They went tearin' round and round, And the fences rang and rattled where they struck. 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. You see we were green; and we never Had even a thought of foul play, Though we well might have known that the clever Division would "put us away". 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! First published in The Sydney Morning Herald on February 6, 1941. "Go forth into the world," he said, "With blessings on your heart and head, "For God, who ruleth righteously, Hath ordered that to such as be "From birth deprived of mother's love, I bring His blessing from above; "But if the mother's life he spare Then she is made God's messenger "To kiss and pray that heart and brain May go through life without a stain." With rifle flashes the darkness flamed -- He staggered and spun around, And they riddled his body with rifle balls As it lay on the blood-soaked ground. . Published in 1889 in the Australian news magazine, The Bulletin, Clancy of The Overflow is a story about a city-dweller who meets a drover and proceeds to romanticise his outback life. Slowly and slowly those grey streams glide, Drifting along with a languid motion, Lapping the reed-beds on either side, Wending their way to the North Ocean. "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.". Even though an adder bit me, back to life again Id float; Snakes are out of date, I tell you, since Ive found the antidote.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. 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". Macbreath is struck on the back of the headby some blue metal from Pennant Hills Quarry. Some of the chaps said you couldn't, an' I says just like this a' one side: Mark me, I says, that's a tradesman -- the saddle is where he was bred. How far did you come last night?" did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat? In fact I should think he was one of their weediest: 'Tis a rule that obtains, no matter who reigns, When making a sacrifice, offer the seediest; Which accounts for a theory known to my hearers Who live in the wild by the wattle beguiled, That a "stag" makes quite good enough mutton for shearers. Joe Nagasaki, his "tender", is owner and diver instead. A dreadful scourge that lies in wait -- The Longreach Horehound Beer! Jack Thompson: The Sentimental Bloke, The Poems of C . As a Funeral Celebrant, I have created this HUGE collection of poems and readings - see FUNERAL POEMS & READINGS - INDEX. The refereecounts, 'One, two, three, eight, nine, ten, out! And watched in their sleeping By stars in the height, They rest in your keeping, Oh, wonderful night. 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. 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. `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!" Andrew Barton Paterson was born on the 17th February 1864 in the township of Narambla, New South Wales. Wives, children and all, For naught the most delicate feelings to hurt is meant!!" Clancy Of The Overflow Banjo Paterson. There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died, And they wondered who on earth he could have been. . 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. But he laughed as he lifted his pistol-hand, And he fired at the rifle-flash. This poem tells of a man who reacts badly to a practical joke sprung on him by a Sydney barber. Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all. "For there's some has got condition, and they think the race is sure, And the chestnut horse will fall beneath the weight, But the hopes of all the helpless, and the prayers of all the poor, Will be running by his side to keep him straight. More than a Poet. Old Australian Ways 157. The elderly priest, as he noticed the beast So gallantly making his way to the east, Says he, "From the tents may I never more roam again If that there old billy-goat ain't going home again. The old un May reckon with some of 'em yet." T.Y.S.O.N. 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. Rio Grandes Last Race sold over 100,000 copies, and The Man from Snowy River and Clancy of the Overflow, were equally successful. 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!" Poets. 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. and he who sings In accents hopeful, clear, and strong, The glories which that future brings Shall sing, indeed, a wondrous song. Kanzo was king of his lugger, master and diver in one, Diving wherever it pleased him, taking instructions from none; Hither and thither he wandered, steering by stars and by sun. Paterson wrote this sad ballad about war-weary horses after working as a correspondent during the Boer War in South Africa. The Seekers recorded it three times, and Slim played it at the closing ceremony of the Sydney 2000 Olympics. An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead. He was in his 77th year. 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. Experience docet, they tell us, At least so I've frequently heard; But, "dosing" or "stuffing", those fellows Were up to each move on the board: They got to his stall -- it is sinful To think what such villains will do -- And they gave him a regular skinful Of barley -- green barley -- to chew. 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. 'Ten to One, Golumpus. When he was six, the family moved to Illalong, a days ride from Lambing Flat diggings, where Young now stands. Kanzo Makame, the diver, failing to quite understand, Pulled the "haul up" on the life-line, found it was slack in his hand; Then, like a little brown stoic, lay down and died on the sand. To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; As participation in freediving reaches new levels, we look at whats driving the sports growing popularity. 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! A poor little child knocked out stiff in the gutter Proclaimed that the scapegoat was bred for a "butter". 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. A B Banjo Paterson 1864-1941 Ranked #79 in the top 500 poets Andrew Barton Paterson was born on the 17th February 1864 in the township of Narambla, New South Wales. "Dress no have got and no helmet -- diver go shore on the spree; Plenty wind come and break rudder -- lugger get blown out to sea: Take me to Japanee Consul, he help a poor Japanee!" Top 10 iconic Banjo Paterson bush ballads, The Brindabellas: Miles Franklins mountain country, Questions raised about Western Australia as site of oldest signs of life, Australian Geographic Society Expeditions, Entries now open for the Australian Geographic Nature Photographer of the Year competition, Environmentalists, Conservationists and Scientists. He was educated at Sydney Grammar School. Never heard of the honour and glory Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve? 'Tis needless to say, though it reeked of barbarity This scapegoat arrangement gained great popularity. Our willing workmen, strong and skilled, Within our cities idle stand, And cry aloud for leave to toil. Fourth Man "I am an editor, bold and free. Because all your sins are 'his troubles' in future. And away in another court I lurk While a junior barrister does your work; And I ask my fee with a courtly grace, Although I never came near the case. It will bring me fame and fortune! AUSTRALIANS LOVE THAT Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (1864-1941) found romance in the tough and wiry characters of bush. They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head Was a thousand pounds reward. But as one halk-bearing 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. For years the fertile Western plains Were hid behind your sullen walls, Your cliffs and crags and waterfalls All weatherworn with tropic rains. Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. `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.' 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. 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. 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. that's a sweet township -- a shindy To them is board, lodging, and sup. 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. For us the bush is never sad: Its myriad voices whisper low, In tones the bushmen only know, Its sympathy and welcome glad. And over the tumult and louder Rang "Any price Pardon, I lay!" Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. 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. There he divided the junior Knox Prize with another student. 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. The remains will be cremated to-day at the Northern Suburbs Crematorium. 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. 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. He had sold them both to the black police For the sake of the big reward. A Bush Christening. 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! "Who'll bet on the field? O ye wild black swans, 'twere a world of wonder For a while to join in your westward flight, With the stars above and the dim earth under, Trough the cooling air of the glorious night. (Banjo) Paterson, Kanzo Makame, the diver, sturdy and small Japanee, Seeker of pearls and of pearl-shell down in the depths of the sea, Trudged o'er the bed of the ocean, searching industriously. But maybe you're only a Johnnie And don't know a horse from a hoe? Our money all gone and our credit, Our horse couldn't gallop a yard; And then people thought that we did it It really was terribly hard. How Gilbert Died. "Come from your prison, Bourke,We Irishmen have done our work,God has been with us, and old Ireland is free. Jan 2011. Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. 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. A beautiful new edition of the complete poems of A. He would travel gaily from daylight's flush Till after the stars hung out their lamps; There was never his like in the open bush, And never his match on the cattle-camps. Poems For Funerals by Paul Kelly, Noni Hazlehurst & Jack Thompson, released 01 December 2013 1. SCENE ISCENE: The saddling paddock at a racecourse.Citizens, Battlers, Toffs, Trainers, Flappers, Satyrs, Bookmakers and Turf Experts.Enter Shortinbras, a Trainer, and two Punters.FIRST PUNTER: Good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of the Fav'rite?SHORTINBRAS (aside): This poltroon would not venture a ducaton David to beat a dead donkey; a dull and muddy-mettled rascal. 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. Where are the children that strove and grew In the old homestead in days gone by? He turned to an Acolyte who was making his bacca light, A fleet-footed youth who could run like a crack o' light. Catch him now if you can, sir! Far to the Northward there lies a land, A wonderful land that the winds blow over, And none may fathom or understand The charm it holds for the restless rover; A great grey chaos -- a land half made, Where endless space is and no life stirreth; There the soul of a man will recoil afraid From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth. 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. And up went my hat in the air! Gone is the garden they kept with care; Left to decay at its own sweet will, Fruit trees and flower-beds eaten bare, Cattle and sheep where the roses were, Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill. Ride! Says Jimmy, "The children of Judah Are out on the warpath today." [Editor: This poem by "Banjo" Patersonwas published in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, 1895; previously published in The Bulletin, 15 December 1894.] 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 When the fastest shearers are making play; But there wasn't a man in the shearers' lines That could shear a sheep with the two Devines. 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. With downcast head, and sorrowful tread, The people came back from the desert in dread. Enter a Messenger. Bookmakers call: 'Seven to Four on the Field! 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. I Bought a Record and Tape called "Pioneers" by "Wallis and Matilda" a tribute to A.B. 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. today Banjo Paterson is still one of. But the reason we print those statements fine Is -- the editor's uncle owns the mine." 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. Run for some other seat,Let the woods hide thee. `Dead men on horses long since dead, They clustered on the track; The champions of the days long fled, They moved around with noiseless tread - Bay, chestnut, brown, and black. (We haven't his name -- whether Cohen or Harris, he No doubt was the "poisonest" kind of Pharisee.) A Change of Menu. by Banjo Paterson, From book: Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other . 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. 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. Spoken too low for the trooper's ear, Why should she care if he heard or not? And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. Then if the diver was sighted, pearl-shell and lugger must go -- Joe Nagasaki decided (quick was the word and the blow), Cut both the pipe and the life-line, leaving the diver below! And there the phantoms on each side Drew in and blocked his leap; Make room! 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. It is hard to keep sight on him, The sins of the Israelites ride mighty light on him. And then we swooped down on Menindie To run for the President's Cup; Oh! Were sorry, this feature is currently unavailable. Banjo was a well-known poet and storyteller, but he was also a solicitor, war correspondent, newspaper editor, soldier, journalist, sports commentator, jockey, farmer and adventurer. What meant he by his prateOf Fav'rite and outsider and the like?Forsooth he told us nothing. The landscapes and wildlife of the Brindabellas, west of our national capital, provided inspiration for renowned Australian writer Miles Franklin. Conroy's Gap 154. He's hurrying, too! A vision!Thou canst not say I did it! "A land where dull Despair is king O'er scentless flowers and songless bird!" Patersons The Man from Snowy River, Pardon, the Son of Reprieve, Rio Grandes Last Race, Saltbush Bill, and Clancy of the Overflow were read with delight by every campfire and billabong, and in every Australian house - recited from a thousand platforms. Later, young Paterson was sent to Sydney Grammar School. 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. Out on those deserts lone and drear The fierce Australian black Will say -- "You show it pint o' beer, It show you Leichhardt track!" Stump, old man, says he, well show them weve the genwine antidote. Both the dogs were duly loaded with the poison-glands contents; Johnson gave his dog the mixture, then sat down to wait events. Andrew Barton Paterson was born on the 17th February 1864 in the township of Narambla, New South Wales. Go to!Strikes him.Alarms and excursions. The freedom, and the hopeful sense Of toil that brought due recompense, Of room for all, has passed away, And lies forgotten with the dead. For the lawyer laughs in his cruel sport While his clients march to the Bankrupt Court." In very short order they got plenty word of him. "On," was the battle cry,"Conquer this day or die,Sons of Hibernia, fight for Liberty!Show neither fear nor dread,Strike at the foeman's head,Cut down horse, foot, and artillery! ere theyd watched a half-hours spell Stumpy was as dead as mutton, tother dog was live and well. "I want you, Ryan," the trooper said, "And listen to me, if you dare resist, So help me heaven, I'll shoot you dead!" Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. ('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." (Kills him)Curtain falls on ensemble of punters, bookmakers,heads and surviving jockeys and trainers. Cycles were ridden everywhere, including in the outback by shearers and other workers who needed to travel cheaply. For I must ride the dead mens race, And follow their command; Twere worse than death, the foul disgrace If I should fear to take my place Today on Rio Grande. 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. One is away on the far Barcoo Watching his cattle the long year through, Watching them starve in the droughts and die. And the lashin's of the liquor! 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. * * 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! But Gilbert wakes while the night is dark -- A restless sleeper aye. Best Poets. Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. He hasn't much fear of a fall. 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. And yet, not always sad and hard; In cheerful mood and light of heart He told the tale of Britomarte, And wrote the Rhyme of Joyous Garde. When a young man submitted a set of verses to the BULLEtIN in 1889 under the pseudonym 'the Banjo', it was the beginning of an enduring tradition. -- Still, there may be a chance for one; I'll stop and I'll fight with the pistol here, You take to your heels and run." why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse. He wrote many ballads and poems about Australian life, focusing particularly on the rural and outback areas, including the district around Binalong, New South Wales, where he spent much of his childhood. The trooper heard the hoof-beats ring In the stable yard, and he jammed the gate, But The Swagman rose with a mighty spring At the fence, and the trooper fired too late As they raced away, and his shots flew wide, And Ryan no longer need care a rap, For never a horse that was lapped in hide Could catch The Swagman in Conroy's Gap. Video PDF When I'm Gone Behind the great impersonal 'We' I hold the power of the Mystic Three. To the front -- and then stay there - was ever The root of the Mameluke creed. Video PDF To Those Whom I love & Those Who Love Me Beautiful remembrance poem, ideal for a funeral reading or eulogy. 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." isn't Abraham forcing the pace -- And don't the goat spiel? For forty long years, 'midst perils and fears In deserts with never a famine to follow by, The Israelite horde went roaming abroad Like so many sundowners "out on the wallaby". . Free shipping for many products! A passing good horse.JOCKEY: I rose him yesternoon: it seemed to meThat in good truth a fairly speedy cowMight well outrun him.OWNER: Thou froward varlet; must I say again,That on the Woop Woop course he ran a mileIn less than forty with his irons on!JOCKEY: Then thou should'st bring the Woop Woop course down here.OWNER: Thou pestilential scurvy Knave. Get incredible stories of extraordinary wildlife, enlightening discoveries and stunning destinations, delivered to your inbox. The watchers in those forests vast Will see, at fall of night, Commercial travellers bounding past And darting out of sight. I slate his show from the floats to flies, Because the beggar won't advertise. 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. I'll bet half-a-crown on you." On Banjo Patersons 150th birthday anniversary, here are his best ballads. you're all right, sir, and thank you; and them was the words that I said. 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. 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! 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! But hold! Good for the new chum! )What's this? For things have changed on Cooper's Creek Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. 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. You can ride the old horse over to my grave across the dip Where the wattle bloom is waving overhead. . How neatly we beguiledThe guileless Thompson. you all Must each bring a stone -- Great sport will be shown; Enormous Attractions! Didst not sayTo back Golumpus or the Favourite!SHORTINBRAS: Get work! Clancy of the Overflow was inspired by an experience Banjo Paterson had while he was working as a lawyer. 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! From the southern slopes to the western pines They were noted men, were the two Devines. "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! "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! he's holding his lead of 'em well; Hark to him clouting the timber! The way is won! Banjo Paterson. And I'll bet my cash on Father Riley's horse!" 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. B. 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. 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 . And took to drink, and by some good chance Was killed -- thrown out of a stolen trap. It appeared in Patersons collection Rio Grandes Last Race and Other Verses after his return home. Credit:Australian War Memorial.
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