The Lost Leichardt

 Another search for Leichhardt's tomb, 
Though fifty years have fled 
Since Leichhardt vanished in the gloom, 
Our one Illustrious Dead! 
But daring men from Britain's shore, 
The fearless bulldog breed, 
Renew the fearful task once more, 
Determined to succeed. 

Rash men, that know not what they seek, 
Will find their courage tried. 
For things have changed on Cooper's Creek 
Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. 

Along where Leichhardt journeyed slow 
And toiled and starved in vain; 
These rash excursionists must go 
Per Queensland railway train. 

Out on those deserts lone and drear 
The fierce Australian black 
Will say -- "You show it pint o' beer, 
It show you Leichhardt track!" 

And loud from every squatter's door 
Each pioneering swell 
Will hear the wild pianos roar 
The strains of "Daisy Bell". 

The watchers in those forests vast 
Will see, at fall of night, 
Commercial travellers bounding past 
And darting out of sight. 

About their path a fearful fate 
Will hover always near. 
A dreadful scourge that lies in wait -- 
The Longreach Horehound Beer! 

And then, to crown this tale of guilt, 
They'll find some scurvy knave, 
Regardless of their quest, has built 
A pub on Leichhardt's grave! 

Ah, yes! Those British pioneers 
Had best at home abide, 
For things have changed in fifty years 
Since Ludwig Leichhardt died.

Form: Ballad

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