And lo, a miracle! When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, 'Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told. When the dash and the excitement and the novelty are dead, And you've seen a load of wounded once or twice, Or you've watched your old mate dying, with the vultures overhead -- Well, you wonder if the war is worth the price. A Ballad of Ducks. . But we have heard the bell-birds ring Their silver bells at eventide, Like fairies on the mountain side, The sweetest note man ever heard. "And there's nothing in the district that can race him for a step, He could canter while they're going at their top: He's the king of all the leppers that was ever seen to lep, A five-foot fence -- he'd clear it in a hop! So Dunn crept out on his hands and knees In the dim, half-dawning light, And he made his way to a patch of trees, And was lost in the black of night; And the trackers hunted his tracks all day, But they never could trace his flight. * * * * So may it be! * * Well, sir, you rode him just perfect -- I knew from the fust you could ride. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. 'Enter Two Heads.FIRST HEAD: How goes the battle? Langston Hughes (100 poem) 1 February 1902 - 22 May 1967. I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better. Banjo Paterson was born at Narrambla, and passed his earliest years at Buckinbah, near Obley, on an unfenced block of dingo infested country leased by his father and uncle from the Crown. Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all. Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western districts of New South Wales. . "But it's getting on to daylight and it's time to say goodbye, For the stars above the east are growing pale. `I spurred him on to get the lead, I chanced full many a fall; But swifter still each phantom steed Kept with me, and at racing speed We reached the big stone wall. O ye strange wild birds, will ye bear a greeting To the folk that live in that western land? It was shearing time at the Myall Lake, And then rose the sound through the livelong day Of the constant clash that the shear-blades make When the fastest shearers are making play; But there wasn't a man in the shearers' lines That could shear a sheep with the two Devines. Shall we see the flats grow golden with the ripening of the grain? The first heat was soon set a-going; The Dancer went off to the front; The Don on his quarters was showing, With Pardon right out of the hunt. Some have even made it into outer space. Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western . Evens the field!" Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins! With downcast head, and sorrowful tread, The people came back from the desert in dread. Fourth Man "I am an editor, bold and free. And thy health and strength are beyond confessing As the only joys that are worth possessing. And loud from every squatter's door Each pioneering swell Will hear the wild pianos roar The strains of "Daisy Bell". He focused on the outback and what rural life was like for the communities who lived there. With gladness we thought of the morrow, We counted our wages with glee, A simile homely to borrow -- "There was plenty of milk in our tea." Our willing workmen, strong and skilled, Within our cities idle stand, And cry aloud for leave to toil. Catch him now if you can, sir! he's over, and two of the others are down! Now this was what Macpherson told While waiting in the stand; A reckless rider, over-bold, The only man with hands to hold The rushing Rio Grande. . I'm all of a stew. Here his eyes opened wide, for close by his side Was the scapegoat: And eating his latest advertisement! Anon we'll all be fittedWith Parliamentary seats. A Change of Menu. Please try again later. Beyond all denials The stars in their glories, The breeze in the myalls, Are part of these stories. Banjo Paterson, original name Andrew Barton Paterson, (born February 17, 1864, Narrambla, New South Wales, Australiadied February 5, 1941, Sydney), Australian poet and journalist noted for his composition of the internationally famous song " Waltzing Matilda ." And many voices such as these Are joyful sounds for those to tell, Who know the Bush and love it well, With all its hidden mysteries. "Go forth into the world," he said, "With blessings on your heart and head, "For God, who ruleth righteously, Hath ordered that to such as be "From birth deprived of mother's love, I bring His blessing from above; "But if the mother's life he spare Then she is made God's messenger "To kiss and pray that heart and brain May go through life without a stain." `I dreamt last night I rode this race That I to-day must ride, And cant'ring down to take my place I saw full many an old friend's face Come stealing to my side. But he found the rails on that summer night For a better place -- or worse, As we watched by turns in the flickering light With an old black gin for nurse. Inicio; Servicios. With this eloquent burst he exhorts the accurst -- "Go forth in the desert and perish in woe, The sins of the people are whiter than snow!" had I the flight of the bronzewing,Far o'er the plains would I fly,Straight to the land of my childhood,And there would I lay down and die. Then he dropped the piece with a bitter oath, And he turned to his comrade Dunn: "We are sold," he said, "we are dead men both! Don't you believe it. why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse. And how he did come! What of the parents? As we swept along on our pinions winging, We should catch the chime of a church-bell ringing, Or the distant note of a torrent singing, Or the far-off flash of a station light. Clancy of the Overflow was inspired by an experience Banjo Paterson had while he was working as a lawyer. For forty long years, 'midst perils and fears In deserts with never a famine to follow by, The Israelite horde went roaming abroad Like so many sundowners "out on the wallaby". (Strikes him. . The Winds Message 162. Don't hope it -- the slinking hound, He sloped across to the Queensland side, And sold The Swagman for fifty pound, And stole the money, and more beside. Santa Claus In The Bush 156. On Banjo Patersons 150th birthday anniversary, here are his best ballads. I would fain go back to the old grey river, To the old bush