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