The Old Mile-Tree

Old coach-road West by Nor-ward,     Old mile-tree by the track:     A dead branch pointing forward,     And a dead branch pointing back.     And still in clear-cut romans     On his hard heart he tells     The miles that were to fortune,     The miles from Bowenfels.     Old chief of Western timber!     A famous gum youve been.     Old mile-tree, I remember     When all your boughs were green.     There came three boyish lovers     When golden days begun;     There rode three boyish rovers     Towards the setting sun.     And Fortune smiled her fairest     And Fate to these was kind,     The truest, best and rarest,     The girls theyd left behind.     By the camp-fires dying ember     They dreamed of love and gold;     Old mile-tree, I remember     When all our hearts were bold.     And when the wrecks of those days     Were sadly drifting back,     There came a lonely swagman     Along the dusty track;     And save for limbs that trembled,     For weak and ill was he,     Old mile-tree, he resembled     The youngest of the three.     Beneath you, dark and lonely,     A wronged and broken man     He crouched, and sobbed as only     The strong heart broken can.     The darkness wrapped the timber,     The stars seemed dark oerhead,     Old mile-tree, I remember     When all green leaves seemed dead.