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. A Change of Menu. Next, Please "I am a barrister, wigged and gowned; Of stately presence and look profound. The trooper knew that his man would slide Like a dingo pup, if he saw the chance; And with half a start on the mountain side Ryan would lead him a merry dance. Clancy of the Overflow was inspired by an experience Banjo Paterson had while he was working as a lawyer. Their version of "The man from Snowy River" is the best I have ever heard (about 15mins long) A very stirring poem set to music. Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. But they're watching all the ranges till there's not a bird could fly, And I'm fairly worn to pieces with the strife, So I'm taking no more trouble, but I'm going home to die, 'Tis the only way I see to save my life. Evens the field!" They are flying west, by their instinct guided, And for man likewise is his rate decided, And griefs apportioned and joys divided By a mightly power with a purpose dread. As participation in freediving reaches new levels, we look at whats driving the sports growing popularity. tis the famous antidote. Parts have been sung at six Olympic Games ceremonies dating back to 1956. Far to the Northward there lies a land, A wonderful land that the winds blow over, And none may fathom or understand The charm it holds for the restless rover; A great grey chaos -- a land half made, Where endless space is and no life stirreth; There the soul of a man will recoil afraid From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth. Follow him close.Give him good watch, I pray you, till we seeJust what he does his dough on. It was not much, you say, that these Should win their way where none withstood; In sooth there was not much of blood -- No war was fought between the seas. and his spurs like a pair of harpoons; Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course. . '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!" If Pardon don't spiel like tarnation And win the next heat -- if he can -- He'll earn a disqualification; Just think over that now, my man!" ''Three to One, Bar One!' They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head Was a thousand pounds reward. on Mar 14 2005 06:57 PM PST x edit . And then I watch with a sickly grin While the patient 'passes his counters in'. To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; Our very last hope had departed -- We thought the old fellow was done, When all of a sudden he started To go like a shot from a gun. Poems of Banjo Paterson. 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. Robert Frost (191 poem) March 26, 1874 - January 29, 1963. And the lashin's of the liquor! I slate his show from the floats to flies, Because the beggar won't advertise. But he laughed as he lifted his pistol-hand, And he fired at the rifle-flash. The Two Devines [poem by Banjo Paterson] - The Institute of Australian He said, `This day I bid good-bye To bit and bridle rein, To ditches deep and fences high, For I have dreamed a dream, and I Shall never ride again. On Banjo Patersons 150th birthday anniversary, here are his best ballads. And King Billy, of the Mooki, cadging for the cast-off coat, Somehow seems to dodge the subject of the snake-bite antidote. You have to be sure of your man Ere you wake up that nest-ful of hornets -- the little brown men of Japan. 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. The Rule Of The A.j.c. "You can talk about your riders -- and the horse has not been schooled, And the fences is terrific, and the rest! And I'll bet my cash on Father Riley's horse!" There was some that cleared the water -- there was more fell in and drowned, Some blamed the men and others blamed the luck! Weight! Banjo Paterson is one of Australia's best-loved poets and his verse is among Australia's enduring traditions. It was first published in The Bulletin, an Australian news magazine, on 26 April 1890, and was published by Angus & Robertson in October 1895, with other poems by Paterson, in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses.The poem tells the story of a horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prizewinning racehorse . Lord! [Editor: This poem by "Banjo" Patersonwas published in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, 1895; previously published in The Bulletin, 24 December 1892.] Banjo Paterson Complete Poems. don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall. The way is won! `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. '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". Their horses were good uns and fit uns, There was plenty of cash in the town; They backed their own horses like Britons, And, Lord! Later, young Paterson was sent to Sydney Grammar School. Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago, He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him, Just 'on spec', addressed as follows, 'Clancy, of The Overflow'. Don't hope it -- the slinking hound, He sloped across to the Queensland side, And sold The Swagman for fifty pound, And stole the money, and more beside. The drought came down on the field and flock, And never a raindrop fell, Though the tortured moans of the starving stock Might soften a fiend from hell. I don't want no harping nor singing -- Such things with my style don't agree; Where the hoofs of the horses are ringing There's music sufficient for me. "I care for nothing, good nor bad, My hopes are gone, my pleasures fled, I am but sifting sand," he said: What wonder Gordon's songs were sad! And that's the story. The way is won! Banjo Paterson - Banjo Paterson Poems | Best Poems Prithee, let us go!Thanks to you all who shared this glorious day,Whom I invite to dance at Chowder Bay! He was educated at Sydney Grammar School. I frighten my congregation well With fear of torment and threats of hell, Although I know that the scientists Can't find that any such place exists. For the lawyer laughs in his cruel sport While his clients march to the Bankrupt Court." May the days to come be as rich in blessing As the days we spent in the auld lang syne. `We started, and in front we showed, The big horse running free: Right fearlessly and game he strode, And by my side those dead men rode Whom no one else could see. Clancy Of The Overflow by Banjo Paterson - Greatest Poems So they buried Andy Regan, and they buried him to rights, In the graveyard at the back of Kiley's Hill; There were five-and-twenty mourners who had five-and-twenty fights Till the very boldest fighters had their fill. At the Turon the Yattendon filly Led by lengths at the mile-and-a-half, And we all began to look silly, While her crowd were starting to laugh; But the old horse came faster and faster, His pluck told its tale, and his strength, He gained on her, caught her, and passed her, And won it, hands down, by a length. Mulga Bill was based on a man of the name of William Henry Lewis, who knew Paterson around Bourke, NSW, and who had bought a bicycle because it was an easier form of transport than his horse in a time of drought. Rataplan never will catch him if only he keeps on his pins; Now! Maya Angelou (52 poem) 4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014. Written from the point of view of the person being laid to rest. 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. 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. And that was the end of this small romance, The end of the story of Conroy's Gap. I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better. He rode all noght, and he steered his course By the shining stars with a bushman's skill, And every time that he pressed his horse The Swagman answered him gamely still. . It follows a mountainous horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prize-winning racehorse living with brumbies. Were sorry, this feature is currently unavailable. Clancy Of The Overflow Banjo Paterson. 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. and he had fled! B. `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!" Its based on a letter Paterson received from Thomas Gerald Clancy which he replied to, only to receive the reply: Clancys gone to Queensland droving and we dont know where he are. Then right through the ruck he was sailing -- I knew that the battle was won -- The son of Haphazard was failing, The Yattendon filly was done; He cut down The Don and The Dancer, He raced clean away from the mare -- He's in front! The bill-sticker's pail told a sorrowful tale, The scapegoat had licked it as dry as a nail; He raced through their houses, and frightened their spouses, But his latest achievement most anger arouses, For while they were searching, and scratching their craniums, One little Ben Ourbed, who looked in the flow'r-bed, Discovered him eating the Rabbi's geraniums. We've come all this distance salvation to win agog, If he takes home our sins, it'll burst up the Synagogue!" When the dash and the excitement and the novelty are dead, And you've seen a load of wounded once or twice, Or you've watched your old mate dying, with the vultures overhead -- Well, you wonder if the war is worth the price. say, on!MESSENGER: As I did stand my watch in ParliamentI saw the Labour platform come acrossAnd join Kyabram, Loans were overthrown,The numbers were reduced, extravaganceIs put an end to by McGowan's vote.MACBREATH: The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!Where got'st thou this fish yarn?MESSENGER: There's nearly forty,MACBREATH: Thieves, fool?MESSENGER: No, members, will be frozen out of work!MACBREATH: Aye, runs the story so! Ure Smith. Experience