Then right through the ruck he was sailing -- I knew that the battle was won -- The son of Haphazard was failing, The Yattendon filly was done; He cut down The Don and The Dancer, He raced clean away from the mare -- He's in front! 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. They're off and away with a rattle, Like dogs from the leashes let slip, And right at the back of the battle He followed them under the whip. By this means a Jew, whate'er he might do, Though he burgled, or murdered, or cheated at loo, Or meat on Good Friday (a sin most terrific) ate, Could get his discharge, like a bankrupt's certificate; Just here let us note -- Did they choose their best goat? 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. * * * * 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. and his spurs like a pair of harpoons; Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course. (Ghost disappears. 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. But the lumbering Dutch in their gunboats they hunted the divers away.
Funeral Poems & Readings - A Life Celebrant - Lou Here it is, the Grand Elixir, greatest blessing ever known, Twenty thousand men in India die each year of snakes alone. 'Ten to One, Golumpus. And one man on a big grey steed Rode up and waved his hand; Said he, We help a friend in need, And we have come to give a lead To you and Rio Grande. The way is won!
Banjo Paterson: poems, essays, and short stories | Poeticous 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. 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. 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. But Moses told 'em before he died, "Wherever you are, whatever betide, Every year as the time draws near By lot or by rote choose you a goat, And let the high priest confess on the beast The sins of the people the worst and the least, Lay your sins on the goat! Filter poems by topics. * * Well, sir, you rode him just perfect -- I knew from the fust you could ride. And King Billy, of the Mooki, cadging for the cast-off coat, Somehow seems to dodge the subject of the snake-bite antidote. . The race is run and Shortinbras enters,leading in the winner.FIRST PUNTER: And thou hast trained the winner, thou thyself,Thou complicated liar. 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. 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 crowd with great eagerness studied the race -- "Great Scott! Wives, children and all, For naught the most delicate feelings to hurt is meant!!" B. Were sorry, this feature is currently unavailable. 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. 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. 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.
Banjo Paterson - Banjo Paterson Poems | Best Poems Review of The Bush Poems of A. 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".
Poems for weddings, and funerals | The Australian Dustjacket synopsis: "The poetry selected for this collection reveals Paterson's love and appreciation for the Australina bush and its people. And soon it rose on every tongue That Jack Macpherson rode among The creatures of his dream. One shriek from him burst -- "You creature accurst!" Moral The moral is patent to all the beholders -- Don't shift your own sins on to other folks' shoulders; Be kind to dumb creatures and never abuse them, Nor curse them nor kick them, nor spitefully use them: Take their lives if needs must -- when it comes to the worst, But don't let them perish of hunger or thirst. Can tell you how Gilbert died. (To Punter): Aye marry Sir, I think well of the Favourite.PUNTER: And yet I have a billiard marker's wordThat in this race to-day they back Golumpus,And when they bet, they tell me, they will knockThe Favourite for a string of German Sausage.SHORTINBRAS: Aye, marry, they would tell thee, I've no doubt,It is the way of owners that they tellTo billiard markers and the men on tramsJust when they mean to bet. Then signs to his pal "for to let the brute go". The Man From Snowy River There was mo the weary months of marching ere we hear them call again, For we're going on a long job now. "A hundred miles since the sun went down." 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. 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! 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. ('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." .
Top 10 iconic Banjo Paterson bush ballads - Australian Geographic About us stretches wealth of land, A boundless wealth of virgin soil As yet unfruitful and untilled! A Dog's Mistake. And the poor would find it useful, if the chestnut chanced to win, And he'll maybe win when all is said and done!" A Bush Lawyer. Will you fetch your dog and try it? Johnson rather thought he would. About their path a fearful fate Will hover always near. The poem is typical of Paterson, offering a romantic view of rural life, and is one of his best-known works. Macbreath is struck on the back of the headby some blue metal from Pennant Hills Quarry. Never heard of the honour and glory Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve?
Poems of Banjo Paterson by Banjo Paterson - Michael Byrne 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. 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 had sold them both to the black police For the sake of the big reward. did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat? 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. 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.
