On The Boundary

I love the ancient boundary-fence,     That mouldering chock-and-log.     When I go ride the boundary     I let the old horse jog     And take his pleasure in and out     Where the sandalwood grows dense,     And tender pines clasp hands across     The log that tops the fence.     Tis pleasant on the boundary-fence,     These sultry summer days;     A mile away, outside the scrub,     The plain is all ablaze,     The sheep are panting on the camps,     The heat is so intense;     But here the shade is cool and sweet     Along the boundary-fence.     I love to loaf along the fence,     So does my collie dog,     He often finds a spotted cat     Hid in a hollow log;     Hes very near as old as I     And ought to have more sense,     Ive hammered him so many times     Along the boundary-fence.     My mother says that boundary fence     Must surely be bewitched;     The old man says that through that fence     The neighbours are enriched;     Its always down, and through the gaps     Our stock all get them hence,     I takes me half my time to watch     The doings of that fence.     But should you seek the reason     You wont travel very far,     Tis there a mile away among     The murmuring Belar:     The Joness block joins on to ours,     And so, in consequence,     Its part of Pollys work to ride     Their side the boundary-fence.