[Editor: This poem by L.R. Macleod was published in The Bulletin Reciter, 1901.]
Came a man to Mary Casey,
In her hut at Maiden Camp,
Saying, “Mary — now, be aisy !
But poor Casey’s gone on tramp.”
“Och? go plumb!” said Mary, scolding,
With a glitter in her eye,
“To the place where they’ll be holding
Yez on griddles when yez die ;
Yah ! go aisy wid yer lyin’ — Micky gone on tramp, you say?
Shure, it ’s me that knows he has n’t, for he could n’t get away.”
Then the man who brought the tidings
Simply stood and gasped for breath ;
Stricken dumb by Mary’s chidings,
Feared to tell of Michael’s death.
“But, say, Mary,” said he, crying,
When at length he found his voice —
Michael’s dead. There ’s no denying :
’T was a case of Hobson’s choice ;
He was loading in the cutting, and was just agoin’ to ’tamp
When he dropped dead of a suddent. Yes, poor Michael ’s gone on tramp.”
“Wirra ! Wirra !” moaned the mourner,
(“Ah ! poor Michael !” sighed the man)
“That’s his best suit in the corner” —
And her tears to flow began —
“And he ’s left me, och ! the vill’in ;
And he never said ‘Good-bye’ —
To forget him I ’d be willin’ —
Sure I ’ve half a mind to thry.
You ’re his size? Go aisy, sonny — sure ye ’re foolin’, nothin’ more ?
Ye ’re in earnest ? Come in, darlint ! — hang yer hat behind the door.”
L. R. Macleod.
A.G. Stephens (editor). The Bulletin Reciter: A Collection of Verses for Recitation from “The Bulletin” [1880-1901], The Bulletin Newspaper Company, Sydney, 1902 [first published 1901], pages 84-85