The Old White Horse  – Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

In olden days the Old White Horse 

Stood brave against the sky; 

And ne’er a teamster shaped his course 

To pass the good inn by. 

Far shone its lights o’ winter nights 

To beckon weary men; 

By the long road where calm life flowed 

It loomed a landmark then. 
And many a good right yarn was spun 

Mid pewter-pots agleam; 

And mnay a friendship here begun 

Grew riper as the team 

Drew down the road its precious load 

Of merchandise or mail, 

And faced the ills of long, steep hills 

To far-off Lilydale. 
The tap-room rang to many a song, 

While patient teams stood there; 

And talk and laughter loud and long 

Held nothing of despair; 

For spoke they then, those bearded men, 

Of fortunes shining near 

Spoke with a grand faith in their land, 

A faith that laughed at fear. 
Gone are the days and gone the ways 

Of easy, calm content; 

Yet few supposed an epoch closed 

The day the old inn went. 

Now, past brick homes trim and cold, 

The swift cars, speeding by, 

Shall see no beacon as of old, 

Shall see no brave White Horse stand bold 

Against a hopeful sky.

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