#AustralianWriters
Our Andy’s gone to battle now 'Gainst Drought, the red marauder… Our Andy’s gone with cattle now Across the Queensland border. He’s left us in dejection now;
'Tis a legend of the bushmen from… When he opened up the country and… Tis the old tale of a fortune miss… And, perhaps, you haven’t heard it… They were north of running rivers,…
Of home, name and wealth and ambit… We are children of fortune and luc… They deny there’s a shred of our c… But they cannot deny us the pluck! We are vagabond scamps, we are kin…
When you’ve got no chance at all, Take it fightin’. When you’re driven to the wall, Take it fightin’. There are things that we delight i…
The rafters are open to sun, moon,… Thistles and nettles grow high in… The chimneys are crumbling, the lo… And green mosses spring from the h… The voices are silent, the bustle…
So the world of odds and evens cea… and the niggard road no longer ech… For another bushman found him with… And the shadows were upon him, and… And it told the stray Camboonian…
The short hour’s halt is ended, The red gone from the west, The broken wheel is mended, And the dead men laid to rest. Three days have we retreated
“Nobody’s enemy save his own”— (What shall it be in the end?)— Still by the nick-name he is known… “Everyone’s Friend.” “Nobody’s Enemy” stands alone
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
He has notions of Australia from… Land of leggings and revolvers, la… So he begs old shirts, and someone… He is shipped as ‘general servant,… (In the steamer’s grimy alley, hat…
He longed to be a Back-Blocks Ba… And fame he wished to win— He wrote at night and studied hard (He read THE BULLETIN); He sent in “stuff” unceasingly,
Who’s that mysterious rider, Full-sized, yet far away, Seen by the Western-sider— A spectre of the day? On ridge or seeming high line
Arming down along the stream, Along the sparkling water, And past the pool where lilies gle… There comes the squatter’s daughte… Her eyes are kind; her lips are wa…
The rising moon on the peaks was b… Her silver light with the sunset g… When a swagman came as the day was… Along a path that he seemed to kno… But all the fences were gone or go…
Now the tent poles are rotting, th… And the possums may gambol in tree… I am humping my bluey far out on t… And the prints of my bluchers sink… I am out on the wallaby humping my…
