The wild thrush lifts a note of mirth; The bronzewing pigeons call and coo Beside their nests the long day through; The magpie warbles clear and strong A joyous, glad, thanksgiving song, For all God's mercies upon earth. (We haven't his name -- whether Cohen or Harris, he No doubt was the "poisonest" kind of Pharisee.) Mulga Bill was based on a man of the name of William Henry Lewis, who knew Paterson around Bourke, NSW, and who had bought a bicycle because it was an easier form of transport than his horse in a time of drought. . By this means a Jew, whate'er he might do, Though he burgled, or murdered, or cheated at loo, Or meat on Good Friday (a sin most terrific) ate, Could get his discharge, like a bankrupt's certificate; Just here let us note -- Did they choose their best goat? They started, and the big black steed Came flashing past the stand; All single-handed in the lead He strode along at racing speed, The mighty Rio Grande. and he who sings In accents hopeful, clear, and strong, The glories which that future brings Shall sing, indeed, a wondrous song. Did he sign a pledge agreeing to retire?VOTER: Aye, that he did.MACBREATH: Not so did I!Not on the doubtful hazard of a voteBy Ryde electors, cherry-pickers, oafs,That drive their market carts at dread of nightAnd sleep all day. Some have even made it into outer space. J. Dennis. And I am sure as man can be That out upon the track Those phantoms that men cannot see Are waiting now to ride with me; And I shall not come back. . Anon we'll all be fittedWith Parliamentary seats. Behind the great impersonal 'We' I hold the power of the Mystic Three. The scapegoat he snorted, and wildly cavorted, A light-hearted antelope "out on the ramp", Then stopped, looked around, got the "lay of the ground", And made a beeline back again to the camp. One shriek from him burst -- "You creature accurst!" For you must give the field the slip; So never draw the rein, But keep him moving with the whip, And, if he falter, set your lip And rouse him up again. Popular funeral poem based on a short verse by David Harkins. He said, This day I bid good-bye To bit and bridle rein, To ditches deep and fences high, For I have dreamed a dream, and I Shall never ride again. That was the name of the grandest horse In all the district from east to west; In every show ring, on every course, They always counted The Swagman best. )What if it should be! Jack Thompson: The Campfire Yarns of Henry Lawson. The Bushfire - An Allegory 161. In the drowsy days on escort, riding slowly half asleep, With the endless line of waggons stretching back, While the khaki soldiers travel like a mob of travelling sheep, Plodding silent on the never-ending track, While the constant snap and sniping of the foe you never see Makes you wonder will your turn come -- when and how? "I want you, Ryan," the trooper said, "And listen to me, if you dare resist, So help me heaven, I'll shoot you dead!" And prices as usual! But Gilbert walked from the open door In a confident style and rash; He heard at his side the rifles roar, And he heard the bullets crash. With his pants just as loose as balloons, How can he sit on a horse? Make room for Rio Grande! Hes down! Better it is that they ne'er came back -- Changes and chances are quickly rung; Now the old homestead is gone to rack, Green is the grass on the well-worn track Down by the gate where the roses clung. It appeared in Patersons collection Rio Grandes Last Race and Other Verses after his return home. And the lavin's of the grub! Fearless he was beyond credence, looking at death eye to eye: This was his formula always, "All man go dead by and by -- S'posing time come no can help it -- s'pose time no come, then no die." . )Thou com'st to use thy tongue. We've come all this distance salvation to win agog, If he takes home our sins, it'll burst up the Synagogue!" the whole clan, they raced and they ran, And Abraham proved him an "even time" man, But the goat -- now a speck they could scarce keep their eyes on -- Stretched out in his stride in a style most surprisin' And vanished ere long o'er the distant horizon. He "tranced" them all, and without a joke 'Twas much as follows the subjects spoke: First Man "I am a doctor, London-made, Listen to me and you'll hear displayed A few of the tricks of the doctor's trade. Lawson almost always wrote as one who travelled afoot - Paterson as one who saw plain and bush from the back of a galloping horse. See also: Poems by all poets about death and All poems by Banjo Paterson The Angel's Kiss Analysis of this poem An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead. Without these, indeed you Would find it ere long, As though I should read you The words of a song That lamely would linger When lacking the rune, The voice of a singer, The lilt of the tune. The Rule Of The A.j.c. T.Y.S.O.N. `We started, and in front we showed, The big horse running free: Right fearlessly and game he strode, And by my side those dead men rode Whom no one else could see. A poor little child knocked out stiff in the gutter Proclaimed that the scapegoat was bred for a "butter". Get a pair of dogs and try it, let the snake give both a nip; Give your dog the snakebite mixture, let the other fellow rip; If he dies and yours survives him, then it proves the thing is good. Old Australian Ways 157. Joe Nagasaki, his "tender", is