(header photographs by Harry Waite 1912-2011)

The Myth of the Sacred Brumby






Herbert Gallop
from "Sing with the Wind"
Published by Envirobook 1989

The Calling Of The Bell-Bird


Should you go down the ranges, where the trees grow straight & long
You will hear the owl at midnight and the birds their morning song,
But there's a call that will surely hold you and its spell is sweet and long,
'tis the calling of the bell-bird -
Clonk-al-long, Clonk-al-long.
You may hear it gently chiming through the mist's grey breath at dawn
And you'll follow on the river where a cattle pad is worn,
And up and over yonder mountains to the valleys out beyond
You may hear it gently ringing -
Clonk-al-long Clonk-al-long.
Down through the slender gum-trees you may see clear water gleam,
And you'll stop and gently listen for the murmur of the stream,
There's a sound that is ever chiming you must be moving on,
'tis the calling of the bell-bird -
Clonk-al-ong, Clonk-al-long.
You may follow it for hours, your heart feel light and strong
Along the brooks and valleys it sweetly leads you on
You could follow on forever, the time would not seem long,
The calling of the bell-bird -
Clonk-along, Clonk-along.
And when these days are over and life's body weak and wan
You seem to go in spirit to the time that's past and gone -
The end is near approaching, your swag is up and on
For you hear the bell-bird calling -
Clonk-al-long Clonk-al-ong.
Herbert R Gallop
The camp-fire embers are burning red,
A crimson jewel against the blue,
And thoughts of the past are in my head,
And thoughts of my mate, my pal -- yes, you!
What mates we've been; what mates so wed
To the camp-fire's glare and the gum-leaf bed!
What trials we've had; what packs, by gad!
What ridges we've climbed in days so bad!
Nights there were, too, so bright, so blue;
If angels are, they were near us two.
What weariness! what sleep! what wakings, too!
Few ever lived like me and you -
The ground for a bed -
A roof of blue!
Long past adventure brings back memories dear
Such times long gone -- the years seem queer.
Alone, I seem to want you here
-- To raise an argument!
Say, Comrade! Can't you once again
Live with the sun, the wind and rain?
Come once again! Do you not care
To sit again in the camp-fire glare?
Come friend! Come Comrade! Old pals are true,
As the fire-light wanes I want just you -
The dying embers are burning red,
A crimson jewel against the blue.
Herbert R Gallop
August 1918