Now for the treble, my hearty -- By Jove, he can ride, after all; Whoop, that's your sort -- let him fly them! Poem of the week: Brumby's Run by Banjo Paterson `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!" If Pardon don't spiel like tarnation And win the next heat -- if he can -- He'll earn a disqualification; Just think over that now, my man!" 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. This was the way of it, don't you know -- Ryan was "wanted" for stealing sheep, And never a trooper, high or low, Could find him -- catch a weasel asleep! `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. An Emu Hunt 160. Beyond all denials The stars in their glories, The breeze in the myalls, Are part of these stories. He was in his 77th year. "And I never shall find the rails." When this girl's father, old Jim Carew, Was droving out on the Castlereagh With Conroy's cattle, a wire came through To say that his wife couldn't live the day. There are folk long dead, and our hearts would sicken-- We should grieve for them with a bitter pain; If the past could live and the dead could quicken, We then might turn to that life again. The way is won! 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. Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. 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. After all our confessions, so openly granted, He's taking our sins back to where they're not wanted. he's over, and two of the others are down! Don't hope it -- the slinking hound, He sloped across to the Queensland side, And sold The Swagman for fifty pound, And stole the money, and more beside. Banjo Paterson. The Jews were so glad when old Pharaoh was "had" That they sounded their timbrels and capered like mad. . Thinkest thou that both are dead?Re-enter PuntersPUNTER: Good morrow, Gentlemen. 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. Rataplan's certain to beat you, unless you can give him the slip, Sit down and rub in the whalebone -- now give him the spurs and the whip! A B Banjo Paterson Follow. Pablo Neruda (143 poem) 12 July 1904 - 23 September 1973. And there the phantoms on each side Drew in and blocked his leap; Make room! Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. And loud from every squatter's door Each pioneering swell Will hear the wild pianos roar The strains of "Daisy Bell". And then I watch with a sickly grin While the patient 'passes his counters in'. Then for every sweep of your pinions beating Ye shall bear a wish to the sunburnt band, To the stalwart men who are stoutly fighting With the heat and drought and the dust-storm smiting, Yet whose life somehow has a strong inviting, When once to the work they have put their hand. 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. 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. '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. 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. He has heard the sound of a sheep-dog's bark, And his horse's warning neigh, And he says to his mate, "There are hawks abroad, And it's time that we went away." 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. In the early 80s I went from New Zealand to Darwin to work. A favourite for the comparison of the rough and ready Geebung Polo Club members and their wealthy city competitors The Cuff and Collar Team. One is away on the roving quest, Seeking his share of the golden spoil; Out in the wastes of the trackless west, Wandering ever he gives the best Of his years and strength to the hopeless toil. * * * * * * * 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. 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 Phantoms among the rest. 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. 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. He was neat enough to gallop, he was strong enough to stay! From the Archives, 1941: Banjo Paterson dead. )GHOST: The Pledge! Hunt him over the plain, And drive back the brute to the desert again. 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. [Editor: This poem by "Banjo" Patersonwas published in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, 1895; previously published in The Bulletin, 24 December 1892.] But when they reached the big stone wall, Down went the bridle-hand, And loud we heard Macpherson call Make room, or half the field will fall! She loved this Ryan, or so they say, And passing by, while her eyes were dim With tears, she said in a careless way, "The Swagman's round in the stable, Jim." )Leaguers all,Mine own especial comrades of Reform,All amateurs and no professionals,So many worthy candidates I see,Alas that there are only ninety seats.Still, let us take them all, and Joe Carruthers,Ashton, and Jimmy Hogue, and all the rest,Will have to look for work! (Banjo) Paterson. 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. How neatly we beguiledThe guileless Thompson. 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. 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 the lashin's of the liquor! 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! The Last Parade 153. He neared his home as the east was bright. "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.". Video PDF When I'm Gone Paterson wrote this sad ballad about war-weary horses after working as a correspondent during the Boer War in South Africa. As soon said as done, they started to run -- The priests and the deacons, strong runners and weak 'uns All reckoned ere long to come up with the brute, And so the whole boiling set off in pursuit. 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. During an inland flash flood, he saves his masters son. Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet -- and it's Battleaxe wins for a crown; Look at him rushing the fences, he wants to bring t'other chap down. As I lie at rest on a patch of clover In the Western Park when the day is done. 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 of his best-known poems are 'Clancy of the Overflow' and 'Waltzing Matilda.'. Free shipping for many products! Poems For Funerals by Paul Kelly, Noni Hazlehurst & Jack Thompson, released 01 December 2013 1. The Bush Poems of A. B. (Banjo) Paterson - AustLit 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 prices as usual! Their version of "The man from Snowy River" is the best I have ever heard (about 15mins long) A very stirring poem set to music. With sanctimonious and reverent look I read it out of the sacred book That he who would open the golden door Must give his all to the starving poor. With his pants just as loose as balloons, How can he sit on a horse? Poems for weddings, and funerals | The Australian 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. And his wife got round, and an oath he passed, So long as he or one of his breed Could raise a coin, though it took their last, The Swagman never should want a feed. Eye-openers they are, and their system Is never to suffer defeat; It's "win, tie, or wrangle" -- to best 'em You must lose 'em, or else it's "dead heat". So he went and fetched his canine, hauled him forward by the throat. His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. He rolls in his stride; he's done, there's no question!" Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! "Well, you're back right sudden,"the super said; "Is the old man dead and the funeral done?" And sometimes columns of print appear About a mine, and it makes it clear That the same is all that one's heart could wish -- A dozen ounces to every dish. To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; 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. 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! I spurred him on to get the lead, n 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. Oh, good, that's the style -- come away! 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. 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. Facing it yet! Between the mountains and the sea Like Israelites with staff in hand, The people waited restlessly: They looked towards the mountains old And saw the sunsets come and go With gorgeous golden afterglow, That made the West a fairyland, And marvelled what that West might be Of which such wondrous tales were told. Prithee, let us go!Thanks to you all who shared this glorious day,Whom I invite to dance at Chowder Bay! The breeze came in with the scent of pine, The river sounded clear, When a change came on, and we saw the sign That told us the end was near. "Run, Abraham, run! They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head Was a thousand pounds reward. So his Rev'rence in pyjamas trotted softly to the gate And admitted Andy Regan -- and a horse! I take your brief and I look to see That the same is marked with a thumping fee; But just as your case is drawing near I bob serenely and disappear. Fourth Man "I am an editor, bold and free. Clancy Of The Overflow Banjo Paterson. `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. 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. `He's down! Nay, rather death!Death before picnic! I would fain go back to the old grey river, To the old bush days when our hearts were light; But, alas! And I'm making home to mother -- and it's hard for me to die! '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 Man from Snowy River" is a poem by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson. Banjo Paterson's Poems of the Bush A.B. 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. Complete Poems (A&R Classics), Paterson, Banjo - eBay Banjo Paterson. . The refereecounts, 'One, two, three, eight, nine, ten, out! When Moses, who led 'em, and taught 'em, and fed 'em, Was dying, he murmured, "A rorty old hoss you are: I give you command of the whole of the band" -- And handed the Government over to Joshua. In 2004 a representative of The Wilderness Society arrived at NSWs Parliament House dressed as The Ghost of the Man from Ironbark, to campaign for the protection of the remaining Ironbark woodlands in New South Wales and Queensland. * Oh, the steeple was a caution! He's hurrying, too! and he who sings In accents hopeful, clear, and strong, The glories which that future brings Shall sing, indeed, a wondrous song. Banjo Paterson | Australian poet | Britannica "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! 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. Some have even made it into outer space. . Till King Billy, of the Mooki, chieftain of the flour-bag head, Told him, Sposn snake bite pfeller, pfeller mostly drop down dead; Sposn snake bite old goanna, then you watch a while you see, Old goanna cure himself with eating little pfeller tree. Thats the cure, said William Johnson, point me out this plant sublime, But King Billy, feeling lazy, said hed go another time. In fact as they wandered by street, lane and hall, "The trail of the serpent was over them all." Be that as it may, as each year passed away, a scapegoat was led to the desert and freighted With sin (the poor brute must have been overweighted) And left there -- to die as his fancy dictated. Banjo Paterson Complete Poems (A&R Classics) Kindle Edition don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall. (Ghost of Thompson appears to him suddenly. (Banjo) Paterson A. For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; In the waning light of the sinking sun They peered with a fierce accord. No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. 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. Then he dropped the piece with a bitter oath, And he turned to his comrade Dunn: "We are sold," he said, "we are dead men both! And then it came out, as the rabble and rout Streamed over the desert with many a shout -- The Rabbi so elderly, grave, and patrician, Had been in his youth a bold metallician, And offered, in gasps, as they merrily spieled, "Any price Abraham! But the reason we print those statements fine Is -- the editor's uncle owns the mine." 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. Another search for Leichhardt's tomb, Though fifty years have fled Since Leichhardt vanished in the gloom, Our one Illustrious Dead! Langston Hughes (100 poem) 1 February 1902 - 22 May 1967. For the lawyer laughs in his cruel sport While his clients march to the Bankrupt Court." A thirty-foot leap, I declare -- Never a shift in his seat, and he's racing for home like a hare. About us stretches wealth of land, A boundless wealth of virgin soil As yet unfruitful and untilled! Unnumbered I told them In memories bright, But who could unfold them, Or read them aright? `"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. Lord! It was fifty miles to their father's hut, And the dawn was bright when they rode away; At the fall of night, when the shed was shut And the men had rest from the toilsome day, To the shed once more through the darkening pines On their weary steeds came the two Devines. how we rattled it down! But each man carries to his grave The kisses that in hopes to save The angel or his mother gave. Mulga Bill's Bicycle was written by Banjo Paterson in 1896. But troubles came thicker upon us, For while we were rubbing him dry The stewards came over to warn us: "We hear you are running a bye! 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". Oh, the shouting and the cheering as he rattled past the post! The trooper knew that his man would slide Like a dingo pup, if he saw the chance; And with half a start on the mountain side Ryan would lead him a merry dance. And then I woke, and for a space All nerveless did I seem; For I have ridden many a race But never one at such a pace As in that fearful dream. And up went my hat in the air! They had rung the sheds of the east and west, Had beaten the cracks of the Walgett side, And the Cooma shearers had given them best -- When they saw them shear, they were satisfied.