banjo paterson funeral poem

Thus ended a wasted life and hard, Of energies misapplied -- Old Bob was out of the "swagman's yard" And over the Great Divide. 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; A great grey chaos -- a land half made, Where endless space is and no life stirreth; There the soul of a man will recoil afraid From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth. A new look at the oldest-known evidence of life, which is said to be in Western Australia, suggests the evidence might not be what its thought to have been. `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.' Down along the Mooki River, on the overlanders camp, Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly stamp, Wanders, daily, William Johnson, down among those poisonous hordes, Shooting every stray goanna, calls them black and yaller frauds. But the loss means ruin too you, maybe, But nevertheless I must have my fee! Nay, rather death!Death before picnic! First published in The Sydney Morning Herald on February 6, 1941. "Who'll bet on the field? )PUNTER: Nay, good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of Golumpus?Was it not dead last week?SHORTINBRAS: Marry, sir, I think well of Golumpus. Now this was what Macpherson told While waiting in the stand; A reckless rider, over-bold, The only man with hands to hold The rushing Rio Grande. For us the bush is never sad: Its myriad voices whisper low, In tones the bushmen only know, Its sympathy and welcome glad. Him goin' to ride for us! * * Yessir! It would look rather well the race-card on 'Mongst Cherubs and Seraphs and things, "Angel Harrison's black gelding Pardon, Blue halo, white body and wings." Breathless, Johnson sat and watched him, saw him struggle up the bank, Saw him nibbling at the branches of some bushes, green and rank; Saw him, happy and contented, lick his lips, as off he crept, While the bulging in his stomach showed where his opponent slept. Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. [Editor: This poem by "Banjo" Patersonwas published in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, 1895; previously published in The Bulletin, 15 December 1894.] With downcast head, and sorrowful tread, The people came back from the desert in dread. 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. It don't seem to trouble the swell. 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. `And one man on a big grey steed Rode up and waved his hand; Said he, "We help a friend in need, And we have come to give a lead To you and Rio Grande. 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. 'Twas done without reason, for leaving the seasonNo squatter could stand such a rub;For it's useless to squat when the rents are so hotThat one can't save the price of one's grub;And there's not much to choose 'twixt the banks and the JewsOnce a fellow gets put up a tree;No odds what I feel, there's no court of appeal For a broken-down squatter like me. Then he dropped the piece with a bitter oath, And he turned to his comrade Dunn: "We are sold," he said, "we are dead men both! And loud from every squatter's door Each pioneering swell Will hear the wild pianos roar The strains of "Daisy Bell". After all our confessions, so openly granted, He's taking our sins back to where they're not wanted. "A land where dull Despair is king O'er scentless flowers and songless bird!" It was not much, you say, that these Should win their way where none withstood; In sooth there was not much of blood -- No war was fought between the seas. I back Pardon!" Rio Grandes Last Race sold over 100,000 copies, and The Man from Snowy River and Clancy of the Overflow, were equally successful. 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. But when he has gone with his fleeting breath I certify that the cause of death Was something Latin, and something long, And who is to say that the doctor's wrong! (Banjo) Paterson. And down along the Monaro now they're starting out to shear, I can picture the excitement and the row; But they'll miss me on the Lachlan when they call the roll this year, For we're going on a long job now. `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. I loudly cried, But right in front they seemed to ride - I cursed them in my sleep. With gladness we thought of the morrow, We counted our wages with glee, A simile homely to borrow -- "There was plenty of milk in our tea." It will bring me fame and fortune! 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 . An Emu Hunt 160. Think of all the foreign nations, negro, chow, and blackamoor, Saved from sudden expiration, by my wondrous snakebite cure. 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. One, in the town where all cares are rife, Weary with troubles that cramp and kill, Fain would be done with the restless strife, Fain would go back to the old bush life, Back to the shadow of Kiley's Hill. 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. Credit:Australian War Memorial. With his pants just as loose as balloons, How can he sit on a horse? . A Change of Menu. At length the hardy pioneers By rock and crag found out the way, And woke with voices of today A silence kept for years and tears. On this day: Banjo Paterson was born Were sorry, this feature is currently unavailable. 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. [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. 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. During an inland flash flood, he saves his masters son. 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. 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. Oh, good, that's the style -- come away! the last fence, and he's over it! Kanzo was king of his lugger, master and diver in one, Diving wherever it pleased him, taking instructions from none; Hither and thither he wandered, steering by stars and by sun. "Run, Abraham, run! As participation in freediving reaches new levels, we look at whats driving the sports growing popularity. * They are shearing ewes at the Myall Lake, And the shed is merry the livelong day With the clashing sound that the shear-blades make When the fastest shearers are making play; And a couple of "hundred and ninety-nines" Are the tallies made by the two Devines. There he divided the junior Knox Prize with another student. I dreamt last night I rode this race That I today must ride, And cantering down to take my place I saw full many an old friends face Come stealing to my side. His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. Banjo Paterson Poems 151. Sit down and ride for your life now! 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. We still had a chance for the money, Two heats remained to be run: If both fell to us -- why, my sonny, The clever division were done. Ure Smith. Santa Claus In The Bush 156. A Ballad of Ducks. Our chiefest singer yet has sung In wild, sweet notes a passing strain, All carelessly and sadly flung To that dull world he thought so vain. For the strength of man is an insect's strength In the face of that mighty plain and river, And the life of a man is a moment's length To the life of the stream that will run for ever. 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. B. Unnoticed and undenied; But the smallest child on the Watershed. The race is run and Shortinbras enters,leading in the winner.FIRST PUNTER: And thou hast trained the winner, thou thyself,Thou complicated liar. By subscribing you become an AG Society member, helping us to raise funds for conservation and adventure projects. O ye wild black swans, 'twere a world of wonder For a while to join in your westward flight, With the stars above and the dim earth under, Trough the cooling air of the glorious night. It follows a mountainous horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prize-winning racehorse living with brumbies. "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. He had sold them both to the black police For the sake of the big reward.