'Twill sometimes chance when a patient's ill That a doae, or draught, or a lightning pill, A little too strong or a little too hot, Will work its way to a vital spot. 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. And the scientific person hurried off with utmost speed, Tested Johnsons drug and found it was a deadly poison-weed; Half a tumbler killed an emu, half a spoonful killed a goat, All the snakes on earth were harmless to that awful antidote. 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 Pledge!MACBREATH: I say I never signed the gory pledge. And yet, not always sad and hard; In cheerful mood and light of heart He told the tale of Britomarte, And wrote the Rhyme of Joyous Garde. (Ghost of Thompson appears to him suddenly. The wild thrush lifts a note of mirth; The bronzewing pigeons call and coo Beside their nests the long day through; The magpie warbles clear and strong A joyous, glad, thanksgiving song, For all God's mercies upon earth. we're going on a long job now. And that was the end of this small romance, The end of the story of Conroy's Gap. 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 they're racing in earnest -- and down goes Recruit on his head, Rolling clean over his boy -- it's a miracle if he ain't dead. Well, now, I can hardly believe! "Now, it's listen, Father Riley, to the words I've got to say, For it's close upon my death I am tonight. No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. Video PDF When I'm Gone Then Gilbert reached for his rifle true That close at hand he kept; He pointed straight at the voice, and drew, But never a flash outleapt, For the water ran from the rifle breech -- It was drenched while the outlaws slept. 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! Some have even made it into outer space. (Banjo) Paterson. Is Thompson out?VOTER: My lord, his name is mud. 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. on Mar 14 2005 06:57 PM PST x edit . They bred him out back on the "Never", His mother was Mameluke breed. Banjo published this mischievous tale of a young lad who doesnt want to be christened and ends up being named after a whisky in The Bulletin in 1893. At the Turon the Yattendon filly Led by lengths at the mile-and-a-half, And we all began to look silly, While her crowd were starting to laugh; But the old horse came faster and faster, His pluck told its tale, and his strength, He gained on her, caught her, and passed her, And won it, hands down, by a length. Rataplan never will catch him if only he keeps on his pins; Now! . One is away on the roving quest, Seeking his share of the golden spoil; Out in the wastes of the trackless west, Wandering ever he gives the best Of his years and strength to the hopeless toil. "On came the Saxons thenFighting our Fenian men,Soon they'll reel back from our piked volunteers.Loud was the fight and shrill,Wexford and Vinegar Hill,Three cheers for Father Murphy and the bold cavaliers.I dreamt that I saw our gallant commanderSeated on his charger in gorgeous array.He wore green trimmed with gold and a bright shining sabreOn which sunbeams of Liberty shone brightly that day. And over the tumult and louder Rang "Any price Pardon, I lay!" 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. 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. And their grandsire gave them a greeting bold: "Come in and rest in peace, No safer place does the country hold -- With the night pursuit must cease, And we'll drink success to the roving boys, And to hell with the black police." A B Banjo Paterson Follow. In very short order they got plenty word of him. When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, 'Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told. Here his eyes opened wide, for close by his side Was the scapegoat: And eating his latest advertisement! "But it's getting on to daylight and it's time to say goodbye, For the stars above the east are growing pale. Don't tell me he can ride. 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. I back Pardon!" 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. A shimmer of silk in the cedars As into the running they wheeled, And out flashed the whips on the leaders, For Pardon had collared the field. But here the old Rabbi brought up a suggestion. "We will show the boss how a shear-blade shines When we reach those ewes," said the two Devines. It was published in 1896 in the Australasian Pastoralists Review (1913-1977) and also in Patersons book Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other Verses. 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! 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. . 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. . An Emu Hunt 160. On Banjo Patersons 150th birthday anniversary, here are his best ballads. "The Man from Snowy River" is a poem by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson. "Yes, I'm making home to mother's, and I'll die o' Tuesday next An' be buried on the Thursday -- and, of course, I'm prepared to meet my penance, but with one thing I'm perplexed And it's -- Father, it's this jewel of a 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. A vision!Thou canst not say I did it! (We haven't his name -- whether Cohen or Harris, he No doubt was the "poisonest" kind of Pharisee.) (Kills him)Enter defeated Owner and Jockey.OWNER: Thou whoreson Knave: thou went into a tranceSoon as the barrier lifted and knew naughtOf what occurred until they neared the post. 