(A Song of the Brand)
They who bear the brand of the lonely land
Must follow its lonely way
Through the long, long night, till the dawning light
Shall herald the break of day.
Cross the Arctic snows, where the north wind blows,
Or parched 'neath a burning sky,
To a call that was theirs since creation
They answer and know not why.
I chain with the fetters that bind the soul,
I link with the links of time
And speak ere the cradle shall yield its child;
I claim thee and thou art mine.
From palatial pomp to the reeking slum,
Midst classes and kinds I roam.
And I trust to their keeping mine honour,
Midst trails of the great alone.
How they smile with joy o'er the baby boy,
And plan him a future grand.
But I watch unseen, as I stand between,
To letter him with the brand.
Then I creep away to await the day
When idols and hopes shall fall,
And a wanderer turns to the desert,
Obeying my deathless call.
There are those who try to my power deny,
Defying my ancient law.
Who would e'en be free, as they turn to flee
Again to the paths of yore.
As I watch them go, in my heart I know
'Tis but to return again.
For the things that are, and the things that were
To them are no more the same.
They are mine for aye till their bones decay,
And others shall fill their trail.
They are mine to seek by the gorge and creek,
The South, or the Northland's veil.
They are mine to live, they are mine to die,
Predestined by fate's decree
To a choice that is not of their choosing,
Yet willing my sons to be.
For the seed is sown and they e'en must roam
My boundaries wild and wide
Till I bid them rest from an endless quest,
And sleep where the trails divide.
In the nameless graves where the big grass waves
And shadows of empire fall
They are sleeping the sleep of the ages,
Awaiting the last great call.
'Twas so at the first, 'twill be to the last,
The wanderer still must roam.
For the fates decreed that the gypsy breed
Forever must trail alone.
In the silent land by the lonely fire,
Midst wilderness old and grey,
They are blending with dreams of to-morrow
"What might have been" yesterday.