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! If we get caught, go to prison -- let them take lugger and all!" by Banjo Paterson, From book: Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other . on Mar 14 2005 06:57 PM PST x edit . Unnumbered I hold them In memories bright, But who could unfold them, Or read them aright? And we thought of the hint that the swagman gave When he went to the Great Unseen -- We shovelled the skeleton out of the grave To see what his hint might mean. 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? "A hundred miles since the sun went down." Roll up to the Hall!! 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. 'Twas the horse thief, Andy Regan, that was hunted like a dog By the troopers of the upper Murray side, They had searched in every gully -- they had looked in every log, But never sight or track of him they spied, Till the priest at Kiley's Crossing heard a knocking very late And a whisper "Father Riley -- come across!" 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." 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. '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. Shel Silverstein (223 poem . 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. 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. 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. In the drowsy days on escort, riding slowly half asleep, With the endless line of waggons stretching back, While the khaki soldiers travel like a mob of travelling sheep, Plodding silent on the never-ending track, While the constant snap and sniping of the foe you never see Makes you wonder will your turn come -- when and how? For us the bush is never sad: Its myriad voices whisper low, In tones the bushmen only know, Its sympathy and welcome glad. Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. This never will do. Can't somebody stop him? I'm all of a stew. O ye strange wild birds, will ye bear a greeting To the folk that live in that western land? The way is won! It was written at a time when cycling was a relatively new and popular social activity. Anon we'll all be fittedWith Parliamentary seats. Banjo Paterson is one of Australia's best-loved poets and his verse is among Australia's enduring traditions. Paterson worked as a lawyer but He neared his home as the east was bright. His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. Andrew Barton "Banjo" His parents were immigrants to New South Wales, Australia, in 1850. and this poem is great!!!! 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. 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. But it chanced next day, when the stunted pines Were swayed and stirred by the dawn-wind's breath, That a message came for the two Devines That their father lay at the point of death. 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. And the priest would join the laughter: "Oh," said he, "I put him in, For there's five-and-twenty sovereigns to be won. Discover the many layers to this legendary Australian character yourself at the exhibition which is open seven days a week from 9am to 3pm thanks . 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". Oh, the weary, weary journey on the trek, day after day, With sun above and silent veldt below; And our hearts keep turning homeward to the youngsters far away, And the homestead where the climbing roses grow. 'Tis safer to speak well of the dead: betimes they rise again. 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! It don't seem to trouble the swell. 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! Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all. Rataplan never will catch him if only he keeps on his pins; Now! And took to drink, and by some good chance Was killed -- thrown out of a stolen trap. I back Pardon!" Poems For Funerals by Paul Kelly, Noni Hazlehurst & Jack Thompson, released 01 December 2013 1. 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. And if they have racing hereafter, (And who is to say they will not?) Banjo Paterson Complete Poems. "We will show the boss how a shear-blade shines When we reach those ewes," said the two Devines. As the Mauser ball hums past you like a vicious kind of bee -- Oh! Because all your sins are 'his troubles' in future. . For he left the others standing, in the straight; And the rider -- well they reckoned it was Andy Regan's ghost, And it beat 'em how a ghost would draw the weight! He's hurrying, too! 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. Make miniature mechanised minions with teeny tiny tools! . So he went and fetched his canine, hauled him forward by the throat. An uplifting poem about being grateful for a loved one's life. "Who'll bet on the field? An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead. He munched it all night, and we found him Next morning as full as a hog -- The girths wouldn't nearly meet round him; He looked like an overfed frog. 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. Lonely and sadly one night in NovemberI laid down my weary head in search of reposeOn my wallet of straw, which I long shall remember,Tired and weary I fell into a doze.Tired from working hardDown in the labour yard,Night brought relief to my sad, aching brain.Locked in my prison cell,Surely an earthly hell,I fell asleep and began for to dream.I dreamt that I stood on the green fields of Erin,In joyous meditation that victory was won.Surrounded by comrades, no enemy fearing. His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. 