The battlefield behind us, And night loomed on the track; The Friends of Fallen Fortunes Were riding at my back. Save those who lay face upward

Australia’s a big country An’ Freedom’s humping bluey, An’ Freedom’s on the wallaby Oh! don’t you hear 'er cooey? She’s just begun to boomerang,

Turn the light down, nurse, and le… For the Bush is slipping from me, and the town… Draw the blinds, the streets are l…

"Like clouds o’er the South are t… On fair islands that we would comm… But clouds that are darker and den… Have sailed from an Isle in the N… And rest on our Southern Land.

PART I Queen Hilda rode along the lines, And she was young and fair; And forward on her shoulders fell The heavy braids of hair:

He was bare—we don’t want to be ru… (His condition was owing to drink) They say his condition was nood, Which amounts to the same thing, w… (We mean his condition, we think,

“Please God, we’ll make a scholar… She’s not like an empress, And crowned with raven hair, She is not “pert an’ bonny,” Nor “winsome, wee, an’ fair.”

'Where are you going with your hor… And the townsfolk still at rest? Where are you going, with your swa… And the night still in the West? Your clothes are worn, and your ch…

Arouseabout of rouseabouts, from a… I bear a nick-name of the bush, an… I came from where I camp’d last n… I rub the darkness from my eyes, r… Some take the track for bitter pri…

Comes the British bulldog first—s… He’s so ugly in repose that he’s a… Full of mild benevolence as his ye… Silent as a china dog on the mante… Rub his sides and point his nose,

Call me traitor to my country and… And the foe of “law and order”, we… But I scorn the biassed sentence… That was fouled and mutilated by t… For the strength that I inherit i…

A black-sheep, from England, who… Riding where the stockmen ride— He sat by the hut when the day’s w… Lone huts where the black sheep bi… “I’m tired of my life!” to his lon…

LET the liar call me liar, And the robber call me thief. They can only fan the fire That is born of my belief. While I’m speaking, while I’m wri…

BLACKSOIL PLAINS were grey… Fifteen years away, and five hundr… Swag and bag and billy carried all… Before we were married, and I wis… River banks were grassy—grassy in…

Ye children of the Land of Gold, I sing a song to you, And if the jokes are somewhat old, The main idea is new. So be it sung, by hut and tent,