WHAT "BESSIE" (A PET EWE) SAID ON HER RETURN FROM HER TRAVELS - A poem by S G Mee (1870)

Illustration of a Glengallan ewe from 1888.
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article71101050
Several years after the writing of the poem

(Dedicated to her owner, James M'Intosh, Esq.)

BESSIE (running from the spring-cart to her mistress):

Oh, glad am I again to see your face, my mistress dear!

And, master, yours! It seems I've been away from you a year!

A feverish life I've led of late,—from spot to spot been hurl'd;

But still have found no place like this:—Glengallan 'gainst the world !

O'er land and sea they hurried me, whether I would or no;

And great the fuss they made of me at Sydney's Annual Show. .

Per train and steamer I was sped — had scarcely time to sleep.

And surely may henceforth be termed, in truth, a travelled sheep.

But why our " paragons " prefer this sort of jubilation

Seems odd to me, who much more love the calm and peaceful station.

Nathless, great kindness I have found:—warm words and genial faces

Have greeted me at every turn in those far distant places

And yet some sheep I saw passed by—few fondling them or feeding;

So I ascribed my happier luck to my superior breeding.

For which I'm grateful, master dear :— If bipeds met such care

As sheep and cattle for the Shows, a lovely world it were!

For one thing on my travels did almost make me weep—

The greater difference by far in men than seen in sheep ;

For, in the features of a flock, all might be ta'en as brothers,—

But, amongst men, some faces seem antipodes of others :

A fearful blame is somewhere, sure:—I'll tell you what I think—

T'would not be so if all the world would drink but what we drink!

—This from a silly sheep ... But now, a word or two I'll tell

Of what, on her eventful tour, your pride and pet befell.

Arrived in Sydney, as I said, they took me to the Show.

And on your Bessie much applause the many did bestow;

Bluff, bearded squatters bent o'er me, and judges not a few

Felt of my fleece, and straight exclaimed—" By Jove, a splendid ewe!"

And then—(a thing I dreaded much)—each most exuberant Thug

Snatch'd a thick sample from my fleece at one terrific tug.

Most glad was I when sunset came, and they all cleared away;

I'd rather be a goat than spend another such a day.

—Well, back to Brisbane I was sent; and in a paddock there

For twelve long weeks was fed and housed with tenderness and care :

No native-dog within those bounds could ever hope to pass;

Plenty of kindness found I there — but very little grass.

Then came one day a farmer wight, who took me to his place,—

(Where next? I thought)— Oh, how I longed once more to see your face !

For though, for all his friendly care, I towards that farmer leaned,

I yearned and hungered for the spot when I was bred and yeaned.

—Came then, at last, a happy morn, when to my throbbing heart

"Your going home!" the farmer said, and bore me to his cart;

And into Brisbane once again I came—and everywhere

People looked kind, and felt and praised my fleece so full and fair:

And one—a whilom shepherd wight—patted me on the head.

And—" You're a bonny, bonny ewe!" exultantly he said:

"O would," he cried (and at the thought his eye lit up with bliss) —

"That every farmer in the land had but a flock like this!

He then would aye impervious be to flood, or drought, or blight,

And his shearings and his lambings would fill him with delight,

And keep the eyes and faces of his household ever bright!

A cornucopia to his crops such fœcund flock would be,

Increasing, every month and year, his farm's fertility."

Thus spoke the wight, and once again patted my face and head.

Then to the homeward steamer's deck the eulogised he led.

. . . . . . .

And now, my dears, I've told you all:—And never, never more,

May I be hurried to and fro, and hurled from shore to shore;

But 'midst Glengallan's peaceful scenes, beneath your kindly care,

May I reside, and give each year a fleece and increase fair.

And when I'm old and toothless grown, I pray to yonder town

Never—oh never send your pet, to horrid Boiling-down !

—I see your eye—your heart—revolt! . . . . Well, well, my master dear,

'Twas wrong of me. I'll give you yet my likeness every year ;

So that, long after I am low, the Darling Downs shall see,

Sprung from my loins, afar and wide, a peerless progeny.

S. G. MEE

Brisbane, April 12.

Brief notes:

Samuel Gill Mee was an advocate for the Darling Downs ... his praise for the region having previously made it to my blog,  see The Darling of the Downs.

He was also a campaigner for the temperance movement, this can probably be seen in the lines 

For, in the features of a flock, all might be ta'en as brothers,—

But, amongst men, some faces seem antipodes of others :

A fearful blame is somewhere, sure:—I'll tell you what I think—

T'would not be so if all the world would drink but what we drink!

James M'Intosh to whom the poem is dedicated was overseer of Glengallan from 1859, having worked at the Watson Boiling Downs in Ipswich for several years after migrating from Scotland in the later part of 1854. [2] His previous employment may well have inspired the line

Never—oh never send your pet, to horrid Boiling-down !

Mee publishes his poem in the April of 1870. In May of the same year M'Intosh departs from his role at Glengallan ... I doubt the two facts are related.