docet, they tell us, At least so I've frequently heard; But, "dosing" or "stuffing", those fellows Were up to each move on the board: They got to his stall -- it is sinful To think what such villains will do -- And they gave him a regular skinful Of barley -- green barley -- to chew. His language was chaste, as he fled in his haste, But the goat stayed behind him -- and "scoffed up" the paste. Come back! How neatly we beguiledThe guileless Thompson. Then out of the shadows the troopers aimed At his voice and the pistol sound. The Man from Ironbark [poem by Banjo Paterson] - The Institute of I have it coldStraight from the owner, that Golumpus goesEyes out to win today.FIRST HEAD: Prate not to me of owners. we're going on a long job now. And sometimes columns of print appear About a mine, and it makes it clear That the same is all that one's heart could wish -- A dozen ounces to every dish. )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! that's a sweet township -- a shindy To them is board, lodging, and sup. Oh, joyous day,To-morrow's poll will make me M.L.A.ACT IITIME: Election day.SCENE: Macbreath's committee rooms.MACBREATH: Bring me no more reports: let them all fly;Till Labour's platform to Kyabram comeI cannot taint with fear. For Bob was known on the Overland, A regular old bush wag, Tramping along in the dust and sand, Humping his well-worn swag. . Follow fast.Exeunt PuntersSCENE IIThe same. With rifle flashes the darkness flamed -- He staggered and spun around, And they riddled his body with rifle balls As it lay on the blood-soaked ground. Hunt him over the plain, And drive back the brute to the desert again. `"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." . The poem is typical of Paterson, offering a romantic view of rural life, and is one of his best-known works. So his Rev'rence in pyjamas trotted softly to the gate And admitted Andy Regan -- and a horse! It is hard to keep sight on him, The sins of the Israelites ride mighty light on him. Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson, CBE (17 February 1864- 5 February 1941) was an Australian bush poet, journalist and author. And loud from every squatter's door Each pioneering swell Will hear the wild pianos roar The strains of "Daisy Bell". The Man From Snowy River There was mo It was not much! Some have even made it into outer space. Between the mountains and the sea Like Israelites with staff in hand, The people waited restlessly: They looked towards the mountains old And saw the sunsets come and go With gorgeous golden afterglow, That made the West a fairyland, And marvelled what that West might be Of which such wondrous tales were told. * * * * * * * But he's old -- and his eyes are grown hollow Like me, with my thatch of the snow; When he dies, then I hope I may follow, And go where the racehorses go. Then Gilbert reached for his rifle true That close at hand he kept; He pointed straight at the voice, and drew, But never a flash outleapt, For the water ran from the rifle breech -- It was drenched while the outlaws slept. What scoundrel ever would dare to hint That anything crooked appears in print! For weight wouldn't stop him, nor distance, Nor odds, though the others were fast; He'd race with a dogged persistence, And wear them all down at the last. His chances seemed slight to embolden Our hearts; but, with teeth firmly set, We thought, "Now or never! Even though an adder bit me, back to life again Id float; Snakes are out of date, I tell you, since Ive found the antidote. Said the scientific person, If you really want to die, Go aheadbut, if youre doubtful, let your sheep-dog have a try. To many, this is the unofficial Aussie anthem, but the intended meaning of this ballad that describes the suicide of an itinerant sheep-stealing swagman to avoid capture, is debated to this day. 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. 158. Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. Facing it yet! 'Twas a wether flock that had come to hand, Great struggling brutes, that shearers shirk, For the fleece was filled with the grass and sand, And seventy sheep was a big day's work. Him goin' to ride for us! No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. Roll up to the Hall!! )MACPUFF: Now, yield thee, tyrant!By that fourth party which I once did form,I'll take thee to a picnic, there to liveOn windfall oranges!MACBREATH: . As the Mauser ball hums past you like a vicious kind of bee -- Oh! The Winds Message 162. With downcast head, and sorrowful tread, The people came back from the desert in dread. isn't Abraham forcing the pace -- And don't the goat spiel? And their grandsire gave them a greeting bold: "Come in and rest in peace, No safer place does the country hold -- With the night pursuit must cease, And we'll drink success to the roving boys, And