They saw the land that it was good, A land of fatness all untrod, And gave their silent thanks to God. It was Hogan, the dog poisoner -- aged man and very wise, Who was camping in the racecourse with his swag, And who ventured the opinion, to the township's great surprise, That the race would go to Father Riley's nag. (Voter approaches the door. Oh, good, that's the style -- come away! We were objects of mirth and derision To folks in the lawn and the stand, Anf the yells of the clever division Of "Any price Pardon!" Loafing once beside the river, while he thought his heart would break, There he saw a big goanna fighting with a tiger-snake, In and out they rolled and wriggled, bit each other, heart and soul, Till the valiant old goanna swallowed his opponent whole. Then the races came to Kiley's -- with a steeplechase and all, For the folk were mostly Irish round about, And it takes an Irish rider to be fearless of a fall, They were training morning in and morning out. `He's down! Clancy Of The Overflow Banjo Paterson. It is hard to keep sight on him, The sins of the Israelites ride mighty light on him. These volumes met with great success. [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 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. make room!" Joe Nagasaki, his "tender", is owner and diver instead. Follow him close.Give him good watch, I pray you, till we seeJust what he does his dough on. A strapping young stockman lay dying,His saddle supporting his head;His two mates around him were crying, As he rose on his pillow and said:"Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket,And bury me deep down below,Where the dingoes and crows can't molest me,In the shade where the coolibahs grow."Oh! 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. But he found the rails on that summer night For a better place -- or worse, As we watched by turns in the flickering light With an old black gin for nurse. He won it, and ran it much faster Than even the first, I believe; Oh, he was the daddy, the master, Was Pardon, the son of Reprieve. Ah! There was some that cleared the water -- there was more fell in and drowned, Some blamed the men and others blamed the luck! Don't you believe it. 'Twas done without reason, for leaving the seasonNo squatter could stand such a rub;For it's useless to squat when the rents are so hotThat one can't save the price of one's grub;And there's not much to choose 'twixt the banks and the JewsOnce a fellow gets put up a tree;No odds what I feel, there's no court of appeal For a broken-down squatter like me. 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. (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. 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! It was published in 1896 in the Australasian Pastoralists Review (1913-1977) and also in Patersons book Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other Verses. When courts are sitting and work is flush I hurry about in a frantic rush. As participation in freediving reaches new levels, we look at whats driving the sports growing popularity. A shimmer of silk in the cedars As into the running they wheeled, And out flashed the whips on the leaders, For Pardon had collared the field. Second time round, and, by Jingo! He was in his 77th year. 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!" Please try again later. " T.Y.S.O.N. Credit:Australian War Memorial. Such wasThe Swagman; and Ryan knew Nothing about could pace the crack; Little he'd care for the man in blue If once he got on The Swagman's back. He then settled at Coodravale, a pastoral property in the Wee Jasper district, near Yass, and remained there until the Great War, in which he served with a remount unit in Egypt returning with the rank of major. 'Tis needless to say, though it reeked of barbarity This scapegoat arrangement gained great popularity. 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 . the weary months of marching ere we hear them call again, For we're going on a long job now. An uplifting poem about being grateful for a loved one's life. And took to drink, and by some good chance Was killed -- thrown out of a stolen trap. And thy health and strength are beyond confessing As the only joys that are worth possessing. The Ballad Of The Carpet Bag 152. O my friend stout-hearted, What does it matter for rain or shine, For the hopes deferred and the grain departed? In the depth of night there are forms that glide As stealthily as serpents creep, And around the hut where the outlaws hide They plant in the shadows deep, And they wait till the first faint flush of dawn Shall waken their prey from sleep. Facing it yet! 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. AUSTRALIANS LOVE THAT Andrew Barton 'Banjo' Paterson (1864-1941) found romance in the tough and wiry characters of bush. "A hundred miles since the sun went down." But it chanced next day, when the stunted pines Were swayed and stirred by the dawn-wind's breath, That a message came for the two Devines That their father lay at the point of death. 