Early Poems (1859-70). Our Jack
Twelve years ago our Jack was lost. All night, Twelve years ago, the Spirit of the Storm Sobbed round our camp. A wind of northern hills That hold a cold companionship with clouds Came down, and wrestled like a giant with The iron-featured woods; and fall and ford, The night our Jack was lost, sent forth a cry Of baffled waters, where the Murray sucked The rain-replenished torrents at his source, And gathered strength, and started for the sea. We took our Jack from Melbourne just two weeks Before this day twelve years ago. He left A home where Love upon the threshold paused, And wept across the shoulder of the lad, And blest us when we said we'd take good care To keep the idol of the house from harm. We were a band of three. We started thence To look for watered lands and pastures new, With faces set towards the down beyond Where cool Monaro's topmost mountain breaks The wings of many a seaward-going storm, And shapes them into wreaths of subtle fire. We were, I say, a band of three in all, With brother Tom for leader. Bright-eyed Jack, Who thought himself as big a man as Tom, Was self-elected second in command, And I was cook and groom. A week slipt by, Brimful of life—of health, and happiness; For though our progress northward had been slow, Because the country on the track was rough, No one amongst us let his spirits flag; Moreover, being young, and at the stage When all things novel wear a fine romance, We found in ridge and glen, and wood and rock And waterfall, and everything that dwells Outside with nature, pleasure of that kind Which only lives for those whose hearts are tired Of noisy cities, and are fain to feel The peace and power of the mighty hills. The second week we crossed the upper fork Where Murray meets a river from the east; And there one evening dark with coming storm, We camped a furlong from the bank. Our Jack, The little man that used to sing and shout And start the merry echoes of the cliffs, And gravely help me to put up the tent, And try a thousand tricks and offices, That made me scold and laugh by turns—the pet Of sisters, and the youngest hope of one Who grew years older in a single night— Our Jack, I say, strayed off into the dusk, Lured by the noises of a waterfall; And though we hunted, shouting right and left, The whole night long, through wind and rain, and searched For five days afterwards, we never saw The lad again. I turned to Tom and said, That wild fifth evening, "Which of us has heart Enough to put the saddle on our swiftest horse, And post away to Melbourne, there to meet And tell his mother we have lost her son? Or which of us can bear to stand and see The white affliction of a faded face, Made old by you and me? O, Tom, my boy, Her heart will break!" Tom moaned, but did not speak A word. He saddled horse, and galloped off. O, Jack! Jack! Jack! When bright-haired Benjamin Was sent to Egypt with his father's sons, Those rough half-brothers took more care of him Than we of you! But shall we never see Your happy face, my brave lad, any more? Nor hear you whistling in the fields at eve? Nor catch you up to mischief with your knife Amongst the apple trees? Nor find you out A truant playing on the road to school? Nor meet you, boy, in any other guise You used to take? Is this worn cap I hold The only thing you've left us of yourself? Are we to sit from night to night deceived Through rainy seasons by presentiments That make us start at shadows on the pane, And fancy that we hear you in the dark, And wonder that your step has grown so slow, And listen for your hand upon the door?
Henry Kendall’s other poems:
