As I lie at rest on a patch of clover In the Western Park when the day is done. `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. . And the poor would find it useful, if the chestnut chanced to win, And he'll maybe win when all is said and done!" you're all right, sir, and thank you; and them was the words that I said. -- now, goodbye!" Unnoticed and undenied; But the smallest child on the Watershed. A poor little child knocked out stiff in the gutter Proclaimed that the scapegoat was bred for a "butter". * * Well, sir, you rode him just perfect -- I knew from the fust you could ride. So his Rev'rence in pyjamas trotted softly to the gate And admitted Andy Regan -- and a horse! The Rule Of The A.j.c. During an inland flash flood, he saves his masters son. This sentimental work about a drover selling his faithful horse and reminiscing about their days on the land still speaks to people as mechanised transport and the cost of maintaining stock routes sees the very last of the drovers disappearing. For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn. Andrew Barton Paterson was born on the 17th February 1864 in the township of Narambla, New South Wales. Didst not sayTo back Golumpus or the Favourite!SHORTINBRAS: Get work! 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. He was in his 77th year. His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. we're going on a long job now. `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. The field was at sixes and sevens -- The pace at the first had been fast -- And hope seemed to drop from the heavens, For Pardon was coming at last. If we get caught, go to prison -- let them take lugger and all!" `"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. 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. Can't somebody stop him? 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. )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! 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. A dreadful scourge that lies in wait -- The Longreach Horehound Beer! We ran him at many a meeting At crossing and gully and town, And nothing could give him a beating -- At least when our money was down. That being a Gentile's no mark of gentility, And, according to Samuel, would certainly d--n you well. 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 a singer, The lilt of the tune. 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". Bookmakers call: 'Seven to Four on the Field! The way is won! And watched in their sleeping By stars in the height, They rest in your keeping, Oh, wonderful night. How go the votes?Enter first voterFIRST VOTER: May it please my Lord,The cherry-pickers' vote is two to oneTowards Macpuff: and all our voters sayThe ghost of Thompson sits in every booth,And talks of pledges.MACBREATH: What a polished liar!And yet the dead can vote! Mr. Andrew Barton Paterson, better known throughout Australia as "Banjo" Paterson, died at a private hospital, in Sydney, yesterday afternoon, after about a fortnight's illness. you all Must each bring a stone -- Great sport will be shown; Enormous Attractions! And I am sure as man can be That out upon the track Those phantoms that men cannot see Are waiting now to ride with me; And I shall not come back. These volumes met with great success. . The Last Straw "A preacher I, and I take my stand In pulpit decked with gown and band To point the way to a better land. And aren't they just going a pace? An Emu Hunt 160. For years the fertile Western plains Were hid behind your sullen walls, Your cliffs and crags and waterfalls All weatherworn with tropic rains. "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! Both wrote in other strains, of course, and of other than swagmen and cockies, stock-men and bullock drivers, but bush was always at their heartstrings, and it was of the bush, as they saw it from roadside and saddle that they wrote best. Embossed with Australian Animals, these premium notebooks are perfect for Back To School. But on his ribs the whalebone stung A madness, sure, it seemed And soon it rose on every tongue That Jack Macpherson rode among The creatures he had dreamed. Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. 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. 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". Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. All you can do is to hold him and just let him jump as he likes, Give him his head at the fences, and hang on like death if he strikes; Don't let him run himself out -- you can lie third or fourth in the race -- Until you clear the stone wall, and from that you can put on the pace. That I did for himI paid my shilling and I cast my vote.MACBREATH: Thou art the best of all the shilling voters.Prithee, be near me on election dayTo see me smite Macpuff, and now we shan'tBe long,(Ghost of Thompson appears. 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. 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. 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. Old Australian Ways 157. His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. 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." Facing it yet! 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. (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. He focused on the outback and what rural life was like for the communities who lived there. And he ran from the spot like one fearing the worst. Conroy's Gap 154. Amateur! [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.] Unnumbered I told them In memories bright, But who could unfold them, Or read them aright? The refereecounts, 'One, two, three, eight, nine, ten, out! A Bunch of Roses. The Bushfire - An Allegory 161. * * * * But times are changed, and changes rung From old to new -- the olden days, The old bush life and all its ways, Are passing from us all unsung. 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. 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. "Stand," was the cry, "every man to his gun. J. Dennis. And he was a hundred miles from home, As flies the crow, with never a track Through plains as pathless as ocean's foam; He mounted straight on The Swagman's back. 'Twas a reef with never a fault nor baulk That ran from the range's crest, And the richest mine on the Eaglehawk Is known as "The Swagman's Rest". With dragging footsteps and downcast head The hypnotiser went home to bed, And since that very successful test He has given the magic art a rest; Had he tried the ladies, and worked it right, What curious tales might have come to light! 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!" I have alphabetically categorised & indexed over 700 poems & readings, in over 130 categories spreading over about 500 pages, but more are added regularly. . "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.". 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.
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