Great poems
/ page 524 of 549 /
Saltbush Bill on the Patriarchs
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Those Patriarchs of olden time, when all is said and done,
They lived the same as far-out men on many a Queensland run
A lot of roving, droving men who drifted to and fro,
The same we did out Queensland way a score of years ago.
Saltbush Bill
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Now is the law of the Overland that all in the West obey --
A man must cover with travelling sheep a six-mile stage a day;
But this is the law which the drovers make, right easily understood,
They travel their stage where the grass is bad, but they camp where the grass is good;
The Swagman's Rest
© Andrew Barton Paterson
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;
With the Cattle
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The drought is down on field and flock,
The river-bed is dry;
And we must shift the starving stock
Before the cattle die.
The Corner Man
© Andrew Barton Paterson
A small boy sat on the foremost seat --
A mirthful youngster he,
He beat the time with his restless feet
To each new melody,
And he picked me out as the brightest star
Of the black fraternity.
Gilhooley's Estate
© Andrew Barton Paterson
They made out a list of his property fine,
It totalled a thousand-and-eight;
But the debts were nine hundred and ninety-nine --
The debts of Gilhooley's Estate.
How The Favourite Beat Us
© Andrew Barton Paterson
"It seems old Tomato was stiff, though a starter;
They reckoned him fit for the Caulfield to keep.
The Bloke and the Donah were scratched by their owner,
He only was offered three-fourths of the sweep.
By the Grey Gulf-water
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Far to the Northward there lies a land,
A wonderful land that the winds blow over,
And none may fathom or understand
The charm it holds for the restless rover;
The Scottish Engineer
© Andrew Barton Paterson
With eyes that searched in the dark,
Peering along the line,
Stood the grim Scotsman, Hector Clark,
Driver of "Forty-nine".
And the veldt-fire flamed on the hills ahead,
Like a blood-red beacon sign.
The Ballad of G. R. Dibbs
© Andrew Barton Paterson
This is the story of G.R.D.,
Who went on a mission across the sea
To borrow some money for you and me.
T.y.s.o.n.
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Across the Queensland border line
The mobs of cattle go;
They travel down in sun and shine
On dusty stage, and slow.
The Old Tin Hat
© Andrew Barton Paterson
And a very great man is the man who holds an Army Corps command,
For he hurries his regiments here and there as the C. in C. has planned.
By day he travels about in state and stirreth them up to rights,
He toileth early and toileth late, and sitteth up half the nights;
But the evening comes when the candle throws twin shadows upon the mat,
And one of the shadows is like a wreath, and one like an Old Tin Hat.
The Seven Ages of Wise
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The next the Student,
Burning the midnight oil with Adam Smith
For Cobden Medals.
Hay and Hell and Booligal
© Andrew Barton Paterson
"No doubt it suits 'em very well
To say its worse than Hay or Hell,
But don't you heed their talk at all;
Of course, there's heat -- no one denies --
And sand and dust and stacks of flies,
And rabbits, too, at Booligal.
The Dauntless Three
© Andrew Barton Paterson
"'Tis well", quoth brave Horatuis,
"As thou sayest, so let it be."
And straight against the proletaire
Forth went the dauntless three.
An Evening in Dandaloo
© Andrew Barton Paterson
It was while we held our races --
Hurdles, sprints and steplechases --
Up in Dandaloo,
That a crowd of Sydney stealers,
The Ballad of Cockatoo Dock
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Of all the docks upon the blue
There was no dockyard, old or new,
To touch the dock at Cockatoo.
Mulligan's Mare
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Oh, Mulligan's bar was the deuce of a place
To drink, and to fight, and to gamble and race;
The height of choice spirits from near and from far
Were all concentrated on Mulligan's bar.
Gone Down
© Andrew Barton Paterson
To the voters of Glen Innes 'twas O'Sullivan that went,
To secure the country vote for Mister Hay.
So he told 'em what he'd borrowed, and he told 'em what he'd spent,
Though extravagance had blown it all away.
Song of the Future
© Andrew Barton Paterson
"I care for nothing, good nor bad,
My hopes are gone, my pleasures fled,
I am but sifting sand," he said:
What wonder Gordon's songs were sad!