owner and diver instead. During an inland flash flood, he saves his masters son. that's a sweet township -- a shindy To them is board, lodging, and sup. And many voices such as these Are joyful sounds for those to tell, Who know the Bush and love it well, With all its hidden mysteries. today Banjo Paterson is still one of Australia's best-loved poets.this complete collection of his verse shows the bush balladeer at his very best with favourites such as 'A Bush . There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died, And they wondered who on earth he could have been. don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall. With gladness we thought of the morrow, We counted our wages with glee, A simile homely to borrow -- "There was plenty of milk in our tea." And up went my hat in the air! As participation in freediving reaches new levels, we look at whats driving the sports growing popularity. To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; As we swept along on our pinions winging, We should catch the chime of a church-bell ringing, Or the distant note of a torrent singing, Or the far-off flash of a station light. "Then cut down a couple of saplings,Place one at my head and my toe,Carve on them cross, stockwhip, and saddle,To show there's a stockman below."Hark! [1] The subject of the poem was James Tyson, who had died early that month. He had hunted them out of the One Tree Hill And over the Old Man Plain, But they wheeled their tracks with a wild beast's skill, And they made for the range again; Then away to the hut where their grandsire dwelt They rode with a loosened rein. It would look rather well the race-card on 'Mongst Cherubs and Seraphs and things, "Angel Harrison's black gelding Pardon, Blue halo, white body and wings." There was a girl in that shanty bar Went by the name of Kate Carew, Quiet and shy as the bush girls are, But ready-witted and plucky, too. The stunted children come and go In squalid lanes and alleys black: We follow but the beaten track Of other nations, and we grow In wealth for some -- for many, woe. Paterson was in South Africa as correspondent of The Sydney Morning Herald during the Boer War, and in China during the Boxer Rebellion. Well, now, I can hardly believe! They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head Was a thousand pounds reward. A Bush Lawyer. . Geebung is the indigenous name for a tough fruiting shrub (Persoonia sp.). . Beyond all denials The stars in their glories, The breeze in the myalls, Are part of these stories. I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better. And the priest would join the laughter: "Oh," said he, "I put him in, For there's five-and-twenty sovereigns to be won. Lift ye your faces to the sky Ye barrier mountains in the west Who lie so peacefully at rest Enshrouded in a haze of blue; 'Tis hard to feel that years went by Before the pioneers broke through Your rocky heights and walls of stone, And made your secrets all their own. the last fence, and he's over it! There are quite a few . * * Well, he's down safe as far as the start, and he seems to sit on pretty neat, Only his baggified breeches would ruinate anyone's seat -- They're away -- here they come -- the first fence, and he's head over heels for a crown! I've prayed him over every fence -- I've prayed him out and back! He rolls in his stride; he's done, there's no question!" They gained ten good lengths on him quickly He dropped right away from the pack; I tell you it made me feel sickly To see the blue jacket fall back. The doctor met him outside the town "Carew! Mark, he said, in twenty minutes Stumpll be a-rushing round, While the other wretched creature lies a corpse upon the ground. But, alas for William Johnson! " T.Y.S.O.N. A Tragedy as Played at Ryde**Macbreath Mr HenleyMacpuff Mr TerryThe GhostACT ITIME: The day before the electionSCENE: A Drummoyne tram running past a lunatic asylum.All present are Reform Leaguers and supporters of Macbreath.They seat themselves in the compartment.MACBREATH: Here, I'll sit in the midst.Be large in mirth. A Disqualified Jockey's Story. But, as one half-hearing An old-time refrain, With memory clearing, Recalls it again, These tales, roughly wrought of The bush and its ways, May call back a thought of The wandering days, And, blending with each In the memories that throng, There haply shall reach You some echo of song. At the Turon the Yattendon filly Led by lengths at the mile-and-a-half, And we all began to look silly, While her crowd were starting to laugh; But the old horse came faster and faster, His pluck told its tale, and his strength, He gained on her, caught her, and passed her, And won it, hands down, by a length. For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn. . Owner say'st thou?The owner does the paying, and the talk;Hears the tale afterwards when it gets beatAnd sucks it in as hungry babes suck milk.Look you how ride the books in motor carsWhile owners go on foot, or ride in trams,Crushed with the vulgar herd and doomed to hearFrom mouths of striplings that their horse was stiff,When they themselves are broke from backing it.SCENE IIIEnter an Owner and a JockeyOWNER: 'Tis a good horse. Then right through the ruck he was sailing -- I knew that the battle was won -- The son of Haphazard was failing, The Yattendon filly was done; He cut down The Don and The Dancer, He raced clean away from the mare -- He's in front! by Banjo Paterson, From book: Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other . And it's what's the need of schoolin' or of workin' on the track, Whin the saints are there to guide him round the course! Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. You never heard tell of the story? He gave the mother -- her who died -- A kiss that Christ the Crucified Had sent to greet the weary soul When, worn and faint, it reached its goal. As the Mauser ball hums past you like a vicious kind of bee -- Oh! The Seekers recorded it three times, and Slim played it at the closing ceremony of the Sydney 2000 Olympics. But we have heard the bell-birds ring Their silver bells at eventide, Like fairies on the mountain side, The sweetest note man ever heard. `As silently as flies a bird, They rode on either hand; At every fence I plainly heard The phantom leader give the word, "Make room for Rio Grande!" There were fifty horses racing from the graveyard to the pub, And their riders flogged each other all the while. He was educated at Sydney Grammar School. * * * * * * * But he's old -- and his eyes are grown hollow Like me, with my thatch of the snow; When he dies, then I hope I may follow, And go where the racehorses go. But they never started training till the sun was on the course For a superstitious story kept 'em back, That the ghost of Andy Regan on a slashing chestnut horse, Had been training by the starlight on the track. 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 And watched in their sleeping By stars in the height, They rest in your keeping, O wonderful night. And lo, a miracle! The infant moved towards the light, The angel spread his wings in flight. The first heat was soon set a-going; The Dancer went off to the front; The Don on his quarters was showing, With Pardon right out of the hunt. 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 you how Gilbert died. Well, well, don't get angry, my sonny, But, really, a young un should know. Your six-furlong vermin that scamper Half-a-mile with their feather-weight up, They wouldn't earn much of their damper In a race like the President's Cup. were grand. Oh, joyous day,To-morrow's poll will make me M.L.A.ACT IITIME: Election day.SCENE: Macbreath's committee rooms.MACBREATH: Bring me no more reports: let them all fly;Till Labour's platform to Kyabram comeI cannot taint with fear. 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 you how Gilbert died. I frighten my congregation well With fear of torment and threats of hell, Although I know that the scientists Can't find that any such place exists. He gave the mother -- her who died -- A kiss that Christ the Crucified Had sent to greet the weary soul When, worn and faint, it reached its goal. He was never bought nor paid for, and there's not a man can swear To his owner or his breeder, but I know, That his sire was by Pedantic from the Old Pretender mare And his dam was close related to The Roe. Parts have been sung at six Olympic Games ceremonies dating back to 1956. More recently, in 2008 world-famous Dutch violinist Andre Rieu played the tune to a singing Melbourne audience of more than 38,000 people. "Yes, I'm making home to mother's, and I'll die o' Tuesday next An' be buried on the Thursday -- and, of course, I'm prepared to meet my penance, but with one thing I'm perplexed And it's -- Father, it's this jewel of a horse! When the cheers and the shouting and laughter Proclaim that the battle grows hot; As they come down the racecourse a-steering, He'll rush to the front, I believe; And you'll hear the great multitude cheering For Pardon, the son of Reprieve. I'll bet half-a-crown on you." And their grandsire gave them a greeting bold: "Come in and rest in peace, No safer place does the country hold -- With the night pursuit must cease, And we'll drink success to the roving boys, And to hell with the black police." 'Enter Two Heads.FIRST HEAD: How goes the battle? But maybe you're only a Johnnie And don't know a horse from a hoe? Follow fast.Exeunt PuntersSCENE IIThe same. Catch him now if you can, sir! The Australian writer and solicitor Andrew Barton Paterson (1864-1941), often known simply as Banjo Paterson, is sometimes described as a bush poet. Video PDF To Those Whom I love & Those Who Love Me Beautiful remembrance poem, ideal for a funeral reading or eulogy. Think of all the foreign nations, negro, chow, and blackamoor, Saved from sudden expiration, by my wondrous snakebite cure. Video PDF When I'm Gone Fell at that wall once, he did, and it gave him a regular spread, Ever since that time he flies it -- he'll stop if you pull at his head, Just let him race -- you can trust him -- he'll take first-class care he don't fall, And I think that's the lot -- but remember, he must have his head at the wall. And then I watch with a sickly grin While the patient 'passes his counters in'. (To Punter): Aye marry Sir, I think well of the Favourite.PUNTER: And yet I have a billiard marker's wordThat in this race to-day they back Golumpus,And when they bet, they tell me, they will knockThe Favourite for a string of German Sausage.SHORTINBRAS: Aye, marry, they would tell thee, I've no doubt,It is the way of owners that they tellTo billiard markers and the men on tramsJust when they mean to bet. Roll up to the Hall!! As a Funeral Celebrant, I have created this HUGE collection of poems and readings - see FUNERAL POEMS & READINGS - INDEX. Weight! Shall we hear the parrots calling on the bough? But when he has gone with his fleeting breath I certify that the cause of death Was something Latin, and something long, And who is to say that the doctor's wrong! 