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. We cannot love the restless sea, That rolls and tosses to and fro Like some fierce creature in its glee; For human weal or human woe It has no touch of sympathy. 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. Lord! Some of his best-known poems are 'Clancy of the Overflow' and 'Waltzing Matilda.'. * * * * So may it be! Go back it, back it! With the troopers hard behind me I've been hiding all the day In the gullies keeping close and out of sight. It will cure delirium tremens, when the patients eyeballs stare At imaginary spiders, snakes which really are not there. Macbreath is struck on the back of the headby some blue metal from Pennant Hills Quarry. I Bought a Record and Tape called "Pioneers" by "Wallis and Matilda" a tribute to A.B. 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. 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 . Spoken too low for the trooper's ear, Why should she care if he heard or not? Dustjacket synopsis: "The poetry selected for this collection reveals Paterson's love and appreciation for the Australina bush and its people. There are folk long dead, and our hearts would sicken-- We should grieve for them with a bitter pain; If the past could live and the dead could quicken, We then might turn to that life again. Geebung is the indigenous name for a tough fruiting shrub (Persoonia sp.). It contains not only widely published and quoted poems such as "On Kiley's Run . Evens the field!" I loudly cried, But right in front they seemed to ride - I cursed them in my sleep. Grey are the plains where the emus pass Silent and slow, with their dead demeanour; Over the dead man's graves the grass Maybe is waving a trifle greener. Those British pioneers Had best at home abide, For things have changed in fifty years Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. 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. May the days to come be as rich in blessing As the days we spent in the auld lang syne. In fact I should think he was one of their weediest: 'Tis a rule that obtains, no matter who reigns, When making a sacrifice, offer the seediest; Which accounts for a theory known to my hearers Who live in the wild by the wattle beguiled, That a "stag" makes quite good enough mutton for shearers. And loud from every squatter's door Each pioneering swell Will hear the wild pianos roar The strains of "Daisy Bell". Listen awhile till I show you round. With downcast head, and sorrowful tread, The people came back from the desert in dread. Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race. Bookmakers call: 'Seven to Four on the Field! (Banjo) Paterson. To all devout Jews! Down in the world where men toil and spin Dame Nature smiles as man's hand has taught her; Only the dead men her smiles can win In the great lone land by the Grey Gulf-water. Born and bred on the mountain side, He could race through scrub like a kangaroo; The girl herself on his back might ride, And The Swagman would carry her safely through. I'll bet half-a-crown on you." by Banjo Paterson, From book: Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other . They are flying west, by their instinct guided, And for man likewise is his rate decided, And griefs apportioned and joys divided By a mightly power with a purpose dread. Will you fetch your dog and try it? Johnson rather thought he would. What meant he by his prateOf Fav'rite and outsider and the like?Forsooth he told us nothing. Ah, yes! Down in the ooze and the coral, down where earth's wonders are spread, Helmeted, ghastly, and swollen, Kanzo Makame lies dead. Their rifles stood at the stretcher head, Their bridles lay to hand; They wakened the old man out of his bed, When they heard the sharp command: "In the name of the Queen lay down your arms, Now, Dun and Gilbert, stand!" Think of all the foreign nations, negro, chow, and blackamoor, Saved from sudden expiration, by my wondrous snakebite cure. A.B. [Editor: This poem by "Banjo" Patersonwas published in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, 1895; previously published in The Bulletin, 24 December 1892.] An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead. He's hurrying, too! 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. So his Rev'rence in pyjamas trotted softly to the gate And admitted Andy Regan -- and a horse! There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died, And they wondered who on earth he could have been. Roll up to the Hall!! Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp, Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly stamp; Where the station-cook in terror, nearly every time he bakes, Mixes up among the doughboys half-a-dozen poison-snakes: Where the wily free-selector walks in armour-plated pants, And defies the stings of scorpions, and the bites of bull-dog ants: Where the adder and the viper tear each other by the throat, There it was that William Johnson sought his snake-bite antidote. But he laughed as he lifted his pistol-hand, And he fired at the rifle-flash. Rataplan's certain to beat you, unless you can give him the slip, Sit down and rub in the whalebone -- now give him the spurs and the whip! 