’Tis no tale of heroism, ’tis no t… But of ordinary boozing, and of du… Of the everlasting friction that m… Tale of nagging and of drinking—an… Name of Jones—perhaps you know hi…

The diggings were just in their gl… With recommendations, he told me,… He read me his recommendations—he… The first one was signed by an El… The meenister called him 'ungodly—…

There’s the same old coaching stab… And the yard the coaches stood in… And the public-private parlour, wh… Was the shoeing forge and smithy u… There’s the same old walls and woo…

She’s milking in the rain and dark… As did her mother in the past. The wretched shed of poles and bar… Rent by the wind, is leaking fast. She sees the “home-roof” black and…

The Country Girl reflects at last… And well in her young days— For she is learning very fast, The worth of City ways. The emptiness of Tailors men

It was somewhere in September, an… When I came, in search of 'copy’,… 'Come-and-have-a-drink’ we’ll call… And ‘twas raining, for a wonder, u… ’Neath the public-house verandah…

The lovely Port of Sydney Lies laughing to the sky, The bonny Port of Sydney, Where the ships of nations lie. You shall never see such beauty,

There are scenes in the distance w… On the desolate flats where gaunt… Where the brooding old ridge rises… From his dark lonely gullies of st… There are voice-haunted gaps, ever…

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,

The shipping-office clerks are ‘sh… ‘They cannot make reductions,’ and… They ship us West with cattle, an… And fight like dogs three times a… We’ll have the pick of empty bunks…

It’s oh! for a rivet in marriage b… And a splice in the knot untied— The sanctity of the marriage tie Is growing more sanctified! They’re getting mixed up in societ…

I MIND the days when ladies fair Helped on my overcoat, And tucked the silken handkerchief About my precious throat; They used to see the poet’s soul

'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…

A long farewell to Genoa That rises to the skies, Where the barren coast of Italy Like our own coastline lies. A sad farewell to Genoa,

A tall, slight, English gentleman… With an eyeglass to his eye; He mostly says “Good-Bai” to you, When he means to say “Good-bye”; He shakes hands like a ladies’ man…