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. that's a sweet township -- a shindy To them is board, lodging, and sup. Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. 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". A dreadful scourge that lies in wait -- The Longreach Horehound Beer! He focused on the outback and what rural life was like for the communities who lived there. I have alphabetically categorised & indexed over 700 poems & readings, in over 130 categories spreading over about 500 pages, but more are added regularly. the weary months of marching ere we hear them call again, For we're going on a long job now. today Banjo Paterson is still one of. Follow him close.Give him good watch, I pray you, till we seeJust what he does his dough on. the land But yesterday was all unknown, The wild man's boomerang was thrown Where now great busy cities stand. he's holding his lead of 'em well; Hark to him clouting the timber! 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. At length the hardy pioneers By rock and crag found out the way, And woke with voices of today A silence kept for years and tears. tis the famous antidote. Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western . So fierce his attack and so very severe, it Quite floored the Rabbi, who, ere he could fly, Was rammed on the -- no, not the back -- but just near it. Popular funeral poem based on a short verse by David Harkins. Mulga Bill's Bicycle was written by Banjo Paterson in 1896. Billy Barlow In Australia You see he was hated from Jordan to Cairo -- Whence comes the expression "to buck against faro". Macbreath is struck on the back of the headby some blue metal from Pennant Hills Quarry. 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. And the lashin's of the liquor! the last fence, and he's over it! Go to!Strikes him.Alarms and excursions. 'Banjo' Paterson 1987: Gumnut design on jacket by Paul Jones and Ashcraft Fabrics. The Pledge!MACBREATH: I say I never signed the gory pledge. Bookmakers call: 'Seven to Four on the Field! Then out of the shadows the troopers aimed At his voice and the pistol sound. Clancy Of The Overflow Banjo Paterson. ere theyd watched a half-hours spell Stumpy was as dead as mutton, tother dog was live and well. . 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. Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. 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. Clancy of the Overflow is a poem by Banjo Paterson, first published in The Bulletin, an Australian news magazine, on 21 December 1889. Favourite Poems of Banjo Paterson (1994) In the Droving Days compiled by Margaret Olds (1994) Under Sunny Skies (1994) Banjo's Animal Tales (1994) The Works of 'Banjo' Paterson (1996) The Best of Banjo Paterson compiled by Bruce Elder (1996) `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'm into the swagman's yard," he said. Oh, good, that's the style -- come away! There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died, And they wondered who on earth he could have been. Go back it, back it! In very short order they got plenty word of him. 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. Mark, he said, in twenty minutes Stumpll be a-rushing round, While the other wretched creature lies a corpse upon the ground. But, alas for William Johnson! AUSTRALIANS LOVE THAT Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (1864-1941) found romance in the tough and wiry characters of bush. Where are the children that strove and grew In the old homestead in days gone by? What meant he by his prateOf Fav'rite and outsider and the like?Forsooth he told us nothing. He would camp for days in the river-bed, And loiter and "fish for whales". The native grasses, tall as grain, Bowed, waved and rippled in the breeze; From boughs of blossom-laden trees The parrots answered back again. 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. So away at speed through the whispering pines Down the bridle-track rode the two Devines. But Gilbert wakes while the night is dark -- A restless sleeper aye. )What's this? Banjo Paterson. "Run, Abraham, run! . * * 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! Get incredible stories of extraordinary wildlife, enlightening discoveries and stunning destinations, delivered to your inbox. It follows a mountainous horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prize-winning racehorse living with brumbies. But they settled it among 'em, for the story got about, 'Mongst the bushmen and the people on the course, That the Devil had been ordered to let Andy Regan out For the steeplechase on Father Riley's horse! 'Banjo' Paterson 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. 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. A.B. Catch him now if you can, sir! (Strikes him. 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. "The Man from Snowy River" is a poem by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson. and he who sings In accents hopeful, clear, and strong, The glories which that future brings Shall sing, indeed, a wondrous song. . But he found the rails on that summer night For a better place -- or worse, As we watched by turns in the flickering light With an old black gin for nurse. During an inland flash flood, he saves his masters son. Wearer of pearls in your necklace, comfort yourself if you can. A vision!Thou canst not say I did it! 