Gray eyes and gamboge hair!
One barmaid of 'The Crown'!
Ah, will that beaming siren still be there
When I go next to town? -
When over-night much spirit I had quaffed,
How I was wont to bless
That nymph who, smiling, mixed my morning draught
Of B. and S.!
That holiday has gone!
Now wintry breezes blow
In fitful gusts about my hut upon
The Warrego.
Hard times foretell that for a 'down-South' spree
The day is distant far;
And I no more, in Sydney town, may see
That girl behind the bar.