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