to hell with the black police." But Moses told 'em before he died, "Wherever you are, whatever betide, Every year as the time draws near By lot or by rote choose you a goat, And let the high priest confess on the beast The sins of the people the worst and the least, Lay your sins on the goat! I'm all of a stew. Shall we hear the parrots calling on the bough? Poems by Banjo Paterson about Death - keytopoetry.com Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. "I dreamt that the night was quickly advancing,I saw the dead and dying on the green crimson plain.Comrades I once knew well in death's sleep reposing,Friends that I once loved but shall ne'er see again.The green flag was waving high,Under the bright blue sky,And each man was singing most gloriously. And the scientific person hurried off with utmost speed, Tested Johnsons drug and found it was a deadly poison-weed; Half a tumbler killed an emu, half a spoonful killed a goat, All the snakes on earth were harmless to that awful antidote. Poems For Funerals by Paul Kelly, Noni Hazlehurst & Jack Thompson, released 01 December 2013 1. And I know full well that the strangers' faces Would meet us now is our dearest places; For our day is dead and has left no traces But the thoughts that live in my mind to-night. He was in his 77th year. Without these, indeed you Would find it ere long, As though I should read you The words of a song That lamely would linger When lacking the rune, The voice of a singer, The lilt of the tune. Macbreath is struck on the back of the headby some blue metal from Pennant Hills Quarry. Well, now, I can hardly believe! Nay, rather death!Death before picnic! " is a poem by Banjo Paterson, first published in The Australasian Pastoralists' Review on 15 December 1898. Dead men on horses long since dead, They clustered on the track; The champions of the days long fled, They moved around with noiseless tread Bay, chestnut, brown, and black. Within our streets men cry for bread In cities built but yesterday. 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 Phantoms among the rest. And prices as usual! . His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. Gone is the garden they kept with care; Left to decay at its own sweet will, Fruit trees and flower-beds eaten bare, Cattle and sheep where the roses were, Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill. Make room for Rio Grande!' And the poor of Kiley's Crossing drank the health at Christmastide Of the chestnut and his rider dressed in green. Down in the world where men toil and spin Dame Nature smiles as man's hand has taught her; Only the dead men her smiles can win In the great lone land by the Grey Gulf-water. One is away on the far Barcoo Watching his cattle the long year through, Watching them starve in the droughts and die. About their path a fearful fate Will hover always near. The crowd with great eagerness studied the race -- "Great Scott! And took to drink, and by some good chance Was killed -- thrown out of a stolen trap. Poems For Funerals | Paul Kelly, Noni Hazlehurst & Jack Thompson | Jack Be that as it may, as each year passed away, a scapegoat was led to the desert and freighted With sin (the poor brute must have been overweighted) And left there -- to die as his fancy dictated. Yet it sometimes happens by some strange crook That a ledger-keeper will 'take his hook' With a couple of hundred thousand 'quid', And no one can tell how the thing was did!" . (Banjo) Paterson A. There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died, And they wondered who on earth he could have been. A favourite for the comparison of the rough and ready Geebung Polo Club members and their wealthy city competitors The Cuff and Collar Team. Some of his best-known poems are 'Clancy of the Overflow' and 'Waltzing Matilda.'. Thy story quickly!MESSENGER: Gracious, my Lord,I should report that which I know I saw,But know not how to do it.MACBREATH: Well! Our chiefest singer yet has sung In wild, sweet notes a passing strain, All carelessly and sadly flung To that dull world he thought so vain. In the depth of night there are forms that glide As stealthily as serpents creep, And around the hut where the outlaws hide They plant in the shadows deep, And they wait till the first faint flush of dawn Shall waken their prey from sleep. There are folk long dead, and our hearts would sicken-- We should grieve for them with a bitter pain; If the past could live and the dead could quicken, We then might turn to that life again. "A hundred miles since the sun went down." Paterson's . In the drowsy days on escort, riding slowly half asleep, With the endless line of waggons stretching back, While the khaki soldiers travel like a mob of travelling sheep, Plodding silent on the never-ending track, While the constant snap and sniping of the