They’re shifting old North Sydney… Perhaps ’tis just as well— They’re carting off the houses Where the old folks used to dwell. Where only ghosts inhabit

When God’s wrath-cloud is o’er me… Affrighting heart and mind; When days seem dark before me, And days seem black behind; Those friends who think they know…

I met Jack Ellis in town to-day— Jack Ellis—my old mate, Jack— Ten years ago, from the Castlerea… We carried our swags together away To the Never-Again, Out Back.

There are writers great and writer… And writers on the spree; And writers short and writers tall… And bards of low degree. There are artists small and artist…

If yer gotter corf about yer, Gotter corf— Gotter corf— If yer gotter corf about yer, Gotter cord—

I’ll tell you what you wanderers,… Don’t look into a good girl’s eyes… It’s hard to go away alone and lea… It’s hard to travel steerage when… To reach a place when times are ba…

Now this is a rhyme that might wel… Gummed in your hat till the end of… Say Good-bye when your chum is ma… Say Good-bye while the church-bel… Say Good-bye—if you ask why must…

I’m lyin’ on the barren ground tha… And dunno if my legs or back or he… I’ve got no spirits left to rise a… I’m too knocked up to light a fire… Oh it’s trampin’, trampin’, tra-a-…

The Plains lay bare on the homewa… And the march was heavy on man and… For the Spirit of Drought was on… And the white heat danced on the g… The best of our cattle-dogs lagged…

We, three men of commerce, Striving wealth to raise, See but little promise In the coming days; Though our hearts are brittle,

Most unpleasantly adjacent to the… Stood a 'terrace’ in the city when… And a notice indicated there were… In the middle house, and lodgings… Now, a singular observer could hav…

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…

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…

’Tis glorious morning everywhere Save where the alleys lie— I see the fleecy steam jets bid “Good morning” to the sky. The gullies of the waratah

Ten miles down Reedy River A pool of water lies, And all the year it mirrors The changes in the skies. Within that pool’s broad bosom