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(Tries to shuffle off, but Punter detains him. For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn. 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. I am as skilled as skilled can be In every matter of s. d. I count the money, and night by night I balance it up to a farthing right: In sooth, 'twould a stranger's soul perplex My double entry and double checks. Nothing could conquer that heart of thine. 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. Till King Billy, of the Mooki, chieftain of the flour-bag head, Told him, Sposn snake bite pfeller, pfeller mostly drop down dead; Sposn snake bite old goanna, then you watch a while you see, Old goanna cure himself with eating little pfeller tree. Thats the cure, said William Johnson, point me out this plant sublime, But King Billy, feeling lazy, said hed go another time. It was not much! Oh, good, that's the style -- come away! "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. 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. Published in 1889 in the Australian news magazine, The Bulletin, Clancy of The Overflow is a story about a city-dweller who meets a drover and proceeds to romanticise his outback life. Joe Nagasaki, his "tender", is owner and diver instead. The daylight is dying Away in the west, The wild birds are flying in silence to rest; In leafage and frondage Where shadows are deep, They pass to its bondage-- The kingdom of sleep And watched in their sleeping By stars in the height, They rest in your keeping, O wonderful night. 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. For Bob was known on the Overland, A regular old bush wag, Tramping along in the dust and sand, Humping his well-worn swag. For he left the others standing, in the straight; And the rider -- well they reckoned it was Andy Regan's ghost, And it beat 'em how a ghost would draw the weight! An uplifting poem about being grateful for a loved one's life. `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. 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. He looked to left, and looked to right, As though men rode beside; And Rio Grande, with foam-flecks white, Raced at his jumps in headlong flight And cleared them in his stride. Langston Hughes (100 poem) 1 February 1902 - 22 May 1967. They saw the land that it was good, A land of fatness all untrod, And gave their silent thanks to God. . The Man From Snowy River There was mo It's food for conjecture, to judge from the picture By Hunt in the Gallery close to our door, a Man well might suppose that the scapegoat they chose Was a long way from being their choicest Angora. I have alphabetically categorised & indexed over 700 poems & readings, in over 130 categories spreading over about 500 pages, but more are added regularly. 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. But daring men from Britain's shore, The fearless bulldog breed, Renew the fearful task once more, Determined to succeed. 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. '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!" When the cheers and the shouting and laughter Proclaim that the battle grows hot; As they come down the racecourse a-steering, He'll rush to the front, I believe; And you'll hear the great multitude cheering For Pardon, the son of Reprieve. What of the parents? 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. )What's this? The field was at sixes and sevens -- The pace at the first had been fast -- And hope seemed to drop from the heavens, For Pardon was coming at last. The stunted children come and go In squalid lanes and alleys black: We follow but the beaten track Of other nations, and we grow In wealth for some -- for many, woe. Thus it came to pass that Johnson, having got the tale by rote, Followed every stray goanna, seeking for the antidote. 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. 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. See also: Poems by all poets about death and All poems by Banjo Paterson The Angel's Kiss Analysis of this poem An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead. 'Twill sometimes chance when a patient's ill That a doae, or draught, or a lightning pill, A little too strong or a little too hot, Will work its way to a vital spot. tis the famous antidote. But how to do it? Go back it, back it! And they read the nominations for the races with surprise And amusement at the Father's little joke, For a novice had been entered for the steeplechasing prize, And they found it was Father Riley's moke! 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. And horse and man Lay quiet side by side! From the Archives, 1941: Banjo Paterson dead. Ure Smith. 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. But each man carries to his grave The kisses that in hopes to save The angel or his mother gave. 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. He looked to left and looked to right, As though men rode beside; And Rio Grande, with foam-flecks white, Raced at his jumps in headlong flight And cleared them in his stride. Then lead him away to the wilderness black To die with the weight of your sins on his back: Of thirst let him perish alone and unshriven, For thus shall your sins be absolved and forgiven!" Then the races came to Kiley's -- with a steeplechase and all, For the folk were mostly Irish round about, And it takes an Irish rider to be fearless of a fall, They were training morning in and morning out. Till Trooper Scott, from the Stockman's Ford -- A bushman, too, as I've heard them tell -- Chanced to find him drunk as a lord Round at the Shadow of Death Hotel. More than a Poet. What scoundrel ever would dare to hint That anything crooked appears in print! Never heard of the honour and glory Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve? It is hard to keep sight on him, The sins of the Israelites ride mighty light on him. At sixteen he matriculated and was articled to a Sydney law firm. "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!" were grand. 