Mr. James M'Intosh, the principal sheep overseer on Glengallan, Darling Downs, for 14 years, has been presented with a purse containing 36 sovereigns prior to his leaving his position. [3]

The observant among you will note that 1859 is not 14 years prior to 1870. The joy of working with newspapers as your source.

He died in 1899.

References:

WHAT "BESSIE" (A PET EWE) SAID ON HER RETURN FROM HER TRAVELS. (1870, April 16). The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 - 1939), p. 8. Retrieved January 6, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article27260499.

[2] DEATH OF AN OLD DOWNS RESIDENT. (1899, July 12). Darling Downs Gazette (Qld. : 1881 - 1922), p. 2. Retrieved January 6, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article177617718

[3] [?]. (1870, May 14). The Armidale Express and New England General Advertiser (NSW : 1856 - 1861; 1863 - 1889; 1891 - 1954), p. 3. Retrieved January 6, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article189961229

The Darling of the Downs - Poem - 1856

Here I reprint a poem about sheep and love on the Darling Downs published in 1856.  I do this for reasons which I do not understand.

The poem is a 15 verse work with quatrain (four line) verses mostly following the rhyming pattern AABB. 

S. G. Mee clearly loves their em-dashes. I came to Mee after tidying up one of their articles urging temperance and calling out the evils of grog (I may blog that at another time).  But to be honest, reading this poem I do wonder what they were on :-).  Perhaps they were different S. G. Mees but if that is the case they both had a fascination with em-dashes and literary obscurity. Perhaps they were on something in 1856 and then in 1862 by declaring the evils of grog they are attempting to exorcise their shame. Have provided a link to the original ... just in case you want to confirm I haven't doctored it to be weirder than it should be.

I am also somewhat frustrated by the unrequited asterisk in line seven (see image above), which I can only imagine is a note that they have failed to employ the AABB pattern. Except they committed that error twice and failed to asterisk it the second time.

Here is 'Darling of the Downs', make of it what you will.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE DARLING OF THE DOWNS.

Morn floodeth yon orient mountain with gold;
My sheep now look wistfully forth from the fold:
"I see you, old ladies, sweet freedom for ye —
Now the gate is wide open,—there, go!—ye are free!"

Yet musing awhile with glad bleatings they stand;
Some bid me good morn with love-licks of the hand.
For the salt I — to my sheep a true Arab am I, *
And the kinder I treat them the greater my joy.

And now move we on to the glorious day,
'Midst wild thyme and flowers to the mountains away;
Hurrah for a race! — my glad lambkins now see,
Steeple-chasing, avaunt! — a bright lamb-chase for me.

A thousand, wild-bounding, as wavelets of light,
Now take in the sunbeams an ecstacy — light!
Their astounded old mothers, with marvelling stare,
Stretch their necks as to say, "Well I never! — look there!"

But who cometh hither? the last time she came
Her mamma tried to scold me, and that was a shame;
She glides as a sunbeam — (would'st give her the slip?) —
One hand on her pinafore, finger on lip.

I'll try and look solemn: now nothing I see,
But those eyes of soft blue which are speaking to me;
Enchantress! — I'm going, — that dimple! I'm gone, —
She knows it, the puss, and comes boundingly on.

"My sweet little Nelly, you've sure run away."
"Dear shepherd, I have'n--mamma says 'at I may;"

"Well then, my darling, whate'er ma' may say,
If I'm even hung for it, I'll steal you to-day!"

Then those eyes leap up to me — nor now doth she reck,
I shall loose the bright tendrils that cling to my neck;
And I view those pure pearls as their corals dispart,
And a kiss soft as snow-flake now melts in my heart.

Then she clappeth her hands in her innocent glee,
And we bound into sunshine — so happy are we;

She swingeth her hat, and the day is begun;
O glorious, golden-haired child of the sun!

My sheep know her voice, and forget their sweet food,
And listen afar in a rapturous mood;
Then they spring to her side with their gambolings wild,
And bleat forth their love for the beautiful child.

"See 'at 'ittle lame lamb, without mother, behind!"
I take it — the poor fractured limb gently bind:

From behind a grass-tree she peeps forth in the sun, —
"Dear shepherd, tell — tell me when it is all done!"

"Now, love;" — and all sobbing she springs to my side,

And a necklace of bluebells around it hath tied:—
"Dear, dear 'ittle lamby — I'll soon kiss it well!"
Still her sweet little bosom with sorrow doth swell.

Thus pass we the day amidst flowers and joy;
Nor my sheep think of food, their sweet shepherdess by;
At night they look doleful — those loving old dams!

And follow her far, with a stream of their lambs.

Sweet child of the desert! — thou wilderness star!
My sheep love me well, but love you better far;
Oh, who would not love thee, thou creature of light!
With thee I e'er wish it would never come night.

But I take her t'wards home, list! know I full well
Of the marvellous feats of her playmates she'll tell;
Now mamma calls to her — "Come love, be undrest:
Good night! one more kiss — say ye, am I not blest?"

S. G. MEE.

SOURCE

ORIGINAL POETRY. (1856, December 2). The North Australian, Ipswich and General Advertiser (Ipswich, Qld. : 1856 - 1862), p. 4. Retrieved February 13, 2022, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article78851091