A Tragedy as Played at Ryde**Macbreath Mr HenleyMacpuff Mr TerryThe GhostACT ITIME: The day before the electionSCENE: A Drummoyne tram running past a lunatic asylum.All present are Reform Leaguers and supporters of Macbreath.They seat themselves in the compartment.MACBREATH: Here, I'll sit in the midst.Be large in mirth. To all devout Jews! that's a sweet township -- a shindy To them is board, lodging, and sup. The Jews were so glad when old Pharaoh was "had" That they sounded their timbrels and capered like mad. 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. For faster horses might well be found On racing tracks, or a plain's extent, But few, if any, on broken ground Could see the way that The Swagman went. Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. 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. And lo, a miracle! And how he did come! (Sings)They pulled him barefaced in the mile,Hey, Nonny, Nonny.The Stipes were watching them all the while;And the losers swear, but the winners smile,Hey, Nonny, Nonny.Exit Shortinbras.SECOND RUNTER: A scurvy knave! Poems by Banjo Paterson about Death - keytopoetry.com A beautiful new edition of the complete poems of A. 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. There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died, And they wondered who on earth he could have been. Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins! Review of The Bush Poems of A. But maybe you're only a Johnnie And don't know a horse from a hoe? Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. `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. 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. . Popular Poets & Member Poets - Poem Hunter Poets An Emu Hunt 160. Unnumbered I hold them In memories bright, But who could unfold them, Or read them aright? Embossed with Australian Animals, these premium notebooks are perfect for Back To School. those days they have fled for ever, They are like the swans that have swept from sight. Don't you believe it. but we who know The strange capricious land they trod -- At times a stricken, parching sod, At times with raging floods beset -- Through which they found their lonely way Are quite content that you should say It was not much, while we can feel That nothing in the ages old, In song or story written yet On Grecian urn or Roman arch, Though it should ring with clash of steel, Could braver histories unfold Than this bush story, yet untold -- The story of their westward march. B. 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. Can tell you how Gilbert died. there's the wail of a dingo,Watchful and weirdI must go,For it tolls the death-knell of the stockmanFrom the gloom of the scrub down below. Nay, rather death!Death before picnic! 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. isn't Abraham forcing the pace -- And don't the goat spiel? 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." For us the roving breezes bring From many a blossum-tufted tree -- Where wild bees murmur dreamily -- The honey-laden breath of Spring. For the lawyer laughs in his cruel sport While his clients march to the Bankrupt Court." Poets. Make miniature mechanised minions with teeny tiny tools! were grand. Dustjacket synopsis: "The poetry selected for this collection reveals Paterson's love and appreciation for the Australina bush and its people. )Leaguers all,Mine own especial comrades of Reform,All amateurs and no professionals,So many worthy candidates I see,Alas that there are only ninety seats.Still, let us take them all, and Joe Carruthers,Ashton, and Jimmy Hogue, and all the rest,Will have to look for work! Inicio; Servicios. And some have said that Nature's face To us is always sad; but these Have never felt the smiling grace Of waving grass and forest trees On sunlit plains as wide as seas. I'll bet half-a-crown on you." 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. Behind the great impersonal 'We' I hold the power of the Mystic Three. A B Banjo Paterson 1864-1941 Ranked #79 in the top 500 poets Andrew Barton Paterson was born on the 17th February 1864 in the township of Narambla, New South Wales. Paul Kelly - The 23rd Psalm 2. . `"But when you reach the big stone wall, Put down your bridle hand And let him sail - he cannot fall - But don't you interfere at all; You trust old Rio Grande." Run for some other seat,Let the woods hide thee. 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! `I dreamt last night I rode this race That I to-day must ride, And cant'ring down to take my place I saw full many an old friend's face Come stealing to my side. 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." Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. Wives, children and all, For naught the most delicate feelings to hurt is meant!!" A strapping young stockman lay dying,His saddle supporting his head;His two mates around him were crying, As he rose on his pillow and said:"Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket,And bury me deep down below,Where the dingoes and crows can't molest me,In the shade where the coolibahs grow."Oh! 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. (Voter approaches the door. and this poem is great!!!! Those British pioneers Had best at home abide, For things have changed in fifty years Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. . Fall! As a Funeral Celebrant, I have created this HUGE collection of poems and readings - see FUNERAL POEMS & READINGS - INDEX. But they never started training till the sun was on the course For a superstitious story kept 'em back, That the ghost of Andy Regan on a slashing chestnut horse, Had been training by the starlight on the track. He gave the infant kisses twain, One on the breast, one on the brain. The drought came down on the field and flock, And never a raindrop fell, Though the tortured moans of the starving stock Might soften a fiend from hell. Beyond all denials The stars in their glories The breeze in the myalls Are part of these stories. "I'm into the swagman's yard," he said. Clancy Of The Overflow by Banjo Paterson - Greatest Poems It will cure delirium tremens, when the patients eyeballs stare At imaginary spiders, snakes which really are not there. But on his ribs the whalebone stung A madness, sure, it seemed And soon it rose on every tongue That Jack Macpherson rode among The creatures he had dreamed. And soon it rose on every tongue That Jack Macpherson rode among The creatures of his dream. 