If we get caught, go to prison -- let them take lugger and all!" "Who'll bet on the field? Over the pearl-grounds the lugger drifted -- a little white speck: Joe Nagasaki, the "tender", holding the life-line on deck, Talked through the rope to the diver, knew when to drift or to check. Ah, yes! Jack Thompson: The Sentimental Bloke, The Poems of C . How far did you come last night?" Popular funeral poem based on a short verse by David Harkins. And when they prove it beyond mistake That the world took millions of years to make, And never was built by the seventh day I say in a pained and insulted way that 'Thomas also presumed to doubt', And thus do I rub my opponents out. Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins! * * * * We have our tales of other days, Good tales the northern wanderers tell When bushmen meet and camp-fires blaze, And round the ring of dancing light The great, dark bush with arms of night Folds every hearer in its spell. Of Scottish descent on his father's side,. What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay! )MACPUFF: Now, yield thee, tyrant!By that fourth party which I once did form,I'll take thee to a picnic, there to liveOn windfall oranges!MACBREATH: . The Last Parade 153. But daring men from Britain's shore, The fearless bulldog breed, Renew the fearful task once more, Determined to succeed. 'Twas a wether flock that had come to hand, Great struggling brutes, that shearers shirk, For the fleece was filled with the grass and sand, And seventy sheep was a big day's work. Geebung is the indigenous name for a tough fruiting shrub (Persoonia sp.). He gave the infant kisses twain, One on the breast, one on the brain. (Kills him)Enter defeated Owner and Jockey.OWNER: Thou whoreson Knave: thou went into a tranceSoon as the barrier lifted and knew naughtOf what occurred until they neared the post. You can ride the old horse over to my grave across the dip Where the wattle bloom is waving overhead. [Editor: This poem by "Banjo" Paterson was published in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, 1895; previously published in The Bulletin, 17 December 1892.It is a story about a barber who plays a practical joke upon an unsuspecting man from the bush. He falls. "A land where dull Despair is king O'er scentless flowers and songless bird!" Mulga Bill's Bicycle was written by Banjo Paterson in 1896. He rode all noght, and he steered his course By the shining stars with a bushman's skill, And every time that he pressed his horse The Swagman answered him gamely still. Sit down and ride for your life now! Upon the Western slope they stood And saw -- a wide expanse of plain As far as eye could stretch or see Go rolling westward endlessly. )Thou com'st to use thy tongue. 'Twill sometimes chance when a patient's ill That a doae, or draught, or a lightning pill, A little too strong or a little too hot, Will work its way to a vital spot. The trooper stood at the stable door While Ryan went in quite cool and slow, And then (the trick had been played before) The girl outside gave the wall a blow. He looked to left, and looked to right, As though men rode beside; And Rio Grande, with foam-flecks white, Raced at his jumps in headlong flight And cleared them in his stride. The native grasses, tall as grain, Bowed, waved and rippled in the breeze; From boughs of blossom-laden trees The parrots answered back again. And he was a hundred miles from home, As flies the crow, with never a track Through plains as pathless as ocean's foam; He mounted straight on The Swagman's back. Lonely and sadly one night in NovemberI laid down my weary head in search of reposeOn my wallet of straw, which I long shall remember,Tired and weary I fell into a doze.Tired from working hardDown in the labour yard,Night brought relief to my sad, aching brain.Locked in my prison cell,Surely an earthly hell,I fell asleep and began for to dream.I dreamt that I stood on the green fields of Erin,In joyous meditation that victory was won.Surrounded by comrades, no enemy fearing. It was splendid; He gained on them yards every bound, Stretching out like a greyhound extended, His girth laid right down on the ground. Were working to restore it. The remains will be cremated to-day at the Northern Suburbs Crematorium. Some have even made it into outer space. So they buried Andy Regan, and they buried him to rights, In the graveyard at the back of Kiley's Hill; There were five-and-twenty mourners who had five-and-twenty fights Till the very boldest fighters had their fill. `I spurred him on to get the lead, I chanced full many a fall; But swifter still each phantom steed Kept with me, and at racing speed We reached the big stone wall. Prithee, let us go!Thanks to you all who shared this glorious day,Whom I invite to dance at Chowder Bay! Rataplan never will catch him if only he keeps on his pins; Now! Home Topics History & Culture Top 10 iconic Banjo Paterson bush ballads. An uplifting poem about being grateful for a loved one's life. With this eloquent burst he exhorts the accurst -- "Go forth in the desert and perish in woe, The sins of the people are whiter than snow!" 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. And King Billy, of the Mooki, cadging for the cast-off coat, Somehow seems to dodge the subject of the snake-bite antidote. It was published in 1896 in the Australasian Pastoralists Review (1913-1977) and also in Patersons book Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other Verses. And up went my hat in the air! I am as skilled as skilled can be In every matter of s. d. I count the money, and night by night I balance it up to a farthing right: In sooth, 'twould a stranger's soul perplex My double entry and double checks. Funeral Poems - Funeral Guide Australia 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. 