[Editor: This poem by John OBrien was published in Around the Boree Log and Other Verses, 1921.]
Said Hanrahan
Well all be rooned, said Hanrahan,
In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
One frosty Sunday morn.
The congregation stood about,
Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
As it had done for years.
Its looking crook, said Daniel Croke;
Bedad, its cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke
Has seasons been so bad.
Its dry, all right, said young ONeil,
With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
And chewed a piece of bark.
And so around the chorus ran
Its keepin dry, no doubt.
Well all be rooned, said Hanrahan,
Before the year is out.
The crops are done; yell have your work
To save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-o-Bourke
Theyre singin out for rain.
Theyre singin out for rain, he said,
And all the tanks are dry.
The congregation scratched its head,
And gazed around the sky.
There wont be grass, in any case,
Enough to feed an ass;
Theres not a blade on Caseys place
As I came down to Mass.
If rain dont come this month, said Dan,
And cleared his throat to speak
Well all be rooned, said Hanrahan,
If rain dont come this week.
A heavy silence seemed to steal
On all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed a piece of bark.
We want an inch of rain, we do,
ONeil observed at last;
But Croke maintained we wanted two
To put the danger past.
If we dont get three inches, man,
Or four to break this drought,
Well all be rooned, said Hanrahan,
Before the year is out.
In Gods good time down came the rain;
And all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane
It drummed a homely tune.
And through the night it pattered still,
And lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
Kept talking to themselves.
It pelted, pelted all day long,
A-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song
Way out to Back-o-Bourke.
And every creek a banker ran,
And dams filled overtop;
Well all be rooned, said Hanrahan,
If this rain doesnt stop.
And stop it did, in Gods good time;
And spring came in to fold
A mantle oer the hills sublime
Of green and pink and gold.
And days went by on dancing feet,
With harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
Nid-nodding oer the fence.
And, oh, the smiles on every face,
As happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Caseys place
Went riding down to Mass.
While round the church in clothes genteel
Discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed his piece of bark.
Therell be bush-fires for sure, me man,
There will, without a doubt;
Well all be rooned, said Hanrahan,
Before the year is out.
