She says she’s very sorry, as she… You calmly say 'Good-bye’ to her… Then you lift your hat and leave h… But you’re hit, old man—hit hard. In your brain the words are burnin…

They were hanging men in Buckland… The parson from his pulpit and the… They were hanging men and brothers… When a quiet man from Buckland ro… Not a young man in his glory fille…

Macquarie the shearer had met with an accident. To tell the truth, he had been in a drunken row at a wayside shanty, from which he had escaped with three fractured ribs, a cracked head,...

Out West, where the stars are bri… Where the scorching north wind blo… And the bones of the dead gleam wh… And the sun on a desert glows— Yet within the selfish kingdom

'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,…

They proved we could not think nor… They proved we could not write, They proved we drank the day away And raved through half the night. They proved our stars were never u…

Sons of the South, awake! arise! Sons of the South, and do. Banish from under your bonny skies Those old-world errors and wrongs… Making a hell in a Paradise

’Tis sunrise over Watson, Where I sailed out to sea, On that wild run to London That wrecked and ruined me. The beauty of the morning

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…

Out there by the rocks, at the end… In the mouth of the river, the Wa… She is resting where meet the blue… And only her masts and her funnel… And you see, when is fading the su…

They sunk a post into the ground Where their leaders bade them stop… It was a man’s height, and they sp… A crosspiece to the top. They bound it well with thongs of…

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…

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,

Old Mate! In the gusty old weath… When our hopes and our troubles we… In the years spent in wearing out… I found you unselfish and true— I have gathered these verses toget…

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…