'Ten to One, Golumpus. A Bunch of Roses. Yet it sometimes happens by some strange crook That a ledger-keeper will 'take his hook' With a couple of hundred thousand 'quid', And no one can tell how the thing was did!" * * * * But times are changed, and changes rung From old to new -- the olden days, The old bush life and all its ways, Are passing from us all unsung. Thus it came to pass that Johnson, having got the tale by rote, Followed every stray goanna, seeking for the antidote. I Bought a Record and Tape called "Pioneers" by "Wallis and Matilda" a tribute to A.B. Can't somebody stop him? Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins! I watch as the wild black swans fly over With their phalanx turned to the sinking sun; And I hear the clang of their leader crying To a lagging mate in the rearward flying, And they fade away in the darkness dying, Where the stars are mustering one by one. Away in the camp the bill-sticker's tramp Is heard as he wanders with paste, brush, and notices, And paling and wall he plasters them all, "I wonder how's things gettin' on with the goat," he says, The pulls out his bills, "Use Solomon's Pills" "Great Stoning of Christians! And it may be that we who live In this new land apart, beyond The hard old world grown fierce and fond And bound by precedent and bond, May read the riddle right, and give New hope to those who dimly see That all things yet shall be for good, And teach the world at length to be One vast united brotherhood. A man once read with mind surprised Of the way that people were "hypnotised"; By waving hands you produced, forsooth, A kind of trance where men told the truth! . He showed 'em the method of travel -- The boy sat still as a stone -- They never could see him for gravel; He came in hard-held, and alone. So the Dutch let him go; but they watched him, as off from the Islands he ran, Doubting him much -- but what would you? on Mar 14 2005 06:57 PM PST x edit . Oh, he can jump 'em all right, sir, you make no mistake, 'e's a toff -- Clouts 'em in earnest, too, sometimes; you mind that he don't clout you off -- Don't seem to mind how he hits 'em, his shins is as hard as a nail, Sometimes you'll see the fence shake and the splinters fly up from the rail. Our very last hope had departed -- We thought the old fellow was done, When all of a sudden he started To go like a shot from a gun. Free shipping for many products! So Dunn crept out on his hands and knees In the dim, half-dawning light, And he made his way to a patch of trees, And was lost in the black of night; And the trackers hunted his tracks all day, But they never could trace his flight. And I know full well that the strangers' faces Would meet us now is our dearest places; For our day is dead and has left no traces But the thoughts that live in my mind to-night. For Bob was known on the Overland, A regular old bush wag, Tramping along in the dust and sand, Humping his well-worn swag. You have to be sure of your man Ere you wake up that nest-ful of hornets -- the little brown men of Japan. `"But when you reach the big stone wall, Put down your bridle hand And let him sail - he cannot fall - But don't you interfere at all; You trust old Rio Grande." Banjo Paterson. Whichever the case, according to the National Film and Sound Archive it has been recorded over 600 times in just about every possible musical style. So off they went, And as soon as ever they turned their backs The girl slipped down, on some errand bent Behind the stable and seized an axe. . The Favourite drifts,And not a single wager has been laidAbout Golumpus. When courts are sitting and work is flush I hurry about in a frantic rush. In the meantime much of his verse was published in book form. An Emu Hunt 160. `And I am sure as man can be That out upon the track, Those phantoms that men cannot see Are waiting now to ride with me, And I shall not come back. Sit down and ride for your life now! What meant he by his prateOf Fav'rite and outsider and the like?Forsooth he told us nothing. The Two Devines It was shearing time at the Myall Lake, And then rose the sound through the livelong day Of the constant clash that the shear-blades make A dreadful scourge that lies in wait -- The Longreach Horehound Beer! He mounted, and a jest he threw, With never sign of gloom; But all who heard the story knew That Jack Macpherson, brave and true, Was going to his doom. They're off and away with a rattle, Like dogs from the leashes let slip, And right at the back of the battle He followed them under the whip. By subscribing you become an AG Society member, helping us to raise funds for conservation and adventure projects. Close to the headlands they drifted, picking up shell by the ton, Piled up on deck were the oysters, opening wide in the sun, When, from the lee of the headland, boomed the report of a gun. The Sphinx is a-watching, the Pyramids will frown on you, From those granite tops forty cent'ries look down on you -- Run, Abraham, run! The meaning of various words within the poem are given in the "Editor's notes" section at the end.] Poets. Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. The remains will be cremated to-day at the Northern Suburbs Crematorium. `For I must ride the dead men's race, And follow their command; 'Twere worse than death, the foul disgrace If I should fear to take my place To-day on Rio Grande.' It was published in 1896 in the Australasian Pastoralists Review (1913-1977) and also in Patersons book Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other Verses. 'Banjo' Paterson 1987: Gumnut design on jacket by Paul Jones and Ashcraft Fabrics. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago, He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him, Just 'on spec', addressed as follows, 'Clancy, of The Overflow'. But the shearers knew that they's make a cheque When they came to deal with the station ewes; They were bare of belly and bare of neck With a fleece as light as a kangaroo's. He crossed the Bogan at Dandaloo, And many a mile of the silent plain That lonely rider behind him threw Before they settled to sleep again. Scarce grew the shell in the shallows, rarely a patch could they touch; Always the take was so little, always the labour so much; Always they thought of the Islands held by the lumbering Dutch -- Islands where shell was in plenty lying in passage and bay, Islands where divers could gather hundreds of shell in a day. . We saw we were done like a dinner -- The odds were a thousand to one Against Pardon turning up winner, 'Twas cruel to ask him to run. Then lead him away to the wilderness black To die with the weight of your sins on his back: Of thirst let him perish alone and unshriven, For thus shall your sins be absolved and forgiven!" Banjo published this mischievous tale of a young lad who doesnt want to be christened and ends up being named after a whisky in The Bulletin in 1893. Then Gilbert reached for his rifle true That close at hand he kept; He pointed straight at the voice, and drew, But never a flash outleapt, For the water ran from the rifle breech -- It was drenched while the outlaws slept. We got to the course with our troubles, A crestfallen couple were we; And we heard the " books" calling the doubles -- A roar like the surf of the sea. He falls. So he went and fetched his canine, hauled him forward by the throat. They bred him out back on the "Never", His mother was Mameluke breed. Billy Barlow In Australia His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. But Moses told 'em before he died, "Wherever you are, whatever betide, Every year as the time draws near By lot or by rote choose you a goat, And let the high priest confess on the beast The sins of the people the worst and the least, Lay your sins on the goat! And up in the heavens the brown lark sings The songs the strange wild land has taught her; Full of thanksgiving her sweet song rings -- And I wish I were back by the Grey Gulf-water. Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. The drought came down on the field and flock, And never a raindrop fell, Though the tortured moans of the starving stock Might soften a fiend from hell. But on his ribs the whalebone stung, A madness it did seem! Still bracing as the mountain wind, these rhymed stories of small adventure and obscure people reflect the pastoral-equestrian phase of Australian development with a fidelity of feeling and atmosphere for which generations to come will be grateful. "Stand," was the cry, "every man to his gun. But they're watching all the ranges till there's not a bird could fly, And I'm fairly worn to pieces with the strife, So I'm taking no more trouble, but I'm going home to die, 'Tis the only way I see to save my life. 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 shadow of Kiley's Hill. . Missing a bursary tenable at the University, he entered a solicitors office, eventually qualified, and practised until 1900 in partnership with Mr. William Street, a brother of the former Chief Justice. But each man carries to his grave The kisses that in hopes to save The angel or his mother gave. His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. Him goin' to ride for us! We have our songs -- not songs of strife And hot blood spilt on sea and land; But lilts that link achievement grand To honest toil and valiant life. Didst not sayTo back Golumpus or the Favourite!SHORTINBRAS: Get work! Had anyone heard of him?" Filter poems by topics. Now this was what Macpherson told While waiting in the stand; A reckless rider, over-bold, The only man with hands to hold The rushing Rio Grande. And then, to crown this tale of guilt, They'll find some scurvy knave, Regardless of their quest, has built A pub on Leichhardt's grave! What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay! Wearer of pearls in your necklace, comfort yourself if you can. The race is run and Shortinbras enters,leading in the winner.FIRST PUNTER: And thou hast trained the winner, thou thyself,Thou complicated liar. His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. Even though an adder bit me, back to life again Id float; Snakes are out of date, I tell you, since Ive found the antidote. Said the scientific person, If you really want to die, Go aheadbut, if youre doubtful, let your sheep-dog have a try.
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