(That "pal" as I've heard, is an elegant word, Derived from the Persian "Palaykhur" or "Pallaghur"), As the scapegoat strains and tugs at the reins The Rabbi yells rapidly, "Let her go, Gallagher!" From the southern slopes to the western pines They were noted men, were the two Devines. Along where Leichhardt journeyed slow And toiled and starved in vain; These rash excursionists must go Per Queensland railway train. Paul Kelly - The 23rd Psalm 2. . And the priest would join the laughter: "Oh," said he, "I put him in, For there's five-and-twenty sovereigns to be won. D'you know the place? A man once read with mind surprised Of the way that people were "hypnotised"; By waving hands you produced, forsooth, A kind of trance where men told the truth! They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head Was a thousand pounds reward. You have to be sure of your man Ere you wake up that nest-ful of hornets -- the little brown men of Japan. Well, well, 'tis sudden!These are the uses of the politician,A few brief sittings and another contest;He hardly gets to know th' billiard tablesBefore he's out . make room! I loudly cried, But right in front they seemed to ride I cursed them in my sleep. that's a sweet township -- a shindy To them is board, lodging, and sup. 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; We carved his name on a bloodwood tree With the date of his sad decease And in place of "Died from effects of spree" We wrote "May he rest in peace". It was written at a time when cycling was a relatively new and popular social activity. Who in the world would have thought it? Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins! His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. . `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!" This poem tells of a man who reacts badly to a practical joke sprung on him by a Sydney barber. . Missing a bursary tenable at the University, he entered a solicitors office, eventually qualified, and practised until 1900 in partnership with Mr. William Street, a brother of the former Chief Justice. Don't tell me he can ride. For years the fertile Western plains Were hid behind your sullen walls, Your cliffs and crags and waterfalls All weatherworn with tropic rains. But they settled it among 'em, for the story got about, 'Mongst the bushmen and the people on the course, That the Devil had been ordered to let Andy Regan out For the steeplechase on Father Riley's horse! Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson, CBE (17 February 1864- 5 February 1941) was an Australian bush poet, journalist and author. This tale tells of a rickety old horse that learned how to swim. 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. The Stockman 163. Your sins, without doubt, will aye find you out, And so will a scapegoat, he's bound to achieve it, But, die in the wilderness! How neatly we beguiledThe guileless Thompson. Nay, rather death!Death before picnic! One shriek from him burst -- "You creature accurst!" 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. Mulga Bill's Bicycle was written by Banjo Paterson in 1896. They saw the land that it was good, A land of fatness all untrod, And gave their silent thanks to God. Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. Beyond all denials The stars in their glories, The breeze in the myalls, Are part of these stories. He was a wonder, a raking bay -- One of the grand old Snowdon strain -- One of the sort that could race and stay With his mighty limbs and his length of rein. did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat? [1] The subject of the poem was James Tyson, who had died early that month. 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. More than a Poet. She loved this Ryan, or so they say, And passing by, while her eyes were dim With tears, she said in a careless way, "The Swagman's round in the stable, Jim." the land But yesterday was all unknown, The wild man's boomerang was thrown Where now great busy cities stand. And thy health and strength are beyond confessing As the only joys that are worth possessing. He neared his home as the east was bright. And how he did come! 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. When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, 'Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told. 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! Were sorry, this feature is currently unavailable. The Two Devines It was shearing time at the Myall Lake, And then rose the sound through the livelong day Of the constant clash that the shear-blades make Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. And surely the thoroughbred horses Will rise up again and begin Fresh faces on far-away courses, And p'raps they might let me slip in. To all devout Jews! So the Dutch let him go; but they watched him, as off from the Islands he ran, Doubting him much -- but what would you? No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. Reviewed by Michael Byrne Andrew Barton 'Banjo' Paterson was born on the 17th February, 1864 at Narambla, near Orange in New South Wales. In 1983 the late country-and-western singer Slim Dustys rendition became the first song to be broadcast to Earth by astronauts. "And there's nothing in the district that can race him for a step, He could canter while they're going at their top: He's the king of all the leppers that was ever seen to lep, A five-foot fence -- he'd clear it in a hop! "A hundred miles since the sun went down." "Well, you're back right sudden,"the super said; "Is the old man dead and the funeral done?" )What if it should be! 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. And I'm making home to mother -- and it's hard for me to die! Clancy would feature briefly in Patersons poem, The man from Snowy River, which was published by The Bulletin the next year. 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. (Ghost of Thompson appears to him suddenly. Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race. A Bushman's Song I'm travelling down the Castlereagh, and I'm a station-hand, I'm handy with the ropin' pole, I'm handy with the brand, Ure Smith. "But it's getting on to daylight and it's time to say goodbye, For the stars above the east are growing pale. Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. and he had fled! Banjo Paterson. 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. The refereecounts, 'One, two, three, eight, nine, ten, out! 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. 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 ." make room!" '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. . Unnumbered I told them In memories bright, But who could unfold them, Or read them aright? More recently, in 2008 world-famous Dutch violinist Andre Rieu played the tune to a singing Melbourne audience of more than 38,000 people. Owner say'st thou?The owner does the paying, and the talk;Hears the tale afterwards when it gets beatAnd sucks it in as hungry babes suck milk.Look you how ride the books in motor carsWhile owners go on foot, or ride in trams,Crushed with the vulgar herd and doomed to hearFrom mouths of striplings that their horse was stiff,When they themselves are broke from backing it.SCENE IIIEnter an Owner and a JockeyOWNER: 'Tis a good horse. T.Y.S.O.N. The native grasses, tall as grain, Bowed, waved and rippled in the breeze; From boughs of blossom-laden trees The parrots answered back again. And the poor of Kiley's Crossing drank the health at Christmastide Of the chestnut and his rider dressed in green. the last fence, and he's over it! On this day: Banjo Paterson was born . and his spurs like a pair of harpoons; Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course. Clancy of the Overflow is a poem by Banjo Paterson, first published in The Bulletin, an Australian news magazine, on 21 December 1889. And over the tumult and louder Rang "Any price Pardon, I lay!" I'll bet half-a-crown on you." Is Thompson out?VOTER: My lord, his name is mud. 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. The Bushfire - An Allegory 161. 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! Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. And it's what's the need of schoolin' or of workin' on the track, Whin the saints are there to guide him round the course! The poem highlighted his good points and eccentricities. Three miles in three heats: -- Ah, my sonny, The horses in those days were stout, They had to run well to win money; I don't see such horses about. )There's blood upon thy face.VOTER: 'Tis Thompsons's, then.MACBREATH: Is he thrown out? In the meantime much of his verse was published in book form. "Stand," was the cry, "every man to his gun. A dreadful scourge that lies in wait -- The Longreach Horehound Beer! I have it coldStraight from the owner, that Golumpus goesEyes out to win today.FIRST HEAD: Prate not to me of owners. 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. the whole clan, they raced and they ran, And Abraham proved him an "even time" man, But the goat -- now a speck they could scarce keep their eyes on -- Stretched out in his stride in a style most surprisin' And vanished ere long o'er the distant horizon. Loafing once beside the river, while he thought his heart would break, There he saw a big goanna fighting with a tiger-snake, In and out they rolled and wriggled, bit each other, heart and soul, Till the valiant old goanna swallowed his opponent whole. And when they prove it beyond mistake That the world took millions of years to make, And never was built by the seventh day I say in a pained and insulted way that 'Thomas also presumed to doubt', And thus do I rub my opponents out. The poem is typical of Paterson, offering a romantic view of rural life, and is one of his best-known works. (Ghost disappears. (Banjo) Paterson A. 'Tis needless to say, though it reeked of barbarity This scapegoat arrangement gained great popularity. 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. (To Punter): Aye marry Sir, I think well of the Favourite.PUNTER: And yet I have a billiard marker's wordThat in this race to-day they back Golumpus,And when they bet, they tell me, they will knockThe Favourite for a string of German Sausage.SHORTINBRAS: Aye, marry, they would tell thee, I've no doubt,It is the way of owners that they tellTo billiard markers and the men on tramsJust when they mean to bet.