Time poems
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A Singer of the Bush
© Andrew Barton Paterson
There is waving of grass in the breeze
And a song in the air,
And a murmur of myriad bees
That toil everywhere.
Father Riley's Horse
© Andrew Barton Paterson
'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,
When Dacey rode the Mule
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The band struck up with Killaloe,
And Rule Britannia, Rule,
And Young Man from the Country, too,
When Dacey rode the mule.
Investigating Flora
© Andrew Barton Paterson
'Twas in scientific circles
That the great Professor Brown
Had a world-wide reputation
As a writer of renown.
High Explosive
© Andrew Barton Paterson
'Twas the dingo pup to his dam that said,
"It's time I worked for my daily bread.
Out in the world I intend to go,
And you'd be surprised at the things I know.
Our New Horse
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The boys had come back from the races
All silent and down on their luck;
They'd backed 'em, straight out and for places,
But never a winner they's struck.
In the Droving Days
© Andrew Barton Paterson
"Only a pound," said the auctioneer,
"Only a pound; and I'm standing here
Selling this animal, gain or loss --
Only a pound for the drover's horse?
The Incantation
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Scene: Federal Political Arena
A darkened cave. In the middle, a cauldron, boiling.
Enter the three witches.
1ST WITCH: Thrice hath the Federal Jackass brayed.
The Daylight is Dying
© Andrew Barton Paterson
And, blending with each
In the memories that throng,
There haply shall reach
You some echo of song.
Reconstruction
© Andrew Barton Paterson
So, the bank has bust it's boiler! And in six or seven year
It will pay me all my money back -- of course!
But the horse will perish waiting while the grass is germinating,
And I reckon I'll be something like the horse.
Daylight is Dying
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The daylight is dying
Away in the west,
The wild birds are flying
in silence to rest;
The Geebung Polo Club
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Then the Captain of the Geebungs raised him slowly from the ground,
Though his wounds were mostly mortal, yet he fiercely gazed around;
There was no one to oppose him -- all the rest were in a trance,
So he scrambled on his pony for his last expiring chance,
For he meant to make an effort to get victory to his side;
So he struck at goal -- and missed it -- then he tumbled off and died.
A Bushman's Song
© Andrew Barton Paterson
IM travellin down the Castlereagh, and Im a station hand,
Im handy with the ropin pole, Im handy with the brand,
And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day,
But theres no demand for a station-hand along the Castlereagh. +
At the Melting of the Snow
© Andrew Barton Paterson
There's a sunny Southern land,
And it's there that I would be
Where the big hills stand,
In the South Countrie!
Conroy's Gap
© Andrew Barton Paterson
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!
The Pearl Diver
© Andrew Barton 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.
The Bushfire - an Allegory
© Andrew Barton Paterson
And the out-paddocks -- holy frost!
There wouldn't be no sense
For me to try and tell you half --
They really are immense;
A man might ride for days and weeks
And never strike a fence.
Jim Carew
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Gentleman Jiim on the cattle-camp,
Sitting his horse with an easy grace;
But the reckless living has left its stamp
In the deep drawn linies of that handsome face,
And the harder look in those eyes of blue:
Prompt at a quarrel is Jim Carew.
Out of Sight
© Andrew Barton Paterson
So out he went; and, when folk saw the amateur was up,
Some local genius called the race "the Dude-in-Danger Cup".
The horse was known as "Who's Afraid", by "Panic" from "The Fright" --
But still his owners told the jock he's finish out of sight.
Frogs in chorus
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The soaring spirits that fain would fly
On wings of hope to the starry sky
Must face the snarls of the jealous dogs,
For the world is ruled by its chorus frogs.