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. As I lie at rest on a patch of clover In the Western Park when the day is done. If we get caught, go to prison -- let them take lugger and all!" 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. With dragging footsteps and downcast head The hypnotiser went home to bed, And since that very successful test He has given the magic art a rest; Had he tried the ladies, and worked it right, What curious tales might have come to light! Will you fetch your dog and try it? Johnson rather thought he would. 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. I dreamt last night I rode this race That I today must ride, And cantering down to take my place I saw full many an old friends face Come stealing to my side. Shel Silverstein (223 poem . Think of all the foreign nations, negro, chow, and blackamoor, Saved from sudden expiration, by my wondrous snakebite cure. Wearer of pearls in your necklace, comfort yourself if you can. This tale tells of a rickety old horse that learned how to swim. When the field is fairly going, then ye'll see ye've all been fooled, And the chestnut horse will battle with the best. After all our confessions, so openly granted, He's taking our sins back to where they're not wanted. T.Y.S.O.N. So his Rev'rence in pyjamas trotted softly to the gate And admitted Andy Regan -- and a horse! Discover the many layers to this legendary Australian character yourself at the exhibition which is open seven days a week from 9am to 3pm thanks . "I dreamt I was homeward, back over the mountain track,With joy my mother fainted and gave a loud scream.With the shock I awoke, just as the day had broke,And found myself an exile, and 'twas all but a dream. Paterson's . Joe Nagasaki, the "tender", finding the profits grow small, Said, "Let us go to the Islands, try for a number one haul! 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! and he had fled! * * Well, sir, you rode him just perfect -- I knew from the fust you could ride. -- now, goodbye!" But, as one half-hearing An old-time refrain, With memory clearing, Recalls it again, These tales, roughly wrought of The bush and its ways, May call back a thought of The wandering days, And, blending with each In the memories that throng, There haply shall reach You some echo of song. That being a Gentile's no mark of gentility, And, according to Samuel, would certainly d--n you well. Kanzo Makame, the diver -- knowing full well what it meant -- Fatalist, gambler, and stoic, smiled a broad smile of content, Flattened in mainsail and foresail, and off to the Islands they went. "A hundred miles since the sun went down." There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died, And they wondered who on earth he could have been. Come back! And I'll bet my cash on Father Riley's horse!" (Banjo) Paterson. Old Australian Ways 157. ('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." But Gilbert wakes while the night is dark -- A restless sleeper aye. 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. The Jockey's PunterHas he put up the stuff, or does he waitTo get a better price. "But it's getting on to daylight and it's time to say goodbye, For the stars above the east are growing pale. Did thou catch the last?SECOND HEAD: Aye, marry did I, and the one before,But this has got me beat. 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! I spurred him on to get the lead, n I chanced full many a fall; But swifter still each phantom steed Kept with me, and at racing speed We reached the big stone wall. The way is won! . But Gilbert walked from the open door In a confident style and rash; He heard at his side the rifles roar, And he heard the bullets crash. B. 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! I have it coldStraight from the owner, that Golumpus goesEyes out to win today.FIRST HEAD: Prate not to me of owners. "The Man from Snowy River" is a poem by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson. But the loss means ruin too you, maybe, But nevertheless I must have my fee! He then settled at Coodravale, a pastoral property in the Wee Jasper district, near Yass, and remained there until the Great War, in which he served with a remount unit in Egypt returning with the rank of major. `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. Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp, Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly stamp; Where the station-cook in terror, nearly every time he bakes, Mixes up among the doughboys half-a-dozen poison-snakes: Where the wily free-selector walks in armour-plated pants, And defies the stings of scorpions, and the bites of bull-dog ants: Where the adder and the viper tear each other by the throat, There it was that William Johnson sought his snake-bite antidote. Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. For things have changed on Cooper's Creek Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. and this poem is great!!!! Banjo Paterson Poems 151. Maya Angelou (52 poem) 4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014. It appeared in Patersons collection Rio Grandes Last Race and Other Verses after his return home. There was a girl in that shanty bar Went by the name of Kate Carew, Quiet and shy as the bush girls are, But ready-witted and plucky, too. But the whips were flying freely when the field came into view, For the finish down the long green stretch of course, And in front of all the flyers -- jumpin' like a kangaroo, Came the rank outsider -- Father Riley's horse! A Tragedy as Played at Ryde**Macbreath Mr HenleyMacpuff Mr TerryThe GhostACT ITIME: The day before the electionSCENE: A Drummoyne tram running past a lunatic asylum.All present are Reform Leaguers and supporters of Macbreath.They seat themselves in the compartment.MACBREATH: Here, I'll sit in the midst.Be large in mirth. There he divided the junior Knox Prize with another student. 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. 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.