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!" A vision!Thou canst not say I did it! Now for the wall -- let him rush it. It will cure delirium tremens, when the patients eyeballs stare At imaginary spiders, snakes which really are not there. He turned to an Acolyte who was making his bacca light, A fleet-footed youth who could run like a crack o' light. 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. We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave At the foot of the Eaglehawk; We fashioned a cross on the old man's grave For fear that his ghost might walk; We carved his name on a bloodwood tree With the date of his sad decease And in place of "Died from effects of spree" We wrote "May he rest in peace". A Bush Lawyer. The Stockman 163. )There's blood upon thy face.VOTER: 'Tis Thompsons's, then.MACBREATH: Is he thrown out? 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. 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. For all I ever had of theeMy children were unfed, my wife unclothed,And I myself condemned to menial toil.PUNTER: The man who keeps a winner to himselfDeserves but death. . 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. 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. . They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head Was a thousand pounds reward. Lord! . Evens the field!" 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. Some have even made it into outer space. Make miniature mechanised minions with teeny tiny tools! Then he turned to metrical expression, and produced a flamboyant poem about the expedition against the Mahdi, and sent it to The Bulletin, then struggling through its hectic days of youth. He spoke in a cultured voice and low -- "I fancy they've 'sent the route'; I once was an army man, you know, Though now I'm a drunken brute; But bury me out where the bloodwoods wave, And, if ever you're fairly stuck, Just take and shovel me out of the grave And, maybe, I'll bring you luck. Thus ended a wasted life and hard, Of energies misapplied -- Old Bob was out of the "swagman's yard" And over the Great Divide. '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. Remember, no matter how far you may roam That dogs, goats, and chickens, it's simply the dickens, Their talent stupendous for "getting back home". The animal, freed from all restraint Lowered his head, made a kind of feint, And charged straight at that elderly saint. Anon we'll all be fittedWith Parliamentary seats. Dived in the depths of the Darnleys, down twenty fathom and five; Down where by law, and by reason, men are forbidden to dive; Down in a pressure so awful that only the strongest survive: Sweated four men at the air pumps, fast as the handles could go, Forcing the air down that reached him heated and tainted, and slow -- Kanzo Makame the diver stayed seven minutes below; Came up on deck like a dead man, paralysed body and brain; Suffered, while blood was returning, infinite tortures of pain: Sailed once again to the Darnleys -- laughed and descended again! Weight! It was not much, you say, that these Should win their way where none withstood; In sooth there was not much of blood -- No war was fought between the seas. "I dreamt that the night was quickly advancing,I saw the dead and dying on the green crimson plain.Comrades I once knew well in death's sleep reposing,Friends that I once loved but shall ne'er see again.The green flag was waving high,Under the bright blue sky,And each man was singing most gloriously. William Shakespeare (403 poem) 26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616. Video PDF When I'm Gone 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. Perhaps an actor is all the rage, He struts his hour on the mimic stage, With skill he interprets all the scenes -- And yet next morning I give him beans. Third Man "I am a banker, wealthy and bold -- A solid man, and I keep my hold Over a pile of the public's gold. When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told. * * 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! When the dash and the excitement and the novelty are dead, And you've seen a load of wounded once or twice, Or you've watched your old mate dying, with the vultures overhead -- Well, you wonder if the war is worth the price. But he weighed in, nine stone seven, then he laughed and disappeared, Like a banshee (which is Spanish for an elf), And old Hogan muttered sagely, "If it wasn't for the beard They'd be thinking it was Andy Regan's self!" The meaning of various words within the poem are given in the "Editor's notes" section at the end.] Their horses were good uns and fit uns, There was plenty of cash in the town; They backed their own horses like Britons, And, Lord! 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! And I'll bet my cash on Father Riley's horse!" Some say it was a political comment on the violent shearers strikes happening at the time, while a new book Waltzing Matilda: the true story argues it may have been about a love triangle happening in Patersons life when he wrote it. Go to!Strikes him.Alarms and excursions. A Bush Christening. First published in The Sydney Morning Herald on February 6, 1941. Make room for Rio Grande!' why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse. 