A Disqualified Jockey's Story. 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. 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 . Come, Stumpy, old man, we must shift while we can;All our mates in the paddock are dead.Let us wave our farewells to Glen Eva's sweet dellsAnd the hills where your lordship was bred;Together to roam from our drought-stricken homeIt seems hard that such things have to be,And its hard on a "hogs" when he's nought for a bossBut a broken-down squatter like me!For the banks are all broken, they say,And the merchants are all up a tree.When the bigwigs are brought to the Bankruptcy Court,What chance for a squatter like me.No more shall we muster the river for fats,Or spiel on the Fifteen-mile plain,Or rip through the scrub by the light of the moon,Or see the old stockyard again.Leave the slip-panels down, it won't matter much now,There are none but the crows left to see,Perching gaunt in yon pine, as though longing to dineOn a broken-down squatter like me.When the country was cursed with the drought at its worst,And the cattle were dying in scores,Though down on my luck, I kept up my pluck,Thinking justice might temper the laws.But the farce has been played, and the Government aidAin't extended to squatters, old son;When my dollars were spent they doubled the rent,And resumed the best half of the run. Within our streets men cry for bread In cities built but yesterday. 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. Banjo Paterson. . Now for the wall -- let him rush it. Dived in the depths of the Darnleys, down twenty fathom and five; Down where by law, and by reason, men are forbidden to dive; Down in a pressure so awful that only the strongest survive: Sweated four men at the air pumps, fast as the handles could go, Forcing the air down that reached him heated and tainted, and slow -- Kanzo Makame the diver stayed seven minutes below; Came up on deck like a dead man, paralysed body and brain; Suffered, while blood was returning, infinite tortures of pain: Sailed once again to the Darnleys -- laughed and descended again! 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. and this poem is great!!!! Embossed with Australian Animals, these premium notebooks are perfect for Back To School. 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. 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. Prithee, let us go!Thanks to you all who shared this glorious day,Whom I invite to dance at Chowder Bay! 'Banjo' Paterson 1987: Gumnut design on jacket by Paul Jones and Ashcraft Fabrics. The Stockman 163. Says Jimmy, "The children of Judah Are out on the warpath today." Written from the point of view of the person being laid to rest. `"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. Some have even made it into outer space. 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. Go back it, back it! Robert Frost (191 poem) March 26, 1874 - January 29, 1963. And then I watch with a sickly grin While the patient 'passes his counters in'. 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 have alphabetically categorised & indexed over 700 poems & readings, in over 130 categories spreading over about 500 pages, but more are added regularly. And prices as usual! So they buried Andy Regan, and they buried him to rights, In the graveyard at the back of Kiley's Hill; There were five-and-twenty mourners who had five-and-twenty fights Till the very boldest fighters had their fill. And horse and man Lay quiet side by side! 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. "You can talk about your riders -- and the horse has not been schooled, And the fences is terrific, and the rest! The Pledge!MACBREATH: I say I never signed the gory pledge. Not on the jaundiced choiceOf folks who daily run their half a mileJust after breakfast, when the steamer hootsHer warning to the laggard, not on theseRelied Macbreath, for if these rustics' choiceHad fall'n on Thompson, I should still have claimedA conference. 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". * * Yessir! (Banjo) Paterson A. An early poem by Banjo Paterson's grandmother (In Memoriam) does not augur well: Grief laid her hand upon a stately head / And streams of silver were around it shed . "Who'll bet on the field? `And there the phantoms on each side Drew in and blocked his leap; "Make room! 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! Dustjacket synopsis: "The poetry selected for this collection reveals Paterson's love and appreciation for the Australina bush and its people. he's over, and two of the others are down! by Banjo Paterson, From book: Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other . 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. "At a pound a hundred it's dashed hard lines To shear such sheep," said the two Devines. But here the old Rabbi brought up a suggestion. A man once read with mind surprised Of the way that people were "hypnotised"; By waving hands you produced, forsooth, A kind of trance where men told the truth! An Emu Hunt 160. When the field is fairly going, then ye'll see ye've all been fooled, And the chestnut horse will battle with the best. "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." 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". 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. 