To many, this is the unofficial Aussie anthem, but the intended meaning of this ballad that describes the suicide of an itinerant sheep-stealing swagman to avoid capture, is debated to this day. )GHOST: The Pledge! An uplifting poem about being grateful for a loved one's life. The meaning of various words within the poem are given in the "Editor's notes" section at the end.] The day it has come, with trumpet and drum. "On," was the battle cry,"Conquer this day or die,Sons of Hibernia, fight for Liberty!Show neither fear nor dread,Strike at the foeman's head,Cut down horse, foot, and artillery! Maya Angelou (52 poem) 4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014. 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! Then signs to his pal "for to let the brute go". For many years after that The Banjo twanged every week in the Bulletin. But each man carries to his grave The kisses that in hopes to save The angel or his mother gave. About us stretches wealth of land, A boundless wealth of virgin soil As yet unfruitful and untilled! He was neat enough to gallop, he was strong enough to stay! 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. But the reason we print those statements fine Is -- the editor's uncle owns the mine." 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. 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. The Jews were so glad when old Pharaoh was "had" That they sounded their timbrels and capered like mad. It don't seem to trouble the swell. Fall! 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. The Rule Of The A.j.c. He has heard the sound of a sheep-dog's bark, And his horse's warning neigh, And he says to his mate, "There are hawks abroad, And it's time that we went away." 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. Ure Smith. The stunted children come and go In squalid lanes and alleys black: We follow but the beaten track Of other nations, and we grow In wealth for some -- for many, woe. don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall. 'Enter Two Heads.FIRST HEAD: How goes the battle? Jack Thompson: The Sentimental Bloke, The Poems of C . 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. Good for the new chum! Thus it came to pass that Johnson, having got the tale by rote, Followed every stray goanna, seeking for the antidote. T.Y.S.O.N. 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. 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 And watched in their sleeping By stars in the height, They rest in your keeping, O wonderful night. But daring men from Britain's shore, The fearless bulldog breed, Renew the fearful task once more, Determined to succeed. Of Scottish descent on his father's side,. For tales were told of inland seas Like sullen oceans, salt and dead, And sandy deserts, white and wan, Where never trod the foot of man, Nor bird went winging overhead, Nor ever stirred a gracious breeze To wake the silence with its breath -- A land of loneliness and death. He was in his 77th year. "We will show the boss how a shear-blade shines When we reach those ewes," said the two Devines. 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. [Editor: This poem by "Banjo" Paterson was published in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, 1895; previously published in The Bulletin, 17 December 1892.It is a story about a barber who plays a practical joke upon an unsuspecting man from the bush. 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. "And I never shall find the rails." On this day: Banjo Paterson was born But as one halk-bearing An old-time refrain, With memory clearing, Recalls it again, These tales roughly wrought of The Bush and its ways, May call back a thought of The wandering days; And, blending with each In the memories that throng There haply shall reach You some echo of song. The way is won! (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. A passing good horse.JOCKEY: I rose him yesternoon: it seemed to meThat in good truth a fairly speedy cowMight well outrun him.OWNER: Thou froward varlet; must I say again,That on the Woop Woop course he ran a mileIn less than forty with his irons on!JOCKEY: Then thou should'st bring the Woop Woop course down here.OWNER: Thou pestilential scurvy Knave. " is a poem by Banjo Paterson, first published in The Australasian Pastoralists' Review on 15 December 1898. Those British pioneers Had best at home abide, For things have changed in fifty years Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. Credit:Australian War Memorial. 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. The Man From Snowy River There was mo 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. And up went my hat in the air! And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. 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 ." Did he sign a pledge agreeing to retire?VOTER: Aye, that he did.MACBREATH: Not so did I!Not on the doubtful hazard of a voteBy Ryde electors, cherry-pickers, oafs,That drive their market carts at dread of nightAnd sleep all day. 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. 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. 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. 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. `For I must ride the dead men's race, And follow their command; 'Twere worse than death, the foul disgrace If I should fear to take my place To-day on Rio Grande.' 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. 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. Till Trooper Scott, from the Stockman's Ford -- A bushman, too, as I've heard them tell -- Chanced to find him drunk as a lord Round at the Shadow of Death Hotel. Banjo Paterson. Clancy Of The Overflow Banjo Paterson. The crowd with great eagerness studied the race -- "Great Scott! He was never bought nor paid for, and there's not a man can swear To his owner or his breeder, but I know, That his sire was by Pedantic from the Old Pretender mare And his dam was close related to The Roe. Oh, the shouting and the cheering as he rattled past the post! Poets. Remember, no matter how far you may roam That dogs, goats, and chickens, it's simply the dickens, Their talent stupendous for "getting back home". "A land where dull Despair is king O'er scentless flowers and songless bird!" 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. Beyond all denials The stars in their glories, The breeze in the myalls, Are part of these stories. I watch as the wild black swans fly over With their phalanx turned to the sinking sun; And I hear the clang of their leader crying To a lagging mate in the rearward flying, And they fade away in the darkness dying, Where the stars are mustering one by one. Alas! 