There came a lonely Briton to the town, A solitary Briton with a mission, He'd vowed a vow to put all 'shouting' down, To relegate it to a low position.
Yes, there it hangs upon the wall And never gives a sound, The hand that trimmed its greenhide fall Is hidden underground, There, in that patch of sally shade, Beneath that grassy mound. ...
The rum was rich and rare, There were wagers in the air, The atmosphere was rosy, and the tongues were wagging free; But one was in the revel Whose occiput was level...
Kelly the Ranger half opened an eye To wink at the Army passing by, While his hot breath, thick with the taint of beer, Came forth from his lips in a drunken jeer. Brown and bearded and long of limb...
The western sun, ere he sought his lair, Skimm'd the treetops, and glancing thence, Rested awhile on the curling hair Of Kitty McCrae, by the boundary fence; Her eyes looked anxious, her cheeks were pale,...
I love the ancient boundary-fence, That mouldering chock-and-log. When I go ride the boundary I let the old horse jog And take his pleasure in and out Where the sandalwood grows dense,...
On Nungar the mists of the morning hung low, The beetle-browed hills brooded silent and black, Not yet warmed to life by the sun's loving glow, As through the tall tussocks rode young Charlie Mac....
There's a fellow on the station (He dropped in on a call, Just casual to stay a pleasant week), He's a banker's near relation, Strongly built, and very tall, Not altogether destitute of cheek;...
Our Skeeta was married, our Skeeta! the tomboy and pet of the place, No more as a maiden we'd greet her, no more would her pert little face Light up the chill gloom of the parlour; no more would her deft little hands...
Dozens of damp little curls; One little short upper lip; Two rows of teeth like diminutive pearls; Eyes clear and grey as the creek where it swirls Over the ledges that's Tip! With a skip!...
Long time beside the squatter's gate A great grey Box-Tree, early, late, Or shine or rain, in silence there Had stood and watched the seasons fare: Had seen the wind upon the plain...
Scrape the bottom of the hole: gather up the stuff, Fossick in the crannies, lest you leave a grain behind, Just another shovelful and that'll be enough, Now we'll take it to the bank and see what we can find,...
There's a nice little hatpeg that hangs on the wall That long from its owner has parted, And though he is wandering far beyond call Like him it is always true hearted. ...
Hear the loud swell of it, mighty pell mell of it, Thousands of voices all blent into one: See 'hell for leather' now trooping together, now Down the long slope of the range at a run,...
Out on the wastes of the Never Never That's where the dead men lie! There where the heat-waves dance forever That's where the dead men lie! That's where the Earth's loved sons are keeping...