foe you never see Makes you wonder will your turn come -- when and how? Upon the Western slope they stood And saw -- a wide expanse of plain As far as eye could stretch or see Go rolling westward endlessly. Amateur! . Dived in the depths of the Darnleys, down twenty fathom and five; Down where by law, and by reason, men are forbidden to dive; Down in a pressure so awful that only the strongest survive: Sweated four men at the air pumps, fast as the handles could go, Forcing the air down that reached him heated and tainted, and slow -- Kanzo Makame the diver stayed seven minutes below; Came up on deck like a dead man, paralysed body and brain; Suffered, while blood was returning, infinite tortures of pain: Sailed once again to the Darnleys -- laughed and descended again! Drunk as he was when the trooper came, to him that did not matter a rap -- Drunk or sober, he was the same, The boldest rider in Conroy's Gap. -- now, goodbye!" 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. We cannot love the restless sea, That rolls and tosses to and fro Like some fierce creature in its glee; For human weal or human woe It has no touch of sympathy. From the northern lakes with the reeds and rushes, Where the hills are clothed with a purple haze, Where the bell-birds chime and the songs of thrushes Make music sweet in the jungle maze, They will hold their course to the westward ever, Till they reach the banks of the old grey river, Where the waters wash, and the reed-beds quiver In the burning heat of the summer days. 'Ten to One, Golumpus. 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! He came for the third heat light-hearted, A-jumping and dancing about; The others were done ere they started Crestfallen, and tired, and worn out. So Dunn crept out on his hands and knees In the dim, half-dawning light, And he made his way to a patch of trees, And was lost in the black of night; And the trackers hunted his tracks all day, But they never could trace his flight. 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 When the fastest shearers are making play; But there wasn't a man in the shearers' lines That could shear a sheep with the two Devines. Credit:Australian War Memorial. Then if the diver was sighted, pearl-shell and lugger must go -- Joe Nagasaki decided (quick was the word and the blow), Cut both the pipe and the life-line, leaving the diver below! Ah! (Alarums and Harbour excursions; enter Macpuffat the head of a Picnic Party. Jan 2011. The Last Straw "A preacher I, and I take my stand In pulpit decked with gown and band To point the way to a better land. Were working to restore it. With the troopers hard behind me I've been hiding all the day In the gullies keeping close and out of sight. Along where Leichhardt journeyed slow And toiled and starved in vain; These rash excursionists must go Per Queensland railway train. 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. )What's this? [1] Kind deeds of sterling worth. [Editor: This poem by "Banjo" Paterson was published in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, 1895; previously published in The Bulletin, 17 December 1892.It is a story about a barber who plays a practical joke upon an unsuspecting man from the bush. "On," was the battle cry,"Conquer this day or die,Sons of Hibernia, fight for Liberty!Show neither fear nor dread,Strike at the foeman's head,Cut down horse, foot, and artillery! Whichever the case, according to the National Film and Sound Archive it has been recorded over 600 times in just about every possible musical style. Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! Popular Poets & Member Poets - Poem Hunter Poets Lonely and sadly one night in NovemberI laid down my weary head in search of reposeOn my wallet of straw, which I long shall remember,Tired and weary I fell into a doze.Tired from working hardDown in the labour yard,Night brought relief to my sad, aching brain.Locked in my prison cell,Surely an earthly hell,I fell asleep and began for to dream.I dreamt that I stood on the green fields of Erin,In joyous meditation that victory was won.Surrounded by comrades, no enemy fearing. The scapegoat he snorted, and wildly cavorted, A light-hearted antelope "out on the ramp", Then stopped, looked around, got the "lay of the ground", And made a beeline back again to the camp. Banjo Paterson. Moral The moral is patent to all the beholders -- Don't shift your own sins on to other folks' shoulders; Be kind to dumb creatures and never abuse them, Nor curse them nor kick them, nor spitefully use them: Take their lives if needs must -- when it comes to the worst, But don't let them perish of hunger or thirst. And we thought of the hint that the swagman gave When he went to the Great Unseen -- We shovelled the skeleton out of the grave To see what his hint might mean.