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. Where are the children that strove and grew In the old homestead in days gone by? How neatly we beguiledThe guileless Thompson. 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. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. (The ghost of Thompson disappears, and Macbreath revives himselfwith a great effort. A vision!Thou canst not say I did it! Can tell you how Gilbert died. 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 . Well, well, don't get angry, my sonny, But, really, a young un should know. And we thought of the hint that the swagman gave When he went to the Great Unseen -- We shovelled the skeleton out of the grave To see what his hint might mean. And the poor of Kiley's Crossing drank the health at Christmastide Of the chestnut and his rider dressed in green. and he who sings In accents hopeful, clear, and strong, The glories which that future brings Shall sing, indeed, a wondrous song. Banjo Paterson - Wikipedia A favourite for the comparison of the rough and ready Geebung Polo Club members and their wealthy city competitors The Cuff and Collar Team. I slate his show from the floats to flies, Because the beggar won't advertise. Catch him now if you can, sir! Never shakeThy gory locks at me. A Bush Lawyer. you're all right, sir, and thank you; and them was the words that I said. And prices as usual! Those British pioneers Had best at home abide, For things have changed in fifty years Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. There are quite a few . (They fight. "A hundred miles since the sun went down." `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!" Come back! This poem tells of a man who reacts badly to a practical joke sprung on him by a Sydney barber. "Now, it's listen, Father Riley, to the words I've got to say, For it's close upon my death I am tonight. The Bush Poems of A. B. (Banjo) Paterson - AustLit It will bring me fame and fortune! Is Thompson out?VOTER: My lord, his name is mud. he's over, and two of the others are down! And Pardon was better, we reckoned, His sickness was passing away, So we went to the post for the second And principal heat of the day. Popular Poets & Member Poets - Poem Hunter Poets ('Twas strange that in racing he showed so much cunning), "It's a hard race," said he, "and I think it would be A good thing for someone to take up the running." 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. The Stockman 163. 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. "And I never shall find the rails." * * Yessir! `He's down! This complete collection of verse shows the bush balladeer at his very best with favorites such as "A Bush Christening," "The Man from Ironbark," "Clancy of the Overflow," and the immortal "The Man . hes down! And horse and man Lay quiet side by side! So Abraham ran, like a man did he go for him, But the goat made it clear each time he drew near That he had what the racing men call "too much toe" for him. Weight! From 1903 to 1906 he was editor of the Evening News, in Sydney, and subsequently editor of the Town and Country Journal for a couple of years. But I vary the practice to some extent By investing money at twelve per cent, And after I've preached for a decent while I clear for 'home' with a lordly pile. One, in the town where all cares are rife, Weary with troubles that cramp and kill, Fain would be done with the restless strife, Fain would go back to the old bush life, Back to the shadow of Kiley's Hill. AUSTRALIANS LOVE THAT Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (1864-1941) found romance in the tough and wiry characters of bush. Rash men, that know not what they seek, Will find their courage tried. The bill-sticker's pail told a sorrowful tale, The scapegoat had licked it as dry as a nail; He raced through their houses, and frightened their spouses, But his latest achievement most anger arouses, For while they were searching, and scratching their craniums, One little Ben Ourbed, who looked in the flow'r-bed, Discovered him eating the Rabbi's geraniums. And Kate Carew, when her father died, She kept the horse and she kept him well; The pride of the district far and wide, He lived in style at the bush hotel. Paterson was in South Africa as correspondent of The Sydney Morning Herald during the Boer War, and in China during the Boxer Rebellion. 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! . Amateur! Banjo Paterson was born at Narrambla, and passed his earliest years at Buckinbah, near Obley, on an unfenced block of dingo infested country leased by his father and uncle from the Crown. 'Twas a reef with never a fault nor baulk That ran from the range's crest, And the richest mine on the Eaglehawk Is known as "The Swagman's Rest". And thy health and strength are beyond confessing As the only joys that are worth possessing. say, on!MESSENGER: As I did stand my watch in ParliamentI saw the Labour platform come acrossAnd join Kyabram, Loans were overthrown,The numbers were reduced, extravaganceIs put an end to by McGowan's vote.MACBREATH: The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!Where got'st thou this fish yarn?MESSENGER: There's nearly forty,MACBREATH: Thieves, fool?MESSENGER: No, members, will be frozen out of work!MACBREATH: Aye, runs the story so! B. Australian Geographic acknowledges the First Nations people of Australia as traditional custodians, and pay our respects to Elders past and present, and their stories and journeys that have lead us to where we are today. And the priest would join the laughter: "Oh," said he, "I put him in, For