They went tearin' round and round, And the fences rang and rattled where they struck. LEGAL INNOVATION | Tu Agente Digitalizador; LEGAL3 | Gestin Definitiva de Despachos; LEGAL GOV | Gestin Avanzada Sector Pblico 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. 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. Is Thompson out?VOTER: My lord, his name is mud. To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; "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!" It is hard to keep sight on him, The sins of the Israelites ride mighty light on him. Paterson's . We got to the course with our troubles, A crestfallen couple were we; And we heard the " books" calling the doubles -- A roar like the surf of the sea. Billy Barlow In Australia "A hundred miles since the sun went down." No use; all the money was gone. ')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. Here it is, the Grand Elixir, greatest blessing ever known, Twenty thousand men in India die each year of snakes alone. Within our streets men cry for bread In cities built but yesterday. (Alarums and Harbour excursions; enter Macpuffat the head of a Picnic Party. 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. Paterson wrote this sad ballad about war-weary horses after working as a correspondent during the Boer War in South Africa. the 'orse is all ready -- I wish you'd have rode him before; Nothing like knowing your 'orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore; Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun -- Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun. You can ride the old horse over to my grave across the dip Where the wattle bloom is waving overhead. No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. Joe Nagasaki, the "tender", finding the profits grow small, Said, "Let us go to the Islands, try for a number one haul! Kanzo Makame, the diver, failing to quite understand, Pulled the "haul up" on the life-line, found it was slack in his hand; Then, like a little brown stoic, lay down and died on the sand. Clancy of the Overflow was inspired by an experience Banjo Paterson had while he was working as a lawyer. The waving of grasses, The song of the river That sings as it passes For ever and ever, The hobble-chains' rattle, The calling of birds, The lowing of cattle Must blend with the words. 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. But maybe you're only a Johnnie And don't know a horse from a hoe? " T.Y.S.O.N. 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! In 1903 Mr. Paterson married Miss Alice Walker, a daughter of the late Mr. W. H. Walker, formerly of Tenterfield, a relative of Mr. Thomas Walker of Yaralla. (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. Our willing workmen, strong and skilled, Within our cities idle stand, And cry aloud for leave to toil. Then, shedding his coat, he approaches the goat And, while a red fillet he carefully pins on him, Confesses the whole of the Israelites' sins on him. . 'Tis needless to say, though it reeked of barbarity This scapegoat arrangement gained great popularity. But the lumbering Dutch in their gunboats they hunted the divers away. A poor little child knocked out stiff in the gutter Proclaimed that the scapegoat was bred for a "butter". * * * * So may it be! `He never flinched, he faced it game, He struck it with his chest, And every stone burst out in flame, And Rio Grande and I became As phantoms with the rest. 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. He would camp for days in the river-bed, And loiter and "fish for whales". 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. The first heat was soon set a-going; The Dancer went off to the front; The Don on his quarters was showing, With Pardon right out of the hunt. But old Dame Nature, though scornful, craves Her dole of death and her share of slaughter; Many indeed are the nameless graves Where her victims sleep by the Grey Gulf-water. 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. And I am sure as man can be That out upon the track Those phantoms that men cannot see Are waiting now to ride with me; And I shall not come back. 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. He focused on the outback and what rural life was like for the communities who lived there. '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, Till the priest at Kiley's Crossing heard a knocking very late And a whisper "Father Riley -- come across!" 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. Then out of the shadows the troopers aimed At his voice and the pistol sound. Well, well, don't get angry, my sonny, But, really, a young un should know. It was fifty miles to their father's hut, And the dawn was bright when they rode away; At the fall of night, when the shed was shut And the men had rest from the toilsome day, To the shed once more through the darkening pines On their weary steeds came the two Devines. Mr. Andrew Barton Paterson, better known throughout Australia as Banjo Paterson, died at a private hospital, in Sydney, yesterday afternoon, after about a fortnights illness. Banjo Paterson was an Australian bush author who is remembered for his ballads about life in Australia. 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. 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 . Lord! And aren't they just going a pace? A Ballad of Ducks. When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told. For years the fertile Western plains Were hid behind your sullen walls, Your cliffs and crags and waterfalls All weatherworn with tropic rains. The Jockey's PunterHas he put up the stuff, or does he waitTo get a better price. 'Tis strange that in a land so strong So strong and bold in mighty youth, We have no poet's voice of truth To sing for us a wondrous song. It appeared in Patersons collection Rio Grandes Last Race and Other Verses after his return home. About their path a fearful fate Will hover always near. And the lashin's of the liquor! Over the pearl-grounds the lugger drifted -- a little white speck: Joe Nagasaki, the "tender", holding the life-line on deck, Talked through the rope to the diver, knew when to drift or to check. So he went and fetched his canine, hauled him forward by the throat. Slowly and slowly those grey streams glide, Drifting along with a languid motion, Lapping the reed-beds on either side, Wending their way to the North Ocean. He "tranced" them all, and without a joke 'Twas much as follows the subjects spoke: First Man "I am a doctor, London-made, Listen to me and you'll hear displayed A few of the tricks of the doctor's trade. Fearless he was beyond credence, looking at death eye to eye: This was his formula always, "All man go dead by and by -- S'posing time come no can help it -- s'pose time no come, then no die." But troubles came thicker upon us, For while we were rubbing him dry The stewards came over to warn us: "We hear you are running a bye! He turned to an Acolyte who was making his bacca light, A fleet-footed youth who could run like a crack o' light. He falls. AUSTRALIANS LOVE THAT Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (1864-1941) found romance in the tough and wiry characters of bush. 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. `And then I woke, and for a space All nerveless did I seem; For I have ridden many a race, But never one at such a pace As in that fearful dream. [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 his pants just as loose as balloons, How can he sit on a horse? "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. Where are the children that strove and grew In the old homestead in days gone by? The Favourite drifts,And not a single wager has been laidAbout Golumpus. Cycles were ridden everywhere, including in the outback by shearers and other workers who needed to travel cheaply. Thus ended a wasted life and hard, Of energies misapplied -- Old Bob was out of the "swagman's yard" And over the Great Divide. There were fifty horses racing from the graveyard to the pub, And their riders flogged each other all the while. ('Twas strange that in racing he showed so much cunning), "It's a hard race," said he, "and I think it would be A good thing for someone to take up the running." In 2004 a representative of The Wilderness Society arrived at NSWs Parliament House dressed as The Ghost of the Man from Ironbark, to campaign for the protection of the remaining Ironbark woodlands in New South Wales and Queensland. The freedom, and the hopeful sense Of toil that brought due recompense, Of room for all, has passed away, And lies forgotten with the dead. 'Twas a reef with never a fault nor baulk That ran from the range's crest, And the richest mine on the Eaglehawk Is known as "The Swagman's Rest". (Ghost disappears. 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! 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. So I'll leave him with you, Father, till the dead shall rise again, Tis yourself that knows a good 'un; and, of course, You can say he's got by Moonlight out of Paddy Murphy's plain If you're ever asked the breeding of the horse! `"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." (Banjo) Paterson. Clancy of the Overflow is a poem by Banjo Paterson, first published in The Bulletin, an Australian news magazine, on 21 December 1889. His language was chaste, as he fled in his haste, But the goat stayed behind him -- and "scoffed up" the paste. SCENE ISCENE: The saddling paddock at a racecourse.Citizens, Battlers, Toffs, Trainers, Flappers, Satyrs, Bookmakers and Turf Experts.Enter Shortinbras, a Trainer, and two Punters.FIRST PUNTER: Good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of the Fav'rite?SHORTINBRAS (aside): This poltroon would not venture a ducaton David to beat a dead donkey; a dull and muddy-mettled rascal. He showed 'em the method of travel -- The boy sat still as a stone -- They never could see him for gravel; He came in hard-held, and alone. The Bush Poems of A . His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. 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. he's down!' 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." Oh, the shouting and the cheering as he rattled past the post! The Old Bark Hut 159. It follows a mountainous horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prize-winning racehorse living with brumbies. When this girl's father, old Jim Carew, Was droving out on the Castlereagh With Conroy's cattle, a wire came through To say that his wife couldn't live the day. 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. 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. J. Dennis. They started, and the big black steed Came flashing past the stand; All single-handed in the lead He strode along at racing speed, The mighty Rio Grande. It was written at a time when cycling was a relatively new and popular social activity. Poems For Funerals by Paul Kelly, Noni Hazlehurst & Jack Thompson, released 01 December 2013 1. 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. 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. You see he was hated from Jordan to Cairo -- Whence comes the expression "to buck against faro". It will cure delirium tremens, when the patients eyeballs stare At imaginary spiders, snakes which really are not there. 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. Our money all gone and our credit, Our horse couldn't gallop a yard; And then people thought that we did it It really was terribly hard. As the Mauser ball hums past you like a vicious kind of bee -- Oh! 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." Geebung is the indigenous name for a tough fruiting shrub (Persoonia sp.). ''Three to One, Bar One!' He wrote many ballads and poems about Australian life, focusing particularly on the rural and outback areas, including the district around Binalong, New South Wales, where he spent much of his childhood. the land But yesterday was all unknown, The wild man's boomerang was thrown Where now great busy cities stand. )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!
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