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. Did thou catch the last?SECOND HEAD: Aye, marry did I, and the one before,But this has got me beat. The elderly priest, as he noticed the beast So gallantly making his way to the east, Says he, "From the tents may I never more roam again If that there old billy-goat ain't going home again. Paterson and his old friend, Lawson, imparted to the literature of their country a note which marked the beginning of a new period. B. He focused on the outback and what rural life was like for the communities who lived there. The way is won! We strolled down the township and found 'em At drinking and gaming and play; If sorrows they had, why they drowned 'em, And betting was soon under way. Macbreath is struck on the back of the headby some blue metal from Pennant Hills Quarry. `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. O ye strange wild birds, will ye bear a greeting To the folk that live in that western land? It follows a mountainous horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prize-winning racehorse living with brumbies. Shall we hear the parrots calling on the bough? As we swept along on our pinions winging, We should catch the chime of a church-bell ringing, Or the distant note of a torrent singing, Or the far-off flash of a station light. To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; And then I watch with a sickly grin While the patient 'passes his counters in'. "The Man from Snowy River" is a poem by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson. The verse which made Patersons name a household word in Australia stirred deeply the imagination of the native born in days gone by, for it was he who for the first time gave the Australian ballad characteristically Australian expression. And the lavin's of the grub! He left the camp by the sundown light, And the settlers out on the Marthaguy Awoke and heard, in the dead of night, A single horseman hurrying by. 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". Such wasThe Swagman; and Ryan knew Nothing about could pace the crack; Little he'd care for the man in blue If once he got on The Swagman's back. What scoundrel ever would dare to hint That anything crooked appears in print! " T.Y.S.O.N. James Tyson (8 April 1819 - 4 December 1898 . For years the fertile Western plains Were hid behind your sullen walls, Your cliffs and crags and waterfalls All weatherworn with tropic rains. And Pardon was better, we reckoned, His sickness was passing away, So we went to the post for the second And principal heat of the day. and he had fled! A beautiful new edition of the complete poems of A. (Tries to shuffle off, but Punter detains him. isn't Abraham forcing the pace -- And don't the goat spiel? Make room for Rio Grande! Hes down! Is Thompson out?VOTER: My lord, his name is mud. Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. 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. B. His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. 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. But when you reach the big stone wall Put down your bridle-hand And let him sail-he cannot fall, But dont you interfere at all; You trust old Rio Grande. We started, and in front we showed, The big horse running free: Right fearlessly and game he strode, And by my side those dead men rode Whom no one else could see. . Make miniature mechanised minions with teeny tiny tools! 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. He's hurrying, too! So the Dutch let him go; but they watched him, as off from the Islands he ran, Doubting him much -- but what would you? The freedom, and the hopeful sense Of toil that brought due recompense, Of room for all, has passed away, And lies forgotten with the dead. But his owner's views of training were immense, For the Reverend Father Riley used to ride him every day, And he never saw a hurdle nor a fence. Joe Nagasaki, his "tender", is owner and diver instead. They started, and the big black steed Came flashing past the stand; All single-handed in the lead He strode along at racing speed, The mighty Rio Grande. Review of The Bush Poems of A. And aren't they just going a pace? 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. the last fence, and he's over it! And loud from every squatter's door Each pioneering swell Will hear the wild pianos roar The strains of "Daisy Bell". )PUNTER: Nay, good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of Golumpus?Was it not dead last week?SHORTINBRAS: Marry, sir, I think well of Golumpus. 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. Paterson was in South Africa as correspondent of The Sydney Morning Herald during the Boer War, and in China during the Boxer Rebellion. * * * * * * * 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. For I must ride the dead mens race, And follow their command; Twere worse than death, the foul disgrace If I should fear to take my place Today on Rio Grande. 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. . When courts are sitting and work is flush I hurry about in a frantic rush. (Ghost of Thompson appears to him suddenly. And if they have racing hereafter, (And who is to say they will not?) From the Archives, 1941: Banjo Paterson dead. 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. The watchers in those forests vast Will see, at fall of night, Commercial travellers bounding past And darting out of sight. today Banjo Paterson is still one of Australia's best-loved poets.this complete collection of his verse shows the bush balladeer at his very best with favourites such as 'A Bush . So he went and fetched his canine, hauled him forward by the throat. 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. Ah, yes! Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race. 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." And there the phantoms on each side Drew in and blocked his leap; Make room! 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. 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. The Bushfire - An Allegory 161. Don't you believe it. Sit down and ride for your life now! Banjo Paterson. 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. 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 mountains saw them marching by: They faced the all-consuming drought, They would not rest in settled land: But, taking each his life in hand, Their faces ever westward bent Beyond the farthest settlement, Responding to the challenge cry of "better country farther out". And the poor would find it useful, if the chestnut chanced to win, And he'll maybe win when all is said and done!" 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.