there's five-and-twenty sovereigns to be won. For the strength of man is an insect's strength In the face of that mighty plain and river, And the life of a man is a moment's length To the life of the stream that will run for ever. Here it is, the Grand Elixir, greatest blessing ever known, Twenty thousand men in India die each year of snakes alone. Mr. Andrew Barton Paterson, better known throughout Australia as Banjo Paterson, died at a private hospital, in Sydney, yesterday afternoon, after about a fortnights illness. The waving of grasses, The song of the river That sings as it passes For ever and ever, The hobble-chains rattle, The calling of birds, The lowing of cattle Must blend with the words. Unnumbered I hold them In memories bright, But who could unfold them, Or read them aright? The doctor met him outside the town "Carew! Andrew Barton "Banjo" His parents were immigrants to New South Wales, Australia, in 1850. And down along the Monaro now they're starting out to shear, I can picture the excitement and the row; But they'll miss me on the Lachlan when they call the roll this year, For we're going on a long job now. there's the wail of a dingo,Watchful and weirdI must go,For it tolls the death-knell of the stockmanFrom the gloom of the scrub down below. It contains not only widely published and quoted poems such as "On Kiley's Run . Enter a Messenger. Prithee, chase thyself! Poems of Banjo Paterson by Banjo Paterson - Michael Byrne Meanwhile, the urge to write had triumphed over the tedium of waiting for clients, the immediate fruit being a pamphlet entitled, Australia for the Australians. It was rather terrible. More recently, in 2008 world-famous Dutch violinist Andre Rieu played the tune to a singing Melbourne audience of more than 38,000 people. "You can talk about your riders -- and the horse has not been schooled, And the fences is terrific, and the rest! And soon it rose on every tongue That Jack Macpherson rode among The creatures of his dream. A new look at the oldest-known evidence of life, which is said to be in Western Australia, suggests the evidence might not be what its thought to have been. The infant moved towards the light, The angel spread his wings in flight. Three slabs fell out of the stable wall -- 'Twas done 'fore ever the trooper knew -- And Ryan, as soon as he saw them fall, Mounted The Swagman and rushed him through. And then we swooped down on Menindie To run for the President's Cup; Oh! The Bush Poems of A . . He munched it all night, and we found him Next morning as full as a hog -- The girths wouldn't nearly meet round him; He looked like an overfed frog. This sentimental work about a drover selling his faithful horse and reminiscing about their days on the land still speaks to people as mechanised transport and the cost of maintaining stock routes sees the very last of the drovers disappearing. No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. Paul Kelly - The 23rd Psalm 2. . 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. isn't Abraham forcing the pace -- And don't the goat spiel? Ah! For us the roving breezes bring From many a blossum-tufted tree -- Where wild bees murmur dreamily -- The honey-laden breath of Spring. Cycles were ridden everywhere, including in the outback by shearers and other workers who needed to travel cheaply. The verse which made Patersons name a household word in Australia stirred deeply the imagination of the native born in days gone by, for it was he who for the first time gave the Australian ballad characteristically Australian expression. Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. Alas! did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat? The tongue-in-cheek story of Mulga Bill, a man who claimed he was an excellent cyclist only to crash, was published by The Sydney Mail. He was neat enough to gallop, he was strong enough to stay! Banjo Paterson Poems 151. 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. * * * * 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. I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better. . An Emu Hunt 160. To many, this is the unofficial Aussie anthem, but the intended meaning of this ballad that describes the suicide of an itinerant sheep-stealing swagman to avoid capture, is debated to this day. 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. (Banjo) Paterson. He left the camp by the sundown light, And the settlers out on the Marthaguy Awoke and heard, in the dead of night, A single horseman hurrying by. "I care for nothing, good nor bad, My hopes are gone, my pleasures fled, I am but sifting sand," he said: What wonder Gordon's songs were sad! 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. Fall! Follow him close.Give him good watch, I pray you, till we seeJust what he does his dough on. 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. 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. Not on the jaundiced choiceOf folks who daily run their half a mileJust after breakfast, when the steamer hootsHer warning to the laggard, not on theseRelied Macbreath, for if these rustics' choiceHad fall'n on Thompson, I should still have claimedA conference. Joe Nagasaki, his "tender", is owner and diver instead. We ran him at many a meeting At crossing and gully and town, And nothing could give him a beating -- At least when our money was down. It was first published in The Bulletin, an Australian news magazine, on 26 April 1890, and was published by Angus & Robertson in October 1895, with other poems by Paterson, in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses.The poem tells the story of a horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prizewinning racehorse .