Conroy's Gap
This was the way of it, don’t you know Ryan was “wanted” for stealing sheep, And never a trooper, high or low, Could find him catch a weasel asleep! Till Trooper Scott, from the
The Old Tin Hat
In the good old days when the Army’s ways were simple and unrefined, With a stock to keep their chins in front, and a pigtail down behind, When the only light in the barracks
Hard Luck
I left the course, and by my side There walked a ruined tout A hungry creature, evil-eyed, Who poured this story out. “You see,” he said, “there came a swell To Kensington today, And,
Frogs in chorus
The chorus frogs in the big lagoon Would sing their songs to the silvery moon. Tenor singers were out of place, For every frog was a double bass. But never a human chorus yet
Those Names
The shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong, After the hard day’s shearing, passing the joke along: The “ringer” that shore a hundred, as they never were shorn before, And the
The Pannikin Poet
There’s nothing here sublime, But just a roving rhyme, Run off to pass the time, With nought titanic in. The theme that it supports, And, though it treats of quarts, It’s bare of golden
The Seven Ages of Wise
Parliament’s a stage, And all the Politicians merely players! They have their exits and entrances, And Wise doth in his time play many parts, His acts being seven changes. First the Runner, With spiked
White Cockatoos
Now the autumn maize is growing, Now the corn-cob fills, Where the Little River flowing Winds among the hills. Over mountain peaks outlying Clear against the blue Comes a scout in silence flying, One
The Bushfire – an Allegory
‘Twas on the famous Empire run, Whose sun does never set, Whose grass and water, so they say, Have never failed them yet They carry many million sheep, Through seasons dry and wet. They
Johnson's Antidote
Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp, Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly stamp; Where the station-cook in terror, nearly every time he bakes, Mixes up among
Saltbush Bill, J. P
Beyond the land where Leichhardt went, Beyond Sturt’s Western track, The rolling tide of change has sent Some strange J. P.’s out back. And Saltbush Bill, grown old and grey, And worn for want
Clancy Of The Overflow
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago, He was shearing when I knew him, so I
A Dog's Mistake
He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide, He was just a wand’ring mongrel from the weary world outside; He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair, With
The Ballad of the Carpet Bag
Ho! Darkies, don’t you hear dose voters cryin’ Pack dat carpet bag! You must get to de Poll, you must get there flyin’; Pack dat carpet bag! You must travel by de road, you
The Pearl Diver
Kanzo Makame, the diver, sturdy and small Japanee, Seeker of pearls and of pearl-shell down in the depths of the sea, Trudged o’er the bed of the ocean, searching industriously. Over the pearl-grounds the
The Mylora Elopement
By the winding Wollondilly where the weeping willows weep, And the shepherd, with his billy, half awake and half asleep, Folds his fleecy flocks that linger homewards in the setting sun Lived my hero,
The Ghost of the Murderer's Hut
My horse had been lamed in the foot In the rocks at the back of the run, So I camped at the Murderer’s Hut, At the place where the murder was done. The walls
The All Right Un
He came from “further out”, That land of fear and drought And dust and gravel. He got a touch of sun, And rested at the run Until his cure was done, And he could
Old Schooldays
Awake, of Muse, the echoes of a day Long past, the ghosts of mem’ries manifold Youth’s memories that once were green and gold But now, alas, are grim and ashen grey. The drowsy schoolboy
The Man From Snowy River
There was movement at the station, for the word has passed around That the colt from old Regret had got away, And had joined the wild bush horses-he was worth a thousand pound, So
Hay and Hell and Booligal
“You come and see me, boys,” he said; “You’ll find a welcome and a bed And whisky any time you call; Although our township hasn’t got The name of quite a lively spot You
A Walgett Episode
The sun strikes down with a blinding glare; The skies are blue and the plains are wide, The saltbush plains that are burnt and bare By Walgett out on the Barwon side The Barwon
The Boss of the Admiral Lynch
Did you ever hear tell of Chili? I was readin’ the other day Of President Balmaceda and of how he was sent away. It seems that he didn’t suit ’em they thought that they’d
A Singer of the Bush
There is waving of grass in the breeze And a song in the air, And a murmur of myriad bees That toil everywhere. There is scent in the blossom and bough, And the breath
That V. C
‘Twas in the days of front attack; This glorious truth we’d yet to learn it That every “front” has got a back. And French was just the man to turn it. A wounded soldier
The Rum Parade
Now ye gallant Sydney boys, who have left your household joys To march across the sea in search of glory, I am very much afraid that you do not love parade, But the rum
"In re a Gentleman, One"
We see it each day in the paper, And know that there’s mischief in store; That some unprofessional caper Has landed a shark on the shore. We know there’ll be plenty of trouble Before
Jim Carew
Born of a thoroughbred English race, Well proportioned and closely knit, Neat, slim figure and handsome face, Always ready and always fit, Hardy and wiry of limb and thew, That was the ne’er-do-well Jim
In the Stable
What! you don’t like him; well, maybe we all have our fancies, of course: Brumby to look at, you reckon? Well, no; he’s a thoroughbred horse; Sired by a son of old Panic look
The Flying Gang
And I worked my way to the end, and I Was the head of the “Flying Gang”. ‘Twas a chosen band that was kept at hand In case of an urgent need; Was it
Right in Front of the Army
“Where ‘ave you been this week or more, ‘Aven’t seen you about the war’? Thought perhaps you was at the rear Guarding the waggons.” “What, us? No fear! Where have we been? Why, bless
Australian Scenery
The Mountains A land of sombre, silent hills, where mountain cattle go By twisted tracks, on sidelings deep, where giant gum trees grow And the wind replies, in the river oaks, to the song
Brumby's Run
It lies beyond the Western Pines Towards the sinking sun, And not a survey mark defines The bounds of “Brumby’s Run”. On odds and ends of mountain land, On tracks of range and rock
Cassidy's Epitaph
Here lies a bloke who’s just gone West, A Number One Australian; He took his gun and did his best To mitigate the alien. So long as he could get to work He needed
How Gilbert Died
There’s never a stone at the sleeper’s head, There’s never a fence beside, And the wandering stock on the grave may tread Unnoticed and undenied; But the smallest child on the Watershed Can tell
The Last Trump
“You led the trump,” the old man said With fury in his eye, “And yet you hope my girl to wed! Young man! your hopes of love are fled, ‘Twere better she should die!
The Road to Gundagai
The mountain road goes up and down From Gundagai to Tumut Town And, branching off, there runs a track Across the foothills grim and black, Across the plains and ranges grey To Sydney city
The Amateur Rider
Him goin’ to ride for us! Him with the pants and the eyeglass and all. Amateur! don’t he just look it it’s twenty to one on a fall. Boss must be gone off his
There's Another Blessed Horse Fell Down
When you’re lying in your hammock, sleeping soft and sleeping sound, Without a care or trouble on your mind, And there’s nothing to disturb you but the engines going round, And you’re dreaming of
The Travelling Post Office
The roving breezes come and go, the reed-beds sweep and sway, The sleepy river murmers low, and loiters on its way, It is the land of lots o’time along the Castlereagh. . . ..
Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying Away in the west, The wild birds are flying In silence to rest; In leafage and frondage Where shadows are deep, They pass to its bondage The kingdom of sleep
In the Droving Days
“Only a pound,” said the auctioneer, “Only a pound; and I’m standing here Selling this animal, gain or loss Only a pound for the drover’s horse? One of the sort that was ne’er afraid,
Johnny Boer
Men fight all shapes and sizes as the racing horses run, And no man knows his courage till he stands before a gun. At mixed-up fighting, hand to hand, and clawing men about They
The Incantation
Scene: Federal Political Arena A darkened cave. In the middle, a cauldron, boiling. Enter the three witches. 1ST WITCH: Thrice hath the Federal Jackass brayed. 2ND WITCH: Once the Bruce-Smith War-horse neighed. 3RD WITCH:
Black Swans
As I lie at rest on a patch of clover In the Western Park when the day is done. I watch as the wild black swans fly over With their phalanx turned to the
The Plains
A land, as far as the eye can see, where the waving grasses grow Or the plains are blackened and burnt and bare, where the false mirages go Like shifting symbols of hope deferred
The Man from Goondiwindi, Q
I This is the sunburnt bushman who Came down from Goondiwindi, Q. II This is the Push from Waterloo That spotted the sunburnt bushman who Came down from Goondiwindi, Q. III These are the
With French to Kimberley
The Boers were down on Kimberley with siege and Maxim gun; The Boers were down on Kimberley, their numbers ten to one! Faint were the hopes the British had to make the struggle good
"Shouting" for a Camel
It was over at Coolgardie that a mining speculator, Who was going down the township just to make a bit o’ chink, Went off to hire a camel from a camel propagator, And the
T. y. s. o. n
Across the Queensland border line The mobs of cattle go; They travel down in sun and shine On dusty stage, and slow. The drovers, riding slowly on To let the cattle spread, Will say:
The Ballad of That P. N
The shades of night had fallen at last, When through the house a shadow passed, That once had been the Genial Dan, But now become a desperate man, At question time he waited near,
The Fitzroy Blacksmith
Under the spreading deficit, The Fitzroy Smithy stands; The smith, a spendthrift man is he, With too much on his hands; But the muscles of his brawny jaw Are strong as iron bands. Pay
The Scottish Engineer
With eyes that searched in the dark, Peering along the line, Stood the grim Scotsman, Hector Clark, Driver of “Forty-nine”. And the veldt-fire flamed on the hills ahead, Like a blood-red beacon sign. There
Old Pardon, the Son of Reprieve
You never heard tell of the story? Well, now, I can hardly believe! Never heard of the honour and glory Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve? But maybe you’re only a Johnnie And don’t
On the Trek
Oh, the weary, weary journey on the trek, day after day, With sun above and silent veldt below; And our hearts keep turning homeward to the youngsters far away, And the homestead where the
The Lay of the Motor-Car
We’re away! and the wind whistles shrewd In our whiskers and teeth; And the granite-like grey of the road Seems to slide underneath. As an eagle might sweep through the sky, So we sweep
Australia Today 1916
They came from the lower levels Deep down in the Brilliant mine; From the wastes where the whirlwind revels, Whirling the leaves of pine. On the western plains, where the Darling flows, And the
The Old Australian Ways
The London lights are far abeam Behind a bank of cloud, Along the shore the gaslights gleam, The gale is piping loud; And down the Channel, groping blind, We drive her through the haze
An answer to Various Bards
Well, I’ve waited mighty patient while they all came rolling in, Mister Lawson, Mister Dyson, and the others of their kin, With their dreadful, dismal stories of the Overlander’s camp, How his fire is
An Idyll of Dandaloo
On Western plains, where shade is not, ‘Neath summer skies of cloudless blue, Where all is dry and all is hot, There stands the town of Dandaloo A township where life’s total sum Is
By the Grey Gulf-water
Far to the Northward there lies a land, A wonderful land that the winds blow over, And none may fathom or understand The charm it holds for the restless rover; A great grey chaos
In Defence of the Bush
So you’re back from up the country, Mister Lawson, where you went, And you’re cursing all the business in a bitter discontent; Well, we grieve to disappoint you, and it makes us sad to
How The Favourite Beat Us
“Aye,” said the boozer, “I tell you it’s true, sir, I once was a punter with plenty of pelf, But gone is my glory, I’ll tell you the story How I stiffened my horse
The Protest
I say ‘e isn’t Remorse! ‘Ow do I know? Saw ‘im on Riccarton course Two year ago! Think I’d forget any ‘orse? Course ‘e’s The Crow! Bumper Maginnis and I After a “go”, Walkin’
The Wreck of the Golfer
It was the Bondi golfing man Drove off from the golf house tee, And he had taken his little daughter To bear him company. “Oh, Father, why do you swing the club And flourish
Jock
There’s a soldier that’s been doing of his share In the fighting up and down and round about. He’s continually marching here and there, And he’s fighting, morning in and morning out. The Boer,
Father Riley's Horse
‘Twas the horse thief, Andy Regan, that was hunted like a dog By the troopers of the upper Murray side, They had searched in every gully they had looked in every log, But never
A Dream of the Melbourne Cup
Bring me a quart of colonial beer And some doughy damper to make good cheer, I must make a heavy dinner; Heavily dine and heavily sup, Of indigestible things fill up, Next month they
Opening of the Railway Line
The opening of the railway line… The Governor and all, With flags and banners down the street, A banquet and a ball, Hark to them at the station now! They’re raising cheer on cheer,
A Bush Lawyer
When Ironbark the turtle came to Anthony’s lagoon The hills were hid behind a mist of equinoctal rain, The ripple of the rivulets was like a cheerful tune And wild companions waltzed among the
Shearing at Castlereagh
The bell is set a-ringing, and the engine gives a toot, There’s five-and-thirty shearers here a-shearing for the loot, So stir yourselves, you penners-up, and shove the sheep along The musterers are fetching them
Black Harry's Team
No soft-skinned Durham steers are they, No Devons plump and red, But brindled, black and iron-grey That mark the mountain-bred; For mountain-bred and mountain-broke, With sullen eyes agleam, No stranger’s hand could put a
Over The Range
Little bush maiden, wondering-eyed, Playing alone in the creek-bed dry, In the small green flat on every side Walled in by the Moonbi ranges high; Tell me the tale of your lonely life ‘Mid
The Duties of an Aide-de-camp
Oh, some folk think vice-royalty is festive and hilarious, The duties of an A. D. C. are manifold and various, So listen, whilst I tell in song The duties of an aide-de-cong. Whatsoever betide
Saltbush Bill on the Patriarchs
Come all you little rouseabouts and climb upon my knee; To-day, you see, is Christmas Day, and so it’s up to me To give you some instruction like-a kind of Christmas tale – So
Reconstruction
So, the bank has bust it’s boiler! And in six or seven year It will pay me all my money back of course! But the horse will perish waiting while the grass is germinating,
Anthony Considine
OUT in the wastes of the West countrie, Out where the white stars shine, Grim and silent as such men be, Rideth a man with a history – Anthony Considine. For the ways of
An Emu Hunt
West of Dubbo the west begins The land of leisure and hope and trust, Where the black man stalks with his dogs and gins And Nature visits the settlers’ sins With the Bogan shower,
Weary Will
The strongest creature for his size But least equipped for combat That dwells beneath Australian skies Is Weary Will the Wombat. He digs his homestead underground, He’s neither shrewd nor clever; For kangaroos can
The Man from Iron Bark
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town, He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down. He loitered here he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Our New Horse
The boys had come back from the races All silent and down on their luck; They’d backed ’em, straight out and for places, But never a winner they’s struck. They lost their good money
Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill
This is the place where they all were bred; Some of the rafters are standing still; Now they are scattered and lost and dead, Every one from the old nest fled, Out of the
The Rhyme of the O'Sullivan
Pro Bono Publico Went out the streets to scan, And marching to and fro He met a seedy man, Who did a tale unfold In solemn tones and slow And this is what he
Saltbush Bill
Now is the law of the Overland that all in the West obey A man must cover with travelling sheep a six-mile stage a day; But this is the law which the drovers make,
The Mountain Squatter
Here in my mountain home, On rugged hills and steep, I sit and watch you come, O Riverinia Sheep! You come from the fertile plains Where saltbush (sometimes) grows, And flats that (when it
The Winds Message
There came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark, Above the tossing of the pines, above the river’s flow; It stirred the boughs of giant gums and stalwart iron-bark; It drifted
A Bushman's Song
I’M travellin’ down the Castlereagh, and I’m a station hand, I’m handy with the ropin’ pole, I’m handy with the brand, And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day,
A Nervous Governor-General
We read in the press that Lord Northcote is here To take up Lord Tennyson’s mission. ‘Tis pleasant to find they have sent us a Peer, And a man of exalted position. It’s his
Mulligan's Mare
Oh, Mulligan’s bar was the deuce of a place To drink, and to fight, and to gamble and race; The height of choice spirits from near and from far Were all concentrated on Mulligan’s
The Reveille
Trumpets of the Lancer Corps Sound a loud reveille; Sound it over Sydney shore, Send the message far and wide Down the Richmond River side. Boot and Saddle, mount and ride, Sound a loud
Gilhooley's Estate
Oh, Mr Gilhooley he turned up his toes, As most of you know, soon or late; And Jones was a lawyer, as everyone knows, So they took him to Gilhooley’s Estate. Gilhooley in life
The Geebung Polo Club
It was somewhere up the country, in a land of rock and scrub, That they formed an institution called the Geebung Polo Club. They were long and wiry natives from the rugged mountain side,
The Angel's Kiss
An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead. He gave the mother her who died A kiss that Christ the Crucified Had sent to greet the weary soul When,
The Rule of the A. J. C
Come all ye bold trainers attend to my song, It’s a rule of the A. J. C. You mustn’t train ponies, for that’s very wrong By the rules of the A. J. C. You
The First Surveyor
‘The man who brought the railway through our friend the engineer.’ They cheer his pluck and enterprise and engineering skill! ‘Twas my old husband found the pass behind that big red hill. Before the
El Mahdi to the Australian Troops
And wherefore have they come, this warlike band, That o’er the ocean many a weary day Have tossed; and now beside Suakim’s Bay, With faces stern and resolute, do stand, Waking the desert’s echoes
Moving On
In this war we’re always moving, Moving on; When we make a friend another friend has gone; Should a woman’s kindly face Make us welcome for a space, Then it’s boot and saddle, boys,
The Scapegoat
We have all of us read how the Israelites fled From Egypt with Pharaoh in eager pursuit of ’em, And Pharaoh’s fierce troop were all put “in the soup” When the waters rolled softly
Ambition and Art
Ambition I am the maid of the lustrous eyes Of great fruition, Whom the sons of men that are over-wise Have called Ambition. And the world’s success is the only goal I have within
The Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying Away in the west, The wild birds are flying In silence to rest; In leafage and frondage Where shadows are deep, They pass to its bondage – The kingdom of