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. tis the famous antidote. The Pledge!MACBREATH: I say I never signed the gory pledge. Rio Grandes Last Race sold over 100,000 copies, and The Man from Snowy River and Clancy of the Overflow, were equally successful. His mind was filled with wond'ring doubt; He grabbed his hat and he started out, He walked the street and he made a "set" At the first half-dozen folk he met. `He never flinched, he faced it game, He struck it with his chest, And every stone burst out in flame, And Rio Grande and I became As phantoms with the rest. 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. "At a pound a hundred it's dashed hard lines To shear such sheep," said the two Devines. And prices as usual! and he who sings In accents hopeful, clear, and strong, The glories which that future brings Shall sing, indeed, a wondrous song. Beyond all denials The stars in their glories, The breeze in the myalls, Are part of these stories. 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. `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. Banjo Paterson. Shall we see the flats grow golden with the ripening of the grain? . Mulga Bill's Bicycle was written by Banjo Paterson in 1896. the 'orse is all ready -- I wish you'd have rode him before; Nothing like knowing your 'orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore; Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun -- Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun. Well, well, 'tis sudden!These are the uses of the politician,A few brief sittings and another contest;He hardly gets to know th' billiard tablesBefore he's out . He falls. But here the old Rabbi brought up a suggestion. 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. Then loud fron the lawn and the garden Rose offers of "Ten to one on!" 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. )What if it should be! He was in his 77th year. Favourite Poems of Banjo Paterson (1994) In the Droving Days compiled by Margaret Olds (1994) Under Sunny Skies (1994) Banjo's Animal Tales (1994) The Works of 'Banjo' Paterson (1996) The Best of Banjo Paterson compiled by Bruce Elder (1996) In fact as they wandered by street, lane and hall, "The trail of the serpent was over them all." 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. the last fence, and he's over it! He came for the third heat light-hearted, A-jumping and dancing about; The others were done ere they started Crestfallen, and tired, and worn out. "On came the Saxons thenFighting our Fenian men,Soon they'll reel back from our piked volunteers.Loud was the fight and shrill,Wexford and Vinegar Hill,Three cheers for Father Murphy and the bold cavaliers.I dreamt that I saw our gallant commanderSeated on his charger in gorgeous array.He wore green trimmed with gold and a bright shining sabreOn which sunbeams of Liberty shone brightly that day. He rolled and he weltered and wallowed -- You'd kick your hat faster, I'll bet; They finished all bunched, and he followed All lathered and dripping with sweat. In 1903 Mr. Paterson married Miss Alice Walker, a daughter of the late Mr. W. H. Walker, formerly of Tenterfield, a relative of Mr. Thomas Walker of Yaralla. No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. You want to know If Ryan came back to his Kate Carew; Of course he should have, as stories go, But the worst of it is this story's true: And in real life it's a certain rule, Whatever poets and authors say Of high-toned robbers and all their school, These horsethief fellows aren't built that way. These are the risks of the pearling -- these are the ways of Japan; "Plenty more Japanee diver plenty more little brown man!". The Jews were so glad when old Pharaoh was "had" That they sounded their timbrels and capered like mad. Rash men, that know not what they seek, Will find their courage tried. Thy story quickly!MESSENGER: Gracious, my Lord,I should report that which I know I saw,But know not how to do it.MACBREATH: Well! When he thinks he sees them wriggle, when he thinks he sees them bloat, It will cure him just to think of Johnsons Snakebite Antidote. Then he rushed to the museum, found a scientific man Trot me out a deadly serpent, just the deadliest you can; I intend to let him bite me, all the risk I will endure, Just to prove the sterling value of my wondrous snakebite cure. "And oft in the shades of the twilight,When the soft winds are whispering low,And the dark'ning shadows are falling,Sometimes think of the stockman below.". (Banjo) Paterson A. An early poem by Banjo Paterson's grandmother (In Memoriam) does not augur well: Grief laid her hand upon a stately head / And streams of silver were around it shed . 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. 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 climbing roses grow. Then loud rose the war-cry for Pardon; He swept like the wind down the dip, And over the rise by the garden The jockey was done with the whip. (They fight. For faster horses might well be found On racing tracks, or a plain's extent, But few, if any, on broken ground Could see the way that The Swagman went. Here it is, the Grand Elixir, greatest blessing ever known, Twenty thousand men in India die each year of snakes alone. So his Rev'rence in pyjamas trotted softly to the gate And admitted Andy Regan -- and a horse! 