedroom stands before a faded carte,
Wistfully folding her white hands, her sweet lips just apart.
Yes, he is back, she said at last, I thought he'd never come;
Yet now when all these years are past since first he left his home,
46

It seems as if 'twas yesterday on which I bade him go.
He never would have gone away had I not forced him to;
And yet eleven years have flown:—I did not hear him come,
And went to read his note alone in the big dining-room.
I don't know if I laughed or cried, my eyes were full of tears,
To find my lover by my side after the lonely years.
He took my hands, we did not speak for full a minute's space;
I don't know who was first to break the silence of the place.
Charlie is alter'd: he was once blasé—and little more—
Who thought it fine to be a dunce, and everything a bore;
Who wore the closest-fitting coats of any in “The Row,”
And patent-leather button'd boots—a kind of Bond-street beau;
Yet capable of better things when out of Fashion's swim,
Or I, who scorn mere tailorlings, should not have borne with him.
But Charlie's heart was of good stuff, and of the proper grit;
Men always found it true enough when they had tested it.
He is much alter'd;—when I saw his dignified dark face,
I knew what changes had come o'er his life in that wild place.
I read the story in his eyes, I heard it in his voice,
The glad news that she ought to prize, the lady of his choice.
He must be more than dull of soul who in the open West
Sees leagues on leagues of prairie roll, and is not soul-impress'd;
Who knows that he may hold for his as far as he can see
Into the untamed wilderness from top of highest tree;
Who feels that he is all alone, without a white man near
To share or to dispute his crown o'er forest, plain, and mere;
With nought but Nature to behold, no confidante but her:
He must be of the baser mould or feel his spirit stir.
I'd rather marry him than Dick, though Dick is an “M.P.”
Lord of the manor of High Wick, a “D.L.” and “P.C.”
“Right Hon.” before your name, I know, is coveted by all,
And one needs courage to forego a gabled Tudor hall.
I always wish Dick would not seem so like a well-fed dog,
And on his life's unruffled stream float so much like a log;
The world has been so good to him that he has never known
How hard it sometimes is to swim for some poor shipwreck'd one.
47

But Charlie's very different, he's seen the real world,
And where no white man ever went his lonely flag unfurl'd;
He went to slave and stay and save, and squander nought but youth;
And when I said that he was brave I knew but half the truth;
For there in intermitttent strife, with hostile natives waged,
He spent the best years of his life in hum-drum toil engaged;
Or galloping the livelong day under a Queensland sun,
After some bullocks gone astray or stolen off the run.
He's handsomer, I think, to-day, although he is so brown,
And though his hair is tinged with grey, and thin upon the crown,
Than in the days that he was known at “White's” as Cupid Eorte,
And in good looks could hold his own with any man at Court.
Well, he has come and asked again that which he came to ask
The night before he crossed the main upon his uphill task.
I answer'd as I answer'd then, but with a lighter heart.
Who knew if we should meet again the day we had to part?

IV.

'Neath a verandah in Toorak I sit this summer morn,
While from the garden at the back, upon the breezes borne,
There floats a subtle, faint perfume of oleander bow'rs,
And broad magnolias in bloom, and opening orange flow'rs.
A lady 'mid the flow'rs I see, moving with footsteps light,
And when she stoops she shows to me a slipper slim and bright,
An ankle stocking'd in black silk and rounded as a palm,
Her dress is of the hue of milk, and making of Madame.
I wonder is that garden-hat intended to conceal
All but that heavy auburn plait, or merely to reveal
Enough to make one long to eatch a glimpse of what is there,
To see if eye and feature match the glory of the hair?
That is my Nellie—she's out here as Mrs. Cupid Forte:
We came to Melbourne late last year; I could not bear the thought
Of snow, and sleet, and slush, and rain, and yellow London fogs:
An English winter, I maintain, is only fit for frogs.
48

The night when first again we met—alone, by some good luck—
I ask'd if she repented yet the bargain we had struck?
She answer'd that she was too old, that what few charms she had
Had faded in the years that roll'd since we were girl and lad.
And all the while she was as fair as ever she had been;
Years had not triumphed to impair the beauties of eighteen.
The same slight figure as of yore, the same elastic gait,
As she had had ten years before, were hers at twenty-eight;
And had her girlish loveliness lost aught of its old grace,
And had there been one shade the less of esprit in her face,
I had no calling to upbraid, and tell the bitter truth,
For whom she let her beauty fade and sacrificed her youth.
Look at her as she stoops to pull that rosebud off its briar;
Do you not think her beautiful as lover could desire?
Heard you that laughter light and sweet that little snatch of song;
Do they sound like the counterfeit of one no longer young?
Here 'neath the clear Australian sky I lead the life of kings,
'Mid everything that tempts the eye or soothes the sufferings;
Wealth, and a woman kind and fair, fine horses and fine trees,
Children, choice fruits and flowers rare, and health and hope and ease.
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