Classic Poem

McPheerson came from Mucklebrae
Long, weary whiles ago —
In Scotland, somewhere, far away,
If you should want to know.
His pants were patched about the knees,
His beard was reddish grey;
But you'll remember, if you please,
He came from Mucklebrae.

He couldn't keep his farm-hands, so
McPheerson made a plan:
He wrote the Government Bureau
To send him out a man.
The Bureau Agent, for his sins,
Had " travelled " , once, Outback;
And so he " had his glimmerin's, "
And sent along a Mac.

The homestead lay 'twixt Gundagai
And where the wombats roam.
McPheerson drove from Blankydrai,
To fetch the new man home.
The train drew up to Evatt's Gap,
A siding on the plain,
And dropped a small man in a cap,
And ambled on again.

A small man with a " muckle kist "
They'd trundled from the van.
" Are ye the man? " McPheerson hissed.
The man said: " I'm the man. "
" What is yeer name? " McPheerson speered —
Wi' caution, understand,
" McDonald! An' I am not feared
To say it! " said the " hand " .

" Where cam' ye from? " McPheerson said.
The man said: " Mucklebrae " .
McPheerson stared, and scratched his head —
" Ye'll come across the way! "
" Across-the-way " was Ryan's pub,
With Wilson's store hard by;
And all outside was plain and scrub
And roads to Blankydrai.

They took the carrier, McBride,
He'd only have one more —
A yearling on the married side,
He'd stayed the night before.
He stretched himself and shook his head
And belted up his waist.
McPheerson to the new man said:
" Ye 'll ha' another taste. "

The hour went past and home was far;
But neither minded that,
While in the room behind the bar
The Mucklebraeans sat.
And " Did ye ken? " and " Did ye ken? "
They heard McPheerson say —
'Twas very plain his heart was then
Far back in Mucklebrae.

McPheerson's English grew less plain,
To tell the simple truth;
But, as old foreigners regain
The language of their youth
Or I might pick up word and phrase
From my past, growing dim,
The dialect of his young days,
It all came back to him.

" An' leevin' yet! " " An' died langsyne! " —
You'd think 'twould never end!
The more McPheerson ca'ed to min',
The more the new-chum kenned.
He knew the fancies and the fads,
And all the children, too,
Of half the lasses and the lads
McPheerson's young days knew.

" The night's a bairn! " McPheerson cried;
" There'll be no need for haste;
I sent yeer box on with McBride —
Ye'll ha' anither taste.
So auld McCausland's leevin' yet
And drams the winter through? "
The new man had another wet;
McPheerson had one too.

Now, Ryan, dealing with a Scot,
Had more than once been stung;
He said: " Sit up arl night Oi'll not,
For anny Scot unhung! "
McPheerson said: " Ye're but a wean
That learned the world too soon. ...
Ye ken " The Wearin' o' the Green"
Is an auld Scottish tune! "

About the row at Ryan's pub
I find I'm not so clear.
(The new man told me, cuttin' scrub,
It ended up in beer —
As rows at Ryan's pub will end.)
But twelve o'clock had gone,
McPheerson said: " Aweel, ma friend,
We'd best be getting on. "

" What hae ye got? For to be plain,
I'll say it to ma shame,
I only haud enough for ane —
We'll take twa bottles hame. "
They took two bottles in the straw
And one " wee flask " as well;
But how McPheerson's place they saw
Is more than I can tell.

'Twas Peter — Mac's old wall-eyed horse —
That drew the heavy load.
They say he stumbled once, of course,
And spilled them in the road.
McPheerson sprawled in sinful pride —
The new man set things right —
" But now we're doon, " McPheerson cried,
" We'd better bide the night. "

They seemed to sober up in haste
About the homestead gate;
McPheerson sighed: " Ye'll ha' a taste —
It must be gettin' late. "
A friendly sheep-dog, black-and-tan,
Came down, inquiring who;
He sniffed McPheerson, and the man,
And stayed to help them through.

McPheerson said: " I see no light;
The goodwife's gone to bed.
Ye'll tak' the harness-room to-night,
An' I'll sleep in the shed.
Lord knows how long she waited up —
We daurna wake her now.
But, mon! ye had yeer bite an' sup
At Ryan's, onyhow. "

They planted the full bottle where
A shed loomed in the gloom;
They took old Peter out with care
And sought a skillion room.
" Noo, there's yeer bunk. " McPheerson said —
" I'll leave one on the shelf. "
And then he went into the shed,
And had a nip himself.

And later, somewhere in the straw,
The new man heard him croon:
" The cock sal craw, the day sal draw —
Noo, bairnies, coodle doon! "
And then he " got the wordies right, "
And then he got the tune:
" Noo, bairnies, coodle doon the nicht;
Noo, bairnies, coodle doon! "

The new man woke at break of day —
And O his head was sore!
The false awakening, and grey,
That scorns the Night before.
The room seemed going, pitch and toss,
To match his heaving brains;
He rose and blinked his first across
The Riverina plains.

He sought the cowyard and he found
McPheerson at the bail;
McPheerson told him, turning round,
" Ye'll get another pail.
Ye'll find it on the kitchen stoop;
An' outside, on a stool,
Anint the tank beside the coop,
There's dish an' soap an' too'l.

" Go cannily, ma new-found son,
Gang saft, upon yeer life!
For, till we get the milkin' done,
We mauna wak' the wife.
She'll be an angry wife indeed —
We've got no time to waste.
(The whisky's in old Peter's feed —
Ye'd better ha' a taste!) "

The newchum — and he wasn't green —
Went softly as a mouse
Along the passage-way between
The kitchen and the house;
And, peering round, the pail he found,
But as he turned to " get " ,
He faced a fearsome figure, gowned
In blood-red flannelette.

Her curl-papers stood up like spikes,
And tall and wide was she;
Her face was all that Scotland was
Or Scotland e'er shall be.
" Whoo are ye? " snapped the startled dame —
She'd startled him as well;
But, whisky-brave, the answer came:
'Twas " Fane! An' hoo's y'sel'? "

" Ye'll ha' a taste? " McPheerson says,
And lets McDonald pay —
The son-in-law of now-a-days,
That came from Mucklebrae.
" Ye'll ha' a taste? " The old man squints
Along the bottled shelf —
A cautious Scot who never hints
That he'll have one himself.