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 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…

She sits beside the tinted tide, That’s reddened by the tortured sa… And through the East, to ocean wi… A vessel sails from sight of land. But she will wait and watch in vai…

When Charley sang of Polan’s Dea… ‘Twould stir your heart and soul a… you’d grip your seat and hold your… And want to fight for Polan’

Wide solemn eyes that question me, Wee hand that pats my head— Where only two have stroked before… And both of them are dead. ‘Ah, poo-ah Daddy mine,’ she says…

There’s a pretty little story with… Comes from Beenleigh on the Logan… For we scarcely dare to credit ev’… Those unhappy country papers 'twix… ’Twas the man who owned the wherry…

The Eagle screams at the beck of… Must wrestle the right to live or… For, as in the days when the bucca… The national honour is one thing d… She has slaughtered thousands with…

Did you see that man riding past, With shoulders bowed with care? There’s failure in his eyes to las… And in his heart despair. He seldom looks to left or right,

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…

Who Was Found Dead Near This Tr… (Don’t Cut Down this Tree, for a… Oh, the wild black swans fly westw… While the sun goes down in glory— And away o’er lonely plain and hil…

There’s such a lot of work to do,… I’m scribbling this against a book… It strikes me that I’ll scribble… And write my last lines so perchan… There’s lots of things to come and…

The shearers squint along the pens… The shearers squint along the boar… They have no time to straighten up… But when the Boss is looking on,… The 'rouser’ has no soul to save.…

OH, this is a song of the old lig… And this is a song for the old lig… That came to my heart to comfort m… And here is a hand to the good old… And this is a song for the camp-fi…

He comes from out the ages dim— The good Samaritan; I somehow never pictured him A fat and jolly man; But one who’d little joy to glean,

It is stuffy in the steerage where… For there’s near a hundred for’ard… They are trav’lers for the most pa… But their linen’s rather scanty, a… Stowed away like ewes and wethers…