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". Unnoticed and undenied; But the smallest child on the Watershed. . Paul Kelly - The 23rd Psalm 2. . 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. Catch him now if you can, sir! 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. "A hundred miles since the sun went down." The refereecounts, 'One, two, three, eight, nine, ten, 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. And the poor would find it useful, if the chestnut chanced to win, And he'll maybe win when all is said and done!" But the whips were flying freely when the field came into view, For the finish down the long green stretch of course, And in front of all the flyers -- jumpin' like a kangaroo, Came the rank outsider -- Father Riley's horse! 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. A favourite for the comparison of the rough and ready Geebung Polo Club members and their wealthy city competitors The Cuff and Collar Team. 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. Later, young Paterson was sent to Sydney Grammar School. Thinkest thou that both are dead?Re-enter PuntersPUNTER: Good morrow, Gentlemen. And up went my hat in the air! `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!" Santa Claus In The Bush 156. 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. 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. There was some that cleared the water -- there was more fell in and drowned, Some blamed the men and others blamed the luck! Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. Jan 2011. Mr. Andrew Barton Paterson, better known throughout Australia as Banjo Paterson, died at a private hospital, in Sydney, yesterday afternoon, after about a fortnights illness. Paterson worked as a lawyer but )There's blood upon thy face.VOTER: 'Tis Thompsons's, then.MACBREATH: Is he thrown out? The Jews were so glad when old Pharaoh was "had" That they sounded their timbrels and capered like mad. This poem tells of a man who reacts badly to a practical joke sprung on him by a Sydney barber. Prithee, chase thyself! Beyond all denials The stars in their glories The breeze in the myalls Are part of these stories. make room! I loudly cried, But right in front they seemed to ride I cursed them in my sleep. They gained ten good lengths on him quickly He dropped right away from the pack; I tell you it made me feel sickly To see the blue jacket fall back. They went tearin' round and round, And the fences rang and rattled where they struck. 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. 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. His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. Review of The Bush Poems of A. (Strikes him. Listen awhile till I show you round. 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. Facing it yet! But on lonely nights we should hear them calling, We should hear their steps on the pathways falling, We should loathe the life with a hate appalling In our lonely rides by the ridge and plain In the silent park a scent of clover, And the distant roar of the town is dead, And I hear once more, as the swans fly over, Their far-off clamour from overhead. Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race. 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. This is the place where they all were bred; Some of the rafters are standing still; Now they are scattered and lost and dead, Every one from the old nest fled, Out of the shadow of Kiley's Hill. 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. I am as skilled as skilled can be In every matter of s. d. I count the money, and night by night I balance it up to a farthing right: In sooth, 'twould a stranger's soul perplex My double entry and double checks. The scapegoat is leading a furlong or more, And Abraham's tiring -- I'll lay six to four! Paterson's . No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. 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. But when they reached the big stone wall, Down went the bridle-hand, And loud we heard Macpherson call, `Make room, or half the field will fall! A word let fall Gave him the hint as the girl passed by; Nothing but "Swagman -- stable wall; Go to the stable and mind your eye." (They fight. 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. Because all your sins are 'his troubles' in future. the whole clan, they raced and they ran, And Abraham proved him an "even time" man, But the goat -- now a speck they could scarce keep their eyes on -- Stretched out in his stride in a style most surprisin' And vanished ere long o'er the distant horizon. A Tragedy as Played at Ryde**Macbreath Mr HenleyMacpuff Mr TerryThe GhostACT ITIME: The day before the electionSCENE: A Drummoyne tram running past a lunatic asylum.All present are Reform Leaguers and supporters of Macbreath.They seat themselves in the compartment.MACBREATH: Here, I'll sit in the midst.Be large in mirth. And soon it rose on every tongue That Jack Macpherson rode among The creatures of his dream. . In 2004 a representative of The Wilderness Society arrived at NSWs Parliament House dressed as The Ghost of the Man from Ironbark, to campaign for the protection of the remaining Ironbark woodlands in New South Wales and Queensland. Don't you believe it. (Ghost of Thompson appears to him suddenly. They bred him out back on the "Never", His mother was Mameluke breed. In the early 80s I went from New Zealand to Darwin to work. A Dog's Mistake. By subscribing you become an AG Society member, helping us to raise funds for conservation and adventure projects. ('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." 