The Two Devines [poem by Banjo Paterson] - The Institute of Australian He caught her meaning, and quickly turned To the trooper: "Reckon you'll gain a stripe By arresting me, and it's easily earned; Let's go to the stable and get my pipe, The Swagman has it." (Ghost of Thompson appears to him suddenly. A Disqualified Jockey's Story. Who in the world would have thought it? Thus it came to pass that Johnson, having got the tale by rote, Followed every stray goanna, seeking for the antidote. To all devout Jews! And I'm making home to mother -- and it's hard for me to die! Paterson's . From the northern lakes with the reeds and rushes, Where the hills are clothed with a purple haze, Where the bell-birds chime and the songs of thrushes Make music sweet in the jungle maze, They will hold their course to the westward ever, Till they reach the banks of the old grey river, Where the waters wash, and the reed-beds quiver In the burning heat of the summer days. 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. 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. How Gilbert Died. today Banjo Paterson is still one of. Of Scottish descent on his father's side,. Sure he'll jump them fences easy -- you must never raise the whip Or he'll rush 'em! Oh, he can jump 'em all right, sir, you make no mistake, 'e's a toff -- Clouts 'em in earnest, too, sometimes; you mind that he don't clout you off -- Don't seem to mind how he hits 'em, his shins is as hard as a nail, Sometimes you'll see the fence shake and the splinters fly up from the rail. 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. Along where Leichhardt journeyed slow And toiled and starved in vain; These rash excursionists must go Per Queensland railway train. Unnoticed and undenied; But the smallest child on the Watershed. When courts are sitting and work is flush I hurry about in a frantic rush. But each man carries to his grave The kisses that in hopes to save The angel or his mother gave. His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. Then, shedding his coat, he approaches the goat And, while a red fillet he carefully pins on him, Confesses the whole of the Israelites' sins on him. 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. It's food for conjecture, to judge from the picture By Hunt in the Gallery close to our door, a Man well might suppose that the scapegoat they chose Was a long way from being their choicest Angora. But the reason we print those statements fine Is -- the editor's uncle owns the mine." Here is a list of the top 10 most iconic Banjo Paterson ballads. 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." Drunk as he was when the trooper came, to him that did not matter a rap -- Drunk or sober, he was the same, The boldest rider in Conroy's Gap. J. Dennis. ')MACPUFF: Kind voters all, and worthy gentlemen,Who rallied to my flag today, and made meMember for Thompson, from my soul I thank you.There needs no trumpet blast, for I can blowLike any trombone. (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. 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. that's a sweet township -- a shindy To them is board, lodging, and sup. "And there's nothing in the district that can race him for a step, He could canter while they're going at their top: He's the king of all the leppers that was ever seen to lep, A five-foot fence -- he'd clear it in a hop! 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! At the Turon the Yattendon filly Led by lengths at the mile-and-a-half, And we all began to look silly, While her crowd were starting to laugh; But the old horse came faster and faster, His pluck told its tale, and his strength, He gained on her, caught her, and passed her, And won it, hands down, by a length. Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. The meaning of various words within the poem are given in the "Editor's notes" section at the end.] When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told.
From the Archives, 1941: Banjo Paterson dead - The Sydney Morning Herald Banjo Paterson is one of Australia's best-loved poets and his verse is among Australia's enduring traditions. Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. Shall we see the flats grow golden with the ripening of the grain? 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. Banjo Paterson was an Australian bush author who is remembered for his ballads about life in Australia. 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. Banjo Paterson, original name Andrew Barton Paterson, (born February 17, 1864, Narrambla, New South Wales, Australiadied February 5, 1941, Sydney), Australian poet and journalist noted for his composition of the internationally famous song " Waltzing Matilda ." 'Tis needless to say, though it reeked of barbarity This scapegoat arrangement gained great popularity. The animal, freed from all restraint Lowered his head, made a kind of feint, And charged straight at that elderly saint. `And one man on a big grey steed Rode up and waved his hand; Said he, "We help a friend in need, And we have come to give a lead To you and Rio Grande. Weight! Oh, joyous day,To-morrow's poll will make me M.L.A.ACT IITIME: Election day.SCENE: Macbreath's committee rooms.MACBREATH: Bring me no more reports: let them all fly;Till Labour's platform to Kyabram comeI cannot taint with fear.
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. 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. 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. But they never started training till the sun was on the course For a superstitious story kept 'em back, That the ghost of Andy Regan on a slashing chestnut horse, Had been training by the starlight on the track. So he went and fetched his canine, hauled him forward by the throat. His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. Were working to restore it. They are flying west, by their instinct guided, And for man likewise is his rate decided, And griefs apportioned and joys divided By a mightly power with a purpose dread. Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. Scarce grew the shell in the shallows, rarely a patch could they touch; Always the take was so little, always the labour so much; Always they thought of the Islands held by the lumbering Dutch -- Islands where shell was in plenty lying in passage and bay, Islands where divers could gather hundreds of shell in a day. ''Three to One, Bar One!' Then lead him away to the wilderness black To die with the weight of your sins on his back: Of thirst let him perish alone and unshriven, For thus shall your sins be absolved and forgiven!" 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.