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 you've 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 they'd left behind.
By the camp-fire's 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 o'erhead-
Old mile-tree, I remember
When all green leaves seemed dead.