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! 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. 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. It was written at a time when cycling was a relatively new and popular social activity. 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. (Banjo) Paterson. I have it coldStraight from the owner, that Golumpus goesEyes out to win today.FIRST HEAD: Prate not to me of owners. . Enter a Messenger. That being a Gentile's no mark of gentility, And, according to Samuel, would certainly d--n you well. First published in The Sydney Morning Herald on February 6, 1941. he's holding his lead of 'em well; Hark to him clouting the timber! 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. "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. It was splendid; He gained on them yards every bound, Stretching out like a greyhound extended, His girth laid right down on the ground. "The Man from Snowy River" is a poem by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson. He crossed the Bogan at Dandaloo, And many a mile of the silent plain That lonely rider behind him threw Before they settled to sleep again. Conroy's Gap 154. Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. )PUNTER: Nay, good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of Golumpus?Was it not dead last week?SHORTINBRAS: Marry, sir, I think well of Golumpus. And the lashin's of the liquor! . 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 ." Geebung is the indigenous name for a tough fruiting shrub (Persoonia sp.). And there the phantoms on each side Drew in and blocked his leap; Make room! Fearful that the contribution might be identified as the work of the pamphleteer, he signed it the Banjo. It was published, and a note came asking him to call. His language was chaste, as he fled in his haste, But the goat stayed behind him -- and "scoffed up" the paste. Out on those deserts lone and drear The fierce Australian black Will say -- "You show it pint o' beer, It show you Leichhardt track!" I don't want no harping nor singing -- Such things with my style don't agree; Where the hoofs of the horses are ringing There's music sufficient for me. 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. 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! Roll up to the Hall!! 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. Amateur! Inicio; Servicios. Mulga Bill's Bicycle was written by Banjo Paterson in 1896. 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. . The meaning of various words within the poem are given in the "Editor's notes" section at the end.] 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. Lord! From the southern slopes to the western pines They were noted men, were the two Devines. But on his ribs the whalebone stung, A madness it did seem! were grand. One shriek from him burst -- "You creature accurst!" '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!" 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. Can tell you how Gilbert died. Get incredible stories of extraordinary wildlife, enlightening discoveries and stunning destinations, delivered to your inbox. A Ballad of Ducks. 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! Clancy of the Overflow was inspired by an experience Banjo Paterson had while he was working as a lawyer. As a Funeral Celebrant, I have created this HUGE collection of poems and readings - see FUNERAL POEMS & READINGS - INDEX. 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". And up in the heavens the brown lark sings The songs the strange wild land has taught her; Full of thanksgiving her sweet song rings -- And I wish I were back by the Grey Gulf-water. . 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. Fourth Man "I am an editor, bold and free. Thus it came to pass that Johnson, having got the tale by rote, Followed every stray goanna, seeking for the antidote. 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. Here it is, the Grand Elixir, greatest blessing ever known, Twenty thousand men in India die each year of snakes alone. ''Three to One, Bar One!' 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. 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? 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. 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!" 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. I would fain go back to the old grey river, To the old bush days when our hearts were light; But, alas! 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. He was neat enough to gallop, he was strong enough to stay! For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; In the waning light of the sinking sun They peered with a fierce accord. No use; all the money was gone. `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 As phantoms with the rest. 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. A Bushman's Song. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation.