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Title: "I Dips Me Lid" to the Sydney Harbor Bridge
Author: C. J. Dennis
eBook No.: 2100361h.html
Language: English
Date first posted: 2021
Most recent update: 2021

This eBook was produced by: Walter Moore

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“I Dips Me Lid” to the Sydney Harbor Bridge

Being Further Musings of “The Sentimental Bloke”

C. J. Dennis

“Young sir,” ’e sez . . . Like that . . . It made me feel
Romantic like, as if me dream was reel.
      ’Is dress was fancy, an’ ’is style was grave.
      An’ me? I ’ope I know ’ow to be’ave
In ’igh-toned company, for ain’t I been
Instructed careful by me wife, Doreen?
      “Sing small,” she sez. An’ that’s jist wot I did.
      I sounds me haitches, an’ I dips me lid.

“Young sir,” ’e sez . . . O’ course you understand
’Twus jist a dream. But, on the other ’and,
      ’E seemed so reel as ’e sat spoutin’ there
      Beside me on ole Dame Macquarrie’s Chair,
Lookin’ across the ’arbor while ’e talked —
Seemed sumpthink more that jist a ghost ’oo walked
      Out o’ the past . . . “Phillip by name,” ’e said.
      A queer ole cock, wif lace, an’ wig on ’ead.

It ’appened this way: I ’ad jist come down,
After long years, to look at Sydney town.
      An’ ’struth! Was I knocked endways? Fair su’prised?
      I never dreamed! That arch that cut the skies!
The Bridge! I never thort there could ’a’ been —
I never knoo, nor guessed — I never seen . . . .
      Well, Sydney’s ’ad some knocks since I been gone,
      But strike! This shows she keeps on keepin’ on.

I’d strolled about the town for ’arf a day
Then dragged me carcase round the ’arbor way
      To view the Bridge from Dame Macquarrie’s Chair;
      Then parks me frame, an’ gits to thinkin’ there —
Thinkin’ of olden days; an’ I suppose
I must ’ave nodded orf into a doze.
      Nex’ thing I knoo, ole Phillip come an’ sat
      Beside me, friendly like, an’ starts to chat.

“Young sir,” ’e sez. “You, too, in sheer amaze
Look upon this, and hark to other days,
      An’ dream of this fair city’s early start,
      In which (’e bows) I played my ’umble part —
My ’umble part — a flagpole an’ a tent.”
“Come orf!” sez I. “You was a fine ole gent.
      Reel nob. I’ve read about the things you did.
      You picked some site.” (’E bows. I dips me lid).

“Young sir,” ’e sez. “I’ve dwelt in spirit ’ere
To watch this city waxin’ year by year:
      But yesterday, from a mere staff, a tent,
      Wonder on wonder as the swift years went —
A thrivin’ village, then a busy town,
Then, as a stride, a city of renown.
      Oh! what a wondrous miracle of growth!
      Think you not so?” “Too right,” I sez. “My oath!”

“I’ve watched, young sir,” ’e sez. “An’ I ’ave feared
Sometimes; feared greatly when ill days appeared.
      Yet still they fought and wrought. I had small need
      To doubt the great heart of this sturdy breed.
Black war has come. Yet, over half a world,
Their sons into that bloody fray they hurled;
      And still they triumphed. Still their lodestar shone.”
      “Sure thing,” sez I. “They kep’ on keepin’ on.”

“Young sir,” ’e sez. “The tears well in my eyes
When I behold yon arch that cleaves the skies —
      That mighty span, triumphant, where we view
      My old friend Darwin’s vision now made true:
’There the proud arch, Colossus-like, bestride
Yon glittering stream and bound the chafing tide!

      ’Twas so he dreamed a few short years agone.
      Spoke truly, sir; they keep on keeping on.”

So Phillip spoke ’is piece, fair puffed wif pride.
An’ ’im an’ me dreamed by the ’arbor-side:
      I, of the scene before, of years to be,
      An’ of the marvels that men yet might see;
’Im, of a lantern gleamin’ thro’ the fog
To light a tent, an’ two men, an’ a dog . . . .
      Then both of us, like some queer instinct bids,
      Stands up, serloots the Bridge, an’ dips our lids.


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