days when our hearts were light; But, alas! Later, young Paterson was sent to Sydney Grammar School. He was in his 77th year. The Bush Poems of A . Fearless he was beyond credence, looking at death eye to eye: This was his formula always, "All man go dead by and by -- S'posing time come no can help it -- s'pose time no come, then no die." B. He rolls in his stride; he's done, there's no question!" But when they reached the big stone wall, Down went the bridle-hand, And loud we heard Macpherson call Make room, or half the field will fall! Still bracing as the mountain wind, these rhymed stories of small adventure and obscure people reflect the pastoral-equestrian phase of Australian development with a fidelity of feeling and atmosphere for which generations to come will be grateful. They went tearin' round and round, And the fences rang and rattled where they struck. And so it comes that they take no part In small world worries; each hardy rover Rides like a paladin, light of heart, With the plains around and the blue sky over. Oh, joyous day,To-morrow's poll will make me M.L.A.ACT IITIME: Election day.SCENE: Macbreath's committee rooms.MACBREATH: Bring me no more reports: let them all fly;Till Labour's platform to Kyabram comeI cannot taint with fear. Filter poems by topics. From the Archives, 1941: Banjo Paterson dead. An early poem by Banjo Paterson's grandmother (In Memoriam) does not augur well: Grief laid her hand upon a stately head / And streams of silver were around it shed . He looked to left and looked to right, As though men rode beside; And Rio Grande, with foam-flecks white, Raced at his jumps in headlong flight And cleared them in his stride. Paterson worked as a lawyer but But his owner's views of training were immense, For the Reverend Father Riley used to ride him every day, And he never saw a hurdle nor a fence. Come back! Paul Kelly - The 23rd Psalm 2. . Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. But each man carries to his grave The kisses that in hopes to save The angel or his mother gave. ''Three to One, Bar One!' It was written at a time when cycling was a relatively new and popular social activity. Lord! He then settled at Coodravale, a pastoral property in the Wee Jasper district, near Yass, and remained there until the Great War, in which he served with a remount unit in Egypt returning with the rank of major. 'Tis strange that in a land so strong So strong and bold in mighty youth, We have no poet's voice of truth To sing for us a wondrous song. -- now, goodbye!" `He never flinched, he faced it game, He struck it with his chest, And every stone burst out in flame, And Rio Grande and I became As phantoms with the rest. But Gilbert walked from the open door In a confident style and rash; He heard at his side the rifles roar, And he heard the bullets crash. We still had a chance for the money, Two heats remained to be run: If both fell to us -- why, my sonny, The clever division were done. And aren't they just going a pace? And some have said that Nature's face To us is always sad; but these Have never felt the smiling grace Of waving grass and forest trees On sunlit plains as wide as seas. And one man on a big grey steed Rode up and waved his hand; Said he, We help a friend in need, And we have come to give a lead To you and Rio Grande. One, in the town where all cares are rife, Weary with troubles that cramp and kill, Fain would be done with the restless strife, Fain would go back to the old bush life, Back to the shadow of Kiley's Hill. With sanctimonious and reverent look I read it out of the sacred book That he who would open the golden door Must give his all to the starving poor. In the happy days to be, Men of every clime and nation will be round to gaze on me Scientific men in thousands, men of mark and men of note, Rushing down the Mooki River, after Johnsons antidote. At the Turon the Yattendon filly Led by lengths at the mile-and-a-half, And we all began to look silly, While her crowd were starting to laugh; But the old horse came faster and faster, His pluck told its tale, and his strength, He gained on her, caught her, and passed her, And won it, hands down, by a length. So his Rev'rence in pyjamas trotted softly to the gate And admitted Andy Regan -- and a horse! * * Yessir! He crossed the Bogan at Dandaloo, And many a mile of the silent plain That lonely rider behind him threw Before they settled to sleep again. There are folk long dead, and our hearts would sicken-- We should grieve for them with a bitter pain; If the past could live and the dead could quicken, We then might turn to that life again. But they went to death when they entered there In the hut at the Stockman's Ford, For their grandsire's words were as false as fair -- They were doomed to the hangman's cord. As soon said as done, they started to run -- The priests and the deacons, strong runners and weak 'uns All reckoned ere long to come up with the brute, And so the whole boiling set off in pursuit. Then out of the shadows the troopers aimed At his voice and the pistol sound. (We haven't his name -- whether Cohen or Harris, he No doubt was the "poisonest" kind of Pharisee.) For things have changed on Cooper's Creek Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. Embossed with Australian Animals, these premium notebooks are perfect for Back To School. Geebung is the indigenous name for a tough fruiting shrub (Persoonia sp.). When the field is fairly going, then ye'll see ye've all been fooled, And the chestnut horse will battle with the best. the 'orse is all ready -- I wish you'd have rode him before; Nothing like knowing your 'orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore; Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun -- Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun. B. The scapegoat he snorted, and wildly cavorted, A light-hearted antelope "out on the ramp", Then stopped, looked around, got the "lay of the ground", And made a beeline back again to the camp. Next, Please "I am a barrister, wigged and gowned; Of stately presence and look profound. 'Tis safer to speak well of the dead: betimes they rise again. * * * * But times are changed, and changes rung From old to new -- the olden days, The old bush life and all its ways, Are passing from us all unsung.