Classic Poem

Old Billy the blackfellow lived by a log —
With a sheet of bark leaned to the same —
With his old black gin and his old black dog,
In the days ere the railroad came;
And, no matter whatever his troubles might be,
He was not the blackfellow to whine;
He would turn him away from your forced sympathy
With " Trouble belongit mine! "

His old dog died when he'd had his day
(And the blackfellow loves his cur),
But Blackfellow Billy had nothing to say
As he gazed where the blue ridges blur.
We said we were sorry that " Darky " was dead,
And he might have said, " Thank you! — I'm fine! "
But he turned from the range and impatiently said,
" Trouble belongit mine! "

His old gin died when her time had come,
And was fixed in the old black way;
They buried her squatting and Billy was dumb,
She'd " jump up white phella " some day.
We said we were sorry that Mary was gone,
But Billy, he gave us no sign —
He turned and he gazed on the streak of the dawn
With " Trouble belongit mine! "

His tribe was dead and his time was past,
Old Billy was out of the swim,
But he camped and he fished and he worked till the last —
With troubles belongit him.
He went last night, and he went alone,
Where the brave man weareth a crown,
And he'll rest, no doubt, by the dusky Throne
Where he layeth his troubles down.

And I'm thinking now by the Pipeclay Bridge,
Where the farmers are sorely tried —
As I thought last night on that Rylstone ridge,
Where Billy the blackfellow died —
That we of the city, and I of the world,
Have damned little cause to repine;
And when I go back, by whichever the track,
'Twill be " Trouble Belongit Mine! "