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. and he had fled! Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! For things have changed on Cooper's Creek Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. make room!" From the southern slopes to the western pines They were noted men, were the two Devines. . Behind the great impersonal 'We' I hold the power of the Mystic Three. don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall. 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. 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. But on his ribs the whalebone stung, A madness it did seem! It follows a mountainous horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prize-winning racehorse living with brumbies. 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 I'll bet my cash on Father Riley's horse!" They're off and away with a rattle, Like dogs from the leashes let slip, And right at the back of the battle He followed them under the whip. Paterson's . "You can talk about your riders -- and the horse has not been schooled, And the fences is terrific, and the rest! Can tell you how Gilbert died. His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. Enter a Messenger. 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. `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. Shall we see the flats grow golden with the ripening of the grain? 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 Bushman's Song. By subscribing you become an AG Society member, helping us to raise funds for conservation and adventure projects. 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! Another search for Leichhardt's tomb, Though fifty years have fled Since Leichhardt vanished in the gloom, Our one Illustrious Dead! 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. "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! And the lashin's of the liquor! Thus it came to pass that Johnson, having got the tale by rote, Followed every stray goanna, seeking for the antidote. . 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. Langston Hughes (100 poem) 1 February 1902 - 22 May 1967. * * Well, sir, you rode him just perfect -- I knew from the fust you could ride. A thirty-foot leap, I declare -- Never a shift in his seat, and he's racing for home like a hare. make room! I loudly cried, But right in front they seemed to ride I cursed them in my sleep. Didst not sayTo back Golumpus or the Favourite!SHORTINBRAS: Get work! `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 trooper stood at the stable door While Ryan went in quite cool and slow, And then (the trick had been played before) The girl outside gave the wall a blow. For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn. So off they went, And as soon as ever they turned their backs The girl slipped down, on some errand bent Behind the stable and seized an axe. Then loud rose the war-cry for Pardon; He swept like the wind down the dip, And over the rise by the garden The jockey was done with the whip. The Last Straw "A preacher I, and I take my stand In pulpit decked with gown and band To point the way to a better land. "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." But it's harder still, is keeping out of gaol! When courts are sitting and work is flush I hurry about in a frantic rush. Great Stuff. Later, young Paterson was sent to Sydney Grammar School. . It is hard to keep sight on him, The sins of the Israelites ride mighty light on him. Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson, CBE (17 February 1864- 5 February 1941) was an Australian bush poet, journalist and author. It's a wayside inn, A low grog-shanty -- a bushman trap, Hiding away in its shame and sin Under the shelter of Conroy's Gap -- Under the shade of that frowning range The roughest crowd that ever drew breath -- Thieves and rowdies, uncouth and strange, Were mustered round at the "Shadow of Death". The bill-sticker's pail told a sorrowful tale, The scapegoat had licked it as dry as a nail; He raced through their houses, and frightened their spouses, But his latest achievement most anger arouses, For while they were searching, and scratching their craniums, One little Ben Ourbed, who looked in the flow'r-bed, Discovered him eating the Rabbi's geraniums. That being a Gentile's no mark of gentility, And, according to Samuel, would certainly d--n you well. Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. And I'm making home to mother -- and it's hard for me to die! Jack Thompson: The Sentimental Bloke, The Poems of C . 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. "Come from your prison, Bourke,We Irishmen have done our work,God has been with us, and old Ireland is free. But Gilbert wakes while the night is dark -- A restless sleeper aye. So the Dutch let him go; but they watched him, as off from the Islands he ran, Doubting him much -- but what would you? To the front -- and then stay there - was ever The root of the Mameluke creed. One is away on the far Barcoo Watching his cattle the long year through, Watching them starve in the droughts and die. 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.
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