Oh, poor Andy went to rest in proper style. 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. 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. It don't seem to trouble the swell. There were fifty horses racing from the graveyard to the pub, And their riders flogged each other all the while. It was written at a time when cycling was a relatively new and popular social activity. 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! 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. But maybe you're only a Johnnie And don't know a horse from a hoe? the weary months of marching ere we hear them call again, For we're going on a long job now. For things have changed on Cooper's Creek Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. Sit down and ride for your life now! 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! * * * * * * * 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. You can ride the old horse over to my grave across the dip Where the wattle bloom is waving overhead. For us the bush is never sad: Its myriad voices whisper low, In tones the bushmen only know, Its sympathy and welcome glad. Catch him now if you can, sir! Then out of the shadows the troopers aimed At his voice and the pistol sound. "Well, no sir, he ain't not exactly dead, But as good as dead," said the eldest son -- "And we couldn't bear such a chance to lose, So we came straight back to tackle the ewes." . When he was six, the family moved to Illalong, a days ride from Lambing Flat diggings, where Young now stands. Mulga Bill's Bicycle was written by Banjo Paterson in 1896. How neatly we beguiledThe guileless Thompson. . And if they have racing hereafter, (And who is to say they will not?) He was neat enough to gallop, he was strong enough to stay! Go back it, back it! 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!" Evens the field!" 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. 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. Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. . 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. )There's blood upon thy face.VOTER: 'Tis Thompsons's, then.MACBREATH: Is he thrown out? 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. Him goin' to ride for us! To the front -- and then stay there - was ever The root of the Mameluke creed. Paterson wrote this sad ballad about war-weary horses after working as a correspondent during the Boer War in South Africa. 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!" I loudly cried, But right in front they seemed to ride - I cursed them in my sleep. Thus it came to pass that Johnson, having got the tale by rote, Followed every stray goanna, seeking for the antidote. Kanzo Makame, the diver -- knowing full well what it meant -- Fatalist, gambler, and stoic, smiled a broad smile of content, Flattened in mainsail and foresail, and off to the Islands they went. Shall we hear the parrots calling on the bough? 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. Some of his best-known poems are 'Clancy of the Overflow' and 'Waltzing Matilda.'. Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! That being a Gentile's no mark of gentility, And, according to Samuel, would certainly d--n you well. Think of all the foreign nations, negro, chow, and blackamoor, Saved from sudden expiration, by my wondrous snakebite cure. 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. 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. Can't somebody stop him? 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. And horse and man Lay quiet side by side! 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. It appeared in Patersons collection Rio Grandes Last Race and Other Verses after his return home. Alas! Make room for Rio Grande! Hes down! On this day: Banjo Paterson was born A Bunch of Roses. . His language was chaste, as he fled in his haste, But the goat stayed behind him -- and "scoffed up" the paste. And up went my hat in the air! Who in the world would have thought it? Make miniature mechanised minions with teeny tiny tools! "I'm into the swagman's yard," he said. . A beautiful new edition of the complete poems of A. Nay, rather death!Death before picnic! Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. 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. 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. He gave the infant kisses twain, One on the breast, one on the brain. 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. `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. 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. Paterson worked as a lawyer but They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head Was a thousand pounds reward. Parts have been sung at six Olympic Games ceremonies dating back to 1956. * * * * 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. I back Pardon!" Andrew Barton "Banjo" His parents were immigrants to New South Wales, Australia, in 1850. Cycles were ridden everywhere, including in the outback by shearers and other workers who needed to travel cheaply. BANJO PATERSON'S POEMS OF THE BUSH by Banjo Paterson Spoken too low for the trooper's ear, Why should she care if he heard or not? Mulga Bill was based on a man of the name of William Henry Lewis, who knew Paterson around Bourke, NSW, and who had bought a bicycle because it was an easier form of transport than his horse in a time of drought. [1] Kind deeds of sterling worth. And the lashin's of the liquor! 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. 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. When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told. he's down!' Oh, good, that's the style -- come away! Poems for weddings, and funerals | The Australian William Shakespeare (403 poem) 26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616. A.B. He was in his 77th year. Unnoticed and undenied; But the smallest child on the Watershed. J. Dennis. Ure Smith. 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. 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. 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. Macbreath is struck on the back of the headby some blue metal from Pennant Hills Quarry. 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. Nothing could conquer that heart of thine. -- now, goodbye!" 'Tis safer to speak well of the dead: betimes they rise again. 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. 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. 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. )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! 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. 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. For years the fertile Western plains Were hid behind your sullen walls, Your cliffs and crags and waterfalls All weatherworn with tropic rains. you all Must each bring a stone -- Great sport will be shown; Enormous Attractions! 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. 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. "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 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. Paterson and his old friend, Lawson, imparted to the literature of their country a note which marked the beginning of a new period. Jan 2011. . Better it is that they ne'er came back -- Changes and chances are quickly rung; Now the old homestead is gone to rack, Green is the grass on the well-worn track Down by the gate where the roses clung.