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. `"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. 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 ." Paterson's . Meanwhile, the urge to write had triumphed over the tedium of waiting for clients, the immediate fruit being a pamphlet entitled, Australia for the Australians. It was rather terrible. Sure he'll jump them fences easy -- you must never raise the whip Or he'll rush 'em! 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. We've come all this distance salvation to win agog, If he takes home our sins, it'll burst up the Synagogue!" Lonely and sadly one night in NovemberI laid down my weary head in search of reposeOn my wallet of straw, which I long shall remember,Tired and weary I fell into a doze.Tired from working hardDown in the labour yard,Night brought relief to my sad, aching brain.Locked in my prison cell,Surely an earthly hell,I fell asleep and began for to dream.I dreamt that I stood on the green fields of Erin,In joyous meditation that victory was won.Surrounded by comrades, no enemy fearing. . 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. Without these, indeed you Would find it ere long, As though I should read you The words of a song That lamely would linger When lacking the rune, The voice of a singer, The lilt of the tune. Fell at that wall once, he did, and it gave him a regular spread, Ever since that time he flies it -- he'll stop if you pull at his head, Just let him race -- you can trust him -- he'll take first-class care he don't fall, And I think that's the lot -- but remember, he must have his head at the wall. Thinkest thou that both are dead?Re-enter PuntersPUNTER: Good morrow, Gentlemen. Alas! 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. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. * Oh, the steeple was a caution! 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. Their horses were good uns and fit uns, There was plenty of cash in the town; They backed their own horses like Britons, And, Lord! Its based on a letter Paterson received from Thomas Gerald Clancy which he replied to, only to receive the reply: Clancys gone to Queensland droving and we dont know where he are. In the meantime much of his verse was published in book form. These volumes met with great success. Ride! And then, to crown this tale of guilt, They'll find some scurvy knave, Regardless of their quest, has built A pub on Leichhardt's grave! Rash men, that know not what they seek, Will find their courage tried. When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, 'Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told. 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 . make room!" Andrew Barton Paterson was born on the 17th February 1864 in the township of Narambla, New South Wales. And up went my hat in the air! 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. The scapegoat he snorted, and wildly cavorted, A light-hearted antelope "out on the ramp", Then stopped, looked around, got the "lay of the ground", And made a beeline back again to the camp. This sentimental work about a drover selling his faithful horse and reminiscing about their days on the land still speaks to people as mechanised transport and the cost of maintaining stock routes sees the very last of the drovers disappearing. [1] Kind deeds of sterling worth. For forty long years, 'midst perils and fears In deserts with never a famine to follow by, The Israelite horde went roaming abroad Like so many sundowners "out on the wallaby". This tale tells of a rickety old horse that learned how to swim. 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. Did thou catch the last?SECOND HEAD: Aye, marry did I, and the one before,But this has got me beat. the last fence, and he's over it! What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay! And his wife got round, and an oath he passed, So long as he or one of his breed Could raise a coin, though it took their last, The Swagman never should want a feed. 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. This is the place where they all were bred; Some of the rafters are standing still; Now they are scattered and lost and dead, Every one from the old nest fled, Out of the shadow of Kiley's Hill. And he ran from the spot like one fearing the worst. Sure the plan ought to suit yer. He had sold them both to the black police For the sake of the big reward. Clancy would feature briefly in Patersons poem, The man from Snowy River, which was published by The Bulletin the next year. Lawson almost always wrote as one who travelled afoot - Paterson as one who saw plain and bush from the back of a galloping horse. When Moses, who led 'em, and taught 'em, and fed 'em, Was dying, he murmured, "A rorty old hoss you are: I give you command of the whole of the band" -- And handed the Government over to Joshua. 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. But the shearers knew that they's make a cheque When they came to deal with the station ewes; They were bare of belly and bare of neck With a fleece as light as a kangaroo's. "Dress no have got and no helmet -- diver go shore on the spree; Plenty wind come and break rudder -- lugger get blown out to sea: Take me to Japanee Consul, he help a poor Japanee!" 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. For us the bush is never sad: Its myriad voices whisper low, In tones the bushmen only know, Its sympathy and welcome glad. He seemed to inherit their wiry Strong frames -- and their pluck to receive -- As hard as a flint and as fiery Was Pardon, the son of Reprieve. A B Banjo Paterson Follow. 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. And watched in their sleeping By stars in the height, They rest in your keeping, Oh, wonderful night. We have all of us read how the Israelites fled From Egypt with Pharaoh in eager pursuit of 'em, And Pharaoh's fierce troop were all put "in the soup" When the waters rolled softly o'er every galoot of 'em. Of Scottish descent on his father's side,. you're all right, sir, and thank you; and them was the words that I said. 