A day of seeming innocence, A glorious sun and sky, And, just above my picket fence, Black Bonnet passing by. In knitted gloves and quaint old dress, Without a spot or smirch,...
Grown tired of mourning for my sins, And brooding over merits, The other night with aching heart I went amongst the spirits; And I met one that I knew well: 'O Scotty's Ghost! is that you?...
It surely cannot be too soon, and never is too late, It tones with all Australia's tune to praise one's native State, And so I bring an old refrain from days of posts and rails,...
They were 'ratty' they were hooted by the meanest and the least, When they woke the Drum of Glory long ago in London East. They were often mobbed by hoodlums, they were few, but unafraid,...
'Where are you going with your horse and bike, And the townsfolk still at rest? Where are you going, with your swag and pack, And the night still in the West?...
I've followed all my tracks and ways,from old bark school to Leicester Square, I've been right back to boyhood's days, and found no light or pleasure there....
At a point where the old road crosses The river, and turns to the right, I'd camped with the team; and the hosses Was all fixed up for the night. I'd been to the town to carry A load to the Cudgegong;...
On the Track of Grand Endeavour, on the long track out to Bourke, Past the Turn-Back, and past Howlong, and the pub at Sudden Jerk, Past old Bullock-Yoke and Bog Flat, and the 'Pinch' at Stick-to-me,...
Not to the sober and staid, Leading a quiet life, But to men whose paths are laid Ever through storm and strife, Here is a song from me, Sent to the tragic West, Message of sympathy...
The stamp of Scotland is on his face, But he sailed to the South a lad, And he does not think of the black bleak hills And the bitter hard youth he had; He thinks of a nearer and dearer past...
But what's the use of writing 'bush', Though editors demand it, For city folk, and farming folk, Can never understand it. They're blind to what the bushman sees The best with eyes shut tightest,...
By hut, homestead and shearing shed, By railroad, coach and track, By lonely graves where rest the dead, Up-Country and Out-Back: To where beneath the clustered stars The dreamy plains expand. ...
When you see a man come walking down through George Street loose and free, Suit of saddle tweed and soft shirt, and a belt and cabbagetree, With the careless swing and carriage, and the confidence you lack,...
His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth, His hat pushed from his brow, His dress best fitted for the South, I think I see him now; And when the city streets are still, And sleep upon me comes,...
The Channel fog has lifted, And see where we have come! Round all the world we've drifted, A hundred years from "home". The fields our parents longed for, Ah! we shall ne'er know how,...
She's not like an empress, And crowned with raven hair, She is not 'pert an' bonny,' Nor 'winsome, wee, an' fair.' But when a man's in trouble, And darkest shadows fall, She's just a little woman...
I cannot blame old Israel yet, For I am not a sage, I shall not know until I get The son of my old age. The mysteries of this Vale of Tears We will perchance explain...