There's a wind up that licks like a flame, And the sun is a porthole of hell. Now evanish prim notions of shame, And the craving to look rather well, In pyjamas you're never a swell,...
From her home beyond the river in the parting of the hills, Where the wattles fleecy blossom surged and scattered in the breeze, And the tender creepers twined about the chimneys and the sills,...
He was working on a station in the Western when I knew him, And he came from Conongamo, up the old surveyors' track, And the fellows all admitted that no man in Vic. could 'do him,'...
A quaint old gabled cottage sleeps between the raving hills. To right and left are livid strife, but on the deep, wide sills The purple pot-flowers swell and glow, and o'er the walls and eaves...
Down to it is Plugger Bill, Lyin' crumpled, white 'n' still. Me 'n' him Chips in when the scrap begins, Carin' nothin' for our skins, Chi-iked as the 'Eavenly Twins, Bill 'n' Jim. ...
Marching somewhat out of order when the band is cock-a-hoop, There's a lilting kind of magic in the swagger of the troop, Swinging all aboard the steamer with her nose toward the sea....
All was up with Richard Tanner 'Wait-a-Bit' we called him. Dead? Yes. The braceman dropped a spanner, Landed Richard on the head; Cracked his skull, sir, like a teacup, Down the pump-shaft in the well....
Dear Ned, I now take up my pen to write you these few lines, And hopin' how they find you fit. Gorbli', it seems an age Since Jumbo ducked the Port, 'n' drilled 'n' polished to the nines,...
As bullets come to us they're thin, They're angular, or smooth and fat, Some spiral are, and gimlet in, And some are sharp, and others flat. The slim one pink you clean and neat,...
'I'm off on the wallaby!' cries Old Ben, And his pipe is lit, and his swag is rolled; 'There is nothing here for us old-time men, But up north, I hear, they are on the gold.'...
Here in the flamin' thick of thick of things, With Death across the way, 'n' traps What little Fritz the German flings Explodin' in yer lunch pe'aps, It ain't all glory for a bloke',...
The Viennese authorities have melted down the great bell in St. Stephen's to supply metal for guns or muntions. Every poor village has made a similar gift. - Lokal Anzeiger.
I said: 'I leave my bit of land, In khaki they've entwined me, I go abroad to lend a hand.' Said she: 'My love, I understand. I will be true, and though we part A thousand years you hold my heart",...
I've sung of Honor's golden hair And Hero's auburn tresses, Of Bella's back abundance, where The sun throws his caresses; I've sung of curl, and coil, and braid; On meshes I've dilated,...
'Twas a sleepy little chapel by a wattled hill erected, Where the storms were always muffled, and an atmosphere of peace Hung about beneath the gum-trees, and the garden was respected...
'That's the boiler at The Bell, mates! Tumble out, Ned, neck and crop, Never mind your hat and coat, man, we'll be wanted on the job. Barney's driving, Harvey's stoking, God help all the hands on top!...
Our Mr. Jiggs was certainly an estimable youth, A pillar of propriety, a champion of truth; He had a good position in a warehouse in the town; A staunch church-worker, he became a layman of renown. ...