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. Well, well, don't get angry, my sonny, But, really, a young un should know. 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. 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. The Australian writer and solicitor Andrew Barton Paterson (1864-1941), often known simply as Banjo Paterson, is sometimes described as a bush poet. A Bunch of Roses. The Sphinx is a-watching, the Pyramids will frown on you, From those granite tops forty cent'ries look down on you -- Run, Abraham, run! Parts have been sung at six Olympic Games ceremonies dating back to 1956. So Abraham ran, like a man did he go for him, But the goat made it clear each time he drew near That he had what the racing men call "too much toe" for him. He showed 'em the method of travel -- The boy sat still as a stone -- They never could see him for gravel; He came in hard-held, and alone. They bred him out back on the "Never", His mother was Mameluke breed. It was first published in The Bulletin, an Australian news magazine, on 26 April 1890, and was published by Angus & Robertson in October 1895, with other poems by Paterson, in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses.The poem tells the story of a horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prizewinning racehorse . 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. About us stretches wealth of land, A boundless wealth of virgin soil As yet unfruitful and untilled! 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. And then we swooped down on Menindie To run for the President's Cup; Oh! 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. hes down! And horse and man Lay quiet side by side! "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! Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. 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. Behind the great impersonal 'We' I hold the power of the Mystic Three. The Rule Of The A.j.c. but we who know The strange capricious land they trod -- At times a stricken, parching sod, At times with raging floods beset -- Through which they found their lonely way Are quite content that you should say It was not much, while we can feel That nothing in the ages old, In song or story written yet On Grecian urn or Roman arch, Though it should ring with clash of steel, Could braver histories unfold Than this bush story, yet untold -- The story of their westward march. Written from the point of view of the person being laid to rest. By the Lord, he's got most of 'em beat -- Ho! He won it, and ran it much faster Than even the first, I believe; Oh, he was the daddy, the master, Was Pardon, the son of Reprieve. . They had taken toll of the country round, And the troopers came behind With a black who tracked like a human hound In the scrub and the ranges blind: He could run the trail where a white man's eye No sign of track could find. We have all of us read how the Israelites fled From Egypt with Pharaoh in eager pursuit of 'em, And Pharaoh's fierce troop were all put "in the soup" When the waters rolled softly o'er every galoot of 'em. Video PDF To Those Whom I love & Those Who Love Me Beautiful remembrance poem, ideal for a funeral reading or eulogy. Thus ended a wasted life and hard, Of energies misapplied -- Old Bob was out of the "swagman's yard" And over the Great Divide. And the lavin's of the grub! . Perhaps an actor is all the rage, He struts his hour on the mimic stage, With skill he interprets all the scenes -- And yet next morning I give him beans. And aren't they just going a pace? Owner say'st thou?The owner does the paying, and the talk;Hears the tale afterwards when it gets beatAnd sucks it in as hungry babes suck milk.Look you how ride the books in motor carsWhile owners go on foot, or ride in trams,Crushed with the vulgar herd and doomed to hearFrom mouths of striplings that their horse was stiff,When they themselves are broke from backing it.SCENE IIIEnter an Owner and a JockeyOWNER: 'Tis a good horse. Fell at that wall once, he did, and it gave him a regular spread, Ever since that time he flies it -- he'll stop if you pull at his head, Just let him race -- you can trust him -- he'll take first-class care he don't fall, And I think that's the lot -- but remember, he must have his head at the wall. "I dreamt that the night was quickly advancing,I saw the dead and dying on the green crimson plain.Comrades I once knew well in death's sleep reposing,Friends that I once loved but shall ne'er see again.The green flag was waving high,Under the bright blue sky,And each man was singing most gloriously. They went tearin' round and round, And the fences rang and rattled where they struck. Get a pair of dogs and try it, let the snake give both a nip; Give your dog the snakebite mixture, let the other fellow rip; If he dies and yours survives him, then it proves the thing is good. -- 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." 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. The poet is survived by Mrs. Paterson and the two children by the marriage, Mrs. K. Harvey, whose husband is a naval officer, and Mr. Hugh Paterson of Queensland, who is at present a member of the Australian Imperial Force on active service abroad.

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