  “Short grows my leave,” the bushman said, “My love I will avow; When I come back, the maid I’ll wed, If she will hear me now.” So fair this maiden was, and bright, She’d suitors more than one, But when the bushman rode in sight, She met him there alone. She heard him speak of golden love, A blessing, deep and true, Such love was theirs, he fain would prove If she would let him woo The maiden glanced adown; “Not thus,” she said, “must I be won,” And smoothed her silken gown. Then angry spake the man aloud; He saw the hand, so small; While o’er his face there came a cloud, These words his lips let fall, “A stockman may seem rough or rude, Yet all the while be bold, ’Tis not because the quartz is crude, It can’t contain the gold. “A bushman’s life is wild and free,— That easy is to read,— Don’t live to learn just what you see, But take the will for deed. Now all this time I know you meant, Not ‘No’ to say, but ‘Yes!’” Then as he spake, the tall man bent His head, her hand to press. The maiden would not seem to see, But drew her hand aside, “The man I love must courteous be, Ere I will be his bride. You say the life is rough and wild, You think the man is bold; I still could wish the stone were filed That one might see the gold! “To-morrow morn I’ll hear your tale, And then, perhaps, I’ll say A word of comfort if you fail To win my love to-day. My heart is not a paltry toy, Just worn upon the sleeve, To give away to man or boy, Who barely asks my leave.” “At morn,” he said, “I take the sheep Beyond the Queensland line; We start before you wake from sleep; Just place your hand on mine, And bring you safely back;’ I then can face the hottest fight Or meet the fiercest black.” All anger from his face had fled, His eyes with sweetness shone, The maiden’s cheek went white, then red, She stood as turned to stone. Her lips they moved, as if to say Some words to reach his ear, But minutes pass, and still they stay Pressed close as if with fear. One moment more, and then he knelt Low at her feet to ask The blessing sweet, for still he felt ’Twould lighten all his task. Her hand so small was stretched out there, And laid between his own, And while he held it, white and fair, This maiden’s pride had flown. He felt her trembling fingers move, Yet low he humbly bent Before her there to prove his love, The while she grew content. And then she spoke, he scarce could hear, Her voice fell soft and sweet, “Twas ‘Yes’ I meant, I cannot bear To see you at my feet.” |
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