Lyr Add: The Ballad of Stockyard Creek (W Coyne)

Subject: Lyr Add: THE BALLAD OF STOCKYARD CREEK (W Coyne)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 13 Jun 25 - 08:58 PM

From The Inverell [NSW] Times, Sat 1 Dec 1900, Page 6:


THE BALLAD OF STOCKYARD CREEK
By William Coyne

Through regions vast, where the scorching blast
Blows over across the plain,
The droving men are trav'lling fast,
Bound homeward once again.
Away they haste from the dreary waste,
Where drought holds fierce command,
Where skeletons gleam, while sun rays beam
On the waves of burning sand.

Nightfall comes, and the drovers' drums
Are hurriedly each undone.
They've journeyed far since the morning star
Grew pale in the rising sun,
And pipes were filled when the meal was o'er,
And a veteran of the track
Surnamed McGee, was asked if he
Would tell of old days out back.

Persuaded finally, he said:
"Though sore in need of rest,
And memories of years long fled
Are dim, I'll do my best,
And give tonight, a record true—
A life sketch—so to speak—
Of one—a girl—whom bushmen knew
As queen of Stockyard Creek.

"Within her veins coursed noble blood.
She came of an ancient line,
Whose home for ages long had stood
Beside the silv'ry Tyne.
Unknown to care, her face was fair
And sweet as May flow'rs wild,
And braids encrowned, of raven hair—
The squatter's only child!

Her father was known as the whitest man
That lived on Stockyard Creek.
In his time, drought kept further out,
So the stock were fat and sleek;
And oft beside his child he'd ride
Through stunted scrubs and dense,
For sheep astray to seek, or 'stay'
Weak posts in the bound'ry fence.

"The name of the run was a curious one
As ever a run possessed.
'Twas called 'Stay There' by some, in fun;
By others, the 'Ranch of Rest.'
And a well-versed man who went that way,
Had written its name in Greek,
When first he'd seen the station queen—
The pride of Stockyard Creek.

"Beloved of everyone was she,
Of poor and rich as well.
They loved her for her charity—
Yes, each and all could tell
Of many a night-long watch she kept
Beside the dying bed,
Night and day—and seldom slept
Until the soul had fled!

"Ah! yes, and many a shearing hand,
Who toiled on Stockyard then,
Her fame would spread in many a shed
Among the western men.
They told of how when one was ill
With cold, or somewhat strained,
She'd send him dainty things until
His health had been regained."

"And is she living still?" asked one.
"And say, Jim, did she wed?"
But Jim McGee laughed bitterly
And shook his hoary head.
"Have patience, mate," another said,
"Be patient, man, and wait.
Just lend an ear, for soon we'll hear
The pride of Stockyard's fate."

But here McGee went on—said he:
"If she were yet alive,
Would I, think you, be roaming through
These thirty years and five?
But let that pass; 'tis useless now
To think what might have been.
My tale's nigh o'er; I've little more
To tell of Stockyard's Queen.

"There came to stay in an evil day
A wolf in friendly guise—
A proud upstart, of craven heart.
'Twas written in his eyes.
He sought to press, with no success,
His suits—time and again.
At last, swore he, revenged to be
If all his pleas were vain.

"Revenge he had—his loathsome tongue
Besmirched her stainless fame—
And slander's deadly venom stung
Her soul, and dulled its flame.
Her reason fled, as fire will spread
Across the uplands bleak.
The sland'rous blast flew far and fast
Away from Stockyard Creek!

"And at an inquest held years back,
Ere one to rest was lain,
The jury cried, 'twas suicide
By drowning, while insane."
And old McGee tried silently
To crush an inward strife—
Then we knew why he wept, and why
He'd led a single life.

And each could—yes, and truly guess
The motives that were Mac's,
In reaching distant stations by
The hungriest of tracks.
And well knew we, too, why McGee
Would drink and never spare—
He sought, 'twas plain, to "drown"* (in vain)
His haggard ghost of care!

Mac died, men say, one fierce hot day,
Far out from "Ranch of Rest,"
Where whirlwinds clutch man's final breath
And hurl it further west.
I sometimes think, but rarely speak
Of Jim, the drover's care
But oft I dream of Stockyard Creek
And a run that was called "Stay There."

"Inverell, 26th Nov., 1900."

- - -

* The source text says "down" but "drown" makes more sense to me, and is probably what the author intended.