An’ SO ’e’s dead in London, An’ answered to the call, An’ trotted through the Long Stre… With ’earse an’ plumes an’ all? We was village boys an’ brothers—

It has a “point” of neither sex But comes in guise of both, And, doubly dangerous complex, It is a thing to loathe— A lady with her sweet, sad smile,

“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

Are you coming, Ivan, coming?—Ah,… In the vast land that we know not—… We are watching through the daybre… For the dots upon the skyline—blac… We are watching through the mornin…

A public parlour in the slums, The haunt of vice and villainy, Where things are said unfit to hea… And things are done unfit to see; ’Mid ribald jest and reckless song…

But what’s the use of writing ‘bus… Though editors demand it— For city folk, and farming folk, Can never understand it. They’re blind to what the bushman…

Do you think, you slaves of a thou… You can crush the spirit that has… When you’ve scattered the last of… You will hold the land– ay, you’ll… Till your gold has levelled each m…

In Possum Land the nights are fai… The streams are fresh and clear; No dust is in the moonlit air; No traffic jars the ear. With Possums gambolling overhead,

Wrap me up in me stockwhip and bla… And bury me deep down below, Where this piffle and sham won’t d… In the land where the coolibahs gr… For I’ve stayed with some well-to…

Oh! this is a joyful dirge, my fri… And this is a clamour of Victory,… It isn’t a Yelp of the Battlefiel… But an ode to the Things that the… ’Tis a triolet of the Tomb, you b…

Jack Denver died on Talbragar whe… And there was sorrow round the pla… Jack Denver’s wife bowed down her… And big Ben Duggan by the bed sto… But big Ben Duggan saddled up, an…

So, sit you down in a straight-bac… And cross your knees with your wis… Grown fat and moral apace, old man… In spite of all, I’d as lief be b… They were hard old days; they were…

He was lengthsman on the railway,… That “pre-eminence in sorrow” of t… But as dear to him and precious we… Were the workman’s little daughter… Speak their names in tones that li…

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…

Not to the sober and staid, Leading a quiet life, But to men whose paths are laid Ever through storm and strife— Here is a song from me,