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. Jack Thompson: The Sentimental Bloke, The Poems of C . Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins! Banjo Paterson. And surely the thoroughbred horses Will rise up again and begin Fresh faces on far-away courses, And p'raps they might let me slip in. You can ride the old horse over to my grave across the dip Where the wattle bloom is waving overhead. The mountains saw them marching by: They faced the all-consuming drought, They would not rest in settled land: But, taking each his life in hand, Their faces ever westward bent Beyond the farthest settlement, Responding to the challenge cry of "better country farther out". As a Funeral Celebrant, I have created this HUGE collection of poems and readings - see FUNERAL POEMS & READINGS - INDEX. Beyond all denials The stars in their glories The breeze in the myalls Are part of these stories. It will bring me fame and fortune! Out on those deserts lone and drear The fierce Australian black Will say -- "You show it pint o' beer, It show you Leichhardt track!" 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." In the happy days to be, Men of every clime and nation will be round to gaze on me Scientific men in thousands, men of mark and men of note, Rushing down the Mooki River, after Johnsons antidote. Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. 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? Discover the many layers to this legendary Australian character yourself at the exhibition which is open seven days a week from 9am to 3pm thanks . 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. And the scientific person hurried off with utmost speed, Tested Johnsons drug and found it was a deadly poison-weed; Half a tumbler killed an emu, half a spoonful killed a goat, All the snakes on earth were harmless to that awful antidote. Sure he'll jump them fences easy -- you must never raise the whip Or he'll rush 'em! ere theyd watched a half-hours spell Stumpy was as dead as mutton, tother dog was live and well. had I the flight of the bronzewing,Far o'er the plains would I fly,Straight to the land of my childhood,And there would I lay down and die. So I'll leave him with you, Father, till the dead shall rise again, Tis yourself that knows a good 'un; and, of course, You can say he's got by Moonlight out of Paddy Murphy's plain If you're ever asked the breeding of the horse! And so it comes that they take no part In small world worries; each hardy rover Rides like a paladin, light of heart, With the plains around and the blue sky over. Fourth Man "I am an editor, bold and free. 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. "Now, it's listen, Father Riley, to the words I've got to say, For it's close upon my death I am tonight. 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 the singer, The lilt of the tune. Dustjacket synopsis: "The poetry selected for this collection reveals Paterson's love and appreciation for the Australina bush and its people. 'Banjo' Paterson 1987: Gumnut design on jacket by Paul Jones and Ashcraft Fabrics. 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. [1] The subject of the poem was James Tyson, who had died early that month. He had called him Faugh-a-ballagh, which is French for 'Clear the course', And his colours were a vivid shade of green: All the Dooleys and O'Donnells were on Father Riley's horse, While the Orangemen were backing Mandarin! The poem highlighted his good points and eccentricities. Listen awhile till I show you round. And the poor would find it useful, if the chestnut chanced to win, And he'll maybe win when all is said and done!" "The Man from Snowy River" is a poem by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson. He snapped the steel on his prisoner's wrist, And Ryan, hearing the handcuffs click, Recovered his wits as they turned to go, For fright will sober a man as quick As all the drugs that the doctors know. Your sins, without doubt, will aye find you out, And so will a scapegoat, he's bound to achieve it, But, die in the wilderness! Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all. The way is won! We've come all this distance salvation to win agog, If he takes home our sins, it'll burst up the Synagogue!" 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." From the Archives, 1941: Banjo Paterson dead. Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. He gave the infant kisses twain, One on the breast, one on the brain. "Well, you're back right sudden,"the super said; "Is the old man dead and the funeral done?" . . This tale tells of a rickety old horse that learned how to swim. Unnumbered I told them In memories bright, But who could unfold them, Or read them aright? Grey are the plains where the emus pass Silent and slow, with their dead demeanour; Over the dead man's graves the grass Maybe is waving a trifle greener. 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.

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