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. But here the old Rabbi brought up a suggestion. An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead. But he laughed as he lifted his pistol-hand, And he fired at the rifle-flash. But they're watching all the ranges till there's not a bird could fly, And I'm fairly worn to pieces with the strife, So I'm taking no more trouble, but I'm going home to die, 'Tis the only way I see to save my life. And then we swooped down on Menindie To run for the President's Cup; Oh! Banjo Paterson. ')MACPUFF: Kind voters all, and worthy gentlemen,Who rallied to my flag today, and made meMember for Thompson, from my soul I thank you.There needs no trumpet blast, for I can blowLike any trombone. `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.' 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. 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." Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. 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. Come, Stumpy, old man, we must shift while we can;All our mates in the paddock are dead.Let us wave our farewells to Glen Eva's sweet dellsAnd the hills where your lordship was bred;Together to roam from our drought-stricken homeIt seems hard that such things have to be,And its hard on a "hogs" when he's nought for a bossBut a broken-down squatter like me!For the banks are all broken, they say,And the merchants are all up a tree.When the bigwigs are brought to the Bankruptcy Court,What chance for a squatter like me.No more shall we muster the river for fats,Or spiel on the Fifteen-mile plain,Or rip through the scrub by the light of the moon,Or see the old stockyard again.Leave the slip-panels down, it won't matter much now,There are none but the crows left to see,Perching gaunt in yon pine, as though longing to dineOn a broken-down squatter like me.When the country was cursed with the drought at its worst,And the cattle were dying in scores,Though down on my luck, I kept up my pluck,Thinking justice might temper the laws.But the farce has been played, and the Government aidAin't extended to squatters, old son;When my dollars were spent they doubled the rent,And resumed the best half of the run. 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 . Listen awhile till I show you round. These are the risks of the pearling -- these are the ways of Japan; "Plenty more Japanee diver plenty more little brown man!". Ah! The Ballad Of The Carpet Bag 152. 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. And Kate Carew, when her father died, She kept the horse and she kept him well; The pride of the district far and wide, He lived in style at the bush hotel. The meaning of various words within the poem are given in the "Editor's notes" section at the end.] For Bob was known on the Overland, A regular old bush wag, Tramping along in the dust and sand, Humping his well-worn swag. 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! 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! Then out of the shadows the troopers aimed At his voice and the pistol sound. Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! . . The Sphinx is a-watching, the Pyramids will frown on you, From those granite tops forty cent'ries look down on you -- Run, Abraham, run! The poem highlighted his good points and eccentricities. During an inland flash flood, he saves his masters son. Good for the new chum! For years the fertile Western plains Were hid behind your sullen walls, Your cliffs and crags and waterfalls All weatherworn with tropic rains. Gone is the garden they kept with care; Left to decay at its own sweet will, Fruit trees and flower-beds eaten bare, Cattle and sheep where the roses were, Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill. It contains not only widely published and quoted poems such as "On Kiley's Run . Second time round, and, by Jingo! 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. So Abraham ran, like a man did he go for him, But the goat made it clear each time he drew near That he had what the racing men call "too much toe" for him. Video PDF To Those Whom I love & Those Who Love Me Beautiful remembrance poem, ideal for a funeral reading or eulogy. It was not much! Never heard of the honour and glory Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve? The Winds Message 162. make room! I loudly cried, But right in front they seemed to ride I cursed them in my sleep. There are quite a few . And the poor of Kiley's Crossing drank the health at Christmastide Of the chestnut and his rider dressed in green. 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. Banjo Paterson Complete Poems by A.B. Paterson - Goodreads (The ghost of Thompson disappears, and Macbreath revives himselfwith a great effort. Clancy of the Overflow was inspired by an experience Banjo Paterson had while he was working as a lawyer. With dragging footsteps and downcast head The hypnotiser went home to bed, And since that very successful test He has given the magic art a rest; Had he tried the ladies, and worked it right, What curious tales might have come to light! Paterson was in South Africa as correspondent of The Sydney Morning Herald during the Boer War, and in China during the Boxer Rebellion. Free shipping for many products! Oh, the shouting and the cheering as he rattled past the post! 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. Banjo Paterson is one of Australia's best-loved poets and his verse is among Australia's enduring traditions. If Pardon don't spiel like tarnation And win the next heat -- if he can -- He'll earn a disqualification; Just think over that now, my man!" 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. 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. 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. 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. The breeze came in with the scent of pine, The river sounded clear, When a change came on, and we saw the sign That told us the end was near. Macbreath is struck on the back of the headby some blue metal from Pennant Hills Quarry. His chances seemed slight to embolden Our hearts; but, with teeth firmly set, We thought, "Now or never! Langston Hughes (100 poem) 1 February 1902 - 22 May 1967. * * * * * * * 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. don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall. And took to drink, and by some good chance Was killed -- thrown out of a stolen trap. 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.