We have heard the cheering, brothe… We have heard the martial peal; We have seen the soldiers marching And the glint of sun and steel. We have heard the songs, the shout…

Now, a man in Oodnadatta He grew fat, and he grew fatter, Though he hardly had a thing to ea… While a man in Booboorowie Often sat and wondered how he

Another milestone gained and passe… Another 'rakkud’ broken, And this year’s deaths exceed the… Which is a hopeful token. America can ne’er look back;. . .…

A lonely soul . . . According to… She has lived on, mid all our worl… Thro’ that procession of mad days… That most men lay to waste, and ca… And men have smiled a little, too,…

Here she hides, an aged dame. Here she dreams beside the waves. Ever baulked of modern fame And the deep-sea trade she craves. Tall ships, riding at her port,

Now this is the ballad of Jeremy… And likewise of Bobadil Brown, Of the Snooks and the Snaggers an… And Diggle and Daggle and Down. In fact, ’tis a song of a fatuous…

Our baker, Mr Brackenby, toiler i… Was a lean, tall, glum man whose f… A brooding man ’twas said of him,… For a grunt of recognition and a r… Were all he granted any who came s…

Have you heard the magniloquent, e… The yogi of Yarra, whose silvery… In days of his promise won many vo… When loud in the land was the prai… And he magnetised all with his vig…

Alfred Ebenezer Jackson was a ver… Who aspired to be a statesman, and… At a general election as the Cand… Sworn to tell the truth ungarbled,… Jackson had a firm conviction that…

See, I’m writin’ to Mick as a blo… To a cobber o’ mine at the front An’ I’m gittin’ full up uv the mu… At the cove that is bearin’ the br… Fer 'e mus’n’t do this an’ 'e shou…

‘When I’m sittin’ in me dug-out w… An’ a yowlin’, 'owlin’ chorus come… Jist a bit o’ 'Bonnie Mary’ or '… Then I know I’m in Australia, to… They’ve bin up agin it solid since…

Lo, I listened to the bleating of… Squatters’ sheep And I sat me down and pondered lo… And a cloud of gloom came o’er me At the empty leagues before me

I dance upon the wash-house roof, And fill my hair with straws, And from my fellows keep aloof. I’ll tell you why. because The glare in every eye I see,

I knew a poor remittance man, A decent chap, but funny, In days when my ideas began To be controlled by money He wore a swank, patrician air;

The Censor sits behind his desk, And smiles a censored smile; His great, blue pencil hovers o’er Some masterpiece awhile, Then swoops - oh, child of whose p…